I sigh. An errant lock flutters in the stream of my pent up air. My glasses fog. Chemistry 101 is kind of like potions. Mix weird ingredients, get weird results but...

I sigh again and stuff my chemistry textbook into my bag. It's a late lecture so there are fewer students than many earlier classes. The lecture hall empties rapidly. I shoulder my bag and trip tiredly down the auditorium stair to the ground floor. Everything seems dull, depressed, ordinary, mundane. I live amongst the mundane. I've been to the world beyond the veil. I'd only been gone for a couple of months. It's not like it's even someplace else, it's just, some people can perceive a world steeped in magic. Returning to live amongst those that can't, shouldn't feel like this. It's so messed up.

I still have my mandala—my witch-mark. I know of no way to get rid of that. I had it before I was accepted to Wyndwood School of Arcana. It's a part of me. I can still cast spells—the few I learned—with the miniscule essence I generate but I don't dare. I fled the veil. Doing magic in the mundane world is not forbidden. I mean, our worlds are barely separated. I can catch an Uber to Wyndwood and the mundane driver wouldn't even notice we'd gone to a school for spellcraft. But using magic draws attention. A coven will find me, or worse, a warlock. I'll be collared and bound. Cohyn freeing me will have been for nothing.

I shiver, because there is something in me that really, really craves a collar—even though I rejected mine.

I miss magic. I miss Wyndwood. I miss Cohyn. I miss being collared. I miss the weird freaky shit Cohyn had me do. The beads he shoved in my ass before class had a purpose. Humiliation, discomfort and pleasure powered me—and by extension, him. I was okay with it even when I turned the color of an overripe strawberry—cheeks to butt. I was not okay with having zero choice, no agency, no ability to say no. The bond compelled me. I'm a bottom. I'm submissive. I trade in trust. Compulsion is not submission. I don't care how good it was or how I felt. Orgasms do not equal love. Love trusts. Love frees. Love is not slavery.

It's winter in Seattle, so I slip on my jacket as I leave Johnson Hall. My coat is poofy and will keep me dry—mostly. In Seattle its best if you just get used to being a little damp all the time. I stop just inside the doors to free my hair from under my coat.

It's almost six, damp and dreary-dark outside. The sun has set. A tired slice of moon tries and fails to cut through Seattle's wet, winter blanket. Tomorrow there will be a New Moon. Tomorrow night there'll be a ritual at Wyndwood to welcome the new cycle. Tonight a flimsy sliver of silver light ripples off the still waters in Drumheller Fountain, which, in my experience, is never ever on—except during student orientation week.

I walk under the third floor wing that connects Suzzallo to Allen. The gothic construction of the two libraries looks similar but...Suzzallo has been around for a century, Allen might be thirty-five. Even a mundane can just feel the difference. Suzzallo reminds me of Wyndwood. I heard somewhere that it holds three-million books. I'm not sure I believe that but it freaking sucks when you reserve a book you think you need and it turns out to be written in Latin. Allen is nice, but it's not the same.

I walk on. Cutting through Red Square might've been a faster path to my dorm room in Hagget but I like the tiny garden squashed in the space tucked behind Suzzallo and Smith. When it's sunny and warm it's a beautiful, quite, hidden, out-of-the-way place to study.

I stop just inside of the shelter provided by the library "bridge" above me and glance about. Lights are on in the libraries on both sides and above. I can see students studying on the other side of the windows. Out here, I'm alone. I can probably walk through the small, forested park in front of me in under a minute.

It's dark. It's shadowed. It's small. It's hidden. I love it in there. Right now, after dark, it seems like Arboretum across the Union Bay Canal—as in, a really good place to be raped. Well, not a good place. No place is a good place for that, but, you know what I mean.

Not that that's happened in Grieg Garden before. Not that I know of. I glance about again and consider back tracking or maybe cutting towards the HUB. The lawn is open that way. But it's wet and cold and will take longer. It's Seattle with its perpetual drizzle mist. I want to be inside where I can cozy up on my bed in my jammies. I need to study. It'll take me under thirty seconds to speed walk through Grieg Garden.

I glance about one last time—I'm alone—and make a break for it.

One pace. Six strides. Twenty-three paces. I'm half way through.

