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Eliza has taken off her clothes, now, the scanty dress that was, in some ways, more modest than just about everyone else’s attire, excepting Rosa’s. She’s standing in just a black leather bra and panty set and she’s in the process of removing those. It’s gross, Izac thinks, to see this woman, an old friend of his dad’s, stripping before him. She’s old, for fuck’s sake, or at least, she’s older than him.
But she’s also very beautiful, he sees. She’s fit-not an ounce of unnecessary fat on her delicate frame-and she has aged very, very gracefully. Her slit is bare, like Gemma’s and Rhiannon’s, and when she parts to engulf him, he can’t stifle a moan.
She leans over him and he closes his eyes, wanting to shy from seeing this woman’s face as she fucks him, this woman who he’d thought of as being almost like family. This sharpens his other senses and he smells her, like he had Gemma, leather corrupting the smell of flowers on her skin. He hears the laughter and whispers directed at him from the watching women; hears his father’s groan of despair, and feels Eliza’s smooth and still-taut skin rub against him.
He’d wriggle uncomfortably, if he could, and doing so would no doubt bring him into closer contact with the woman straddling his helpless form.
“Open your eyes, Izac, so I can look you in them while I’m hurting you,” Eliza commands.
Unwillingly, feeling his eyes tear up, he complies. Her silky, dark hair falls across his chest as she gyrates on top of him and he meets her eyes, his watering blue eyes on her hard steel. She fucks him slowly, pleasuring herself with no regard for him, and he bites his swollen lower lip in ecstatic agony. His eyes narrow to slits of ice as he grunts in desire, but he keeps them fixed on Eliza’s.
She takes a nipple between her pinching, pink fingernails and pulls, hard, eliciting a yell. She twists the little bit of pink flesh, nails digging in and the young man goes red in the face, with pain instead of humiliation.
“Keep your eyes on me!” Eliza barks and Izac complies, letting his tears roll freely down his face, no longer concerned with the humiliation of the situation, focused only on the pain. The heavy weight in his groin cannot grow anymore, but it feels like it’s trying to, the cum inside him wanting to boil out through his dickhead, like a river dammed in by a nonexistent cock ring.
Eliza keeps tormenting his nipples, both of them now, and harder than he’d have thought possible, without pulling them off or breaking the skin. Her slender fingers are like clamps and when she removes one hand to slap Izac’s face, his nipple continues to hurt like fire.
He breaks eye contact, again, when she starts to hit him across the face and the blows quickly escalate to punches that leave him with a bloody nose and a split lip. He struggles in vain to escape her punishing hands as she squeezes his still-throbbing cock with her cunt and his hips with her thighs. His chiefest desire, right now, is to return to that soft, cotton cloud that held him in its embrace while Gemma was fucking his brains out, but he can’t. He feels her pink lipsticked mouth on his chest and then on his belly, pulling out hair, with lips and teeth. The punches subside as her orgasm grows nearer, building in her flat belly like a roar. She takes him by the hair on his head, instead, and pulls him up so that he can’t miss a detail of what she’s doing with her mouth.
“Watch,” she says, simply, her voice harsh with passion.
She bites him, hard, on the nipple and he thinks surely, this time, she’s bit it clean off. She hasn’t, though, hasn’t even drawn blood that he can see. She lifts her face and moves down his skinny chest, nipping as hard as she can, though there isn’t much of him to nip. She pulls him out of her and sinks her teeth into the hollow of his navel, finding more purchase there for her questing teeth. The young man keeps his eyes on her, though she releases her hold on his hair with a solid yank and sets to scratching him all down his throat to his torso, to his belly. Izac sees Eliza take his long, hard cock in her mouth and screams as she begins to nibble, as well as to suck and lick her juices from him.
Izac knows he can’t take any more of this, but he does, because he has to. Eliza remounts him after a sharp nip to the glans. Despite the spell that Eliza has cast upon him, he has begun to leak pre cum and a bit is left on her bottom lip. As she begins to fuck him again, she licks the fluid off and seizes Izac by the jaw.
