Spellbound, Chapter 4

Clark/Madeline/Chloe
Season 4, "Spell"
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 closed his eyes and braced himself for an onslaught of agony, but nothing happened.

"You continue to surprise me, farmboy," she said, her voice as soft and dangerous as ever. "You are braver than most men I've encountered....although perhaps less intelligent."

He was uncomfortably aware that without his abilities, he wasn't brave at all. He was terribly aware of his vulnerability and weakness. In fact, he was a big coward. Her long nails still rested on his very vulnerable flesh, and he was so scared he was shaking.

He certainly wasn't the hero he'd always wanted to be. He was a wimp.

But yeah, he was definitely none too bright, or he wouldn't be standing here trying to defy a woman who'd tear his balls off without a second thought.

"But what you don't seem to understand," she went on, "is that I am the mistress here... and you are the slave."

The word angered him, despite his intention to act submissive, and he felt his lips pull back from his teeth in a snarl. "I'm not anyone's slave."

"Yes, farmboy," she murmured. "You are mine."

She pulled her hand away, to his immense relief, and stepped back two paces. Standing directly in front of him, she ripped off her black dress. She was entirely nude beneath it, and she stood in front of him wearing nothing but her heavy gold jewelry. Her rosy nipples hardened in the cool air, and he couldn't help staring at her.

God, Chloe was beautiful. He was a fool to have turned her down when she'd approached him.

Madeline's hand reached out and slid downward, brushing across his lower abdomen, and to his surprise and chagrin, his body reacted. He felt his flaccid penis twitch again despite the cold, and he shut his eyes.

God help him. He didn't want to go through this again.

But between his utter physical exhaustion and the cold breeze blowing over his exposed flesh, his body didn't respond much. Thank God for small favors, he thought. He knew she might punish him for failing to please her, but he figured that was preferable to being forced to have sex with her again.

Her hand lifted and brushed over his cheek. "Adcresco," she said softly.

To his dismay, his cock instantly started to harden. Her fingers wrapped around him, and she began to caress him, her hand moving from the base to the tip, in gentle, relentless strokes. His erection swelled, growing taut and almost painfully hard. One hand continued to stroke the shaft, and the other reached out and began to trace light circles around the engorged head. He shivered again, but not from cold.

"You see?" she said softly. "You don't want to be left alone. Not at all."

"That's not true." He spoke hoarsely. "You did this to me. You cast a spell."

She'd touched his cheek when she cast the spell, he realized. Every time. The other witch-- Isobelle-- had cast spells with the ancient leather-bound book she carried. But apparently they could cast spells by touching, too. Which meant if he ever got loose, he needed to stay out of their reach.

And if Isobelle returned, he'd need to destroy the book, too. Probably easier said than done, considering he had no powers. He doubted they'd let him get close enough to it to destroy it.

But he had to try.

Her hand squeezed gently, and pleasure surged through him. "I cast a spell," she acknowledged. "But you want me to touch you."

He spoke through bared teeth. "I told you before, I can't help the way my body reacts. That doesn't mean I want you."

"But you do want me, farmboy. You crave the pleasure I bring you, as well as the pain."

"I don't like pain."

Her fingernails suddenly dug deep into the soft, sensitive skin at the tip of his cock, and he yelled, arching his body in an instinctive effort to get away from her. She stopped, and he gasped in relief, his eyes stinging with involuntary tears. She began smoothing her fingers over the skin again.

"Relief from pain intensifies pleasure," she said softly. "Pain itself intensifies pleasure."

And maybe she was right, because the touch of her fingers suddenly felt much better than it had before. His skin had been sensitive before, but now every caress of her fingers overwhelmed him. He had to struggle to hold back a moan.

Her hand kept working the shaft of his erection, and he couldn't help watching her small, white hand moving against his darker skin. She hadn't actually cut into him, but there were dark red crescents where her fingernails had dug into him. He'd have bruises there later. But her brutal treatment didn't stop his body from responding to her hands. He saw his cock beginning to shudder, saw precome beginning to seep from the slit at the tip. Intense pleasure surged through him, and he set his jaw, trying to ignore it.

"You're about to climax," she whispered.

"No," he answered stubbornly. "I'm not."

She moved her hand a little faster, and her other hand moved down to stroke and caress his balls, and it felt so good he had to fight back an orgasm. He ground his back teeth together, so hard he was surprised the molars didn't shatter, and tried to recite the periodic table in his head.

"Stop fighting me." Her hand slowed down, letting him get as far as hydrogen, and then she sped up again, and his brain gave up the struggle. There was a naked woman standing in front of him, touching him intimately, and that was all he was capable of thinking about right now.

Her fingers slid through the moisture on the head of his cock and began to caress it gently, while her other hand began to pump him hard and fast, sending wild spasms of pleasure through him. He tried to hold back the orgasm that threatened, but he couldn't quite remember why he ought to fight her any more. His body needed release, his balls hurt, and his cock was swollen painfully. His physical need had reached a point where he just couldn't struggle against it any longer.

He leaned his head back, closed his eyes, and gave in.

The pressure grew, deep in his balls, and he gave a long groan, all his physical pain forgotten. This was all he wanted, all he needed. The touch of her hands was magic, figuratively as well as literally, and he couldn't resist the pleasure she offered.

His voice rose in a long, strangled cry of need and pleasure. Ah, God, I'm coming, he thought, thrusting eagerly against her hand.

But suddenly her hand released him, and he sobbed in frustration, his body trembling with agonized need.

"The stone of power," she said softly. "Where is it?"

