In The Court of the Crimson Queen

BY : Salamandaslash
Category: -Buffy the Vampire Slayer > General
Dragon prints: 3323
Disclaimer: I do not own Buffy the Vampire Slayer or Angel the series, nor the characters from it. I do not make any money from the writing of this story.

Title: In The Court of the Crimson Queen
Author: Salamandaslash

Rating: NC17 for graphic, lesbian kink; oral, anal, incest, fisting, 
sex-toys, spanking and other forms of corporal punishment, and various other 
kinky hi-jinks too numerous to mention! But if you’ve read any of my stuff 
before you knew that already. If you haven’t please be sure this is your bag 
before you read on. If you read this now and it offends you don’t come 
complaining to me ­ I warned you. I don’t *want* to offend but if you are 
offended after *ignoring* this warning ­ I really don’t give a fuck! 
Everyone else ­ I hope you like it.

Pairing: It’s complicated: Multiple F/f./f… 
Willow/Buffy/Dawn/Joyce/Faith/Cordelia/Anya/Amy/Harmony/Fred/Kate 
Lockley/OC(x4)

Summary: Willow’s Seraglio are charged with entertaining her friends in her 
absence.

Feedback: You’re kidding right…OF COURSE! But no flames ­ yeah?

Disclaimer: The TV show ‘Buffy the Vampire Slayer’ isn’t mine. No really it 
isn’t ­ honest! The characters used in this story are the property of Joss 
Whedon and Mutant Enemy etc. Though in my mind… Anyhoo I'm just borrowing 
them in the interests of kink and I promise that when the story’s over I’ll 
give ‘em all right back to their rightful owners all cleaned up and shiny 
and good as new!! The story ­ well that’s all mine! I’m a bad girl ­ so 
spank me! Yeah ­ you should be so lucky!

I’m not making any money out of this. Christ ­ like anyone would *pay* for 
this shit!

Of course I’m gonna say yes!

Author’s Notes:  This is a little mad ­ but it just kinda worked for me. 
Please forgive the lurid wanderings of my imagination!

Please excuse my schoolgirl French. I really should have tried 
harder at school but I was too busy trying to get into Jane Hill’s pants 
(deep sigh!) and she was the only reason I had at the time to take French! 
So by way of dedication this is for Jane. If by any perverse quirk of fate 
you’re reading this Jane ­ girl you were *fine*! But why now? You couldn’t 
have been interested in this shit 15 years ago?

I guess I have to acknowledge Liz­ SFLezlover for her fabulous Dark 
Willow’s Harem for this. It’s always been one of my favourite fics and a 
source of inspiration to me. This is the result of that and of my own nasty 
imagination!

Oh - and a nod to King Crimson for the title!


Enjoy.

Special Guest Stars:
Jennifer Garner as Ma Dame Lillianne du Bois
Rosamund Pike as Mademoiselle Serena Ardant
Lacey Chabert as Mademoiselle Ariel du Bois
Michelle Williams as Mademoiselle Erin Paradis

Air date: 5.28.02.


The beginning…


“Wow! That was...awesome…”

“Phew! Just…*Phew*...amazing…”

“So…uh…uh…so cool!”

“Incredible…y-you-you w-were i-incredible Willow…”

“No baby ­ it was you ­ you were the incredible one…”

“No Will…i-it w-was you…you’re so incredible…so strong…y’you’re a 
G-Goddess…m-my Goddess…”

“Oh Tara…baby...I love you so much…but you were there with me…all the 
way…you were so good…a-and w-we we did it together…without you guiding 
me…showing me what to
 do…well I just couldn’t have…”

“B-but it w-was your p-power Will…you just sweap me away with it…a-and I…I 
just have to h-hang on!”

“No Tara…I could feel you…I could feel you with me…all the way…I couldn’t 
have done it otherwise…not even nearly…w-without you there with me…”

“Oh Willow…”

“I mean it Tara…w-without you to guide me….keeping me focused…giving me your 
strength.”

“W-well…I-I mean…it’s huge…massive…serious magic…a healing spell that 
powerful…t-to cure a cancer…i-it needs a *powerful* witch…y-you’re becoming 
so strong…”

“B-but you’re strong too baby.”

“Oh, but you're way beyond me there!”

“But I couldn’t have done it without you…and it was your idea…I would never 
have thought about helping Mrs. Summers like that!”

“Yes baby but I couldn’t have cured her of a sore throat ­ but you - you 
cured a cancer! Only a witch like you could do *that*. I mean...it k-kinda 
frightens me how powerful you're getting.”

“It frightens you? *I* frighten you? D-don't you trust me?”

“With my life.”

“But I frighten you…”

“S-sometimes…sometime it j-just scares me…”

“Scares you?”

“A-a b-bit…”

“Oh but Tara ­ I-I don’t…I don’t want you to be scared of me?”

“No W-Will…i-it’s not l-like that… i-it’s  a good scary ­ l-like a 
fair-ground ride…o-or a scary movie…

“I’m a *scary movie*?”

“No Will…baby…i-it’s ok…I promise…I *like* scary movies…I s-sort of like you 
scary…i-it’s…err…it’s sort of s-sexy…”

“*Sexy?*”

“Y-yes…I think l-like
 it…you’re so powerful…I kn-know you c-could h-hurt 
me…and…”

“But I would never hurt you baby…”

“I know Will…but I…almost wish…”

“You wish that I’d *hurt* you?”

“We-ell…I-I’m n-not sure…but you’re *so* powerful…such a G-Goddess…I think 
I’d like to be controlled by you…you know d-dominated.”

“Tara!”

“J-just think about it Willow…”

“Baby…I don’t know if I can…I-I don’t know if I c-could so that…to you…I’m 
not…I don’t know…”

“Oh but you could Will…you should see you…the real you…the Alpha Witch in 
all her power…the Goddess…my Goddess…oh you are *so* a Top!”

“A *Top*?”

“Yeah…you know…a domme…you’re my Top…I’m your bottom…oh Willow I-I think I’d 
really like it…I-I want you to Top me.”

“I’m really not sure Tara… I-I d-don’t know…I’m n-not a *Top*…I don’t think 
I’d know how…”

“Oh you are Will…you are so a Top…you Top me all the time ­ and you don’t 
even know you’re doing it…”

“*Really*?”

“Really Will…which is why it’s a good scary that you’re so powerful…”

“And you’d really like that…if I-I was your…*Top*?”

“Mm-hmm…oh yes…I like it a *lot*”

“Oh? Oh I see…but I-I don’t know where to start…”

“Well ­ I think I’d like…I’d like you to fuck me with a strap-on!”

“Tara!”

“What baby?”

“Well ­it’s just…so…so…well I don’t know…”

“…or you could…you know…tie me up!”

“Oh? Really?”

“Oh yes please Will…and maybe you could spank me?”

“Spank you? Oh
 no­ I don’t think I could…I couldn’t hurt you sweetie.”

“But I think I’d like it…I-I think I want you to hurt me a little bit…

“You‘ve thought about this?”

“Yes…yes I have…a lot…*Miss*.”

“Miss?”

“Or would you prefer Mistress? Or Madam? Or My Lady?  My Queen?”

“Tara!”

“Well you have to have a title…i-if I’m going to be your…slave-girl…”

“S-s-slave-girl?”

“Yes I’d like that. I’d like to be your good little slave-girl…Madam!”

“Oh Tara! Please get up…please don’t do that…”

“But a slave-girl has to kneel for her Mistress! Have you chosen what you’d 
like me to call you My Lady?”

“Oh I don’t know about this Tara….”

“Oh please Willow…please My Queen…”

“O-Ok Tara…if you really want me to…”

“Oh I do, I *do*! Oh thank you Miss…”

“W-Well… not Madam ­ it sounds too old…Mistress? Maybe. My Lady? I think 
that sounds nice…My Queen…I think that’ll be a-a bit embarrassing…I think I 
the way Miss sounds - so we’ll start  with that, if that’s OK.”

“It’s not my place to say Miss…”

“Oh-ok…so tell me…s-slave…h-how long have you been planning this Tara?”

“Well quite a long time Miss…I-I’ve b-been very n-naughty haven’t I Miss?

“Err…y-yes Tara…slave…very naughty…”

“And naughty slave-girls get spanked don’t they Miss!”

“Yes Tara…Yes, I think they do!”


Prologue:


Joyce shivered again. She always did at the eerie, unnaturalness of the 
shimmer of witchcraft that coalesced out of nothingness in front of her. 
Despite the fact that such eldritch
 events were a regular, frequent part of 
her life now they still managed to un-nerve her. She had never been able to 
adjust entirely to the truth of her daughter’s life and whilst her own life 
had changed beyond all recognition in recent years, when such magicks 
impinged on her own life she found them no less troubling.

Schooling herself to a composure she did not wholly feel, she sat on the 
ornate rug and waited.

Beside her Amy sat calmly across from Joyce in the same cross legged 
position. Her face was intent with concentration. Unlike the older woman the 
young blonde witch was entirely at home with her craft but this particular 
casting challenged her abilities and her focus was intense. Only as the 
familiar features coalesced in the shimmering field of witchlight did Joyce 
feel her companion stir.

“My queen.” Amy said bending forwards in a bow, pressing
 her forehead to the 
floor; Joyce’s actions mirroring hers, kowtowing dutifully.

“Mistress., she sighed.

From the image suspended in front of them came the voice of their Carmine 
Mistress eerily altered by the spell’s aura.

“Little ones,” Willow smiled. “I am pleased to see you both…well done 
Amy…your command of this spell grows stronger every time you cast it.”

Beside Joyce Amy beamed in pleasure. “Th-th-*thank* you Mistress.” She 
stammered, here voice filled with delight at the praise. She seemed to 
squirm slightly, wriggling where she sat as her Mistress eyes rested briefly 
on her, before they turned their attention to Joyce.

The older woman shivered as her Queen’s gaze switched to her. Despite her 
discomfort at the disconcerting, supernatural nature of their connection 
Joyce felt herself flush under the heat of that scrutiny
 and an answering 
heat stirred within her as she met Her piercing green gaze with adoration. 
Her body prickled, her skin rising in goose-bumps as her nipples stiffened 
and she felt a sudden damp warmth, a need, a tension beneath her belly, in 
her core.

“Joyce sweetheart,” her Carmine Mistress began. “I have a task for you my 
dear.”

“Anything My Lady,” Joyce breathed swaying slightly, almost singing her 
answer, consumed by the powerful allure of her Mistress’ magical presence.

The almost substantial figure in the shimmering pool of light smiled briefly 
at the older woman’s glassy, impassioned gaze before Her face hardened 
slightly.

“Listen Joyce ­ I need you to give this your *full* attention!”

Joyce stiffened at her Mistress’ tone.

“Y-y-yes My L-Lady,” she stammered her eyes widening. “I-I am listening.”

“Good Joyce ­ now. I will be returning home in three days.”

“Your harem awaits you my Queen - everything will be prepared for your 
return.” Joyce said softly in reply.

“Yes of course it will Joyce ­ I expect no less. But this time I have other 
instructions.”

“My Lady?”

“Some friends of mine will be joining me - a wicca coven from France. They 
will arrive before me and I wish you to make them very welcome! Do you 
understand me Joyce?”

“I-I am not sure My Lady…”

“I want them to be made welcome…they are to be offered every comfort ­ every 
pleasure that my home can afford. They are to be offered every service, 
every luxury, every delight and attention that my seraglio can offer a 
woman. You will all serve them all as you would serve me Joyce. They are to 
be allowed to treat my home and my harem as their
 own until I return. Am I 
clear Joyce?”

“Y-yes M-My Lady.”

“You will pay particular attention to the head of the coven, Mistress 
Lillianne. She is my friend. Do you understand Joyce?”

“O-of c-course My Lady!”

“Good Joyce I am relying on you to have the girls prepared to serve on their 
arrival.”

“O-of course My Lady…your wish is my command my Queen!”

“Good Joyce!” The red haired figure smiled as if satisfied. “Now then…I want 
to watch you both as you make love…”

 

In the Court of the Crimson Queen.


With a familiar shiver of nervous anticipation Joyce Summers placed her left 
foot behind her right and lowered herself, bending her knee in a low 
curtsey, bowing deeply. Her face lowered to the newcomer as the tall, 
imposing woman stepped through the door-way into the mansion Joyce
 felt the 
prickling of something slip down her spine into her center. She had 
performed this role for her Mistress’ guests and associates more times in 
the last three years than she could remember but every time she did the 
disturbing reaction was the same.

