So because of some kinks I have I always like to imagine Michael using concillium on me. Of course everything is consensual and talked about before him but him using his magic to make me do whatever he wants, especially if he conducts me with that riding crop like he did in the 7 wonders
Ughhhh, this is a huge kink of mine as well. 🥵
It’s a strange sensation, being so completely bent to the control of another person. To be so entirely captive under someone else’s thumb. Your actions, your movements, your words, even the thoughts that flicker through your mind—none of them come of your own free will.
You have always known that you belonged to Michael Langdon—your body, your heart, your soul. Your destinies had been intertwined long before the moment that you had actually met him; before you had seen his face, or heard his voice, or come to know the pleasure of his touch.
(”You feel it too, don’t you?” Michael had asked the first time he’d approached you in Hawthorne’s library, making your heart race as you’d pressed your back against the bookshelves. “I’ve been looking for you. The one who was made for me.”
“I’m not yours, Langdon,” you’d hissed, trying to deny the way that something in your blood seemed to come alive in his presence. Seemed to call out for him. Seemed to sing.
“No?” Michael had merely smirked at you as he’d curled his hand around your throat, causing you to let out a small whine. “Are you sure about that, little witch?”)
When you had first met him at Hawthorne, your coven then engaged in a bloody war with the forces of his father, you had thought that you had hated him. You had wanted to hate him; had wanted him to fail the test of the 7 Wonders, and to leave you and your sisters in peace. But fate, as it tended to do, had had other plans for the two of you.
And as he circles you now, secluded in the sanctuary of your room at Outpost 3, slapping the worn edge of the riding crop he’d taken possession of that day, that day that he’d assumed the supremacy with such effortless ease, against his palm, the only thing you feel towards him is desire. Lust. Possession. Belonging.
Arousal pools low in your belly, your blood running thick and hot as you stare him down, swallowing thickly as the corner of Michael’s mouth curves into a smirk.
(So many images flit through your mind, so many potential options for him to settle upon—you on your hands and knees in front of the fire as Michael fucks you from behind, you bent over the edge of his desk, you riding him in the arm chair by the fire, you laid out upon the bed with your legs spread, dampness glistening between your thighs as you touch yourself in accordance with his commands, all “slower” and “add another finger” and “think of me, pet” and “brush your clit” and “ride your fingers” and “cum for me, now.”)
“Ah,” Michael says with a click of his tongue as he runs the edge of his riding crop down the column of your throat and the valley of your breasts. “You’d like that, wouldn’t you? Greedy thing. So very... selfish.”
“Yes,” you answer automatically, narrowing your eyes ever so slightly at Michael when his smirk grows.
“Get on your knees for me, pet,” he commands, and you comply without a second thought. A low hiss escapes you as your knees hit the floor, but you brush the pain aside as you gaze up at Michael through your lashes, shivering as he continues to caress your skin with the leather of the crop. “I think I quite like you this way,” he muses. “Obedient. Well behaved. Quiet.” He grins as his gaze falls to your hands, and your stomach knots in anticipation as you find yourself lifting them to unbuckle his belt “Though I don’t think I want you entirely silent. Do you think we can find a use for that mouth of yours?”
Michael inhales sharply as you unbutton and unzip his pants, the effects of the spell making you feel as though you’re operating solely on autopilot. Every single one of your thoughts is consumed solely by Michael, making you feel dazed and dizzy with pleasure and want. “Mm, I do love the sound of that.” Michael pauses for a moment, and then grins at you. “Mrs. Langdon.”
Your respond with a smile of your own, your gaze momentarily falling to your finger where your wedding ring (one of Michael’s own that he’d bestowed upon you just months before, shortly before you’d set out on your examination of the outposts) glints and gleams in low light that flickers from the fireplace. “And what would you like me to do now, sir?”
Michael pretends to hum in contemplation as his enchantment causes you to reach into his pants to free his cock, already hard and red and swollen with arousal, leaking drops of pre-cum across your fingers. “Open your mouth for me,” he drawls as he drags the head of his cock along your parted lips. “Cross your hands behind your back, and try to hold still for me.”