Goddamn it. He'd forgotten all about the fact that she was trying to find the stone of power. He struggled to focus his mind, to remember that she was his enemy, and that she wanted to make the world cower at her feet. There was a lot more at stake here than his physical needs. The stone was his responsibility, and he couldn't let it fall into evil hands, no matter what.

"Go to hell," he said through his teeth.

"So stubborn." She stroked a finger down the swollen shaft of his penis, and he twisted and whimpered despite himself. God, he was pathetic. "I could enjoy breaking you, farmboy, over the course of many days. I so enjoy making men kneel at my feet. But I do need to find the stone of power, before Isobelle and Brianna manage to stumble upon it. Tell me where you have hidden it."

He ignored the frantic throbbing of his cock and shook his head stubbornly.

She touched him again, very lightly, driving him so near orgasm he couldn't think, couldn't breathe. He leaned his head back against the support, struggling to push the pleasure away, to get control of himself.

She took a step forward and pressed her naked body against his, trapping his cock between their bodies, against the warm, soft flesh of her abdomen. He could smell her vanilla scent, and instantly he grew even harder.

Chloe, he thought.

"Clark," she whispered. "Kiss me."

He was half out of his mind with longing and desire, and at the sound of his name, uttered in Chloe's voice, he couldn't stop himself from responding. "Chloe," he whispered, and let his lips touch hers.

Her lips tasted delicious, and his body responded with a throb of need like nothing he'd ever felt before. Not just sexual need, but emotional need. He wanted her, wanted Chloe, desperately. He wanted Chloe back. He wanted his friend, the one person he relied on more than any other, the girl he admired more than anyone else on the planet.

And, he admitted to himself for the first time, the girl he wanted to make love to.

"Demonstra," she whispered against his lips, brushing her hand over his cheek, and kissed him again.

Her lips parted, and his tongue slid into her mouth and touched hers, almost shyly. He wasn't really an expert on the kissing thing, but the brush of their tongues together felt perfect, and he instantly flashed on the way Chloe had kissed in his loft a few weeks ago. She had pressed against him exactly this way, although he'd been wearing jeans, and her mouth had touched his and her tongue had twined together with his. She'd tasted sweet, like brown sugar and cinnamon and honey. She tasted just as good now, maybe even better, her sweetness mingled with the taste of sex, and he groaned, thrusting his tongue into her mouth the way he ached to thrust into her body. His cock pulsed against her abdomen, and he rubbed mindlessly against her. Chloe...

No, not Chloe. Madeline. His mind drifted reluctantly back to the present, to the big mess he was trapped in, and he remembered his surroundings, and lifted his head from hers.

To his bewilderment, a pink mist eddied from his mouth and surrounded her, and he heard his own voice whisper hoarsely, even though he hadn't said a damn thing.

"The cave."

Madeline smiled sweetly up at him. "Thank you, farmboy. You've been very helpful."

He gaped at her, feeling stupid. Worse than stupid. She'd totally outmaneuvered him. He'd forgotten for a moment who he was dealing with, what he was dealing with, and she'd used magic to get the truth out of him.

And he'd cooperated.

Damn it. Damn it. God, he was stupid.

"Because you helped me, farmboy, I will give you what you crave." Her smile changed subtly, shifting from sweetness to a terrifying cruelty. "But because you dared to defy me, I will make you suffer at the same time."

One hand wrapped around his swollen, aching cock and began to pump hard. With her other hand, she reached up to his chest and began to scratch his already lacerated flesh with her wickedly sharp nails. He writhed in a terrible mixture of pain and ecstasy, hearing his own voice raised in a long, anguished scream.

Being clawed again hurt like hell, and blood trickled down his chest and abdomen. But at the same time he came in endless, violent spurts, his cock throbbing and twitching and jerking as hard as if he hadn't come in weeks. Thick, white come splattered against her bare belly and breasts, in spurt after spurt, and for some reason coming all over her made his orgasm that much more intense. She kept stroking him with firm, steady strokes, kept scratching him, and the rapture and pain went on and on, while he sobbed and screamed and cursed.

Some time later-- minutes or hours, he wasn't sure which-- she released him, and he fell back against the support beam, gasping roughly for breath. As the pleasure receded, pain rolled through him, and the world went hazy and dark. He swallowed hard against the sudden nausea and dizziness that assailed him.

"I must go find the stone of power now," she said, lazily licking his blood from her fingers. He noticed there was quite a lot of it, all over her hand, and the nausea grew stronger. "But I will leave you here, farmboy. Once I have secured the crystal, and the others have bowed at my feet, I will be back to avail myself of your beautiful body." She smiled up at him, a cruel glint in her eyes. "And this time, you will learn your proper place."

She found a cloth, wiped off her stomach, and pulled the dress over her head, then walked from the barn. Despite the charcoal gray flickering at the edges of his vision, he watched her go, afraid to look away, afraid that she might change her mind and turn around, so that she could hurt him further.

God, he hated her. And it was a terrible, painful thing to hate someone who was wearing the face of your best friend. But he couldn't help it. She'd hurt him, hurt Chloe, and he loathed her. He strained against the shackles, wanting desperately to stop her, to save the world from her cruelty. But all he succeeded in doing was making his chest and shoulders hurt worse than before.

Once she was gone, and he was certain she wasn't coming back anytime soon, he looked down at his chest. God, he was an awful mess. She'd clawed him pretty badly this time, and his torn flesh hurt like hell. Blood still trailed sluggishly down his stomach and thighs. No wonder he felt dizzy.

He was used to being invulnerable, and the sight of his own blood was suddenly more than he could take. His stomach roiled, and he bowed his head and threw up violently.

And then the gray haze filled his mind, and he collapsed back against the support beam and fell into merciful oblivion.

Read Chapter 5 here.