Struggling with her schoolgirl French this time, she held her curtsey, 
keeping her down-turned eyes fixed on the newcomer’s boots.

“Maîtresse Lillianne! Bienvenue a la seraglio de Ma Dame Carmine. Je suis 
Joyce la Harem-mère et la slave d’elle. Ma Maîtresse Sapphic m’a commandé 
que je devrais vous souhaiter la bienvenue dans sa maison et informez vous 
que tous ses hourris sont disponibles pour votre divertissement et votre 
plaisir.”

Looking down on the dutifully obeisant older woman the tall stranger paused.

She was raven haired, her eyes dark and flashing. Clad in a long black 
skirt, close fitting over powerful hips and buttocks, flaring out below. Her 
black silk blouse allowed the fullness of her high rounded breasts to bounce 
slightly as she moved. She was tall, with long shapely legs that tapered 
from tautly rounded buttocks and muscular thighs to slim, neat ankles in 
shining black leather boots; their four inch heels making her tower over 
Joyce. Her slender waist and flaring hips only emphasized the intensely 
feminine, almost overwhelming, sexuality of her presence. Fine featured, 
with high cheek-bones, a smooth porcelain complexion and full crimson 
painted lips she was a stunning vision of powerful, dominant womanhood.

Joyce peeped up at her from beneath her lashes and shuddered at the vision 
of dominance that stood proudly above her. She felt that surge of heat deep 
within her sink from her belly into her core where it became liquid fire as 
her sex grew fat; pouting damp and  humid; oozing with her sudden arousal.

The life of Joyce Summers had changed beyond all imagining in the last few 
years. So much so that sometimes she still had trouble grasping the 
magnitude of those changes.

It was over three years now since her cancer scare and it’s unexpected, 
sudden and, at the time, quite inexplicable, remission. She had later come 
to understand that the cause of her seemingly miraculous cure was even less 
mundane than could have been imagined. It had only been a relatively brief 
period of time since she had been made aware of the supernatural world that 
surrounded Sunnydale and the part her eldest daughter played in it. Still, 
though it should not perhaps, have surprised her that Buffy’s friends Willow 
and Tara were witches or that Willow was a witch with such formidable 
powers, she had been staggered by the
 truth of her return to health.

Joyce had come to learn later that despite warnings from Willow’s then 
girlfriend, the sadly lost, quietly sensuous Tara, the use of such powerful 
magic had developed into an addiction that had begun to insinuate itself, 
pernicious and baneful into the red haired witch’s psyche, eventually taking 
possession of her. Beginning with the seemingly innocent joy of working ever 
more complex, more demanding, more arcanely powerful spell-craft she had 
become more and more obsessed, fixated by her growing powers.

In this pursuit Willow and Tara had adapted a spell of warding, turning it 
into one that prevented the body from attacking itself. It was a seemingly 
simple variation to provide a cure for Joyce’s cancer but it had required 
enormous power and made, in turn, a huge impression on Willow. A spell, cast 
with entirely benign intent, produced
 gratitude and an outpouring of 
affection and of appreciation: an outpouring that validated the use of the 
witch’s powers, encouraging her descent deeper into an abyss of addiction.

Only Tara had spoken against Willow’s further efforts; her gentle empathic 
spirit seeing the harm being done to her lover’s soul. She felt her always 
passionate lover becoming ever wilder. Tara’s submissive, biddable nature 
and her need to be dominated, controlled, forced to comply became 
increasingly lost in the gale of Willow’s passion. A demanding, assertively 
forceful lover, the red head had been encouraged by her girl-friend to 
express that dominance, that taste for the exotic and for the cruel in their 
relationship. But as Willow became more dominant so Tara slid ever deeper 
into adoring submission becoming ever more subservient to her lover and so 
finding herself unable to exert any
 control over Willow’s abuse of her 
magical powers.

Where Willow had been straight-forward, honest, if demanding in her passions 
she became sly and manipulative, undermining the honesty that had been so 
essential in their relationship; destroying the trust that had allowed Tara 
to give herself so completely into her lover’s dominion. Their separation 
had been as inevitable as it was painful.

The two witches’ time apart had produced a change in the russet haired 
Wiccan. She had tackled her addiction, withdrawing painfully from the world 
of witch-craft that had come to consume her and she seemed, for a while at 
least, to have conquered the demons within. She had begun to learn how to 
control herself, her desires and her powers and a brief reconciliation had 
occurred culminating in one night of delight with a delirious Tara 
surrendering blissfully to the loving
 cruelty of her glorious, passionate 
Mistress. Suffering, pleading, weeping she had been bound and clamped and 
punished; spanked, paddled and whipped, long into the night before she had 
been finally brought crying to orgasm harder and longer than ever before. 
Aching and deliriously happy, the blonde haired witch had woken secure in 
her lover’s arms on that fateful morning.

A death so futile, so senselessly mundane as Tara’s had seemed an 
abomination; atrocious - utterly, appallingly, callous in the ineptitude of 
its brutality.

Willow’s reaction to Tara’s death had been as tragic as it was extreme. More 
than the terrible revenge that the benighted Willow wrought upon the three 
plotters it plunged the witch into a maelstrom of grief and madness, of 
magic and addiction and darkness. Giving into the dark urges that her 
addiction had seeded within her she began to
 claim all the magical power she 
could, rapidly becoming the most powerful witch in the world.

In a paroxysm of grief and madness, overwhelmed by the power of her magic, 
consumed by the dark, she became the apocalypse, Queen of the night, 
Mistress of the void, threatening to drag all creation into oblivion, an 
endless darkness, an eternity of black nothing.

Only the intervention of her friends saved her. With tears in their eyes 
Buffy and Dawn, Xander, Anya and Giles battled to bring her back from the 
abyss.

And they succeeded.

Just.

Or at least: in part.


After the ensuing battle Willow was left a shell only slowly returning to 
herself; emerging from the blackness altered, changed. Within she was 
different. Her friends never truly grasped the depths of despair into which 
the loss of Tara had plunged her. They had thought she was
 cured not seeing 
the damage or comprehending the depths of her desolation. They did not see 
the change inside her.

She understood now what She had almost done, how She had nearly destroyed 
the very people who loved Her most, and it all became clear. Willow realized 
that She had to do everything in Her unrivalled power to protect Her friends 
from future harm. There would be no more Taras, no more Jenny Calendars, no 
more Jesses. Chastened by how near She had come to destroying everything She 
held dear, wracked by guilt and yet seduced utterly by the temptations of 
She powers She resolved never again to allow any of them to come to harm.

Her addiction unbroken still controlled Her use of magic and if She was no 
longer determined on destroying the world its pull still governed Her 
thinking. From resolving never again to allow those She loved to come to 
harm it had been
 a simple step to seek a magical solution. In Her mind the 
creation of a spell that stripped away some of their will, making them all 
loyal to Her was now wholly logical. And with such a spell only a minor 
matter for a witch of Her power there was no reason not to follow Her 
rationalization. She had made similar castings before to control the 
thoughts, the memories, the hearts of Her friends and with little 
modification She was able to bind them to Her. As the magic flowed in Her 
veins once more blinding Her to consequence Her own tastes and desires, what 
She had shared and lost with Tara came to the fore and She took another step 
from being their protector to their Queen. Giles and Xander were sent back 
to England as Her eyes and ears on the Watchers’ Council and Buffy and Dawn 
and Anya became the first members of Her seraglio.

Allying Her innate sexual dominance to Her magic
 She had swiftly seduced 
Anya and Dawn. Anya, despite Her enthusiastic heterosexuality had been Her 
easiest conquest. The keen sexuality of woman who had been Anyanka, Aud and 
the resonance that her formerly demonic nature had with the magical domain 
made her susceptible to Willow’s arcane attentions and she had quickly come 
to submit.

Dawn had also been easy to command. Witchcraft of a sort ran in her veins 
too and her innocence, her naiveté were as important in making her 
vulnerable to the Witch’s power as was her innate loyalty and affection for 
the slender Wiccan.

Buffy had, however, proved all-together harder to overcome.

The Slayer’s confused resistance had frustrated intentions, made all the 
more intemperate in Willow, by the heady cocktail of lust and magical 
craving. The petite blonde’s reluctance had proved a difficult obstacle for 
the
 Red Head to surmount. Her innate Slayer’s resistance to magic protected 
her and it had been a challenge to finally break her.

And that was where Joyce had come into the frame.

Buffy had resisted the most subtle and ingeniously wicked torments that 
Willow could devise. Oh, witchcraft kept her quiescent; there were no signs 
of revolt or attempted escape by the blonde haired Slayer but she refused to 
give herself willingly to her friend, to serve Her as Willow would have her. 
Only when the Wiccan turned Her attention to the senior Summers woman did 
Buffy’s resistance start to crumble. As Joyce, defenseless against Willow’s 
arts succumbed to Her will and to Her magical allure, the blonde Slayer 
began to lose the heart to resist and the first time she was made to watch 
her mother submit to Willow’s desires something had snapped inside her so 
that, as Joyce had serviced
 the Witch sexually, her face buried between the 
Red Head’s pale, slender thighs, drinking deeply from her titian fringed 
sex, Buffy had found herself consumed by her own long denied but all too 
familiar desires.

Still, even though she had become sexually willing as her resolve ebbed 
away, Buffy was a Slayer, the Slayer, and something in her made her 
difficult, defiant, disobedient,. Self-willed and unruly, she had continued 
to resist her flame haired friend’s domination and Willow had developed an 
especially harsh, cruel training regime to bring the Slayer into line; to 
ensure her obedient compliance. Slowly Buffy began to succumb as she was 
remodeled to be as her Queen desired.

Joyce shuddered at the thought of her elder daughter’s suffering, at the 
lengthy, intense slave training that had steadily eroded Buffy’s will to 
turn her into the submissive
 play-thing that their Mistress desired. Despite 
herself, Joyce could not deny the heated spasm, the aching tension inside 
her core, that those thoughts caused.

Faith’s role was to be different. Willow had realized quickly that Faith was 
too much of a force of nature ­ or maybe that was un-nature - to be inducted 
into Her harem in the way the others had. There was something about the dark 
haired Slayer ­ a wildness; a fierce sense of self and of un-fettered, 
unshackled power that made her almost untamable. Of course that power was 
nothing beside that of the powerful witch that Willow had become but it gave 
her a sense of identity and strength of will that, if broken, would leave 
Faith an empty shell. No, rather than that, the witch-queen had a better 
idea, a different use for her. Faith became Her lieutenant, Her 
Chamberlaine. Using a tiny portion of Her power Willow
 *removed* her from 
jail, expunging all records of her incarceration, her very existence and 
offered her something better: a life of pleasure, of indulgence; of relative 
freedom as long as she undertook certain ‘pleasurable’ duties on Willow’s 
behalf.

Once those ‘duties’ were explained to her, Faith had been only too willing 
to agree. The alternative of a return to jail was hardly appealing and 
besides Faith had always been a sexual creature; one with potent appetites 
and exotic tastes. She had required, as Willow had known she would, little 
convincing.

After this Cordelia Chase, Amy Madison, Kate Lockley and Winifred Burkle had 
been ‘acquired’ over time and Faith had proved most helpful in assisting 
Willow in their removal from LA and from Angel’s influence.

Only Harmony had then provided a challenge. The dizzy blonde vampire was, 
like all
 of her kind, a keenly, avariciously sexual creature. She was also 
remarkably feeble minded. It took little; to divert the vamp-bimbo’s lustful 
hunger towards her own sex. Nor did it challenge Willow to take control of 
Harmony. She was naturally submissive, preferring to be led ­ as she always 
had been by Cordelia ­ and finding that, by both inclination and ability, a 
dominant disposition was beyond her, even after she was sired.
No, it was the all too familiar problem of a soul that gave Willow pause. 
She considered the same spell that had been used on Angel but discarded it 
on account of the difficulties presented by its associated curse. Willow 
intended that Harmony would find in her new existence something very close 
to perfect happiness and She could not afford for the blonde to lose her 
soul in one of those very moments of ecstasy that the Red Queen intended her 
to
 experience especially frequently.