A gust of damp wind rattles the trees around me. Wet, winter leaves, half rotted on their trees, rip free and swirl on the path behind me before they join their sodden brethren on the ground. Phantom tattoo needles jam into my witch-mark, and given where that's located, it freaking hurts.

But it's a warning. Someone is using magic—a lot of magic. Witches can't do that much magic—not alone. Maybe a warlock, but he'd have no control over it. A witch and a warlock, bound in a coven? I suck in a frightened breath in order to belt out my loudest scream.

I hesitate. I don't actually know I'm in danger. How would I explain it?

"Blakely." The voice is low, deep, rumbly. It sends a shiver down my spine. I'm both frightened and...

...aroused. I turn slowly, knowing who I'll see. Asher stops, three paces away. He's tall. He's alpha. He's musclely. He can only be here because he wants to bind me. I almost want him to bind me. Cohyn is my man but Asher—I—oh, God. I clench.

"Where's your witch-mark?" Again, a shiver runs down my spine. I try not to squirm. It's weird he doesn't know, because I thought the entire witch world had figured that out.

"That's not your business." My voice starts weak but grows stronger. Hoping he doesn't notice, I press my knees together. Asher is almost entirely white. The only color is his eyes, which are whiskey gold. I find that odd, because I though albinos were supposed to have pinkish-red eyes. Despite his pallor, I find him intensely attractive. My nipples pebble and I don't know how they don't drill their way through my bra. Perhaps I have the Super Smash Brothers of bras—padded nipple deflection plus two.

"If I'm going to bind you, I need to know." He smirks. "I need you to show me."

An ache awakens low, too low, in my core. "I—I don't want you to bind me." I take a shaky step back.

"You want to go home, don't you?"

Yes. Ohmigod. Yes. So bad. "I know how to Uber."

A low chuckle rolls out of Asher's chest. He's wearing a North Face jacket, but it's open. Even in the dim light, I see his oblique and abs and pecs flex under his shirt. It looks like a tee but it's so tight it might be a compression shirt. Drool pools, because I have some messed up vision about tracing his abs with my tongue. Heat stings my cheeks, which makes it worse, because I have this embarrassment thing that I don't understand. It's not quite a shame kink, but, make me think about sex and blush at the same time and...ohmigod.

"Blakely, you know what will happen if you show up to school unbound."

I close my eyes, because I do. Seventeen covens and at least that many warlocks will be waiting for me. I won't have gone three steps before I'm forcibly bound. The ride-service driver won't even be out of the parking-lot before the witch war starts. There is something about me and my mark and the fact that it is right over a chakra that makes me less a person and more an asset in the witch world.

Of course, to the coven families, everyone is an asset, so I'm not special in that way. I shake my head, trying to clear the uncertainty. "C-Cohyn will come get me."

Asher takes a couple of careful steps, like he thinks I might flee. He's right. I might. He reaches out and tilts my chin. I'm trembling, but I don't pull away. "You know he won't. He released you."

A sob wells up. Asher leans over me. I'm crying. And vulnerable. And while things have never worked between us, that doesn't seem to matter right now. My lips part.

The kiss is wet with my tears, but he tastes clean, like distilled water and spicy cinnamon. Our tongues slick. He nips my lip. Fire worms through me and I...

...step closer.

Asher breaks our kiss. He's still holding my chin. Tears continue to leak from my eyes but my boobs move against him as I cycle my breath. I'm tingly. Light headed. He's warm and I want to melt into him. I go up on my toes.

Asher takes a step back. "Mandala, Blakely."

Right. Mandala. My witch-mark. He's here to bind me into a coven. Leash bind me. It's what Cohyn did to me that I didn't like. I squeeze my eyes closed. I want to go back. Yes, I'll be giving up some things, but I'll giving up things if I stay here too. I can stand to be bonded. I can stand to be bonded to him. I just wish...

It doesn't matter what I wish. I fill my chest. Let out a heavy breathe. I pop the button at the top of my fly. My witch-mark is on my root. I pretty much need to flash Asher my cunt to show him my mandala.

"So it's true," Asher says when I've pulled down my panties. He sounds awed. My cheeks burn and I look away. Counterpoint heat worms through my core. I'm not wet yet, but it's only a matter of time.

"May I?"

