Chapter 3: The Witch's Price
Morgana's words hung in the air like smoke, curling around Candice's thoughts and making it impossible to think clearly.
"You want me to let you... help me."
"I want you to let me teach you." Morgana's voice was patient, almost kind, which somehow made it worse. "There's a difference."
Candice pressed her palms against her thighs, trying to steady herself. The mark on her stomach pulsed with a steady, insistent heat, and she could feel the dampness between her legs growing with every passing second. She'd never been this aroused in her life. Never even known it was possible to feel this way—like her entire body was a wound that needed to be touched, like she might actually die if someone didn't put their hands on her.
But this was Morgana. Morgana, who she'd publicly humiliated. Morgana, who ran a brothel and sold her body for power. Morgana, who had every reason to want to see her brought low.
"What's the price?" Candice asked. "Everything comes with a price with you."
Morgana's smile sharpened. "There it is. The real Candice Dixon. Show me your disgust—that's the woman I remember."
"That's not—I didn't mean—"
"Yes, you did." Morgana stood up from the bed and crossed to the obsidian divan, her movements unhurried, graceful. She settled onto the polished stone like it was a throne, one leg crossed over the other, her purple gown pooling around her like spilled wine. "But I'll answer your question anyway. The price is a ritual. A binding."
Candice's stomach clenched. "What kind of binding?"
"The kind that lets me share in your power." Morgana's eyes gleamed in the candlelight. "You have a perfect mark. Lilith's mark. The kind I've been trying to replicate for five years with nothing but scars and failure to show for it. But if we're bound—if I'm the one who helps you unlock your potential—then I can draw on your mana. Your growth becomes my growth. Your pleasure becomes my pleasure."
"You want to feed off me."
"I want to share with you." Morgana shrugged one shoulder. "Semantics. But yes. When you cum, I feel it. When you grow stronger, so do I. It's a symbiotic relationship, Candice. You get control over your desires, I get access to your power. We both win."
Candice shook her head. "There has to be another way. I can learn to control this on my own. I don't need—"
"You don't need what? A partner?" Morgana laughed, and there was genuine amusement in it this time. "You can't even touch yourself, can you? You've never been able to. You're twenty-six years old and you've never had an orgasm, have you? Not once."
The words hit like a slap.
"I've—" Candice started, then stopped. Her face burned. "That's not—it's not relevant."
"It's entirely relevant. It's the whole point." Morgana rose from the divan and walked toward her, each step deliberate, each sway of her hips a deliberate provocation. "You've spent your whole life denying yourself. Pushing down every desire, every want, every need. You thought if you were perfect—if you were disciplined enough, strong enough, good enough—you'd be happy. But you're not happy, Candice. You're miserable. You're so tightly wound I'm surprised you haven't snapped in half."
"I'm not—"
"You are." Morgana stopped in front of her, close enough that Candice could see the faint glow of her imperfect mark through the purple silk. "You called me a whore because you were jealous. Not of me—of what I had. Freedom. Pleasure. The ability to want things without hating yourself for it."
Candice wanted to argue. Wanted to deny it, to stand up, to walk out. But her body wouldn't move. The heat was too strong, the need too overwhelming, and deep down—deeper than she'd ever admit—she knew Morgana was right.
"What do I have to do?"
Morgana's expression softened, just a fraction. "Just let me touch you. Let me show you what it feels like to be wanted. And when you cum—when I finally let you cum—the binding will complete itself. You won't have to do anything except feel."
"That's it?"
"That's it." Morgana's hand came up to cup Candice's face, her palm warm against her cheek. The touch sent a jolt of pleasure through Candice's body, making her gasp. "Trust me, Candice. Just for tonight. Trust me."
The words were a knife between her ribs. Trust. Such a simple thing, such a complicated thing.
But the mark pulsed, and the heat built, and Candice found herself nodding.
"Okay."
Morgana's smile widened. "Good girl. Now stand up and take off your clothes."
Candice rose on shaking legs. Her fingers fumbled with the laces of her tunic, then the buttons of her trousers, then the ties of her bindings. Each piece of clothing that fell away left her more exposed, more vulnerable. By the time she stood naked in the center of the room, she was trembling so hard she could barely stay upright.
Morgana circled her slowly, taking her in. Candice had never felt so examined in her life. She was muscular from years of adventuring—hard arms, flat stomach, strong thighs. Practical. Functional. She'd never thought of her body as something to be admired.
But Morgana looked at her like she was a feast.
"You're beautiful," the witch murmured. "You've always been beautiful. I used to watch you train in the square and imagine what you looked like under all that armor. What sounds you'd make if someone touched you the right way."
Candice's breath caught. "Morgana—"
"I'm going to tie you up now." Morgana's voice had gone businesslike, matter-of-fact. "You're going to lie on the bed and let me do whatever I want. You're going to keep your hands where I put them and let me hear every sound you make. Can you do that?"
"I—yes."
"Good. On the bed."
Candice climbed onto the velvet sheets, the cool fabric a shock against her feverish skin. She lay on her back, hands at her sides, heart pounding so loud she could hear it in her ears.
