Kinktober 2021 #26-31

Content Warnings: BDSM Fantasy, non-consensual, consensual, F/m, femdom, F/f, lesdom, F/f+, bondage, kidnapping, slavery, chains, tickling, magic, witch, vampire, kitsune, ghost, fae, angel, demon, magic, supernatural, shrinking 

Supernatural Creatures

Bridal/Brainwash 

Eileen did not brainwash her groom. She tied him up, but he liked that. It was their thing. Alex loved it when his centuries-old bride bound him, and she loved to make him cry out in pleasure and in pain. It was a wonderful relationship. Alex was shocked to learn of her long life but accepting. And for her part, Eileen never included Alex in her schemes and plots. She kept her life as a witch separate from her boyfriend, then fiancé, and now groom.

His mother though, she was a bit less understanding. She never learned anything about her future daughter-in-law’s witchcraft, but she did stumble across some pictures Alex accidentally left opened on his laptop on the day before their wedding. Eileen couldn’t totally blame her for being upset to see her son getting pegged like that, but her explosive response was totally disproportionate to the situation.

The argument kept escalating. First harsh words, then yelling and screaming, and finally…

Linda grabbed the cuffs first. That was how it started. Before long, the witch and her future mother-in-law were wrestling on the ground, trying to bind the other. Linda in an effort to make a ‘citizen’s arrest’ and Eileen to keep the crazy woman from tying her up.

It was thrilling, to be honest. Eileen had much more experience fighting, but Linda was a fit woman for her early fifties. She kept herself in shape and had recently taken up a non-combat kickboxing exercise routine. Eileen came close to losing that fight more than once. When it was done two sets of handcuffs dangled from her right wrist, neither attached to any other limb.

Linda, on the other hand, was stringently hogtied on the floor. Cuffs, rope, and a few strips of bondage tape were all haphazardly used to keep her still while she growled legal threats behind that thick ballgag.

So Eileen had to Whisper a few words to Linda. Make her forget, make her see that nothing was wrong. It was the only way to keep everything from ending in disaster.

Alex wasn’t happy when he found out, but Eileen did her best to do as little to his mother’s mind as possible. Nothing bad, but more than once person assumed the glossy look in her eye at the rehearsal that night and the ceremony the next day was the result of a few too many early drinks.

Eileen, resplendent in her simply cut lacy wedding dress, had to wonder what they would think of the chastity belt Alex was wearing beneath his tux.

Shadow/Ensnared 

The shadows were always Victoria’s favorite place to lay a trap. Call it cliché if you must, but she would always enjoy luring her prey to a dark alleyway or an out of the way corner of a house during a party.

There was one now, a doe-eyed young man who clearly felt out of place that night. Victoria wondered about it. The city could be an overwhelming place at any point in the day, much less a Saturday night on the edges of the most bar-heavy spot in town.

He looked frazzled. On edge. Victoria imagined he was not a typical drinker, that he was unused to this environment. She could be wrong, of course. Maybe he had just been through a bad break-up, or his favorite basketball team had just suffered a humiliating loss.

What Victoria did know was that he was interested. She caught his eye with a sultry look, beckoned him across the street with her finger. He blinked and looked around, unsure of his luck. He cast a confused look back to the bar, and then turned to follow Victoria into the shadows of a dark alleyway.

Ten minutes later, when Victoria had the ensnared young man at her mercy, bound and gagged and whimpering in confused fear at the sight of her growing fangs in the private

room she had set aside for herself, she decided she would keep him.

Possession/Leash 

Two years after first collecting Chairo, Kyoko the five-tailed kitsune had become pretty good at shibari. She was hardly an expert, but she could reliably put her possessions in pleasing rope harnesses.

Yes, that’s right. Possessions, plural. Kyoko owned more than one human woman now. Three in total. Hopefully she wouldn’t have to wait too long for her fourth.

The idea came to the kitsune a few months after snatching Chairo (who used to be called Tammy) from her hotel room. Kyoko had gotten her into an okay-ish harness and spread-eagled her on her four-poster bed, where she was open and vulnerable to ticking from Kyoko’s five fluffy fox tails. There were panties, a ballgag, and four or five layers of cloth around Chario’s mouth meant that Kyoko could let her possession scream and cry to her heart’s content at the tickle-torture while she played with her possession’s soft brown hair.

Why not get more?

That small thought was all Kyoko needed to decide to go out and get herself some more toys. And she decided she wanted them all to have different natural hair colors. That was why Chairo was Chairo, after all. Her hair was brown, so her new name meant brown. Why not stick to that theme? That meant Kyoko wanted at least four toys in her possession, for each of the natural human hair colors she was aware of.

Getting Kuro was easy. There were plenty of black-haired locals in Japan. To keep things interesting Kyoko wanted to stick to tourists, so she waited until she found a Japanese girl to wander up to her home in Hokkaido a few weeks later, to see the snow sculptures. Once the kitsune spotted a tall slender girl that struck her fancy it was child’s play to lure her out into a clearing and subdue her with five tails and some nice rope.

And just like that, Kaede became Kuro! Chairo got a new playmate, and once Kuro understood her new place everyone was happy!

It took more than another year before Kyoko successfully grabbed a blonde. Half the blonde tourists she ever saw were dyed, and the other half just wouldn’t let themselves get trapped. How rude!

Finally, a trip to Tokyo netted Kyoko her Burondo. She met the busty Canadian at a wrestling show, of all things. Her boyfriend was a bit of a pain to get rid of, but Kyoko knew plenty of kitsune and other youkai who would gladly accept a handsome young human man as a present.

Redheads were even more rare than blondes, so Kyoko wasn’t optimistic about her chances of netting herself an Akage anytime soon. But that was okay. She had three pets to play with in the meantime.