He's asking if he may touch me—my mandala. It's less than a quarter inch above my button. My witch-mark has a pain, pleasure and humiliation notes. I have a submissive harmonic. Cohyn had been trying to foster obedience as well. I don't know if I'm a bottom because of my witch-mark or my witch-mark is the way it is because I'm a bottom. Maybe both?

I swallow. I nod. Asher is going to be my master—pretty much my owner. In some ways, I won't be much more than a pet—a valuable, even powerful pet, but still, a pet. He'll want to know how to activate my mandala. He'll want to know how to keep me supplying that energy that permits all witches and warlocks to control essence—magic—so he can tap into any time he wants—just like I'll be able to tap into his essence any time I want. He gifts me essence, I reward him control so long as my witch-mark is activated.

He puts his hand under me, so his fingers are like, right there. I bite my lip.

"Look at me."

I shake my head.

"Blakely"

His voice is deep, alpha, growly. I can't help it. His voice compels me. I look at him. Meet his eyes. A sliver of moonlight reflects on a lens of my glasses. His thumb slides over my witch-mark. It's so close—oh God—so close to my clit. He feeds essence into my mark and I don't know what feels better, the tight ache humming in my button, or the rainbow sparkles dancing under his thumb.

Asher's eyes never leave mine. I blush when he touches a note.

"Embarrassment?" he asks.

I give the tiniest nod. I wince when he touches the next.

"Pain?"

I have a weird relationship with pain. Inflicted right, it gets mixed up with pleasure. I whimper.

"Yes." My mouth forms the word, but no sound comes out. He's studying me, so he understands. He moves to my third note.

My legs tremble. My lashes flutter. My fuck tunnel leaks. A hot breath exits my chest on a wet "Oh."

"Pleasure." It's not a question. "Fuck you're perfect."

Wait until you find my harmonic.

Submission. Submission is my harmonic. And maybe obedience. I'm like a warlock's wet dream. I mean, I already was because I wasn't bound, but this, this is the stuff kinks are made of and I like them all. Well, maybe not all, but most. I don't want to crawl on the floor, lick boots, be body shamed, be pissed on or not rate a bed, but, yeah, I'd welcome a lot of other things. Asher moves his thumb. His eyes flash and I know he's found it.

"Why the fuck did Cohyn free you?" It's a rhetorical question. Asher knows. Everyone knows. Cohyn freed me because I asked him to. A tear burns a hot path down my cheek.

Asher's hand leaves me. I shuffle an involuntary step toward him, my cunt chasing his hand. I mew in embarrassment and glance about, looking at anything but him. Heat flashes through me because something is freaking wrong with me. I start to pull my pants up.

"Leave them down." The edges of Asher's words are squared. His voice, sharp.

I freeze.

"Good girl."

I gasp. My chest tightens. I struggle to catch my breath. My fuck tunnel leaks.

Asher chuckles. I blush. Yeah, he knows what he did to me. I feel his magic coiling, like rope, ready to bind me, leash me, own me. The touch is subtle and tightly controlled. Asher should not have this much finesse on his own. Cohyn could only do this when I was bound to him. My gaze rockets to meet his eyes.

"How?" I blurt.

"You're not the only unbound witch anymore. Well, maybe you are, again. I bound Selena."

Selena. She's a witch. Um, I mean, bitch. A, uh, witch bitch. Her coven, the bitch brigade, had been a coven of four. Someone, something, had shattered their bonds. It nearly broke the girls.

An affinity bond can be broken. Although harder, a leash bond can be broken. A powerful warlock might've been able to pry one of the girls from the coven—if she wanted it. But shatter four bonds at once? Leash or affinity? Against their will? That shouldn't have been possible. No one thought it could be done. I don't want to be in a coven with Selena.

Do I have a choice? I supposed I do. There's always a choice. Just not always choices I want to make.

"Ash..." I break off. I'm not sure I want to do this. I don't know what I want.

"Would you like me to tie you up? Take your decision away from you?" A coiled rope of essence, it slides over me. It's a reminder of Asher's power—Selena's control. If Asher was going to force me, I'd already be trussed. I know from experience, I can be hog tied with just a thought.

God. Yes please. I take a hasty glance up and down the dark, tree shrouded path.

Asher smirks. "You like the idea of being helpless. Of being seen. Of being caught."

