Spellbound, Chapter 1

Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8

Clark/Madeline/Chloe
Season 4, "Spell"
17,000 words
Rating: Adult. If you're under eighteen, please go elsewhere now.
Disclaimer: These characters belong to the CW and DC Comics, not to me.
Author's Note: This is darker than my usual stories. Elements of rape, bondage, and sadism.

Clark Kent awakened slowly. Unconsciousness lay over him like a warm, heavy blanket, but he fought his way out from under it and opened his eyes. He was in the barn where he spent much of his time, the horse barn on his parents' farm. The golden light of morning slanted in through the windows, but the interior of the barn was dim, and thick with shadows.

He realized his arms ached, and he tried to move, but couldn't. It slowly dawned on him that his hands were bound over his head, chained to a wooden railing. Because he was endowed with extraordinary strength, mere iron chains couldn't hold him, so he flexed his arms in an attempt to break his bonds.

But the leather bonds cut into his wrists, and he gasped in surprise and pain.

Slowly, memories began to filter back into his fuzzy brain. Witches. Three seventeenth-century French witches named Isobelle, Brianna, and Madeline had possessed the bodies of his friends Lana Lang, Lois Lane, and Chloe Sullivan.

And then... they'd done something to him. Made him helpless somehow. He remembered hearing Isobelle's voice saying triumphantly, "It is done. His powers are gone."

Great. So there were evil witches running around Smallville, and they'd managed to strip him of his powers. Wasn't that just a great way to start the day?

Something moved out of the dark shadows. He turned his head and saw his best friend, Chloe Sullivan.

Except it wasn't Chloe. He'd begged her for help last night, pleaded with her to save him, and she'd just laughed at him-- something Chloe herself would never have done. Under ordinary circumstances, Chloe would move heaven and earth to save him. But this... this wasn't Chloe.

Chloe had been possessed by a witch named Madeline, and it showed. She wasn't clad in Chloe's usual casual, eclectic wardrobe. Instead she wore a black, low cut dress accented with heavy gold jewelry. Her blonde hair was curled and piled on top of her head, and her hazel eyes had been heavily outlined in makeup. Her lips, which were ordinarily curved in a gentle smile, were set in a cruel, thin line.

He opened his mouth. His lips were dry, and there was a pain at the corner of his mouth, where they'd slammed him into a wall, but he was relieved to find he could speak. "Where are the others?"

Chloe-- no, Madeline-- stepped toward him. "They went to seek the three stones of power," she said softly. Her voice was Chloe's voice, except more dangerous somehow, full of the threat of pain, and the promise of sex. "I stayed behind to guard you, sorcerer."

"I'm not a sorcerer." He realized that to seventeenth-century witches, he would appear to possess powerful magic, but in fact he was an alien from another planet, with physical abilities far beyond those of humans. And yet somehow these witches had stripped those inborn abilities from him with a few Latin phrases and an ancient, leather-bound book of spells.

The power these three women wielded scared the hell out of him.

"No," she agreed. "You are something more. Something special."

She walked slowly toward him, stopping mere inches away. He tried not to look down at her, because he was suddenly aware they'd taken off his shirt, and he felt very exposed to her gaze. He lifted his chin and stared over her head at the bright sunshine outside.

"I had another reason for volunteering to stay behind," she whispered. "A more personal reason. It has been a long time since I indulged in the pleasures of the flesh. Centuries. And this body... lusts for you."

She reached out a beringed hand. He glanced down, noticing that her nails were far longer than Chloe ever wore hers-- because long nails interfered with her typing speed, and Chloe was far more devoted to journalism than to fashion. The long, sharp nails had been painted black. Her hand rested against his chest, and he could feel the warmth of her palm against his skin. He tried to ignore it.

Great. Just great. Madeline was four hundred years old, and the first thing she thought about when she was resurrected from the dead was sex. Okay, if you wanted to get technical about it, the first thing she'd done had been to throw a wild party. Sex was apparently a mere second on her to-do list. Still, he really didn't like where her train of thought seemed to be heading.

