Split, Part II (Patreon)

They were in his home, where only he lived. She felt awfully vulnerable standing where she was in front of him in such tight-fitting clothing. She could see he was admiring her curves and the gentle slopes of her large, round breasts.

“Okay,” Charlie said, “you can talk freely now Samara, but you can’t move from that spot.”

She felt an invisible cage seem to lift away from her. “You fucker!” she yelled, “I can’t believe you don’t this! Release me immediately or else – “

“Or else what Samara? You’ll go back to bullying, go back to making me feel like a nothing, like a small creature that just needs to off myself? No, I think you’ve sealed your own fate here, and now it’s up to you to accept it and learn, I hope, to one day come to enjoy it.”

She crossed her arms, trying to control her breathing. “Please Charlie, please I promise I’ll stop. I’ll even be your friend again. Wouldn’t you like that? To be friends again?”

The man scoffed. “Sounds like a step down to me. Why have you as a friend when I can make you my girlfriend? My wife? The mother of my children.” She gasped at the last one. “Oh yes Samara, we’re in it for the long haul, you and I. I intend to have the life with you that we could have had before you turned into such a bitch.”

Tears welled in her eyes. “Charlie . . . you know this is wrong.”

He sighed. “Yeah, Samara. I suppose I do. I can’t pretend it’s not. But I’m going to do it anyway, because I’m sick of hating myself, sick of being made to feel like nothing. You did that to me. And the truth is, I’m not going to do the same to you. I’m going to treat you well, Samara. You’re going to have to accept some changes, but I mean it when I saw I’ll love you. I’ll worship you. I mean . . . just look at yourself.” Samara found herself doing exactly that. “You’ve got a body that drives men wild, including me. And when we start having kids, I’ll love them too, as I’m sure you will as well. I’d be a fool to take what the Wandering Witch has given me for granted. I’d be a fool to take you for granted, like you did me as a friend, and as a victim.”

Samara didn’t know what to say. There seemed no way to convince him, and she was terrified of upsetting him. “What d-do you mean you’ll treat me . . . well?”

Charlie looked up from the magical pendant in his hand. “Ah, of course. I’ll explain. Please take a seat.” She did so. “Okay Samara, time to lay down some ground rules, for you and me. First of all, you’re my girlfriend now, and I expect you to act like it. In both public and private, I expect you to attend to both my emotional and physical needs, just as I’ll try to attend to yours. But I will allow some distinctions. In public, you will act as if you were totally in love with me and no one else – that means kisses, cuddles, laughing at my jokes, even PDAs. In private however, I’ll let you be more the usual you – you can complain, talk back to me, be honest about your feelings and wants and fears, unless I tell you otherwise. However, sex is expected.”

Samara gasped. “Charlie, I could never – “

“Shut up and listen.” Samara’s mouth clamped up. “We are going to have sex Samara, because we are a couple. We going to be a couple for the rest of our lives, which means also that we’re going to have all kinds of sex; missionary, cowgirl, anal, the whole Kama Sutra. I also expect blowjobs from time to time, just as I’ll be sure to go down on you from time to time.

“When it comes to clothing, I want to show you off. That means tasteful but revealing. I want every man we come across to know how attractive you are, how amazing your cleavage is, and also that I alone have access. I want you to grow your hair out even further, and to always look nice for me.

“And most importantly, there’s insurance.” Samara found herself shaking, dreading the next words. “Just to make sure you never leave me and try anything, but still allow you some freedom of movement and the small separations of daily life and work . . . if you are away from me for twenty-four hours you will begin to become incredibly horny. The only solution in your mind will be to track me down and have sex with me, and the only kind of sex that will relieve your horniness is the completely unprotected baby making kind. It may not happen the first time, but repeated escape attempts will end up with you knocked up with me as the daddy. That’s going to happen at some point anyway down the line, but I know you’ll want to put that off as long as possible until you accept your new life. Nod if you understand.”

Samara nodded.

“Good. Let’s try this out, shall we? Samara Wilkins, my girlfriend and love of my life, you now have your free will back with the exception of these previous conditions.” She felt the invisible cage rise again. “Now, would you like to accompany me up to the bedroom?” he asked.

She seethed. “Go fuck yourself Charlie.” He frowned. “Why do that when I can have you do it? Samara, you are now irresistibly horny for me.”

She felt it immediately, her cheeks flushed, her loins wet with lust, her panties immediately soaking in her dripping fluids. Her nipples grew erect, pushing into the material of her bra as she panted with arousal like a dog in heat, her gaze fixed on the man before her. She hated him, wanted him dead, wanted to be free. But against all else, what she wanted most was for him to fuck her brains out. She knew it was the curse, the spell, the master coercing his new slave, but right in that moment she had no choice. She was too horny. She needed filling. And only her master would do.

“Charlie,” she breathed, her voice alluring and positively dripping sex, “Oh fuck, Jesus what have you done to me? I need you inside of me.” She embraced him, her large jugs pressing against his chest as she wrapped her lips around his, squirming in pleasure as he clasped her rounded bubble-butt. “Why is this happening to me?” she breathed into his ear before nibbling it. She removed her shirt, let Charlie awkwardly unclasp her bra, her breasts bobbing slightly as they were freed from their confines. He began fondling her nipples, a reverent smile fixed to his face; the look of a boy who had just gotten everything he’d wanted with no price tag attached.

“Oh fuck . . . ooohh,” she moaned, her panties becoming wet. It was becoming too much for her. She struggled out of her shorts, followed by her panties until she stood naked before him. She was furious, aghast and angry, willing herself to put her clothes back on and walk out the door, but instead she began undressing him, moaning profanities in his ear. He pushed her back onto the bed and she spread her legs wide to receive him. She gasped in pleasure as he entered her, losing herself in the motions as he began to press in and out, in and out, quickening in place as he fondled her tits and grasped her arse.