I'm on fire. My boobs are like five pounds too heavy. There's a sticky wet heat between my thighs. It's humiliating, but, he's right. I like it. I more than like it. I lick my lips.

"Blakely, do you want me to bond you?" Asher's voice is bumpy, growly. Even a pace or two away, I feel the reverb. I feel... It makes me feel... Oh God, I feel a fluttering inside. This is insane. Some part of me wants to giggle.

"Blakely?"

I make the barest jerk with my chin.

"And tie you up?"

Again. A wobble of my head.

"Blakely, words. Use your words."

"Why?" My mouth forms the word. No sound comes out. I have to say it a second time.

"Because you are going to do what I say, because I told you too, because you want to and not because the bond forced you too."

Ohmigod. Fuck. Effing a! Fuck. I squirm, desperate. That's what I wanted from Cohyn. Why hadn't he understood that?

"Yes."

"Yes, what?"

"Tie me up. Fuck me. Bond me."

Asher's lips bow in a crooked grin. "What else, pet?"

Oh. The sound warbles in my head. I shiver. The apex of my thighs slides, one side against the other. My crotch is a sticky, slick mess. "Master," I whisper.

"Good girl." Asher's lips crash into mine. My entire body shakes. I squeeze my eyes closed. I almost come. I start to strip. He puts a hand on mine.

He turns me, places a hand on my ass and walks me towards an intersecting path. I waddle a little, because he hasn't told me I can pull up my pants. The path leads to a small glade in the park that, while we'll still be exposed to passing traffic, is a little more private. There're two benches and a patch of grass. I'm familiar with it because it's where I like to study. He turns me around and he doesn't have to say it. I know now is when my clothes are supposed to come off.

I drop my gaze to my shoes. I unzip my coat and drop it to the grass.

"Eyes up. Look at me, Blake."

I force my gaze to meet his. It's hard. We've never been lovers and I'm already feeling vulnerable. An unhappy pressure, balls up in my chest. My eyes sting and my vision goes watery—and not just from the raindrops on my glasses. I continue to strip. The burning in my cheeks, my discomfort, makes me as horny as hell. I clench. I try not to let Asher see me shiver, but he's staring in my eyes. He knows.

When I'm naked I gather up my hair and put my hands behind my head. I pull my elbows as far as I can which makes other things...jut. It puts me on full display. It's humiliating. But I just do it. It's what Doms expect when they acquire a new plaything.

Asher smirks but doesn't give me the "good girl" I had hoped for. His hand brushes up my side. It tickles. I force myself still. He gives his palm a moment on my side boob. I shiver. A thumb circles my nip. It pinches. It peaks. I bite my lip.

Asher circles me, inspecting the goods. He touches me here. Brushes me there. He taps the inside of my thighs so that I'll spread wider. When he comes back around front he pushes my button.

Something winds up tight, so tight, in my love buzzer. Hot slick pools in my fuck tunnel.

"Good girl."

Oh, God. I buck one time. I have to force myself not to come. I'm pretty sure my Master would be pissed, so pissed.

"Kneel."

I sink to my knees, ankles together, thighs wide. I'm glad Asher brought me to the grass. When it comes to being on my knees? Wet grass beats asphalt path. I arch, just a little, back, so I can hold his gaze. I'm pretty sure I'm about to be face fucked. That's okay. I'm getting desperate to move things along. Humiliation might turn me into a hot puddle of girl juice but I don't actually want to be caught naked and being fucked, outdoors, on University grounds. Besides, I want to come. I really hope my Master lets me.

Shit. I'm already thinking of Asher as Master. Which, I suppose I should, because he is. But we haven't exchanged a contract. That should be a full stop. But for some reason, I'm not freaked out. Besides, a contract is pointless once I'm bound. Asher unbuckles his belt. I drop my chin and slide my tongue out.

His hand goes behind my head, trapping my own hands there. He uses his other hand to line himself up. He's on the bigger end of the scale. I read in a study somewhere that six-and-a-half inches is pretty much max unless a guy is doing some sort of augmentation. Whites, blacks and tall men have a slight advantage. Asher is tall. He's white—like vampire white. His cock is girthy too. I open as wide as I can to make room. He nudges me forward.

I gurgle and sputter. I swallow hard in order to suppress my gag reflex when he hits the back of my throat. My lower body rocks. Ohmigod. I squirm. Me and pleasure and humiliation and pain have such a totally messed up relationship. I swallow several more times trying to get more of the man mastering me down my throat.