The return of Spike to Sunnydale provided Her with the answer and She was 
able to resolve the problem that the vampire presented to her desires. 
Before dismissing the newly ensouled demon in a moment of wry, wicked humor, 
to a life of sexual servitude in the seraglio that She had created to 
appease Angel, Willow had discovered how his soul had been restored to him.

The ‘Demon Trials’ through which Harmony then travailed before regaining her 
soul were entirely more sexual in nature than those the male vampire had 
undergone.

And then the Red Haired witch was satisfied with Her seraglio. Safe and 
compliant, ten women came to live happily under their Carmine Mistress’ 
reign.


Yes, the life of Joyce Summers had changed utterly over the last two years. 
Harem-mother, odalisque, concubine she looked up with a shiver
 under the 
tall dark haired stranger’s analytically penetrative gaze. Feeling felt that 
she was being inspected, assessed she squirmed, uncomfortable despite the 
heat that blossomed in her loins.

“Hmmm…you will address me as…Ma Dame'!” She paused, her voice heavily 
accented as she searched for the words she wanted.  “Do you understand?”

Joyce shivered bowing her head again.

“Oui, naturellement `Ma Dame'…”

“Oui…d’accord…votre *Maitresse* has trained you well…she has trained you 
well indeed. But enough of your…deformation…of la belle langue Française…my 
English is better than your French… …naturellement…so we will continue in 
English…”

She stared down at Joyce, her eyes hard. She was perhaps twelve or fifteen 
years Joyce’s junior but as the older woman looked up from her knees she 
knew that the French
 woman was in the all ways that were important, her 
superior.

Shuddering at the whip that hung from the younger woman’s belt, her insides 
tightening at the sight, she continued in English.

“My Carmine Mistress left instructions that I was to ask that you treat her 
home and her seraglio as your own whilst you stay here. Perhaps Ma Dame 
would care to join her coven in enjoying the pleasures of my Carmine 
Mistress’ harem before she returns? Shall I introduce you to my Mistress’ 
concubines? Perhaps a massage - Amy and Cordelia are quite skilled in the 
art of massage and my own youngest daughter, Dawn, is fully trained now. Or 
perhaps you would prefer your entertainment rather more exotic?”

“Your Mistress is not here?” The French woman’s voice was sensual, sibilant.

“No Ma Dame. She has unfortunately not returned as yet.” Joyce’s voice 
changed, becoming heavy with concern. “She works *so* hard to keep the 
demons,” she shuddered, “and the monsters at bay, that she hardly has time 
to unwind recently. But she will not rest despite my pleas.”

Madame Lilliane’s eyes lingered heavily on Joyce, studying, appraising her 
again before she replied. “C'est malheureux…but such is the price of great 
power…it would be…agreeable to meet your Mistress’ Hourris. So my 
companions…my coven have already arrived?”

Joyce nodded recalling the three women who had arrived earlier; Serena the 
slender fair haired woman in her late twenties. Tall and willowy with 
straight pale blonde, almost silver, silken strands falling below her 
shoulders and down her back, she was dressed in a white peasant blouse with 
a gypsy skirt and shawl.  Her flinty blue-grey eyes were piercing and there 
was something haughty,
 demanding in the way she had laid them on Joyce that 
made her shudder. Ariel the second woman had dark, gamine features and the 
same intense, dark, oval eyes as the newcomer. Joyce had been told that they 
were sisters and she could now see the family resemblance. Ariel’s hair was 
cut in a boyish but stylish bob. She was slender, almost waif-like where her 
sister was muscular, Amazonian, but there was still a potency, a sense 
femininity and power about her. Something in her slender form and her 
intense, passionate eyes reminded Joyce of her Carmine Mistress. And then 
there was the third Frenchwoman - Erin; the youngest of them all. Hardly 
older than Dawn, it seemed to Joyce. She was petite, almost stocky; her 
waist, hips and breasts filling out into the curvaceous, full figure of a 
young woman in her late teens. Her hair was a froth of tumbling reddish, 
blonde curls. Joyce could
 not help herself. The conditioning of the last few 
years had wrought major changes in her and she had found herself staring 
with a lustful hunger at Erin’s youthful figure.

“Mademoiselle!” she had breathed with feeling as she dipped in her 
submission once more curtseying before she caught the young woman’s 
brilliant green eyes. They held her for a moment with an authority that may 
have been surprising considering her youth, answering her lust filled gaze 
with an even greater heat, before drifting down to peruse her appearance 
with confident ease.

She had blushed under the Erin’s youthful inspection feeling the Red Head 
undress her with her eyes.

Not that there was much to undress of course. Joyce’s harem suit comprised 
of a pair of sea green, diaphanous silk pantaloons that clung to her legs 
and bottom, emphasizing her womanliness as she moved.
 Slashed at the side 
from ankle to hip they revealed the pale gold flesh of legs kept well toned 
by regular exercise. Their waistline plunged low beneath her belly, 
revealing, in the left hand well of her pelvis, where her hip curved into 
the base of her belly, a rune tattooed in red ink.

Her breasts were enclosed in a matching ‘choli’, a close fitting silken vest 
that left her flat, toned midriff bare. The choli plunged low between the 
heft of her breasts, revealing generous slices of curving flesh and 
providing a view deep into the vale of her cleavage as she curtseyed. As she 
bowed, her breasts bobbing, the filmy gauze material again clung to her, 
affording the watcher a tantalizing glimpse of the shapely mounds as they 
moved within the inadequacy of their silken enclosure. Around her bare waist 
a golden hip chain was stretched running through a ring in her navel. A 
second chain ran through her belly ring emerging from beneath her choli to 
descend downwards into her pantaloons.

At her ankles and wrists were matching chains, attached to each of which was 
a single golden bell that jingled as she moved. Barefoot, her ensemble was 
completed by a close fitting golden collar, secured with a golden padlock.

Joyce’s breath came short again now under the piercing, appraising eyes of 
the tall newcomer. Quivering slightly her breasts stirred, shimmying again 
in their insufficient restraint and she felt a renewal of the dampness 
between her thighs.

“Well, shall we begin?” Madame Lillianne interrupted the heavy silence 
lightly with a knowing smile.

“Oh-oh…of course Ma Dame. If you would be so kind as to follow me I-I will 
show you the way.”

Turning Joyce could feel that heated gaze on her rump. Blushing again she
 
began to sway her hips sensually, in the alluring manner that she had been 
taught, giving emphasis to her curves, her femininity, and making her sexual 
availability unmistakable.

She led the way from the entrance hallway into the mansion’s main chamber.

The room was huge. The mosaic marble floor carpeted around the sides by 
deep, plush rugs, a dozen chaise longues, with purple velvet cusions forming 
a circle around a raised central dais. At one end a carved wooden throne 
stood on a higher dais. The drapes matched the chaise and around the walls 
soft globes glowed in iron sconces. The walls were hung with pictures; 
artwork that portrayed the countless erotic acts that women could perform.

Harmony had done well in her maid’s duties to ensure that her Mistress’ main 
reception room was perfect for the arrival of Her guests. Surveying the room 
contentedly,
 Joyce looked with pride on some of the artwork: the line 
drawing of a familiar young blonde ­ recipient of the sternest of floggings 
from her Red Haired Mistress: the oil painting of three girls ­ witch, 
vampire and vengeance demon, their hands bound behind then, spreader bars at 
their ankles, kneeling, waiting, heads bowed, supplicant, available: a 
waiflike brunette; bent double, her legs lifted high in the air as her 
dominant companion held her ankles displaying her nether mouths; the artist 
capturing the moment of impact of the paddle on her slender bottom; her face 
racked with pain: the self-portrait of the artist; with tear moistened 
cheeks as she kissed the whip that had so recently kissed her flesh.

Joyce was proud that her Mistress chose to allow her work to adorn the walls 
of Her mansion beside the work of professional erotic artists, like the two 
marble sculptures
 that stood either side of the throne. The sculptures were 
life-sized, depicting two mystery women from belly to knee. Only those 
within the household knew that the models were her daughters. Each was a 
sculpture of them impaled on the disembodied fist of the Red Queen. As she 
surveyed the carvings that sense of pride, of well-being that she felt at 
the sight of her own works began to sublimate itself into something else; 
pride in her daughters…and a surge of arousal at the memory of them modeling 
for the sculptor.

“Ma Dame, this is my Carmine Mistress throne room, where She receives Her 
guests and enjoys Her harem’s entertainments. It is ready for Her return 
this evening.”

She smiled at the nod of approval and the appreciative murmur from her 
companion. The concern that had filled her with doubt over the last few 
hours slid away. It seemed that yesterday’s
 difficulties were not to be 
repeated.

It was always of the same of course: the responsibility. As Harem-mother she 
was charged with the day to day running of the seraglio, ensuring that daily 
chores were completed, that the girls undertook their own various duties 
diligently and that they were all available when called upon to perform for 
their Mistress and Her guests.

Failure on the part of any of her ‘children’ to perform adequately resulted 
in the sternest of discipline. Regular failure often resulted in Joyce 
sharing their punishment.

“Ah!” Madame Lillianne exclaimed surveying the spectacular but restrained 
elegance of the room and its distinctive, exotic decor, delighted at the 
great room’s appearance. "Charming, quite charming! Your Mistress has 
sublime taste…in all things…” she continued, her eyes hot on Joyce, making 
her stammer as
 she continued.

“T-tonight’s e-entertainment will be h-held in here Ma Dame, b-but for now 
perhaps you would like to follow me.”

She led the tall Frenchwoman across the room to a doorway in the left-hand 
wall which opened into a halfway. Opening the heavy, studded wooden door she 
curtseyed again the witch’s eyes lingering on her cleavage as she passed.

“Please Ma Dame, if you would like to follow me,” she said as she tuned 
right down the wide hallway, lit by more of the glowing globes. She quaked, 
keenly aware of the heated gaze on her bottom.

“This,” she pointed to the next door. “This is the music room and dance 
studio, where our girls learn to play and to dance for our Mistress’ 
pleasure.”

“You mean…burlesque…strip-tease?” Lillianne asked.

“Not only that Ma Dame.” Joyce answered earnestly. “Our Carmine
 Mistress 
likes all her slaves to be able to play an instrument or to be able to dance 
for the ball-room and for the stage as well as to provide more…erotic 
entertainment.” She smiled before continuing. “Cordelia is the best I think. 
She and Anya make a lovely couple on the dance floor and her solo 
performances are quite simply stunning.”

“Ah,” Madame Lillianne responded. “Then I shall look forward to seeing her.”

“She and Anya are presently engaged in entertaining Mademoiselle Erin, but I 
am sure that she will dance for you later.”

The Frenchwoman smiled knowingly “It seems that Erin wasted no time in 
availing herself of your Mistress’ hospitality... l'impétuosité de la 
jeunesse!”

“No Ma Dame ­ all three of your companions have taken the opportunity to 
enjoy the pleasures afforded by my Mistress’ Harem. Would you prefer that
 I 
take you directly to them or would you prefer to see the rest of my 
Mistress’ home?”

“Merci…yes please continue.” Again the tall dark haired witch’s eyes 
lingered on Joyce, undressing her, making her shiver.

“Ma Dame.” Joyce inclined her head as she acquiesced.

She showed the younger woman through the house. The tall Frenchwoman’s heels 
clicked on the tiled floor of the medical room, complete with its stirruped 
birthing table, wide assortment of clinical equipment and the range of items 
designed to cause both pleasure and pain. Madame Lillianne nodded with 
approval.

The wooden floored gymnasium, complete with weights, punch bags and 
gymnastic equipment, the walls hung again with an array of punishment 
devices and sex toys sounded different, echoing under the raven haired 
witch’s boots.

Joyce explained at Mistress
 Lillianne’s puzzled frown.

“Our Carmine Mistress insists that all of Her seraglio spend an hour in the 
gym each day so that we keep our shape for Her. Also, Miss Faith and my 
elder daughter; the Slayers uses the gym to remain sharp so that they can 
assist our Mistress if needed. However my daughter, Buffy, also requires a 
*very* strict hand to control her work-outs. As a Slayer she is inclined to 
be…willful…her obedience training is often intense and prolonged!”

A thoughtfully intent look appeared on the Frenchwoman’s face.

“Ah cherie…it seems that your own efforts have born a sweet fruit…” There 
was a note of approval, of appreciation in her tone as she surveyed Joyce 
again.