"And you lust for this body," she said softly. Her hand stroked gently down his chest, across his abs, and he felt a reaction he couldn't control.

"No," he answered, hearing the harshness of his own voice. "Chloe and I are just friends."

"Friends." She laughed softly. "I have her memories, farmboy. She approached you but a few weeks ago, clad in nothing but a shirt. She kissed you and ran her hands all over your body. And you kissed her in response. Do you really think this is how friends behave?"

Her hand had continued to drift downward, and now it rested just above the waistband of his jeans. He was uncomfortably aware that his body was reacting to the feel of her hand on his skin. He didn't want to, but he was a guy, and a woman's hand in that region gave his body ideas. He struggled to ignore his burgeoning erection.

"She was under the influence of a drug," he answered, trying not to think about that night, because it didn't do much to help get his hard-on under control. Chloe had kissed him, and he'd kissed her back. He'd wanted to do more than kiss her, but he'd realized she'd been under some sort of influence, so he'd exerted his self-control and somehow managed to pry her off him.

"And yet she told you afterward that she wanted you. Didn't she?"

He couldn't deny that. He knew that Chloe wanted him. She'd said as much a few days later. But the problem was, he wasn't quite sure how he felt about her. Yeah, he'd liked kissing her an awful lot, but physical attraction wasn't a solid basis for a romance, and he was uncomfortably aware that he still had feelings for Lana Lang. He was trying hard to forget her, but he wasn't sure he could ever get rid of those feelings entirely. And he loved Chloe too much as a friend, valued her too much, to do anything that might screw up their friendship.

Chloe was his best friend. The most important person in his life besides his parents. There was no way in hell he was going to risk his friendship with her.

Her hand drifted upward. A little part of him had been hoping she'd move it downward, and he tried to stifle the disappointment that stabbed him. Because this situation was bad enough already, without making it worse.

"This body aches for yours," she said softly. "And you ache for this body."

He couldn't deny he ached. But that was just a stupid reflex, a normal reaction to a woman standing right in front of him and running her hands over him. It didn't have anything to do with the fact that the woman in question was Chloe.

Anyway, she wasn't Chloe.

But the problem was that his body didn't know that. She was close enough now that he could smell her soft vanilla fragrance, and the scent brought back flashes of Chloe sitting on his lap, pressing against him intimately, her tongue twining with his in a long, sweet kiss. Suddenly he was harder than before. A lot harder.

"No," he lied. "I don't want your body."

Her hand had come to rest on his chest. Now she suddenly curved her fingers into claws and raked downward, hard. Her long, black fingernails cut into his skin, and pain blazed through him. Since he was usually invulnerable, incapable of being injured, he wasn't accustomed to pain, and he jerked his head back and yelled with startled hurt.

"Do not defy me, farmboy," she said in that same gentle tone. "Or you will regret it."

He opened his eyes and blinked at her. She lifted her hand to her lips and began to lick his blood from her nails. Ick, he thought, but at the same time he couldn't look away from the sight of her tongue slipping out between her lips and licking her fingers clean of blood. It was scary and creepy... and yet disturbingly sensual.

And then she leaned forward and began to lick his blood from his chest.

Ugh, he thought again, but the soft touch of her tongue against his skin wasn't nearly as gross as he wanted it to be. It soothed the pain and stimulated nerves in a way he wasn't sure he wanted them stimulated. As she continued to lick him, his cock pushed hungrily against his jeans, straining the fabric. He shut his eyes and tried to ignore his body's inexplicable response, but it wasn't easy.

Her mouth moved over his chest, licking and kissing and caressing, and he felt his hard-on begin to pulse with need.

"Stop it." His voice sounded hoarse to his own ears. "Just stop it."

"You don't really want me to stop." Her tone was soft and seductive, and he was dismayed to realize she was right. Part of him, at least, didn't really want her to stop.

And there was no way of making her stop, anyway. He strained against the bonds again, but they held fast. He couldn't get away, and she could do anything she wanted to him. Anything at all.