“Open it,” she says and, after a pause and a stinging slap across his lips, he opens his mouth and she spits into it. He swallows, gagging, but knowing it is expected of him. He wishes more than anything that he could float away from himself, again, and just feel the pleasure of being used as fuckmeat.
She leans over him, biting and nuzzling along his prickly jaw and toothily sucking his neck and throat. His neck arches into her bruising kisses and, as she grazes his Adams apple with her hungry mouth, she begins to cum. She moans once against his throat, sending vibrations straight to his poor, blue balls. Eliza then forces herself up to plant a lascivious kiss on his mouth, giving his lips much the same treatment as she has given the rest of him. As she cums, she violates his mouth with her tongue, both of them tasting the high, sweet notes of metal from his bloody lip. Izac won’t dare bite her, though perhaps an hour before, he’d have torn her tongue out of her head with his teeth. Now, he kisses her back, glad for the chance to taste a beautiful woman’s mouth and allow her to explore him. Though he’s kissed many girls, before, he’s never done it quite like this. It occurs to him to wonder if this might be something to do with age and experience, and he supposes he should reconsider his stance concerning the un-fuck-ability of older women.
When Eliza pushes herself off him, pale skin pretty with a blush caused by pure exertion, he looks around at the crowd that he had momentarily forgotten about. The other women in the room have fingered themselves wet, even the ones who have fucked him to their own completion. They want more and Izac wonders if they’ll get it, wonders if he wants them to fuck him again, and again, until sunrise perhaps dissipates the spell Eliza has cast. He just wants to cum, by now, and he’s very afraid that his cock will burst before they let him have the release of orgasm. Andrea, in particular, has stroked herself so that a wet patch has grown underneath her splayed knees, soaking the carpet with her cum.
Flora has unlaced her robe, though her hands now tremble with want, and she shucks the white silk that drapes her. Her body was hardly concealed by the sexy bit of lingerie which she has now cast off, but seeing her without it, she’s even more on display. Flora revels in this, as she goes to mount the society’s newest pet.
Like Rhiannon, she declines to remove her heels before lowering herself onto him. She pauses once she has forced him into her, to the hilt, and takes him in with blue eyes both amused and aroused. She smirks, leans over his face and licks up the coppery redness from his bloody nose, blood that was smeared across his face during Eliza’s relentless assault. Her breath is sweet and mint-y on his face as she licks, almost playfully, tickling his pale skin with her tongue. As she slides him in and out of herself, slow and deep in her thrusts, she lets up on the laving kisses and presses the boy’s face into her pendulous breasts. He licks her, not needing to be told as she smuggles his face into her cleavage. He’s both exhausted and painfully aroused, having been on the edge of orgasm since Andrea’s clenching cunt muscles had pulled him to that point of no return.
He can breathe nothing but Flora, now, and it’s making him dizzy, sending him to that space beyond himself, just a little, but he needs more pain than Flora is giving him right now, something less than Eliza had given, to get there entirely. He’s not even sure he can get there, that his experience with Gemma wasn’t a fluke or a hallucination.
In the dark of Flora’s flesh, he smells something like vanilla, and a hint of some night-blooming flower beneath that. Her skin tastes clean under his tongue, like fresh, healthy sweat and he wishes he’d had this experience like a normal young man might have; long before now, tangled in the white cotton sheets of his bed, at home, with someone he cares about.
He cries into Flora’s warm body and she pulls his face back into the relative brightness of the living room.
“Yes, cry for me, I want to see you broken,” she says with a smile and she leans down again, to drink his tears, licking his cheeks like they’re covered in some kind of fine wine.
He obliges her, sobbing brokenly and no longer caring who sees him or that everyone but his own father is laughing at his misery and aroused by it. His life has been torn from him. He wishes he could go back, not just to savor his freedom but to change the way he’d been, so that none of this would be necessary and perhaps could be avoided, altogether. Assuming, of course, that he still wants that. He’s not so sure what he wants and what he doesn’t, anymore.