"Blakely, eyes."

I look up. It's difficult because my nose is smushed up against his pelvic bone. It's hard to see past his jacket. It's impossible to see past his chin. I gurgle "I'm trying," around his dick. The only sounds that come out are wet, sloppy gobbledygook. Asher jacks my head back and forth a handful of times. He swells in my mouth—I didn't think he could get bigger—until he must be painfully hard. He pulls my head back. A wet pop sounds as my lips release his cock. He pulls me back far enough I can finally meet his gaze. He's all fractured because my glasses are covered in misty raindrops.

Asher released my head. I sway forward not expecting it. He strides over to a park bench. I stay where I'm at because I haven't been summoned.

"Lap, reverse cowgirl." He slides down on his seat, presumably to give me room. I leap to obey.

"Hands behind your head! Keep them there." Asher's words are a bark followed by a growl. I hastily put my hands back up blushing that I had failed at such a simple task.

"You were going to tie them."

"Only if you can't be a good girl."

Ohmigod, ohmigod, ohmigod. I turn around and sit.

I didn't line myself up. Nor did he. He slides up my butt crack. I hot dog a few times, trying to find an angle.

"Ash? Master?"

"You can do it, Blake."

Ugh. Apparently, I'm supposed to fuck myself today. Not the first time a master has made me do that. I rise up and sink down again.

This time he slides up my other crack. His tip hits my launch button and I, well, almost launch. Something tight, tight, tight twists up in my core and my chest. Maybe Asher would let me do this.

No. No way. Of course he wouldn't. I make another attempt.

Apparently, thirteenth time is the charm. My thighs are burning from doing too many squats. His head catches at my entrance.

I carefully wiggle. I push. He slips, just a little. I wiggle again and push some more.

I'm dripping girl juice. His stick is slick with my spit. Asher slips in. Thank God!

I push the rest of the way down and just sit. I need a rest. I'm full. I'm stretched. My core throbs. My fuck tunnel throbs. My clit throbs. That spot just inside my entrance? That other spot so deep I can only reach it with a dildo? They're sending me signals that have me desperate. If I could touch my clit, if Asher would touch my clit, I could come and then fully focus on his pleasure.

"Make yourself come, Blakely. Ruin your orgasm."

No. No. No! NO! "Master! Please!" I hiccup sob. Hot wet tracks down my cheeks. Orgasm control is the best...and the worst. Forced orgasms, denied orgasms, orgasms on demand after edging way too long. I've done them all. Done skillfully, I can be humiliated, made vulnerable and totally blissed out.

Ruined orgasms? Vulnerable, vulnerable, humiliated, vulnerable. No blissed out. I will lady blue ball ache—for hours. I'll burst into tears with no warning, with no apparent trigger, for days. "Please, Master," I beg again. "No."

"Do you want to safeword?"

Yes. Yes, I do. Ruined orgasm is something I'd normally permit...just, not now? It's my first time with Asher as a master. I'm letting him bond me. I'm naked, in a dinky little park, on my college campus. I'm fucking myself, on his dick, reverse cowgirl with my hands behind my head while he's totally clothed except his dick. I already feel vulnerable.

"If you do," Asher continued, "I will not force you. This can be over. You can get dressed. I'll go back to my coven. You can go back to your dorm."

WHAT! He'd not bond me? He'd not take me with him? I'm on his dick because I messed up when I asked Cohyn to release my bond. I. Want. To. Go. Home.

I start to cry, in earnest. I rise up. I sink down. It's going to be hard not being able to touch my clit.

"Master—" The word is wet—meek. "I don't know if I can." I've never had a ruined orgasm without someone touching my clit, either myself or my Dom, and then removing stimulation at that last possible moment.

Even for me, it was not a good feeling. Having my body do its thing without stimulation bordered on pain. If having an orgasm was like a spring winding tighter and tighter and tighter until it snapped, a ruined orgasm was like the same spring winding tighter and tighter and tighter until the wire bent, knotted up but never broke. My toes would still curl. My fingers would still claw. My core would still flutter and although I'd not squirt, my cunt would still juice.

But I'd cry. So much. I would cry so, so much. I'll need aftercare for days.