Her tongue slid over his nipple, and he jolted involuntarily, uttering a soft gasp. She lifted her head and smiled at him, a wide, sweet smile that was very like Chloe's. "You like that."

"No," he answered defiantly. "I don't like it at all."

Her smile turned nasty and unpleasant, and suddenly she didn't look like Chloe at all. "I'm sorry to hear that," she said, and lowered her mouth to his nipple again.

And bit down, hard.

He yelled again as pain shot through him. He hated pain, damn it, and he had no idea how humans managed to bear it on a regular basis. It fucking hurt. She dug her sharp teeth into him again, harder than before, and he yowled in helpless agony.

And then she released him and began running her tongue over his nipple again.

The abused flesh was far more sensitive than it had been before, and the light touch of her tongue felt like heaven. He barely bit back another gasp. Pleasure filled him, and it was all he could do not to writhe and moan. He fought to keep himself perfectly still and silent.

Her mouth continued to work his nipple as her hands slid down his abs. She unfastened his jeans-- rather deftly, for a seventeenth-century witch, but he presumed Chloe's memories aided her. She pushed his jeans down around his thighs and shoved his boxers out of the way, then pulled back and studied his hard, thick erection with hungry eyes. She smiled up at him, looking triumphant.

"You do like what I was doing."

"I can't help reacting," he growled, annoyed by the eager way his erection was jutting upward. God, his body was stupid. "That doesn't mean I want you to do what you're doing. Stop it."

Her hand reached down, and she began to stroke his cock, very softly. It responded with a hard throb, and she laughed softly. "You don't truly wish me to stop, farmboy. You crave this body as much as it craves you."

A vision of being inside her-- of being inside Chloe-- suddenly flashed through his mind, and his body reacted with another twitch. He pressed his lips together to hold back a moan. Because he and Chloe were just friends. Just friends. He didn't want her that way. He didn't want her to touch him that way...

Her fingers slipped down his shaft, her fingernails scraping lightly over the swollen flesh, and all his thoughts scattered like dandelion fluff on the wind. She took his balls in her hand, cupping them, and played with them, alternately stroking him gently and scraping lightly. He shuddered with mingled pleasure and fear, because he knew those dangerously long fingernails could hurt him terribly if she wanted to. He wasn't invulnerable right now, and she could castrate him, or at least cause him some really significant pain.

But she didn't. She stroked his balls, scraping delicately with her fingernails, and it felt so good he couldn't stop his head from falling back against the post behind him.

"You like that, too," she murmured.

He opened his mouth to deny it, then remembered what had happened the last time he'd argued, the casual way she'd hurt him, and decided it might be prudent just to shut the hell up.

She caressed him there for a long time, until his balls felt full and heavy and swollen. Finally her fingers slid upward, caressing the thick shaft of his cock, moving upward with torturous slowness. He felt himself jerk in response, felt precome begin to leak from the tip of his cock, until he was wet with it.

Her fingernails brushed his sensitive flesh lightly, and it hurt, just a little. He was aware that she could hurt him a whole lot more, and he guessed she'd intended that as a none-too-subtle reminder. His heart pounded in a heavy, fast rhythm, and he wasn't sure if it was pounding with fear or pleasure, or both.

Her fingers wrapped around him, pulling him down just a bit, and then she fell to her knees in front of him. She leaned forward and stroked her tongue over the head of his cock, swirling it around and around.

At the soft brush of wet velvet, impossible pleasure exploded in his nerves, and heat burst in every cell of his body, making him strain wildly against the restraints. He clenched his eyes shut and ground his teeth together, fighting to keep silent.

But inside he was screaming. Oh, yes... oh, yes... oh, God, yes...

She lifted her head. He dragged his eyelids open, not without effort, to find her studying him thoughtfully.

"You taste pure and innocent," she said. "Despite your beauty, you are a virgin."

He nodded shakily. Maybe she'd leave him alone if she realized he was a virgin. He wasn't sure whether he was relieved at the thought, or disappointed.

But she smiled that nasty, unpleasant smile.

"Good," she purred. "There's nothing I enjoy more than defiling innocents."

Read Chapter 2 here.