Morgana produced four lengths of silk rope from somewhere. She worked quickly, efficiently, tying Candice's wrists to the headboard and her ankles to the posts at the foot of the bed. The ropes were soft but unyielding, holding her spread-eagle and exposed.
"Is this necessary?" Candice asked, her voice small.
"Very."
"Why?"
"Because you don't know how to let go." Morgana stood at the foot of the bed, a silver-handled feather now in her hand—when had she gotten that? A tool, delicate and wicked. It was slender, curved, designed for precision. "You're going to fight every step of the way. That's your nature. So I'm going to make sure you can't fight me."
She leaned down and dragged the feather over Candice's collarbone.
The touch was feather-light, barely there, and yet it sent a cascade of goosebumps across Candice's entire body. She gasped, her hips twitching, her back arching off the bed.
"Easy," Morgana murmured. "We've barely started."
She traced the feather lower, down Candice's sternum, around each breast without touching the nipples, across her ribs, over her stomach. She avoided the mark—the glowing pink sigil that pulsed with every heartbeat—and instead worked the feather in slow, teasing circles around it.
Candice's breathing quickened. She was so wet now that she could feel it slicking her inner thighs, the sheets beneath her growing damp. Every nerve in her body was alight, screaming for more.
"I like how sensitive it is, the mark," Morgana said conversationally. "It glows brighter as I tease you, look at that. Pink like a whore's blush."
"Fuck you," Candice spat through gritted teeth.
"You're dripping down your legs, and you want to pretend you're offended?" Morgana's voice was laced with amusement. "I can see everything, Candice. The slick, swollen lips, twitching and clenching around nothing every time my magic moves on your skin. You want to insult me while you're this wet? Go ahead. I'm enjoying the view."
The feather dipped lower.
Candice cried out as it traced the insides of her thighs, following the path of her slickness without touching where she needed it most. Her hips bucked, trying to guide the feather higher, but Morgana pulled it away with a soft laugh.
"Not yet."
"Please—"
"When you're begging by the end, it'll be sweeter, you proud thing. Trust me."
She continued the torture for what felt like hours. The feather traced patterns on Candice's skin—spirals, circles, figure eights—always avoiding her breasts and her cunt, always leaving her desperate for more. By the time Morgana finally let the feather brush against one nipple, Candice was sobbing with frustration.
"Oh gods—"
"That's it. Let me hear you."
Morgana replaced the feather with her tongue. She licked a slow circle around Candice's nipple, then sucked it into her mouth, her teeth grazing the sensitive tip. At the same time, her hand found the other breast, fingers pinching and rolling the nipple until it was hard and aching.
Candice screamed.
A bolt of pleasure shot from her breast to her clit and back again. It was sharp, focused, radiating through her entire body like a hot wave of static. The ropes bit into her wrists and ankles as she thrashed, but she barely felt them. All she could feel was Morgana's mouth on her, Morgana's hands on her, Morgana's magic seeping into her skin through the mark.
"More," she heard herself beg. "Please, more—"
"Not yet."
Morgana lifted her head, licking her lips into an obscene, wet smile. She reached for something on the bedside table—a device Candice hadn't noticed before. A strap-on, purple-silver and gleaming with some kind of enchantment. It harnessed itself around Morgana's hips, the length of it pulsing faintly with a magical glow.
"Magic," Candice managed. "Of course you'd use magic for this."
"I use magic for everything, darling." Morgana stroked the strap idly, coating the tip in something that shimmered. "This one is enchanted so I can feel everything it feels. Every squeeze, every pulse, every inch of you. It's like it's part of me."
She knelt on the bed between Candice's spread legs. The position was obscene—Candice completely exposed, completely vulnerable, completely at Morgana's mercy.
"Ready?"
Candice nodded, not trusting her voice.
Morgana pressed the smooth, slick tip of the strap-on against Candice's cunt. Not entering, just resting there, letting Candice feel the pressure, the promise of what was coming.
"You're so wet," Morgana said softly. "You're literally dripping onto the sheets. Have you ever been this wet in your life?"
"No," Candice admitted. "Never."
"And you called me a whore."
"You're being cruel."
"I'm being honest." Morgana pushed forward, just an inch, just enough to stretch Candice's entrance. "And you're being a hypocrite. You want this. You've always wanted this. You just hated yourself too much to admit it."
The words hurt worse than the stretch. Candice closed her eyes, trying to block out Morgana's face, her voice, the truth she was speaking.
But she couldn't block out the feeling of being filled.
Morgana pushed deeper, inch by agonizing inch, until her hips were flush against Candice's thighs. The strap-on was inside her completely, filling her in a way she'd never been filled before. It wasn't just the physical sensation—it was the magic. She could feel it pulsing against her walls, sending little shocks of pleasure through her body with every beat.
"Fuck," she breathed. "Fuck, fuck, fuck—"
"Good girl." Morgana pulled back slowly, then pushed in again. "There's that word. I knew you had it in you."
She set a rhythm—slow at first, then faster, each thrust sending waves of pleasure crashing through Candice's body. The mark on her stomach glowed brighter with every stroke, pink light spilling across the bed, across Morgana's skin.