He feels a tightening in his loins that pulls muscles in his gut and legs and his eyes snap open. For a brief moment, he sees two beautiful women that disappear when that moment has passed. One has ivory flesh and flaming red hair, the other, dark tresses, against blue-black skin. They are both tall and beautiful. The dark woman is naked and proud, her partner dressed only in a brief chemise of forest green. They smile at him, cruelly, and when they vanish, he feels himself begin to cum inside of Flora.
Light flashes before his eyes and he feels a stab of pain in his head, before pleasure like he has never felt before, unbelievable pleasure, suffuses his entire body. It’s like an electrical current shooting through him, tingles of static colliding around in his veins and setting him on fire, so that even his teeth hurt with the feeling of it. He’s shooting rope after rope of pent-up cum into Flora’s body and with each shot Izac feels another jolt go through him, so much pleasure it’s actually more like pain. Those feelings are married, now, in Izac’s eyes; he will never be able to separate them.
He hears someone moaning, two someones, actually, and he realizes that one of them is him. Dimly, as he comes back to himself, he understands that Flora is also cumming, milking his dick like Andrea had tried to.
When it has ended, he realizes just how much he aches. He’s coming down, now, and he feels a sharp sense of shame and anger that he hasn’t felt since before Andrea began to fuck him in earnest. He curls up in on himself and realizes that he has been released from the spell that had held him prone. He hasn’t the strength to lash out at his tormentors, but he would like to. Instead, he just cries some more.
Izac feels someone’s arms around him and he jumps. It’s his father. He pushes the older man away, sickened by his father’s ridiculous attire or lack thereof, and (worse) that his father has grown hard, watching his son be fucked by multiple women. Andrew hadn’t done anything to stop…what had happened. Izac is still not sure if he was really raped. After all, doesn’t that stuff only happen to girls? And it had felt so good…
He pushes away from that feeling, and when his father reaches to embrace him again, he leans into the older man and allows his father to offer comfort. Andrew covers his son’s body, as much as he decently can, with his own and whispers words of meaningless comfort in Izac’s ear.
As Andrew rocks his grown son like a child, Eliza takes a scimitar from a display case in the far corner of the room.
“Kneel,” she instructs the initiates, and they obey.
The three 18 year old girls are disheveled, but clothed, again. As they kneel before Eliza with her curved sword, they look far more vulnerable than they ever did naked, fucking their hated enemy. Eliza kneels before Andrea, first, the sword between them. The tip of the blade digs lightly into the carpet as Eliza and Andrea stare into each other’s eyes, their faces bisected by gray steel.
There is enough of a pause as Eliza studies Andrea for the latter to grow very uncomfortable, but she holds Eliza’s gaze.
“You have the most striking eyes,” Eliza says and the other woman jumps, a bit. “They’re almost like tigers eye stones, or drops of honey.”
Another pause, in which the initiate relaxes somewhat.
“Do you swear to keep the laws of our society, wherever it is reasonable for you to do so?”
“Yes.”
“Do you agree to never attempt to free a slave of the society, unless otherwise instructed to do so by the President, not just of your chapter of the Society, but of the Society as a whole? Do you swear never to knowingly aide and abet someone whose goals are directly counter to those of the Heartbreakers’ Society?”
“Yes.”
“You know, of course, that no power in heaven or on earth can save you if you should decide to knowingly break those vows?”
“Yes.” There was a slight quaver in her voice, this time.
“Then, with Flora Allen and all the goddesses as our witness, you are now a freshman member of the Heartbreaker’s Society, with all the rights and responsibilities that entails. During your time as a freshman member, your Society name will be Tiger’s Eye,” she paused again, and smiled, “to be shorted to Tiger, if and when you so wish.”
The girl smiles back and nods.
“You may rise.”