Again Joyce shivered at the intent appraising gaze as the witch undressed 
her with her eyes before they moved on.

As Joyce gestured to the next doorway with
 its heavy wooden door, a sharp, 
cruel smack of something hard, harsh on tender flesh followed by a sharp cry 
of anguish, sounded from within.

“Ah-ha! The delicious sound of…la tourment féminin!” Mistress Lillianne said 
heatedly, her French accent strong with relish.

“Yes Ma Dame,” Joyce responded softly as the snap came again followed 
immediately by that cry of distress. “This is Miss Faith’s 
‘domain’…the…‘Salle de Punition’…where she is conducting Kate’s 
training…Miss Faith is unsatisfied that Kate’s conduct is quite 
sufficiently…submissive.”

Again the crack sounded out and again the strained cry of torment followed 
it.

They heard voices; one harsh, demanding, authoritative the other sobbing, 
pleading. Joyce felt Lillianne watching her again as she stiffened at the 
sound. The words were unclear through the
 intervening doorway as they 
neared, so that all they could make out was the bark of ‘Again’ and the 
pleading cry of ‘No! Please!’ before the crack-cry refrain began once more.

“May I?” Mistress Lillianne asked Joyce, briskly approaching the door. “This 
sounds *most* interesting.”

Joyce nodded her head compliantly. “Of course Ma Dame,” she said. “My 
Carmine Lady’s mansion and everyone within it are yours, and your 
companions’ until you leave.”

Madame Lillianne’s eyes sparkled at what she saw as Joyce opened the door 
for her. The older woman shuddered at the sound and at the rapacious look 
pleasure on the tall witch’s face.

In the room Kate could be seen bending over, her hands grasping her wide 
spread ankles whilst Faith, grinning fiercely, plied the long leather 
flogger across her crimson agonized flanks. Her dark blue
 uniform was 
scattered, strewn across the floor as if removed and discarded in a great 
hurry.

Through the now open door Kate’s screams were loud, shrill as she suffered. 
Joyce winced at each stroke but a heated flush of desire, tinged with a 
familiar envy, coursed through her making her shudder with need.

Joyce was only too familiar with the Punishment Room with its rows of 
instruments of pain; its straps, whips, paddles and canes; its ranks of 
faux-cocks, plugs and clamps; its cuffs and restraints, whipping benches, 
blocks, tables and frames. She had spent her share of hours in there, 
learning to serve the hard way and paying for every failing in the 
strictest, harshest manner she could imagine.

She shuddered again in recollection of recent events.

“And who is the other…” Ma Dame Lillianne’s voice cut through her heated 
reverie. “La jeune
 fille?”

Shaking, certain of the unseen girl’s identity Joyce joined Mistress 
Lillianne at the door to peer into the punishment chamber.

Sure enough at the back of the room, immaculately dressed in the white 
blouse, plaid skirt, white knee-high socks and black patent leather shoes, 
waited her youngest daughter. Dawn stood poker straight, feet together, her 
chin raised, slim breasts thrust forward her hands clasped in familiar 
penitent position on the top of her head. Waiting for her turn at Faith’s 
mercy, the young brunette’s eyes were moist with distress. It was clear to 
Joyce that her daughter awaited the harshest of chastisements. Dimly she 
wondered what infraction Dawn had committed this time.

“M-my d-daughter…Dawn…” Joyce stammered in answer to the Frenchwoman’s 
question.

“Ah!” Madame Lillianne purred. “Shall we wait and watch
 her punishment 
cherie?”

Joyce’s body quaked.

“I-if M-Ma Dame w-wishes.” She stuttered giving a low gasp as Ma Dame’s hand 
slipped behind her to stroke over her buttocks.

As they watched Kate’s ordeal ended and she was permitted to rise, her 
thighs and bottom a mass of wheals and welts, scarlet and purple blotched. 
They watched as Faith paced around the trembling, tearful policewoman, 
spanking her bottom with occasional, heavy-handed spanks as she verbally 
chastising her, exhorting her to greater obedience, deeper submission.

Eventually Kate was sent to stand nose to the wall in the familiar chastened 
position of a disciplined submissive.

Ma Dame’s exploration of Joyce’s bottom became more insistent making Joyce 
squirm, moaning as Faith turned her attention to the young brunette.

Dawn scurried forwards at the Slayer’s
 snapped command and Joyce listened 
carefully next to Ma Dame as Faith berated the increasingly distressed 
younger girl for skipping school to visit the mall with Janice. Promising 
her a real reason for her tears the older girl sent her sobbing she to lay 
herself over the high, leather topped whipping block as she turned to select 
a thin whippy cane from a rack on the wall.

Returning her attentions to Dawn she raised the young brunette’s skirt 
flipping it up over her to expose the white cotton of her panties stretched 
over her tightly rounded, teenage buttocks. Faith’s hand roamed Dawn’s rump, 
fondling it, seeming to test its springy resilience as she continued to 
scold her for playing hooky.

Watching, the delay seemed interminable as Joyce shared the growing sense of 
tension that Faith built for Dawn. Shaking, her body gave a familiar 
reaction to watching her
 daughter’s shuddering trial.

“Mmmmm…” Joyce moaned as Mistress Lillianne squeezed her rump more 
forcefully clearly inflamed by her own passions. Joyce trembled again in 
reaction.

And then as they watched Faith raised the cane to swish it down across 
Dawn’s panty clad rear. The brunette school-girl cried out at the impact, 
jolting as she did so and then the cane sang again.

A dozen times the cane fell and a dozen times she cried, squealing in 
distress before Faith drew the inadequate protection of the weeping Dawn’s 
panties over her bottom to her knees to reveal the scarlet striped curves of 
her tender hemispheres.

“Tres bon!” Madame Lillianne murmured, her hand unrelenting on Joyce’s 
flanks, making the Harem-mother tremble and squirm.

If either Dawn or her audience had been foolish enough to think that the 
lowering of her
 underwear signaled the end of her ordeal they were quickly 
disabused of the idea as The Red Queen’s Chamberlaine quickly raised the 
cane again and in a steady measured salvo of wicked strokes continued the 
brunette’s caning, making her scream and cry as her naked bottom was 
criss-crossed with a maze of angry, scarlet stripes that grew ever more 
complex as the thin, whippy cane kissed her buttocks. Dawn’s legs kicked and 
she bucked over the block, pleading, begging for mercy, promising that she 
would never offend again, that her behavior would improve.

Her pleas fell on deaf ears as Faith laid another dozen searing, cutting 
cane strokes across her tender rump-flesh.

Joyce groaned sagging against the tall young witch’s hand as its intimate 
caress teased her buttocks, feeding the ever hotter fires in her loins.

Her head spinning, her mouth as dry as her pussy was
 wet, the older woman 
watched as her daughter was slowly stripped naked; the removal of each item 
of clothing - blouse, then bra, then skirt, then shoes and finally socks 
until she stood with only her panties stretched as tightly as they could be 
between her parted knees ­ punctuated by another twelve strokes of the cane 
across her buttocks.

Finally Dawn was allowed to rise. Her tears long since exhausted, her futile 
cries and screams lost in her acceptance, she stood in silence, head bowed, 
her panties now at her ankles as Faith’s scolded her again, spanking her 
while she did so as she had with Kate, before sending her to stand in the 
corner too.

“Bon…tres bon!” Mistress Lillianne purred contentedly releasing Joyce. “A 
most satisfying result! I must compliment your Mistress on the skill of her 
Chamberlaine. Shall we continue our tour Joyce?”

Almost lost in the haze of her arousal, swamped by the powerful sexual 
presence of the tall French wiccan Joyce could only nod in agreement.

As she led the way she sensed Ma Dame pause, her eyes as hot and heavy, as 
real on her rump as her hand had been moments before. The Harem-mother 
shivered at the admiring lustful attention as she obediently swayed her hips 
in the required manner, attempting to allure her companion.

“Joyce, tell me something cherie…”

“Ma Dame?” Joyce paused.

“You spoke of your older daughter’s obedience training ­ her suffering and 
we have seen your younger child’s punishment…you do not balk at your 
daughter’s suffering?”

Joyce’s eyes narrowed as if puzzled at Mademoiselle Lillianne’s question.

“No Mademoiselle,” she said after a pause. “Why should I? We are all happy 
here in service to our
 Carmine Mistress ­ my daughters; my other charges; I 
myself. Sometimes we must be disciplined if we fail her high standards at 
other times, we must suffer for her pleasure…but then how else should a 
slave-girl live?”

“Ah oui,” A knowing smile stole over Mistress Lillianne’s face. “And you 
petite?” Joyce’s core pulsed, damp, humid at the witch’s choice of words. 
She felt herself aching, quaking as the raven haired Amazon continued her 
eyes hot, torrid with desire. ”You also suffer pour la plaisir de votre 
Maitresse? For your Mistress?”

Breathless, she trembled under the dark, intent eyed gaze.

“Y-y-yes Ma Dame.” Joyce panted breathless. “I-I am h-hers…her 
s-slave…l-like all the other girls…I…I…I am subject to her law. I w-was 
d-disciplined y-yesterday…”

She squirmed as memories of the day before swarmed through
 her.

“Ah…I see…please…you will tell me about that while we continue?”

Joyce shuddered at Mistress Lillianne’s words, the iron in her tone belying 
the politeness of the instruction.

As she began her stuttering, halting tale Joyce felt something switch inside 
her and she shook as remembrance seemed to shroud her, swirling with the 
mist of reminiscence.

The day before had begun as most days did; with scaring her younger charges 
from their beds at the customary time. As usual she found Anya in Cordelia’s 
bed, Harmony sharing Fred’s and Buffy and Dawn curled up like kittens in 
Dawn’s. She had been disappointed, even slightly jealous to see Kate being 
propelled forcefully by Faith towards the Chamberlaine’s chamber the night 
before. She knew what was in store for the policewoman was a night of 
intensely enforced pleasure at the dark haired
 Slayer’s hands. However Amy 
had been all too willing to help her forget and when she had turned the 
young witch out of her bed the following morning, warming her bottom as she 
did so to encourage her to begin her daily chores, she had felt contentedly 
ready for the new day.

It was not unusual when their Mistress was away to pair off like that into 
their usual couples. Only Faith had authority in their Carmine Mistress 
absence to deny them, selecting whichever of the seraglio she wished for her 
own pleasure. And if Joyce had been slightly surprised that Faith had chosen 
Kate rather than taking her to bed as was her wont the feeling of Amy’s 
skilled tongue between her nether lips had soon helped her to forget.

The Seraglio existed in an environment of refined eroticism. The presence of 
sex was always close and, after the intense conditioning that followed their 
induction into the seraglio and with all its members cloistered closely 
together, performing as they did an almost constant string of sexual 
services for their Mistress and Her guests, it was perhaps unsurprising that 
they had seemingly quite naturally taken lovers within the Harem, forming 
passionate relationships with their regular bed-fellows. The unambiguously 
sexual atmosphere was contributed to perhaps by the general lack of privacy. 
Though they each had their own bed-chambers they were more like alcoves ­ 
large enough for a double bed a dressing table, a toy-chest and some 
personal possessions ­ without doors they afforded no space for discretion 
and the huge shared open bathroom without cubicles or stalls, and its 
communal shower and bathing facilities complete with baths large enough for 
all of the harem’s members left no part of their personal hygiene private.

So, sensuality, nudity and the potently seductive allure of their Mistress 
power left them all, from the youngest to the oldest, in a permanent state 
of arousal, willing, eager even to perform any sexual act that their 
Mistress commanded.

Of course they did not understand that it was their Mistress’ influence, Her 
witchcraft in all its subtle power that drew on and enhanced the innate, 
latent attractions they felt for each other to form the couplings that She 
relished; pairing Joyce’s daughters; nudging Anya and Cordy - ‘Xander’s 
Girls’ together; helping Harmony and Fred to bond; Amy and Kate to fall for 
each other and drawing the Harem-mother herself close to the strict, often 
cruel sexual predator that was the dark haired Slayer.

All Joyce knew was that they were all happy now in their Mistress’ service, 
that her new sexuality left her fulfilled and
 complete; that what she felt 
for her Mistress and for Faith, for her charges and even for her daughters 
was more thrilling than anything in her life previously.