Kyoko sighed happily on her makeshift throne, a comfy recliner she took from a curb years ago. Her three possession Chairo, Kuro, and Burondo, were all kneeling politely beside her in arm-containing rope harnesses and leashes around their necks. It had been a pain getting Chairo and Burondo to be able to kneel for any length of time, but they could manage now.

“Alright girls,” Kyoko said in Japanese. She pulled them closer with their leashes. “I think it’s time to go for a little walk, and when we get back we can have some fun!”

She got a good spread of responses. Kuro was neutral-faced and nodded deferentially, Chairo was happy to have understood it all (her Japanese had improved immensely these past two years), and Burondo’s scowl had softened recently.

Three excellent possessions leashed and under their kitsune mistress’s command.

Life was good.

Asylum/Straitjacket 

When Joan Willis was institutionalized she found, to her total surprise, that she liked being made to wear a straightjacket. It was supposed to be a punishment or a safety measure, a method of keeping the ‘patients’ from harming themselves or others.

But to Joan, it felt snug. Wearing a straitjacket made her feel like she was being hugged or was wrapped up in a blanket by a cozy fire. She used to listen to President Roosevelt’s Fireside Chats like that.

Many of the women sent to St Augustine’s Asylum did not belong there. They were unruly daughters or embarrassing relations that were being put out of mind. Those poor girls. Joan felt terrible for them. But she herself really did belong there. She had her fits and wanted them contained rather than risk harming anyone. She was a sweet woman when not in the middle of a fit, and everyone who knew her in life knew that.

It was a different story when she became a ghost. Decades after St Augustine’s closed its doors, Joan’s spirit lingered. It took the townsfolk years to notice, but they did. And when they did, the old lunatic asylum was, of course, a prime place for teenagers to show off how brave they were.

Most of them never experienced anything too bad. They would hear the cries of Joan Willis, moaning in what they thought was pain but was really pleasure. Maybe someone would see something move in the corner of their eye and think Joan was struggling against her restraints, rather than wriggling happily in them. Then they would leave and gradually convince themselves it was all in their heads.

But sometimes Joan would spot one of them like her. Teenage girls and boys the spirit of Joan sensed might enjoy her cozy straitjackets the same way she did. They would come back when they were older, drawn by a sense of warmth their friends never described. When they were done wandering the halls they would leave, and when they slept their dreams were filled with straitjackets.

Fairy Tale/Shrunk 

Once upon a time, a human did what so many humans did and foolishly went where he was not supposed to go. Oh sure, humans told each other not to cross into fairy rings on fairy mounds, but they never seemed to take those warnings seriously anymore.

The little folk who once lived in the Green Lady’s hill would play tricks on the humans who crossed into their home. Nothing bad, just mischievous. Pranks and amusing inconveniences.

The Green Lady did things differently when she took the hill for herself. She did not abide by trespassers. When a foolish young man wandered into her secret places the renegade Fae criminal would ensure they did not leave.

She liked to look at them, her little crystal traps. The sight of the shrunken little mortals contained inside, at her mercy and squirming for her amusement, always lifted the Green Lady’s spirits.

Demon/Angel 

Angels really liked chains.

Oh, sure, they said they didn’t actually like them. But they sure seemed to use them a whole lot. Sinners accosting the gates of their Celestial City? Chains. A Fae lord drifts a little too far out of his spiritual boundaries? Chains. A demoness uses just a teensy tiny bit of magic on some jerk while out and about on earth?

You guessed it. Chains!

“I wasn’t trying to kidnap him!” Pantea protested. “Or have sex with him, or even kiss him! I just wanted him to stop holding up the line at the gas station!”

And it seemed the punishment for that miniscule bit of hypnosis was immobilizing metal bondage. Chains were only the beginning of Pantea’s bondage. Her wrists and ankles, elbows and knees were all attached to each other by short lengths of it, too thick to budge by even the smallest amount.

More than the chains were the metal frame they were attached to. It was a stiff contraption, lining up neatly against Pantea’s spine, from its base all the way up to the top where its shape fit her neck. Two steel arms jutted out behind her with still more cuffs and chains binding her arms to them. And Pantea’s muscular legs, covered in leather pants and high heeled leather boots, were folded tightly in on themselves with more angelic steel binding them to the central part of the frame.

The only relatively free parts of Pantea’s body were her fingers, which were of no use, and her head. But even that was limited by the sturdy metal collar at the bright red succubi’s neck, and the final lengths of chain attaching her sharp horns back down to the frame.

The angel Cassiel looked on, unsympathetic. She was tall, her muscular frame outlined by armor forged of the same chains Pantea was now bound in. Massive wings spread out behind her, and golden-red hair burned like the sun atop her head.

“The man is in jail,” she said simply. “Entirely due to your law-breaking, through no fault of his own. As punishment, you will remain bound for as long as he is incarcerated.”

Pantea snorted. Cassiel was always all business.

“This is payback,” the succubi declared. “Don’t lie, Cassiel. You’re just getting back at me for that time I had you squirming in all that leather back in—aaaagh!”

The metal bit had not come out of nowhere. It was the only unused part of the frame. Pantea was still surprised when the two pieces snapped forward and together, forcing a silencing metal bit into her mouth.

Cassiel’s eyes flashed with a satisfaction that did nothing to convince Pantea she was mistaken in her guess that the angel wanted payback.

“You likely won’t be here long,” said the angel. “It’s only a drunken disordly charge, and his first offense at that. He will no doubt be let out in the morning.”

The sun was only just starting to set.

“Farewell, Pantea of Sumer.”

The angel vanished in a burst of flame.

Pantea huffed, then resigned herself to what was happening. She settled into the frame, squirming as much as the unyielding metal would allow. It was hard, but the succubi managed to hide the happy little sigh she made.

Demons liked chains too.