The newly christened Tiger allows Flora to help her up and to the couch to watch the rest of the initiation.
Eliza kneels before Rhiannon, next, and repeats what she’d asked Andrea. Naturally, Rhiannon doesn’t hesitate to answer the affirmative to every question. She doesn’t even hesitate at the last bit-where death or worse is promised to anyone who dares lie or even change her mind.
“You share a name with a Norse goddess and also with many witches in the history of the Heartbreaker’s Society who held great power and respect. For this, your name shall be Maga, the Italian word for sorceress.”
The young woman beams and rises, at Eliza’s prompt, to sit on the couch with Flora and Tiger.
Gemma is the calmest of the three, perhaps because she’s seen the others survive initiation without being sliced to ribbons by Eliza’s ceremonial sword. In fact, Gemma is rather giggly about the whole thing.
This, rather than prompting discipline, gets smiles from the two senior members.
“You shall be called Sapphire, for the color of your eyes and, of course, because your name is Gemma,” she tells the young woman, stroking her face, gently.
Eliza plants a kiss on the redhead’s lips and says, “I have high hopes, for all of you girls.”
Flora disentangles herself from Andrea and Rhiannon, then rises to address the males. They still huddle together on the floor, a naked, pathetic mass. Andrew’s pink panties have fallen to hang comically from one ear. Flora rips them from him and deals a blow to the side of his head.
“You two will be allowed to sleep in the same cell, for tonight, but any misbehavior-and I mean any, at all, will prompt a change in sleeping arrangements.”
“Yes,” says Eliza. “We can deny you anything, for any reason and we are being very kind to allow you to spend time together, at all.”
“Yes, thank you, Masters,” said Andrew.
“Izac,” said Eliza, “you will address all senior members of the Heartbreakers’ Society as ‘Master.’ Our freshman members shall be called ‘Mistress.’ Is that understood?”
“Yes M-Master.”
“Good boy. Flora, please take them downstairs so they can get some sleep. Izac, in particular, has a long day ahead of him, come tomorrow.”
Eliza gathers the newly minted members to her. She’s still naked. Her pride is such that she needn’t put on anything to cover herself, now that the sexual part of tonight’s festivities have concluded.
“It’s been a while since I was a freshman,” Gemma says, a bit ruefully. “Hadn’t planned on being one, again, for at least another school year.”
“I trust you don’t mind the title?” asks Eliza, dryly.
“No, not at all! In fact, I think I’m going to enjoy it, especially as initiation seems to have consisted mainly of a mind-blowing orgasm.”
Everyone laughs.
“I want to show you another piece of magic, in just a minute. Flora is responsible for this one. I can work it, if I have to, but I generally don’t get the results that she does.”
“Oooooh, what is it?” asks Rhiannon.
“You’ll see.”
The door through which Kara and her initiate had departed, long before, cracks open and Kara, naked beneath a long, fuzzy, scarlet bathrobe, peeks out. “Rosa is an official member of the Society. Her name is Lamb, now.”
“You look exhausted,” says Eliza. “We’re through down here, if you want to go to bed. I’m just going to show the girls one of Flora’s little tricks and then we’re through for the night.”
“Thank Circe you said that,” says Kara. “She about wore me out. Wore herself down, too, she’s out cold. ‘Night, all!”
Kara fairly runs up the stairs to bed, where her beloved Lamb is asleep, waiting for her.
“Oh, Flora, you’re back,” says Eliza.
“That reminds me,” says Rhiannon. “What do we address you as? Surely not Master,” she laughs, but Eliza can tell she’s uncomfortable.
“You girls can call us by our names, as you always have,” says Eliza.
“If you like, you may call us Ma’am, or Ms. Powers or Ms. Allen. But we view you as our equals, in almost all ways-you’re younger and less experienced than us, but we don’t think of you as we do our slaves, or even normal citizens,” says Flora. “I guess you could say that you’re kind of special.”
“Like you,” says Andrea.
The senior members smile.