Hot tears prick at the corner of your eyes as Michael shoves his cock into your mouth, hitting the back of your throat in a single, fluid thrust. The riding crop now dangles usually from one hand as he reaches around with the other to tangle his fingers into your hair, letting out a soft grunt as he begins to fuck your throat.
“Look at you,” he sneers as saliva trails from the corner of your mouth and tears stream down your cheeks, letting out weak, muffled whines as your jaw aches with effort. “So eager to please, aren’t you?”
All you can do is let out a soft moan of agreement, the effects of the spell making it impossible for you to pull away or to struggle or to argue, as much as it burns you to not be able to do so. “Oh, I know,” Michael coos mockingly as he tightens his grip on your hair, making you cry out around his cock. “But you are being so very, very good for me, pet.”
A growl tears free from his chest as you press your tongue to the underside of his cock, uttering a quiet moan as you lap at the vein that pulses there. The obvious ecstasy that crosses his face, and the noises that slip past his parted lips as he pants for breath, and the salty taste of his pre-cum, and the musky scent of his arousal, and the way that his cock throbs, hard and heavy on your tongue, and the way he simultaneously praises and degrades you—it all makes your cunt ache with want, wetness pooling between your thighs and soaking through the thin, silky fabric of your panties as your dig your nails into your palms, desperate to touch him.
“You’ll have your chance,” Michael grunts as he continues to fuck your mouth, the snapping motion of his thrusts becoming increasingly more sloppy and erratic as he nears his orgasm. “Fuck, I can smell you. You’re drenched for me, aren’t you? My sweet little pet, always so eager to make me happy.”
The effects of the spell have begun to wear off as Michael loses control, and you whimper quietly as you manage to break your hands free from their bond, scooting closer to him as you grip his thighs. You flutter your eyelashes at him as you swallow him down further, causing Michael to growl—a noise which, as it happens, goes straight to your cunt.
You squeeze your thighs together, rocking your hips just slightly, yearning for even the barest hint of friction as your cunt pulses and throbs. The drenched fabric of your panties sticks uncomfortably to your inner thighs, and Michael smirks down at you. “So impatient,” he croaks, his voice thick and strained with arousal. “I told you that you’d have your chance.”
Quirking your eyebrow at him, as if to say “well two can play that game”, you tighten your grip on his thighs as you pull back just slightly, running your tongue along the slit on the head of his cock. “Then hurry up,” you purr before you swallow him back down, and Michael’s eyes grow wide.
He thrusts into your mouth once, and then again, and then he yanks you off of him by your hair, crying out your name as he cums all over your face. You gasp quietly, but resist the urge to flinch away, simply keeping your gaze locked with his as reaches down to stroke his cock, milking every drop of his release.
Offering him a coy grin, and now entirely free of the bonds of concillium, you press a final kiss to the head of his cock, swirling your tongue around the tip before you rise to your feet, taking the opportunity of having caught him off guard to rip the riding crop from his hand.
“You should see yourself,” he rasps as he reaches up to brush his thumb along your bottom lip, collecting a few drops of his drying cum. “You’re a mess, pet.”
You reach up with the crop to slap his hand away, and use your own magic to force him backwards onto the bed. “Am I?” you muse as you reach behind you to tug the zipper of your dress down, letting it fall to the floor in a heap before you straddle his lap, reveling in the low hiss that escapes him as you rub your damp panties against the sensitive skin of his still throbbing cock. “Well,” you breathe as you lean in to whisper in his ear, “then I can hardly wait to see the state of you when I finish with you.”
Michael stares up at you with darkened eyes, settling his hands on your hips as your drag the crop down his chest. “Start with cleaning me up, Mr. Langdon,” you demand, letting out a soft moan as you continue to rock your hips against his.
“And then I think we’ll have you work your way down.”
“I’m sorry, what was that?.”
Michael grins at you as he leans in to lap his cum from the hollow of your collarbone. “Yes, Mrs. Langdon,” he amends.
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