And so she explained the contented happy lives that they led as their 
Carmine Mistress’ concubines to the tall French witch as she showed her the 
various other chambers; the polished wood floored schoolroom with its row of 
nine pegs each hung with plaid skirt, blouse and tie, panties, socks and 
shoes; the games room and communal bathroom.

And though her tour she wove the tale of the previous day.

She recalled the happy comfortable breakfast that had preceded the day 
before. They were all ready for the day ahead. Cordelia, sticking to her 
vocational devotion to fashion was immaculately turned-out. Her retail 
experience had allowed her to take over the running of the gallery when 
Willow had made Joyce
 give it up to become Harem-mother. Dawn dressed, as 
usual, in her white blouse, plaid skirt, knee-highs, and shining shoes, her 
long shining hair in pig-tails was ready for school. Dawn had initially 
balked, railing at wearing the Catholic school-girl style uniform to her 
public high-school but a lengthy strapping over the kitchen table following 
a spanking over her Mistress lap had dampened her objections in a deluge of 
tears. A prolonged session with Faith had finally convinced her of the need 
for her to wear her uniform with pride simply because her Mistress wished 
it. Buffy was also dressed for school, though now for her new job as a 
School Counselor; her smart clothes obliquely referencing her sister’s 
uniform, with a half thigh, pleated skirt, white blouse, black pumps and 
blue blazer. Joyce had looked at her eldest daughter with pride that she 
managed to hold down a
 responsible job and ensure that her Slayer skills 
remained honed so she was able to assist their Mistress when needed, whilst 
still meeting all her obligations as one of Willow’s slaves. Fred was ready 
for her job as a lab assistant at UCS and the late arriving, weary looking, 
Kate, blushing at the teasing jibes after her night with the Slayer, was 
back in the uniform of Sunnydale PD. Buffy, Fred and Kate all owed their 
jobs to the huge influence Willow now wielded in Sunnydale. Even Anya, as 
the household’s book-keeper-cum-accountant was dressed as if for the office 
in a smart black suit. Her skirt was perhaps shorter than would have been 
acceptable had she worked elsewhere, revealing the tops of her black 
stockings, with their seams perfect and precisely straight up the back of 
her slender, shapely legs and her top was probably more revealing, lower 
cut, and made of almost
 transparent silk, than normal. Her day would be 
spent in the office attached to the mansion looking after their Carmine 
Mistress’ many business affairs. Whilst Willow’s empire may have been 
acquired by arcane means it still required a keen business mind to ensure 
its smooth running and Anya was ideally suited to such a role. Amy and 
Harmony did not go out to work either: Amy because her role required her to 
be available to act as a magical connection with Willow at any time and 
Harmony for the obvious reason of her sensitivity to daylight. So Amy, 
dressed in a slightly dowdy, female version of the sensible tweeds worn 
formerly by Rupert Giles  was ready for a hard day’s study and research in 
the mansion’s huge library of magical tomes and Harmony, who could not be 
expected to hold down a ‘day-job’, was in the maid’s uniform that she wore 
as their Mistress’
 house-keeper. It was a role to which the airhead, former 
cheerleader had seemed entirely unsuited. Indeed she had initially bemoaned 
her house-maid’s duties as being below her. She too had learned the hard 
way, at the end of a whip, to welcome the task allotted to her.

And that left Faith, dressed for the gym. She sloped in later than the rest 
to collect her breakfast and head for a seat out in the morning sunshine. 
She had developed the golden all-over tan of a true sun-worshipper since her 
release from prison and eating her ham and eggs in the morning sunshine she 
sat comfortably in the warm yellow light. She did not leave the grounds of 
the Mansion either ­ in her case so that she was available to deal with any 
misbehavior in short measure.

At that point none of them realized how busy Faith’s day was going to be.

Breakfast passed happily enough in a
 comfortable buzz of chit chat and 
playful gossip. As it had come to a close Joyce had, as usual, found herself 
hurrying them and out of the house with Dawn, Buffy and Fred, their skirts 
lifted, all earning her hand across their panties as they delayed their 
departures.

In the aftermath she had tidied up behind them before taking a few minutes 
to herself, sitting in the sun beside the pool. Faith had some-time since 
headed off for her appointment in the gym and it had been a warm morning. 
Sitting there in the peace and quiet she had soon dozed off over her coffee.

An hour later she had woken with a start.

The daily duties that accompanied her position of Harem-mother included the 
supervision of the three stay-at-home girls Amy, Harmony and Anya as well as 
monitoring the reports that she received from Dawn’s teachers and Buffy’s, 
Fred’s and Kate’s
 superiors and keeping an experienced eye on the goings on 
at the gallery.

Her day was usually full and losing an hour to Morpheus’ embrace was 
certainly not in her daily plan. Hurriedly she jumped up to be about her 
business.

She was dismayed to find that Harmony had not yet begun her cleaning duties: 
beds were unmade; the mansion was still in its usual early morning disarray 
despite the time. Amy was not at her desk in the Library either and the only 
sign that she had been there at all were the glowing light of her monitor, a 
couple of open tomes, a pair of pale cream panties and a pair of dark tweed 
slacks. Though Joyce knew little about witchcraft she knew that her Mistress 
depended heavily on Amy’s research and assistance in her dealings. Closer 
inspection of the underwear revealed a damp, musky stain in the crotch. 
Joyce frowned, a feeling of foreboding
 dawning on her. Of Anya there was no 
trace. Her desk was empty and though her computer was also up and running it 
was clear from the explicit content of the internet page she had been 
browsing, that she had not begun her daily tasks either.

Increasingly concerned she rushed about the house, searching room after 
room, becoming increasingly concerned that something had happened to the 
three blondes. She was confident that they were all contented slaves in 
their beloved Mistress’ seraglio and that they would not have absconded but 
she was also aware that the red haired Witch Queen had made enemies over the 
last few years. The Watchers’ Council, despite the presence of her ‘agent’, 
were always suspicious, untrusting of her power. The Senior Partners at 
Wolfram and Hart had avoided open conflict so far, but their antipathy was 
almost palpable at times and then there were the
 various denizens of the 
underworld that the Hell-mouth spewed.

Starting to panic she had rushed to the gymnasium where a sweaty, glistening 
Faith in lycra shorts, a tight, cropped sports top and sneakers was pounding 
out a rhythm on the punch bag.

She had paused to admire the lean, muscular sexuality of the Slayer’s sweat 
ridden body, her mouth watering slightly at the memory of Faith’s salty 
sweat on her tongue before she summoned up her courage and interrupted the 
Slayer’s work-out to explain.

She knew the risks and it was as she had feared. The dark haired girl was 
not happy.

“Joyce,” she snapped in exasperation. “You’re the Harem-mother. The girls 
are *your* responsibility - keeping track of them; making sure they do their 
chores; getting them ready on time for Miss Willow, when she’s in the mood; 
looking after their
 well-being!”

“I know Faith! I know!” Joyce had blenched, ringing her hands in face of 
Faith’s sudden rage. “But I can’t find them ­ I’ve tried their rooms, all 
over the house. I just don’t know where they could be.”

Faith’s frown was hardly inspiring and Joyce shook. Despite herself though, 
a little sliver of something else twisted in her depths.

“Well, I guess I was about done here anyway!” Faith picked up her towel and 
turned for the door. “C’mon Joycie…let’s find those three ­ and when we 
do…thinkin’ they’re gonna spend some time learnin’ why they should *not* be 
givin' us the run-around!”

Joyce had nodded hurrying after the Slayer.

“I-I missed you last night,” she’d stammered.

“Aw that’s sweet baby,” had been Faith’s wry response, her eyes sparkling.

“But I hope Kate gave
 satisfaction…”

Faith’s grin had been decidedly wolfish.

“Oh yeah,” she’d purred. “Complete satisfaction. But she’s got plenty to 
learn and her attitude needs some adjustment still.”

“Oh yes?”

“Yeah…not submissive enough yet for her Redness’ tastes…got herself in 
trouble at work again yesterday ­ thinking she’s a detective again. Think 
she an’ I are going to have to spend some time in the Punishment Room 
putting her right. Kind of a shame from where I sit though ­ I like ‘em with 
some fight in ‘em!”

“Oh!” The doubt had been palpable in Joyce’s voice.

“Aw…but not you Joycie…I like you fine just the way you are…obedient an’ 
polite, willing, horny an’ dirty!” Joyce’s blush had drawn another hungry 
grin from the younger woman as the heated itch in her loins had tightened a 
notch.
 “Mmmm…that’s you Joycie…ready to spread any time aincha Joycie?”

Joyce had blushed again her core tightening wetly at Faith’s words.

“W-w-w-well…I-I-I s-s-suppose…” had been her stammered response.

“Yup!” Faith had smirked. “But what I’m wonderin’ Joyce,” she had continued 
as they had looked around the last bedroom again; “is: what’s happened here? 
Seems that Harm hasn’t done a thing…look at this mess!” She’d pointed at 
Dawn’s unmade bed, and the two Harem suits, Buffy’s pink one and Dawn’s pale 
green that had been left where they fell the night before. “And Amy’s and 
Anya’s desks are empty yeah?”

Joyce’s silent nod was all the agreement she could give as a sort of 
foreboding slid through her. There was something decidedly unnerving about 
the turn of Faith’s thoughts.

“So what’s happened?
 It’s your job to keep an eye on them. How did you 
manage to miss all three?”

“W-w-well,” she stammered. “I-I…w-well I f-fell a-asleep…and when I woke 
up…” she trailed off as Faith turned on her heel to stare at her.

“You fell *asleep*?”

“W-well…yes…i-in the sun…after breakfast!”

Faith shook her head in disbelief.

“Joycie,” she said softly, her voice cold and hard. “We’re gonna find these 
three and then we’re gonna have a conversation…an’ you’re gonna tell me 
exactly what I should do with you. ‘k?”

Joyce’s face fell. “Y-yes Miss Faith.”

“Good!”

Things hadn’t improved when they finally had found the three ‘escapees’ in 
their Mistress’ bed-chamber.

Willow was very firm on the use of her private chambers. They were barred to 
her seraglio at all times
 except when she took one or often two or three of 
them to her bed. A simple cantrip kept them all out but Amy it seemed had 
discovered a way around it that morning and while Joyce snoozed she had 
convinced Anya and Harmony to disobey their Mistress’ instruction.

The sight of Amy, her head between Anya’s legs, her mouth busy whilst Anya 
lapped at Harmony’s folds and Harmony completed the happy chain only served 
to exacerbate matters.

Joyce had cringed with dismay as Faith had paused to watch the undeniably 
pleasant sight for a while before wading into them.

Not ten minutes later all four found themselves standing waiting for Faith 
in the Punishment Room.

It quickly became clear that though the chief culprit was Amy - only the 
witch could have discovered the nature of the wards on their Mistress’ bed 
chamber; only she had the talents to unravel them
 ­ Anya had instigated it. 
Her web-porn surfing had been the trigger, though neither witch nor vampire 
had required encouragement.

If Harmony’s punishment was therefore less severe as, like an unruly 
school-girls she had preceded the other two firstly over Faith’s knee and 
then touching her toes while the heavy black strap played across her rosy 
ass cheeks. It was nonetheless quite severely painful enough that she could 
only watch Anya’s subsequent ordeal through bleary, tear filled eyes as the 
former vengeance demon was also spanked and strapped before taking a dozen 
strokes of the crop across back, thighs and buttocks.

But as the instigator Amy’s suffering was of another order altogether.

The Slayer made it clear in no uncertain terms that *her* duty to their 
Mistress was to ensure that Amy paid for her crime. And, as the blonde 
haired witch stood,
 gnawing nervously on her lip, ringing her hands and 
swaying from foot to foot quailing, the Slayer, with a controlled calm 
restraint that seemed wholly alien to her natural instincts, described in 
detail the punishment that the miscreant Wiccan was about to suffer.

Beginning slowly, almost gently Faith spanked her rounded orbs, kept firm 
and shapely in the gym and dance studio, with gradually increasing force 
until their flesh began to darken, coloring a delicate pink, then a deep 
rose and then finally; florid, angry red. By the time she told Amy to stand 
up from her lap and to assume the position in which she had strapped Anya 
and Harmony the tears were already flowing.

The strap sang in the air as it visited and revisited her perfectly 
presented curves swishing in the air before spitting and snapping as it 
landed. Each stroke produced a crying moan of pain, a plea for
 forgiveness, 
pity, but each plea fell unheard for the strap to swish and snap in a 
seemingly endless circle of pain.