“Indeed. Now, Flora, I would like you to show our newest members your scrying mirror.”
“Oh, of course!” Flora scurries upstairs, the way Kara had gone, leading Eliza and the girls with her.
They enter a dark room, one cluttered with artifacts that the new members would all like to know more about. One wall is covered, floor to ceiling, with a large, black-backed mirror. Eliza lights a candle and the girls notice that the mirror doesn’t reflect quite right.
Flora approaches it and lays her palms flat on the strangely muted surface. It begins to bubble beneath her hands and the girls shrink back, slightly, despite knowing that Flora would do nothing to hurt them. The silvery bubbles blur into colors, in spots, and then into shapes, until they form into a clear image of Izac and Andrew, curled up in a cinderblock cell.
Iazc is still whimpering unappealingly and Andrew strokes his hair, cradling his son in his arms.
“It’s not so bad, you know,” says Andrew, “once you get used to it. I think you’ll grow to love it.”
The girls are shocked as the older man’s voice reverberates out of the mirror.
“I don’t want to love it,” Izac snaps, his voice breaking. “Why did you start sending me to that church, anyway, when you knew what kind of person Eliza was and what she would do to me?”
“I wanted to protect you, Izac. I thought if I got you as far away from the kind of person Eliza associates with that you’d never be in any danger of falling in with her kind. I didn’t think she’d stoop to this.”
“Well, she did. How did you even get into this, or do I want to know?”
“After your mother died I…I was lonely. Men have certain needs, Izac-”
The boy snorts.
“Well, we do, you know. You’d have come to understand. Whether once you were married or otherwise-and forgive me if I say I strongly suspect otherwise-you’d have understood.”
“So, Eliza invites you out for dinner and you end up tied to the bed and before you know it, she’s enslaved you to this fucking cult-”
“Izac,” the older man says, his voice gentle.
“What, I guess she asked you, first?”
Andrew looks ashamed.
“She told me they always do.” His voice is barely audible.
“Oh, so I guess I’m a special case, am I?”
“That’s true,” says Eliza, over the males’ conversation. “We almost never take a slave without their permission. Once they’re in, it’s another matter, but he *is* a special case.”
Izac has dissolved into tears, again, while Andrew reassures him that it’s not as bad as all that. When his son’s tears show no sign of abating, Andrew sighs. He cradles the boy closer, then, and begins to sing an old children’s hymn as the boy cries himself to sleep.
In a room far above, the group of women giggles over this humiliating scene.
“Sweet Circe on a cinnamon bun, Eliza, are you sure he’s 18?” asks Flora.
Eliza laughs aloud. “I am. I think he’s just very, very sheltered. His father has, after all, been trying to protect him from us for a such a terribly long time.”
“We see how that turned out,” says Gemma.
“So, is this all we have by way of a security system?” asks Andrea. She colors when Flora’s face falls, ever so noticeably. “I mean, I just thought I’d ask.”
“It is not all we have,” says Eliza, “since Flora can’t very well be here all day, with her photography business and all.”
“Yes, and I suppose that would be very boring,” Andrea agrees, quickly.
“Andrew will have to be punished for that little bit of defiance, I’m afraid,” says Flora.
“This is true,” says Eliza. “We have been letting him get away with too much for too long, on the basis that he never seemed to be doing anything *big.* You see what came of that.” She gestures at the now-darkened scrying mirror.
“Tiger, I’m setting you a task, tonight,” says Flora and stifles a smile at the hangdog expression that flits across Andrea’s face. “You are to devise a punishment for Izac’s father, something we can do tomorrow morning.”
Andrea perks up a bit at this.
“You are, of course, not to use magic yourself, but if you find yourself in need of a minor spell, I intend to be up for a few hours. I’ll be in the living room.”
“Can I put on some real clothes, first?”
Flora laughs. “Of course you may, you’re not being punished, Andrew is.”
Andrea isn’t sure of this, but she hastens to obey-and to put on a nice sweater and some jeans.
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