Split, Part III (Patreon)

Split, Part III

For Samara, Wednesday had become weekly horror story. It was the day that Charlie had his tabletop Dungeons and Dragons games with his meek little nerd friends. Each time, Charlie made sure that she was dressed up in her sexiest casual wear; low cut shirts paired with tight-lift bras, short short denims that showed off her long legs, hair done up in pigtails and makeup made to make her look as if she was going on a date night. She was no longer a person; just a display item for Charlie to parade around on his arm in front of his friends. For hours she had to indulge in the game, playing as her own rogue-class character while trying to ignore the way Charlie’s friends ogled her, especially when she leaned forward to grab the dice, putting her cleavage on full display for their leering.

“Isn’t she great?” Charlie said one night, “I can’t believe what a turnaround we’ve made together.” He clasped his arm around her waist, and fruitlessly attempted to avoid the incoming kiss.

“You say the nicest things Charlie.”

“Yeah,” one of the friends crossed his arms. Samuel was his name. “Especially given how you used to treat him.”

“That’s all in the past now Sam,” Charlie just said, “Samara was in a dark place at the time just like me. But we’re together again, and she even remembers how to play DnD!”

Samara sighed internally. She actually did remember how to play from her awkward early teenage years. Ironically playing as someone else on the board was her only escape from her current torment.

“I know I behave awfully,” Samara’s body said, “but I’m making it up to Charlie now. In every way possible.” She said that last part as she took him in for another sensual kiss. David, the other player, excused himself to go to the bathroom, an obvious erection tenting his pants. Creep, she thought.

After he had returned, clearly after having jacked off, Charlie steepled his fingers, stopped the game. “Can both of you keep a secret?” he asked.

No! No, don’t you dare Charlie!

“Samara isn’t my girlfriend. Not yet, really. She’s my slave. I used magic to enslave her and make her submissive to me.”

“Bullshit,” Samuel said. “Magic isn’t real.”

“Really? Samara, take off of your shirt.”

Her eyes went wide, but her body obeyed, quickly stripping her tight top off so that just her bra remained, her large breasts bobbing with each panicked breath. She looked to him, fearing the next words. “Now make out with Samuel. Make sure to use your tongue.”

In moments she was all over the scrawny little runt, probing his mouth with her tongue and placing his hands on her bra. Samuel seemed overwhelmed.

“Now David.”

She swiftly moved from Samuel to the other geek, repeating the action with even greater passion than before, moaning softly as he kissed her back. She seethed inside as the little newt had the sheer temerity to dip his fingers into the cups of her DD bra to rub her nipples, and even more when her body was compelled to moan in response.

“Now do the chicken dance.”

She drew away from a disappointed David and began acting out what she could remember of the song, shaking her ‘tail feather’ in the faces of Charlie’s astounded friends.

“Now sit back down.”

She did so, wanting with every impulse to strangle Charlie right there and then. He just smirked. “Samara, you may speak as you normally would now.”

“Fuck you!” she yelled, “fuck all of you! I don’t deserve this! I demand you end this curse right now Charlie.” She swiftly put her top back on. “And stop leering at me you pervs. That’s the last time a woman like me will ever think about touching your zits.”

“See?” he said, gesturing to her. Samuel was aghast. “H-how did you do it Charlie?”

He explained to them the magic of the pendant, how he had purchased it from the Wandering Witch in order to better his own lift. How the woman who had nearly made him commit suicide was now his submissive girlfriend, and that he planned to keep her close for the rest of her lift until she gave up trying to fight it.

“You’re sick,” she just said. “Please, you two, you have to help me. He makes me have sex with him every night. He says he’s going to make me marry him, and that I’m going to . . . going to have his children!”

The faces in the room were oddly blank, as if she were in a dream. Or a nightmare.

“Please,” she begged. “I don’t want to spend the rest of my life as some submissive bimbo. I’ve got dreams. Ambitions. I’m going to be an actress and model. I’m going to find someone who loves me for who I am. I don’t want to be stuck like this for the rest of my life!”

But already she could see around the table that she would find no supporters here. These boys had been the target of merciless bullying just as much as Charlie. She had been the victimiser more than once herself. And she could see the deep glare of hate, and the joy of seeing someone hoist by their petard.

“Charlie,” Samuel said, “does she do cosplay?”

Charlie rubbed his chin thoughtfully. “She does now.”