Not only did the strap fall longer and harder than it had on the two 
demonesses but when finally it fell silent Amy did not simply feel the crop 
as Anya had before she took her position with Anya and Harmony but she was 
instructed into a forth position. Joyce had shuddered fearfully as the witch 
clambered onto the black, leather-topped punishment bench to lay on her 
back.

Faith had then cuffed her ankles above her head so that she was bent double, 
her legs opened wide, leaving her vulnerable and exposed the shining gold of 
her jewellery glinting against the lush pink of her womanhood. With her arms 
stretched above her, her wrists cuffed to the bench the heavy flogger fell 
on her already flaming buttocks and thighs, between her legs, on her belly 
and across her sex turning her cries into shrieking wais of anguish as she 
thrashed and struggled in her bonds.

And still Faith was not done with her and Joyce watched, disturbed, 
horrified but fascinated, stirred by the whole display as Faith turned Amy 
onto her belly to swish her shoulders, her back and buttocks and legs with a 
long, thin dressage whip that left thin, cruel tramlines wherever it kissed 
her.

And as she watched dismay grew in the older woman filling her with a ball of 
gelid fear and foreboding that left her insides churning. The unhappy truth 
that she would be next left her shaking.

Eventually sobbing wordlessly, miserably in her agony Amy was released to 
stand in the corner with her erstwhile lovers and Faith had finally turned 
to Joyce.

“So Joycie…that conversation…”

She had blanched.

“Oh no
 Faith…p-please…n-not in front of the girls…please…”

“Yes Joyce…in front of the girls!” Faith had replied. “You were responsible 
for them…you know the drill hon…it might have been *their* mistake but it 
was *your* fault…so you’re gonna be punished for them to see. OK Joyce?” The 
dark haired girl’s voice had been hard, implacable and Joyce had felt her 
bowels tighten and churn.

“*OK Joyce?*” Faith repeated.

Joyce’s reply had been a stammered, hesitant. “Y-y-yes Miss Faith.” Hanging 
her head she had waited for the Chamberlaine to continue.

“So Joyce…let’s see…your duty to Mistress Willow  was to watch over these 
three to make sure that they don’t misbehave…and you know what they’re 
like…you know what *all* the girls are like…with all these hormones…and you 
*fell asleep*?”

Faith’s face had
 been tight her, jaw rigid and Joyce felt that cold mass 
inside her grow.

“Y-y-yes Miss Faith…I-I’m s-sorry.”

“Yeah ­ well…so what do you think we should do about it?”

Joyce, crest fallen had seemed to shrink. There was a pause before she had 
finally taken a deep breath and replied.

“P-punish me Miss Faith?”

“Damn right”

Joyce’s voice trailed away softly in embarrassment as her story became more 
personal.

“Ahh…” Madame Lillianne breathed softly. “And so you were punished yes?”

“Y-yes Ma Dame.”

“Please continue…tell me more…” Joyce swallowed nervously to hear the 
passion that was thick in her companion’s voice and she began again, taking 
a deep breath before continuing, her memories of yesterday’s events swirling 
around and through her.

“…come here!” Faith
 had continued responding sharply to Joyce’s stuttering 
admission.

Trembling Joyce had steeped forward to stand in front of the fire-brand that 
was the Slayer.

Of the four recalcitrants she was the only one not naked. Where the others 
had been chased from their Mistress’ bed as naked as they had been when 
discovered in their illicit assignation, she was dressed still in the pair 
of powder blue, loose fitting pajama bottoms with a matching strappy top 
that she had put on as she got up that morning. Breathing heavily with fear 
she had waited for the inevitable instruction to disrobe.

Joyce had not realized that her fingers had been toying with the lacey 
detail at her breast. When the instruction came her hands shook as she 
reached for the draw string at her waist to allow her pajama bottoms to slip 
over her hips to the floor. Stepping out of the pool of cotton
 she plucked 
at the hem of her top before tugging it hesitantly, blushing over her head. 
She had no real idea why she was so embarrassed. It was not that the four 
women present had not seen her naked before. In fact they had all witnessed 
her nakedness from positions of *much* closer intimacy, but there was 
something about being punished in front of her younger charges that always 
left her cringing with chagrined, humiliated embarrassment.

Faith’s eyes had been appreciative on her nakedness as usual, hot and lusty 
and Joyce shivered at her sometime lover’s torrid gaze. Unfortunately Joyce 
knew Faith well, very well, and the pleasure that she derived from her role 
as their Mistress’ disciplinarian was only too familiar to the older woman.

She had known that Faith was going to enjoy this and she had known that 
nothing was going to save her.

Turning, Faith had
 cooked a finger to beckon the now naked Harem-mother 
after her.

“Been a while hasn’t it Joyce since I had to deal with you…well except for 
fun eh baby?”

Joyce had blushed as the three younger girls giggled. It was no secret that 
Faith and she were regular lovers, nor was it a surprise to them that their 
Harem-mother enjoyed the Slayer’s intensely forceful and often painful, 
dominance in their love-making. Her late night cries, often heard emitting 
from Faith’s chamber were sufficient proof of that.

Faith’s grin had been sly and wicked.

“Still goes to show…none of you are beyond the need for discipline…another 
useful lesson for you three.” She had half turned to Anya, Harmony and Amy.

And so, reaching for Joyce’s wrist she had drawn the older woman towards her 
as she sat down again on the chair and then pulled her down sharply
 over her 
muscular thighs so that her victim gasped at the sudden movement.

“Come on Joyce!” Faith had growled sharply making Joyce screw her eyes 
closed as Faith roughly positioned her. “You know the drill!”

Of course she knew the drill. Not only had she been in this position before, 
often quite voluntarily but she had placed all of her charges just so 
frequently enough. Still something made her tardy, reluctant and 
uncooperative.

Maybe it was something instinctual, maybe she balked at the humiliation of 
being punished before her charges, maybe it was something else, some hunger 
in herself; but she felt her belly flutter as Faith forced her head down so 
that the dusky gold of her curls cascaded downwards; as the Slayer hitched 
her further up so that her rump was the highest point of the bow of her 
body; as her legs were forced apart with strong,
 determined hands to put on 
display her darkly moist, secret flesh; as her hands were grabbed and held 
in a strong Slayer’s grip behind her back rendering her helpless suspended 
over Faith’s knees.

Blushing like she hadn’t since her earliest days in the harem, heart racing 
Joyce waited with baited breath for Faith’s hand to fall.

When it did it had been with a sharp, hard handed clap on her tender cheeks.

She had given a low sigh of complaint in response before the stroke was 
repeated.

Faith had wasted no time in warming the older woman up, in teasing her with 
fear filled anticipation in the way she had with Amy and Anya and Harmony. 
Instead she had settled immediately into a harsh rhythm of heavy spanks that 
quickly covered the expanse of Joyce’s trim but matronly buttocks in a shade 
of pink. With each spank they colored deeper, flattening and
 bouncing as the 
heat grew and Joyce’s sighs had become gasps.

“You know why this is happenin’?” *spank*, *spank*, *spank*, *spank* 
“Don’tcha Joycie?” Faith had asked as her hand had continued to fall and 
Joyce began to moan softly.

“Ohhh…oh y-yes Miss Faith…ohh…ohh…ohh…ahhh!...I’m b-being…ohhh…p-punished”

“Good Joyce…that’s right…not some fun bed time paddling is it?” *spank*, 
*spank*, *spank*, *spank*, *spank*, *spank*

“Ohh…ohh-nohhhhh Miss…not fun…nohhhh!” She’d squirmed in Faith’s firm grasp.

“No not fun…a proper,” *spank* “punishment,” *spank* “spanking!” *spank*, 
*spank*, *spank*, *spank*

Faith’s hand had fallen harder and harder as her words grew more vehement.

“I don’t…” *spank*, *spank*, *spank* “wanna…” *spank*, *spank*, *spank* 
“spend…”
 *spank*, *spank*, *spank* “my time having to…” *spank*, *spank*, 
*spank* “deal with you Joyce Summers!” *spank*, *spank*, *spank*, *spank* 
“You should…” *spank*, *spank*, *spank* “know better!” *spank*, *spank*, 
*spank*, *spank*, *spank*, *spank*

The fire in her rump had begun to grow and the older woman had groaned, 
gasping now as her legs twitched while Faith spanked her again and again.

“Ohhhhh!!!” she’d whimpered and Faith had continued, spreading her 
attentions to apply a flurry of swats to the back of her legs.

“Ohhh! Ohhhh! Ohhhhhh! Ohhhhhhhhhhh!!! Oh s-s-sorry…oh sorry M-Miiiiiss!”  
Joyce had cried as the vulnerable flesh of her thighs blushed and burned 
under the assault.

Refining her target to exploit Joyce’s parted thighs Faith then adjusted her 
spanks to land the blows on the tenderness of her inner thighs.

“Ain’t good enough Joyce!” *spank*, *spank*, *spank* “You’re…” *spank*, 
*spank*, *spank* “supposed…” *spank*, *spank*, *spank* “to be…” *spank*, 
*spank*, *spank* “in charge!” *spank*, *spank*, *spank*

The shock of the sudden change seemed to snap something in Joyce and she 
cried out in dismay.

“Ohhhhhh!!! Ahhhhhhhh!!! N-nnnnn-nnahhhhhhhhhh!!!”

“That’s better!” Faith had quipped her hand falling mercilessly and 
unceasing. *spank*, *spank*, *spank*, *spank*, *spank*, *spank* “Much better 
isn’t it Joyce?”

*SPANK*, *SPANK*, *SPANK*, *SPANK*, *SPANK* Faith’s hand had continued to 
fall without respite and she had tightened her grip on Joyce’s wrists as her 
victim squirmed and writhed as she suffered.

“I…” *spank*, “said…” *spank*, “That’s…” *spank* “better…” *spank* “isn’t it 
Joyce” *spank*, *spank*, *spank*

A flurry of spanks had enforced the significance of Faith’s question with 
fire.

“Oooooo…Ohhhhh…Ahhhhh…Oh…y-y-yes Miss Faith…much…ohhhh much better Miss…oh 
th-thank you Miss…Ahhhhh…”

As flame had begun to consume Joyce’s nether regions her tears had flooded 
down her cheeks and she wailed in anguished distress. Deep inside her, in 
the core of herself that was not subsumed by her suffering, part of her had 
fretted over the dull knowledge that even when Faith’s cruelly hard hand 
fell silent, it would not be the end; that her punishment would continue; 
that Faith would select from the may instruments of discipline that lined 
the walls of the room as many cruel paddles or whips, crops and canes as she 
felt necessary to correct Joyce’s earlier fault.

Joyce had felt the answering throb of her pulse
 in between her thighs.

And still Faith had spanked her - *spank*, *spank*, *spank*, *spank* - and 
still she’d suffered as the Slayer maintained her unrelenting assault.

“And why…” *spank*, *spank* *spank*, *spank* “Is it that you’re over my knee 
with your fanny on fire Joyce?” *spank*, *spank*, *spank*, *spank* “Why is 
it Joyce?” *spank*, *spank*, *spank*, *spank* “I can’t hear you Joyce! 
*spank*, *spank*, *spank*

“Ohhhhhhhhh! Ohhh Miss…ooooooh…b-because I…ohhhhhhhhh…ohhh nohhhhh…I 
f-f-fell asleep Miss…wh-when I-I should have been Ahhhhhh…in charge 
of…ooooohhhhh…ahhhhh…i-in charge of the girls…ohhhhhh!”

“That’s right Joyce!” *spank*, *spank*, *spank*, *spank*  “That’s right and 
so you have to pay don’t you?”

“Ohh…oh yuh-yes Miss,” Joyce had managed to pant through her tears. “I-I 
h-have t-to pay!”

*spank*, *spank*, *spank*

“That’s right Joyce!” *spank*, *spank*, *spank*

Faith’s hand had fallen silent at last as Joyce’s rump and thighs blazed and 
the older moaned softly, panting for breath as heat suffused her emanating, 
spreading from her rump to her core and then throughout her being. She’d 
felt the surging dampness within the softness of her folded flesh and 
pressed her eyes closed in shame at the familiar arousal that possessed her.