And Morgana was glowing too. Not the same pink as Candice, but something darker—violet mixed with red, her imperfect mark flickering to life.
"It's working," Morgana panted. "I can feel it. I can feel you."
Candice couldn't answer. She was beyond words, beyond thought. All she could do was feel—the stretch of being filled, the pressure building inside her, the heat of Morgana's body against hers.
"Not yet," Morgana said, stopping immediately. "You don't get to cum yet."
"No—"
"Yes." Morgana withdrew entirely, leaving Candice empty and aching. "You have to earn it."
She teased her again, thrusting shallowly, pressing against that spot deep inside without ever letting Candice reach the peak. Over and over, Candice got close—so close she could taste it—and then Morgana would stop, or pull back, or do something else entirely that kept her teetering on the edge of release.
Time lost all meaning. There was only the heat, the need, the feeling of being so full and empty at the same time.
"Please," Candice sobbed. "Please, Morgana, I'll do anything—"
"Anything?"
"Yes—gods, yes—"
Morgana smiled. It was the smile of a predator who'd finally cornered her prey.
"Then cum for me."
She drove forward, burying the strap-on to the hilt. At the same time, she leaned down and bit Candice's neck, hard enough to leave a mark.
The combination was too much.
Candice shattered.
Her orgasm hit like a tidal wave, crashing through her body and leaving nothing untouched. She screamed—Morgana's name, the gods' names, wordless sounds of pleasure that she'd never made before. The mark on her stomach blazed pink, then white, then pink again, and she felt something inside her break open like a dam bursting.
Mana poured out of her. Pink energy, warm and heavy and suffused with pleasure, flowed from the mark and into Morgana's waiting body. The witch threw back her head and moaned, her own mark flaring to life, absorbing the power like a thirsty sponge.
When it was over, Candice lay limp in the ropes, her body still shuddering with aftershocks. She felt emptied and filled at the same time—exhausted and energized, broken and whole.
Morgana collapsed beside her, breathing hard. Her purple eyes were wide, stunned.
"Gods," she whispered. "That was—that was more than I expected."
Candice turned her head to look at her. "Did it work? The binding?"
Morgana raised her hand and looked at her palm. Faint pink lines had appeared there, branching like veins, pulsing in time with Candice's mark.
"It worked." Her voice was full of wonder. "I can feel you. Not just your mana—I can feel you. Your emotions, your desires. It's like there's a... a thread connecting us."
Candice should have been horrified. Should have felt violated, invaded, used. Instead, she felt something she hadn't expected.
Relief.
For the first time in her life, she wasn't alone. Someone else could feel what she felt. Someone else was sharing the weight of her desire.
"Untie me," she said. "Please."
Morgana moved to comply, her fingers gentle as she worked the knots loose. When Candice was free, she sat up slowly, wincing at the ache between her legs.
"Thank you," she said quietly. "For... for showing me."
Morgana stared at her. "You're thanking me? After I just tied you to my bed and fucked you while explaining how I'm going to exploit you for power?"
"You could have done worse. You could have left me alone with this." Candice touched the mark on her stomach. "I know what you want, Morgana. I know you have your own goals. But for tonight... thank you."
Something shifted in Morgana's expression. For just a moment, the predatory gleam faded, and Candice caught a glimpse of the girl she'd known before—the one who'd laughed with her in the training yard, who'd stayed up late helping her study spell theory, who'd been her best friend before everything went wrong.
"Don't thank me yet," Morgana said, but her voice was softer now. "This is just the beginning."
"I know."
"The binding goes both ways. I can feel what you want now. And you can feel what I want."
Candice nodded. She could feel it—a distant echo of Morgana's emotions, tangled and complicated. Bitterness. Longing. And underneath it all, like a bruise that wouldn't quite heal, something that might have been affection.
"It hurts, doesn't it?" Candice asked. "Hating me and missing me at the same time."
Morgana's jaw tightened. "Don't."
"I'm just—"
"Don't psychoanalyze me. You don't get to do that just because we're bound." Morgana stood up, adjusting her gown. "I'll teach you what you need to know. How to control the mark, how to use it without being noticed, how to... manage your desires. But this doesn't make us friends again. This is a business arrangement."
"A business arrangement that involves you tying me up and making me cum."
"Yes." Morgana's lips twitched. "That's usually how these things work."
Candice stood up, her legs shaky but functional. She found her clothes and began dressing, but she paused when she reached the door. She started to say something, to apologize again, to try to bridge the gap.
But when she turned, she saw Morgana standing in front of the mirror that didn't reflect. The magically forged glass was showing something—a glimpse of a future Candice couldn't quite make out.
Morgana was smiling. And there was something cold enough in that smile to remind Candice that she had just made a deal with the woman she publicly humiliated—a woman who had spent five years perfecting her own brand of vengeance.
"Same time tomorrow?" Morgana asked sweetly, not turning around. "Wear something easy to take off."
As the door clicked shut, Candice could still feel the brand on her stomach pulsing. She pressed her palm flat against it, feeling the unfamiliar thrum of power and the lingering ache of something else—something that felt dangerously close to hunger.