"You can," he said. Asher's voice was surprisingly gentle. I rock, trying to find an angle where he'll chisel my front wall or I'll have no hope in doing as he demands if he doesn't help with my clit. I rise and fall feeling the pressure within me grow. I'm close, but it's not enough.

"I can't," I say again. I'm wound up tight. So tight. He could probably tell me to come and I would. But mentally triggered? How would I stop it? How would I have a ruined orgasm?

"Tell yourself to come."

"But I—"

"Then tell yourself to stop."

My mouth opens and closes. I don't know what to say, what words to make. A ruined orgasm because I allowed it, or even did it when I was told to, is one of the hardest sex things I do. Giving myself a trigger to ruin my orgasms? I can't even. It doesn't compute.

I don't want it to compute. But I'm a bottom. My Master has commanded. I'm not going to safeword.

I relax my hold on, well, everything. Come I command myself.

My thighs tremble. My toes tremble. My fingers knot in my hair so tight my scalp hurts. My core flutters. I wash Asher's cock with my girl juice. For the first time, Asher participates by grabbing my hips and jabbing up inside me. His fingers are so tight I'll have bruises. His tip bounces on that spot deep, deep inside me. He's coming too.

I scream. The sound doesn't make it past my lips but it shrieks in my head. I force myself not to clench. I tremble. The ache builds. It's so hard. I almost can't do it. I shake my head trying to force the pleasure, that's right there, down. I bite my lip so hard I taste blood.

"Oh fuck. Blakely, that was good. You're such a good girl."

No, no, no, no. I love being called a good girl by my Dom. He's not helping. He knows it

I squirm. I try to rise off his lap but he holds me down. I'm desperate. Past desperate. I'm going to orgasm. No, that's wrong. I am orgasming. But here, in like a millisecond, it's going to stop being a ruined one.

"Ohmigod. Ohmigod. Ohmigod," I whisper pant. I sag, still right there. My body is still shaking. While it hasn't been pleasurable, it's not yet a ruined orgasm, my body tries to tip me over again.

"No," I sob. My butt thrusts back on Asher's lap. My back arches. My head falls behind me and bonks Asher's face. Hopefully I didn't bloody my master's nose. My body tries to defy my mind's commands.

I'm a good girl. I'm obedient. I can handle humiliation. It's okay to be vulnerable because...I'm a good girl. The mantra recycles. A feeling balloons within me. It starts in my core but quickly pressures up my chest. It's utter trust. It's helpless obedience. It's surrender. My whole body throbs.

"Uh." The unhappy sound signals my victory. A terrible, terrible ache settles into my clit, core and bones. My mind relinquishes the iron will it had directed at my fuck tunnel but rather than clenching, it just weeps. It's soft. It's sore. Everything is so, so sensitive. Even Asher's semi-erect dick inside me is too much. A touch is like sandpaper and I couldn't force an orgasm now if ordered to.

A sob escapes. I burst into tears.

That's when the magic strikes. It's symbolic, at least I think it's symbolic, but the magic snaps around my throat making a collar. It sinks into my root like cobra fangs. My mandala, my witch-mark, not the one on my skin but the more...spiritual one deep inside my chakra is wrapped up in Asher's magic. He's strong. And I can feel him. Like I never felt Cohyn...not like this. I now understand why Asher wanted me so vulnerable. Cohyn's bond enslaved me. This...there is no word for what this does to me.

I curl up on Asher lap and turn into his chest. He runs a hand over my hair, spreading the dark mass of it over my back. I burrow my face under his coat. My body shakes with the force of my tears.

"Good girl." Asher's hand runs over my back. Warmth, comfort, spreads from his touch. "Such a good, obedient girl. Very well trained. The best pet."

I hiccup. It shakes my entire frame. His words should be demeaning. To someone like me, they're not. I like his words. They comfort me. They acknowledge that I did as asked. They acknowledge that I am trusted. They tell me I can trust him. I whisper into his chest.

"Take me home, please." The words curl with the tears that have slowed but not stopped.

Asher shuffles me about as he arranges himself but does not dislodge me. He hooks an arm under my knees and the other behind my shoulders. He stands—me in a naked bridal carry.

He leaves my clothes. I have others. He leaves my school books. I don't need them. I'm coven bound to a man I never thought would own me.