“So…what have we here?” Faith had asked, grinning wryly at the three younger 
girls her hand slipping between Joyce’s wide flung thighs to slide over the 
inflamed, slippery flesh of her sex.

“Ohhhhh!” Joyce’s groan had come as she felt her liquid mouth probed, 
teased, tormented with gentle but adept fingers that slowly sampled her 
arousal whilst denying her
 release.

“You’re all hot Joyce. Hot and *very* wet aren’t you? Hmmm…”

Withdrawing her fingers, to hold them to her nose, breathing in the heady 
sweet scent of her musk, Faith had almost purred in pleasure.

“*I said: ‘Aren’t you Joyce?’*”

Her fingers had dipped into Joyce’s womanhood again and the older woman’s 
head flicked up in a tumble of rose and gold curls as she gasped at the 
penetration of her grasping core.

Her gasp hade been brief, distorting moments later into a cry as Faith 
withdrew her fingers again to rain her hand down on Joyce’s buttocks in a 
renewed assault in response to the older woman’ s hesitation.

*spank*, *spank*, *spank*, *spank*

“Ohh-ahhhhhh!!!” Joyce keened “Ohhh, y-yes M-Miss…I am Miss…Oh-oooooh!!!” 
She’d moaned blushing at the renewed shame of her admission, but with the 
usual perversity of life in the Harem she’d felt the knot of arousal tighten 
in her center as the humiliation built.

“You’re enjoying it aren’t you Joyce? Enjoying being spanked like a naughty 
girl aren’t you?” *spank*, *spank*, *spank*, *spank*, *spank* “It turns you 
on doesn’t it Joyce?” *spank*, *spank*, *spank*

“Ohhhhh…Ohhhhhh…Ahhhhhh!!!” Joyce had cried at the renewal of the assault on 
her rear. “Ohhh y-yes Miss Faith…it does…y-you know it does…ohhhhhhh!!!”

Faith’s grin had been cruel.

“But that’s not what we’re here for is it Joyce?” Faith’s hand falling 
silent again Joyce had panted, gasping as her sex had spasmed, leaching her 
essence onto her tormentor’s lap. “Why are we here Joyce?”

“Tuh-tuh-to punish m-me Miss…oooohhh…”

“That’s right Joyce…this isn’t meant to be fun is
 it?” Faith’s hand had 
swept gently, soothing over Joyce’s burning rump.

“N-no Miss!”

“No Miss!” Faith had agreed and as if to stress the point further she rained 
her hand down again. *spank*, *spank*, *spank*, *spank*, *spank*, *spank*, 
*spank*, *spank*, *spank* making Joyce cry out again.

“So now Joyce ­ what now?”

Straining her neck to look up at Faith Joyce had blinked away the tears that 
blurred her vision.

“N-n-now Miss?”

“Yes Joyce; now. As in; ‘what now?’ Repetition had made Faith’s voice 
harder. “You *know* we’re not finished here…so *what* - *now*?”

Joyce had sniffed.

“Oh!” she’d said. “I-I s-suppose m-more?”

“You bet your sweet ass, *more*, Joyce. But you’re the Harem-mother Joyce. 
I’m not making all the decisions here.”

“Oh!” the older
 woman had said understanding the Slayer’s meaning at last.

“So Joyce?”

Joyce had gasped as Faith’s hand slid over her burning flanks.

“Ohhh!” she’d sighed. “Ohh Miss Faith…I-I k-know I’ve been very bad…a-and 
I-I know I must be punished…please Miss Faith…please punish me again…” Joyce 
had blushed, squirming in shame as she spoke, asking humbly for more.

Inside her, her body had churned with that all too familiar combination of 
pain and humiliation and arousal. It was not that Joyce was a pain-slut ­ 
even if she had been comfortable with term. For the entire membership of the 
seraglio the connection between pain and arousal was blurred. Indeed 
Cordelia, Fred and Anya were evidently addicted to the torments they 
suffered; finding sexual fulfillment in their submission to and acceptance 
of the pain that they endured. But for Joyce, her
 acute susceptibility to 
the strange but intoxicating thrill of being forced to submit to the fierce 
and often cruel attentions of both her Mistress and her Mistress’ 
Chamberlaine was more about the compulsion itself, the repudiation of her 
right to chose than the actual pain. Initially this fact had disturbed her 
when she had entered The Red Queen’s Seraglio but eventually she had come to 
understand it, to accept and embrace the fact that her arousal and her 
sexual release had become intimately tied up with the humiliation that 
accompanied both the pain and that sense of being forced, against her will 
to accept it.

So she had squirmed over Faith’s lap her entire body seeming to throb with 
desire.

Faith had grinned. She, also, was closely, intimately acquainted with 
Joyce’s psyche.

“Good Joyce…now get up!”

Released from the young
 Slayer’s grasp Joyce had struggled off of Faith’s 
lap to stand, head bowed her hands clasped in front of her before the dark 
haired girl. She’d swayed slightly, squirming, trying vainly to ease the 
fire that covered her cheeks. She could feel the other three girls behind 
her, their eyes fixed on the blushing heat of her derriere.

“Now Joyce, first you’re gonna choose what we use to continue your 
punishment and then I’m gonna choose ok?”

Joyce had managed a nod in response.

“Y-yes Miss,” she’d said softly.

“And if I don’t like what you choose ­ if I think you’re being too lenient ­ 
then I can promise what I choose will more than make up for it. Now ­ go 
choose…”

Shuddering at Faith’s words Joyce had turned her attention to the line of 
whips and paddles, crops, canes and straps that hung along the punishment 
room’s back wall.

She’d been uncertain. She had watched Faith use this approach with the other 
girls before. Not long before she had watched as Dawn had chosen a light 
flogger only for Faith to select the heaviest rattan cane she could find on 
the basis that the flogger was inadequate. After experiencing the difference 
between the two, Dawn had sobbed that she would not made the same mistake 
again. Joyce, however, had never found herself having to make that choice 
herself and now she quailed, her flanks burning as, riddled with fear and 
arousal and humiliation, she’d paused, considered her options.

It had been a hard choice. She’d known that whatever she chose she would 
suffer long at Faith’s hand now. With a gulp she’d decided to gamble on the 
natural sense of fairness that she knew was deep down at the core of their 
Mistress’ disciplinarian.

Selecting the heaviest strap she could find she’d turned and knelt before 
Faith, holding it out, her head bowed.

The Slayer had almost purred; her own arousal a pressing need. It was no 
secret in the Harem that Joyce was her favorite because of the older woman’s 
reticent, reluctant submission; a reserve that was in sharp contrast to the 
extravagantly expressive sexuality of her performance when she was 
compelled.

As Joyce had peered up from under gold and cinnamon brows Faith’s heart had 
skipped at the adoration, the heated supplication that glinted in those 
liquid orbs that gazed up at her and she’d felt her body, her sex tighten. 
Between her legs her clit had seemed to twitch in anticipation.

However, if Joyce’s punishment was not intended for her pleasure then it was 
equally not intended for Faith’s either. That, she’d thought, would be saved 
for later. So, despite the flaring need she felt for Joyce, Faith had 
struggled with the yearning in her loins, suppressing her desires and 
schooling her thoughts. She remembered her duty and the burden of 
expectation placed upon her by the Red Queen.

“Good Joyce!” She’d said briskly as she’d taken the strap from her. “Now ­ 
stand up ­ turn around ­ hands on your knees ­ quickly woman ­ now feet 
apart ­ you know how far ­ quickly!!!” Her instructions had been sharp and 
crisp and hard with command as Joyce scrambled to comply.

Bending over in the prescribed position Joyce had shivered. She had to admit 
to herself yet again the thrill of acquiescing to Faith’s authority but icy 
fear knotted in her guts, her bowels as she’d waited.

When the younger girl’s arm had finally fallen to stroke the strap across 
her flanks in a blaze of agony, she was
 atremble with terror.

What followed had been a torrid, prolonged torment. As the Slayer had rained 
strokes wordlessly down on the wide spread of her buttocks Joyce had wailed 
and pleaded, crying and sobbing as she suffered, writhing shamelessly in her 
distress under the avid gazes of the three younger slaves.

Faith had strapped her slowly, methodically, steadily; each blow separated 
by an eternity of suffering for the older woman; the deep rose of her bottom 
in the aftermath of the earlier spanking turning, blotchy dark, angry 
stripes of crimson then purple agony. Joyce had arched her back, her head 
flicking up as each stroke landed. Between the swats she’d leaned forward, 
her hair falling down to shroud her as her head hung down and agony consumed 
her, shrouding her in misery, alone in a silence punctuated only by the 
harsh *schrap* of the strap and her own crying.

Her cries had softened to almost sotto voce; gasping, sobbing wordless pleas 
that slipped from her lips as she’d slipped deeper and deeper into anguish.

“Ha-owwww…oh no…oh nohhh…ohhhhhhhhhhhhhh…”

And then a pause…before Faith had strapped her again.

Moaned again in torment her hips swaying, rolling, writhing; her naked feet 
shuffling, twitching, swinging slowly off the floor; her knees bent as she’d 
dipped forwards at the deep agonizing heat that burned its way into her.

When Faith did break her silence it was only to tell her to hold still 
before the strap sang again.

By the time that Faith’s arm had fallen for the last time, Joyce’s buttocks 
and thighs were a maze of livid agony. Only some long forgotten diktat held 
her in place; agony consuming her; suffering owning her; pain possessed 
every mote of her being.

Exhausted she’d sobbed, wordless in her dismay as she’d struggled, writhing 
standing upright at Faith’s command as the Slayer selected the crop with 
which to complete her punishment. Clasping her hands behind her neck she’d 
sobbed wordlessly, while the insidious tab of the riding crop sneaked its 
cruel way over and across her breasts, down her belly to her thighs and then 
between her legs, slapping wetly, stinging the pouting lips, the liquid 
flesh of her sex.

In the end the morning was gone before Faith, her face rigid with restrained 
passion, had dismissed all four of them to be about their chores.

Struggling in the haze of painful arousal that filled her afternoon Joyce 
had helped Harmony with her housework and then Anya with her tasks before 
Faith came to her with a pot of their Mistress’ soothing magical balm.

The relief from the pain was a two edged
 sword for it did nothing for the 
lusty need that ached in her loins which, once the distraction of her 
suffering began to ebb, burned with a different intensity deep inside.

Faith’s smile was wry, sardonic and knowing as she had left Joyce 
shuddering, quaking with need.

“The girls will be back soon Joycie,” she had quipped. “You better go make 
sure they all behave…”

The evening had passed quietly enough with Dawn at her homework, Buffy and 
Faith sparring, Cordy and Anya in the dance studio and the others about the 
various hobbies, duties and pastimes that filled their lives.

Meanwhile Joyce had fretted, almost drowning in the wash of hormones that 
still suffused her body, unable to concentrate on the painting of Fred and 
Kate in ‘flagrante delicto’ that she had been working on for her Mistress’ 
collection. Her love of art had only
 manifested itself in her own work since 
her entry into the seraglio. Previously she had lacked the confidence in her 
own abilities but the life of a slave took away many liberties; the freedom 
to indulge her own fears being one of them. Her Carmine Mistress’ 
commandments now governed her existence leaving no room for her own 
insecurities to rule her actions.

She had come to take pleasure and pride in her paintings of the various 
erotic tableaux that her Mistress’ Seraglio afforded. Certainly they seemed 
to please the vermillion haired Witch-queen and they were displayed about 
the mansion with considerable pride.

Usually Joyce found her art calming despite the undeniable eroticism of 
subject matter but on that night it only served to exacerbate the raw, 
heated lesion of her need. Consequently she had found it hard to concentrate 
and little progress was made before
 Kate’s and Fred’s interest waned as they 
became distracted by the more immediate appeals of each other’s charms.

Normally she would probably have scolded them for their indiscipline and 
quite probably have spanked them both to boot but she had been unable to 
focus and eventually she had sent them away. They had quickly retired to 
Kate’s bed early, from where their cries of pleasure were soon heard.

As if spurred on by their cries the other girls quickly followed their lead: 
Anya, Amy and Harmony slipping away to a shared bed in Harmony’s room, 
giggling now as they renewed their illicit morning tryst. Cordelia initially 
jealous at her lover and dance-partner’s departure with the witch and the 
soulled vampire was soon distracted by Buffy. Sweaty and slicked, heated 
from her sparring, the Slayer had pounced upon the sulking brunette, 
dragging her away to Dawn’s
 room to find her sister and distract her from 
her homework to form a second threesome.