“Please Charlie . . . mmmmhmmm . . . d-don’t come inside of meeeeee!”

But even as she said it his body tensed, and he came inside of her, and she with him, and they moaned together as his hot seed was planted deep inside of her. It was pleasure and pain, joy and fear, and she was hit with the realisation that neither of them had been using protection. She didn’t want to get pregnant! Especially not to him, even if he had temporarily turned her into his unwilling slave. They remained there for several minutes, bodies entwined, until finally Charlie slid out of her and coiled up against her.

“Lie here with me for a moment,” he said, before she even had a chance to escape. And so they did, him spooning her gently, caressing her large breasts until he decided to go another round, this time fucking her from behind, doggy-style. She hated every moment of it, most of all the pleasure she was forced to feel, the overwhelming horniness he induced in her. The day passed after much fucking, until finally they laid together again, naked on the ruined bed.

“I can’t wait for us to be married,” Charlie said, “It’s going to be wonderful having you as my submissive little wife after all you did to me. Having you when I please, making you pregnant with our children over and over again, you working your body back to perfection each time.”

“Please no, I don’t want to be married yet,” she pleaded quietly, “I’m not ready to be a mother.” His hand fell down from her breast and nestled on her belly. “After all the love we’ve been making today, you might already be one Samara. You’ll be a magnificent mother, I promise you. A mother to my children. But for now I want everyone to know how sexy you are, and that you’re all mine.”

He bid her goodnight, with the instruction to go buy plenty of sexy dresses and revealing casual wear the next day so he could continue to show her off on his arm.

The following months were like a hazy blur to Samara, a nightmare she couldn’t wake up from now walk away. Things went exactly as Charlie said they would, and she was helpless to resist his demands and even suggestions. She was his perfect slave, his subservient girlfriend. She still shuddered, thinking back on that fateful day when the rest of her life had been seemingly decided. She remembered every moment of horror, every unwanted pleasure.

The day after his use of the magical pendant, Samara followed his last commands. Her wardrobe at the time already lent itself towards the attractive, but she grew nauseous every moment she put off shopping for even sexier wear, and was soon compelled to go to the mall and blitz out her credit card on all manner of threadbare articles of fabric; tube tops, push-up bras, lacey thongs, cut-off denims, blouses with plunging necklines, thin black stockings that clung to her legs, miniskirts, earrings, necklaces, bracelets, see-through teddies, the works. And she was forced to try out each one, making suggestively slutty poses in the changing room mirror before her body instinctively decided that it objectified her well enough to impress Charlie.

She could see his erection tenting in his pants when she met him at the mall entrance. Her cut-off denims emphasised her long and luxurious legs, the high heels clacking on the floor with each sensuous step. Her large tits were practically falling out of her tight tube top, and in her belly button there sparkled a new piercing.

“Wow Samara,” he said, “you look like a Goddess.”

“Awww,” she found herself saying, “you say the nicest things baby.” And against her will she planted a deep kiss on his lips. “Now let’s go show you off,” Charlie said. In her mind, Samara screamed, but her body only replied “whatever makes you happy baby.”

And so he did show her off, to the consternation of all her former friends, who seemed to quickly abandon her for choosing to side with someone so low on the popularity food chain. Her new fashion sense also crossed the line, in their minds, from sexy and popular to downright trashy. Samara would have agreed if she could, but she was trapped, and could only complain in private to Charlie, who would have none of it. In fact, judging from the rampant fucking that ensued every time she tried to gain even the merest portion of agency back in her life, she was starting to suspect that he liked the complaining, that her own recognition of her powerlessness turned him on.

Life continued on, the acceptance of that powerlessness becoming frighteningly normal to her. She continued to wear exploitative outfits for his pleasure while in public, turning every guy in sight into drooling puppies that could only imagine what magic Charlie had to trap her. Very real magic, as it turned out. She clung to his arm like some vapid bimbo, laughing at his jokes, praising him as the perfect boyfriend, never failing to compliment his supposedly handsome features. And he in turn never failed to comment on her attractiveness, on her remarkable breasts and curvaceous figure, on her parade of outfits that accentuated each feature. On the long red hair she was growing out just for him that bobbed with each motion.

They visited restaurants and dancing club, theatres and parks, and on those romantic occasions as her tormentor probably saw them, she traded out her bimbo costumes for long and revealing dresses; expensive articles with cuts to reveal her excellent legs and a built-in brassiere to bolster her natural endowments for all to see. To all appearances they were a remarkable couple, a success story for the geek that had managed to win the favour of a perfect 10, a woman far beyond his league. And all the time she had to act as if it were natural, as if it were right and good, and that she was hopelessly in love with him as much as he clearly was with her. That part was the worst of it all; in public, he always acted the perfect gentlemen, and part of her knew that he meant it. He really was living up to his promise of treating her well, even as in private he continued to ensure they remained sexually active.

Every night they copulated, often more than once. They did it all, just as Charlie said they would; anal, oral, missionary, cowgirl, positions she’d never heard of. Morning and night she was subjected to some part of her being penetrated by his penis, the pace quickening until one or both of them was moaning in sweet orgasms.

“Oh God Charlie!” she would groan, “oh God oh Goooood I hate you why did you make me enjoy it so much?”

Charlie would simply grin. “I love you babe. And one day you’ll resign yourself to loving me too.” And with that his cock would harden again, and she knew she would have no choice but to accept him into her, regardless of what she wanted. She was his loyal bimbo now, after all.