As the weeks went by at the gaming sessions, Charlie made sure to let it be known how Samara gone from Queen B to the submissive pin up model she was now. He made her pose for his friends, arcing her back so that her pert breasts pressed tightly against the fabric of her tube tops and t-shirts. Soon it was mandatory for her to cosplay as her character, wearing a furred two-piece huntress getup that exposed her stomach and pushed her breasts up into an enormous and open cleavage. Charlie and his friends had great fun in ogling her, and it became all the more open when Charlie allowed her to voice her own opinions as she was forced to pose.

“Please Charlie, let’s just play the game. I’m sick of posing for your salivating buddies here.”

A shrug. “Fair enough. But you have to give me a blowjob later. Deal?”

Her cheeks flushed red with humiliation. “Fine, I’ll suck you off later. Just stop making me display myself like this.”

“Aww,” David groaned, “but you’re so perfect Samara. Or should I saw Shaleera?”

Shaleera was her character, the one she was forced to dress up as now.

“Yeah, we love seeing you put on display for us Shaleera. Why don’t you give us one last look at your boobies before you put them away, huh Charlie?”

Charlie nodded assent, and her body responded by drawing close to his friends, giving them a leering look at her goods, before she finally returned to her seat to continue the game. But within her mind, she knew in that moment that if there was a way out of becoming Charlie’s bimbo wife-for-life, she’d have to find it on her own. And she knew now where to start; the Wandering Witch.

◊◊◊

Of course, even while she investigate online and in paper clippings the elusive with, she had still tried to escape. More than once in fact. In the dark of night when he had made her stay over she managed to slip away from his endless snoring, put on her clothes – though the curse to her irritation ensured that her full cleavage was on display and midriff open – and slip out into the night. She took a train out of town, and then another, and then another, the distance growing between them further and further. After nearly half a day of just travelling she tried to test the distance of the spell; first by putting on less revealing clothes, and when that failed, trying to walk in a non-sensuous manner without heels. When both failed she simply tried to ride out the time, only to find herself becoming more and more nauseous. She felt sick without Charlie. Wrong. As if part of her was missing. She had to get back. She needed him. She needed his presence, his voice, his touch. She was a puppet in need of a puppetmaster, a slave in search of an owner. No, fight it, she thought, it’s just the curse. You’re better than this Samara. You’re stronger than this.

She steadied herself. Decided vacantly to look around, find a nice café to bunker down in. Forget it, I should just call up Charlie and get him to pick me up before I get too sick. She paused. No! What am I thinking? I’m trying to escape him. Escape his wonderful smile and wonderful cock. Mmmhm. She groaned at the sheer thought of it, until she snapped again out of her thoughts and was met with an intense wave of nausea that washed over her body. The image of Charlie, once her target of amusement and now the man that held her destiny in his every desire. Her nipples hardened in her bra at the thought of him. Goddamnit! This isn’t fair! That’s the magic doing the thinking! Sickness at leaving him. Arousal at the thought of returning to him. Stick and carrot, until she obeyed without thinking.

“Fuck! There’s no way to win!’

She was nearly frothing with arousal and rage and nausea when she made it back to Charlie’s door. He received her without the slightest hint of surprise on his face, just a wagging finger and a raised eyebrow. “Now, now, Samara, you’ve been a bad, bad girl. I don’t know if I should even sleep with you tonight after you tried to run off from me so cruelly.”

“Please!” she begged. “I need you Charlie. Oh God help me I need you!”

He just shrugged. “Fine. But let this be a lesson.” He ran a finger down her neck and nestled it in her deep cleavage. She shuddered at his touch. “You’re mine. Say it.”

“Please Charlie.” She was so wet and aroused. She needed him inside of her. She had to have his cum.

“Say it.”

“I’m . . . I-I’m yours. Forever.”

A smile that could have raised the sun for her. He led her into the bedroom that was now so familiar, unzipped his pants, and let his member out, stiff and erect. “You know what to do,” he said.

She descended on his dick with an enthusiasm that bordered on mania, stroking and sucking him off until finally he ejaculated. She moaned, somehow feeling pleasure just knowing he’d come, and she swallowed his issue, licked her lips for any remaining traces.

“That’s my girl,” he said. Deep inside, she felt disgust. After another long night of lovemaking she managed to slip out of bed while he snored, and make her way downstairs to where she hid her information board behind the old piano. She had spent weeks working on it; drawing on information from newspapers, online sources, chatrooms, forums, other tales from victims and beneficiaries of the Wandering Witch, whose name was apparently Tila, and collected it together in both physical and digital forms. She didn’t dare let slip anything to Charlie. In fact, after the failure of trying to run away she knew she’d have to go under the radar for a while until she could safely renew her investigation. The latest sighting of the Wandering Witch was on another continent, but she remained hopeful that she would return nearby, and that a deal could be struck with her to lift the curse.