Which had left Joyce alone; until Faith had come from the gym where she had 
stayed after Buffy’s departure to finish her work-out. The Slayer grinned, 
her lips curled in a wolfish hunger; a predatory curve that made Joyce 
shudder with a mixture of fear and desire and relief at the younger woman’s 
attention.

The dark haired Slayer’s arms were strong, undeniable as her mouth had 
descended on Joyce’s claiming her in a kiss of irresistible passion. Eyes 
sparkling with a long restrained desire that matched her prey’s, she had 
swept Joyce into muscled arms and carried her, wordlessly, to her bed; where 
she had taken her, Joyce clinging to Faith, her long legs wrapped around the 
Slayer as she had been ridden hard. The younger woman taking possession of 
the older; ravishing her
 long into the night with the prodigiously sized 
strap-on dildo that Faith reserved only for Joyce, fucking her over and over 
with all the potent, raging sexual energy that her Slayer’s magical nature 
could generate.

After Faith had fucked her tirelessly for what seemed like hours the Slayer 
had used the exhausted older woman’s mouth for her own repeated pleasure 
before Joyce was allowed to rest; sated, wearily subsiding into a deep, 
contented sleep of fulfillment in the dark haired girl’s arms; her burnished 
curls on Faith’s shoulder; her body curled next to her young lover’s muscled 
frame.

Though Joyce belonged to her Carmine Mistress Willow and she was content, 
happy even like all the members of the Seraglio, with her lot in the Russet 
Haired Witch’s household, a special place in her heart was reserved for 
Faith. She enjoyed that special dominance that
 Faith reserved for her, the 
individual attention. She would never express it, nor even admit it to 
herself. Her heart was not her own to give but she loved the young Slayer 
with a passion unlike any that she had experienced previously.

When she awoke the next day, still wrapped in Faith’s powerful embrace she 
had felt complete, contented, happily fulfilled, before the Slayer had made 
love to her again, the friction of her lover’s sex against her own driving 
them both to shared delight.

An all-together more calm and measured Harem-mother had set about rousing 
her charges from their various beds. She had grinned to find, despite their 
initial destinations, that Cordelia and Anya had returned to their shared 
bed together after slipping away from the threesomes with whom they had 
started the night. They were not the only ones to have made a late night 
switch: She’d
 found Fred now in Harmony’s bed with Amy in Kate’s, the witch 
and the policewoman sprawled together in the wreckage of their bed clothes. 
Only Buffy and Dawn had been where they had started the night. She’d smiled 
at her sleeping daughters before waking them. They were so clearly, deeply 
in love.

Setting about her duties with a will Joyce had rousted them all out, certain 
that there would be no lapses today. The preparations for this evening’s 
events were too important to her returning Mistress.

There had been a buzz about the Seraglio that morning, a murmur of excited 
expectation at the imminent return of their Queen and Mistress.


The memories filled Joyce with heat and passion and a strained, tense 
feeling of pleasure. A sense of wellbeing seemed to swathe her as she 
recounted her experiences of the preceding day to the tall French witch.

Returning to the present she shuddered again feeling that heated gaze on 
her. Blushing she realized that, as her thoughts had wondered through her 
memories, she had strayed from the question she had been asked about her 
recent punishment onto more intimate matters.

The heat of that gaze however, confirmed Mistress Lillianne’s interest in 
her account, her eyes sparkling, flashing lustfully.

“Ah now petite…en vrai?”

Joyce quaked, feeling herself drawn in, almost mesmerized, by the French 
witch’s gaze.

“Y-yes Ma Dame,” she breathed longingly. Joyce was consumed, almost 
overwhelmed by the desire to fall to her knees in front of the young witch, 
offering herself to the passion promised in that gaze.

“Perhaps,” Madame Lillianne’s smile was lopsided, wry as she watched the 
emotion, the desire play across Joyce’s face. Her frankly
 sexual interest 
blazed hotter in her eyes. “You can tell me more, later…please Joyce, 
petite…continue…”

Joyce blushed as the spell was broken and Mistress Lillianne laughed 
lightly, gesturing in the direction in which they had been heading.

Joyce bobbed again in curtsey and gestured with her hand to the heavy wooden 
door at the end of the corridor. It was made of a dark reddish-brown, 
tightly grained wood and bound with dark black metal. Carved with numerous 
arcane sigils, symbols and runes, at the top was an image of a crown and 
below the same rune that adorned Joyce’s hip.

“This way Ma Dame…”

She lifted the heavy, black metal door knob and swung back the door to allow 
them into the Harem. A corridor stretched in front of them to another 
identical door. On either side the plane of the corridor wall was broken by 
a number of arched
 openings. From down the corridor came the unmistakable 
sound of women in the throes of pleasure.

Joyce led the tall young Frenchwoman down the corridor past the first of the 
openings. Inside was a neat, orderly bedchamber. It was empty, as was the 
second.

Joyce knew what she would see in the third chamber. From it came little 
gasps of ecstasy. She and the Frenchwoman peered inside. There standing 
naked from the waist down stood the willowy figure of Mademoiselle Serena. 
On their knees at her feet crouched Amy and Fred, naked as they had been 
when Joyce had left them earlier. Their heads were bowed to Mademoiselle 
Serena’s feet where they worshipped; their lips and tongues bathing the 
witch’s feet, lapping them, kissing , teasing between her toes, laving her 
instep, her heels and ankles before they began to kiss their way upwards.

Joyce and Mistress Lillianne
 watched with baited breath as, their mouths 
never leaving the smooth flesh of the witch’s legs they adored her calves 
and then the tender flesh behind her knees, each concentrating on one leg. 
They reached her thighs and Serena parted them slightly with a sigh allowing 
them to kiss the tender inner flesh. Amy bent her head to reach behind 
Serena, her mouth continuing its languorous upwards path as Fred’s mouth 
moved slowly, painstakingly towards her Domme’s neatly barbered, blonde 
crowned center.

“Ahhmm…” Serena sighed again, contentedly as Amy kissed her buttocks and 
Fred’s lips mouthed the depressions of the wells of her pelvis where her 
belly met her thighs.

Joyce shuddered, giving a faint gasp as she felt Ma Dame’s hand brush gently 
across her flanks, stroking her bottom once more. She felt her labia part, 
splitting to allow her dampness to pool
 anew in silken material of her 
panatloons.

Fred moved northwards again to swirl her tongue in the fair curls below 
Serena’s belly whilst Amy covered the satin of her bottom with a myriad 
gentle kisses.

“Mmmm…yes…now mes petites choses…” Serena’s hands reached for the two Harem 
girl’s heads pressing downwards so that Fred’s face was pressed lower into 
her sex as Amy’s pressed between her buttocks.

“Ahhh!!!” she gasped in pleasure as their tongues found their targets; 
Fred’s slipping between the folds of her cleft and into the succulently 
intimate flesh of her core; Amy’s finding the taut knot of her anus, 
swirling wetly against its tension, her jaw working as she pressed deeper 
seeking admission to her secret mouth.

Serena writhed under their skilled, adoring twofold attentions a torrent of 
expressive French passion pouring
 from her mouth as they pleasured her.

Joyce quaked, shuddering, as Madame Lillianne explored her bottom, 
remembering the last time she had felt two tongues like that.

As Serena began to crest, leaning heavily on Fred’s and Amy’s heads for 
support Madame Lillianne drew Joyce away.

“Come” she whispered. “I wish to see more.”

With difficulty Joyce tore herself away from the enthralling sight of Fred 
and Amy’s service and the pleasure it induced and turned to show the French 
witch to the next chamber.

From inside came cries of a different kind. Within, Anya knelt on the bed. 
Her hands were cuffed behind her back her ankles stretched apart by an ebony 
spreader bar. Behind her Mademoiselle Erin knelt, a glistening ebony dildo 
strapped to her groin. Six inches of its nine inch length was sheathed in 
the blonde ex-demoness’ bottom. As they
 watched, her ass swallowed the 
remaining three inches and Anya bucked as she was sodomized massively. But 
despite the huge impaling shaft that pumped now, reaming her anus her head 
remained obediently bowed, dipped between Cordelia’s wide-spread thighs. The 
statuesque brunette sprawled in front of her; legs apart, her sex welded to 
Anya’s mouth moaning her face distorted by pleasure as her friend’s tongue 
worked inside her sex.

“Huh!” Lillianne grunted softly as she fondled Joyce. “Dear Erin…she loves 
her games of jeopardy! The first to come will be whipped by the other…if I 
know her,” she whispered to Joyce. “Shall we wait and see?”

“A-a-as y-you w-wish Ma Dame!” Joyce stammered in reply.

“Non,” the French Mistress concluded a moment later. “There is more to see 
n’est-ce pas?” She gestured with a nod to a third chamber from which
 Joyce’s 
daughter’s cries of ecstasy came loudly.

“Y-y-yes Ma Dame.” Joyce shuddered at the sound looking up at Lillianne.

Within Buffy’s chamber the blonde haired Slayer sprawled naked on her bed. 
Lying on her back her slight weight resting on her shoulders. Her legs were 
raised, held up and stretched wide in Mademoiselle Ariel’s grasp and she 
cried out in stained, blissful anguish in the gamine French witch’s grasp, 
her face strained in a rictus of pleasure as Ariel’s thighs slapped against 
her uplifted buttocks.

Mistress Lillianne smiled affectionately at her sister admiring the way the 
young French witch drove a thick glistening glass dildo into Buffy’s ass.

“And who is this cherie? She asked.

“I-it is B-Buffy ­ m-my o-other daughter Ma Dame,” Joyce managed to reply 
through the surge of lust that the sight of Buffy being
 sodomized inspired 
in her.

“Ah ­ of course. I should have known from the way you quake ma petite!” Ma 
Dame Lillianne’s hand was on Joyce’s bottom again. “Joyce, cherie, you found 
your Dawn’s suffering quite…stimulating non? And now you find the sight of 
your daughter’s buggering thrilling yes?”

Joyce closed her eyes as a sense of shame cascaded over her; nodding 
wordless and mortified, unable to deny the truth as Buffy’s cries pierced 
her heart. She knew the sound of her daughter’s impending climax.

“Y-yes…oh yes Ma Dame!” she almost sang with passion.

“And you have made love with her?” the witch probed.

Joyce nodded unable to deny the taboo shattering truth. Trembling at the 
tightening in her core Joyce clenched her eyes shut, the memory of Buffy’s 
flavor on her tongue assailing her.

“Y-yes Ma Dame.
 Mistress Willow loves to see us take pleasure from each 
other; Buffy, Dawn and myself. I have made love with both of them…often.”

“Mmmmm…then perhaps, ma petite femme, we will watch you do so again soon.”

Joyce shook, her sex quaking in a spasm of desire, her essence flooding in 
the sodden fabric of her Harem suit between her legs.

As they spoke Buffy’s orgasm crashed over her. She cried, bucking, her 
Slayer strength hardly restrained, almost slipping the witch’s grasp.

Releasing her grasp on Buffy’s ankles Mademoiselle Ariel removed the dildo 
from Buffy’s rosehole to clamber over the now sprawled Slayer to present it 
to her mouth to clean.

Suddenly urgent now with desire, Ma Dame drew Joyce away from her daughter’s 
room.

“Which is your chamber petite…or shall I take you here in the hall?” She 
demanded heated and harsh
 with lust.  As one hand explored her bottom again, 
probing now, through her pantaloons to find the tight knot of her sphincter, 
the other brushed over her breasts, touching her stubborn nipples through 
the gauze of her choli before sinking lower to find the wetness that 
dampened her pantaloons where her thighs met.

“Ohhhhh!” Joyce moaned sagging as Ma Dame pressed her fingers into the damp 
silk and into her womanhood.

“Well Joyce? Which shall it be? Tell me!”

Joyce was almost lost. “Ohhh…oh…wh-which-which ever my Lady 
w-wishes…ohhhhhh!” She writhed against the pressure between her legs.

Mistress Lillianne smiled.

“Quite right cherie. Come show me to your chamber…”

Her thoughts whirling Joyce led Madame Lillianne across the hallway to her 
bed-chamber.

“You may disrobe!” Lillianne’s voice was strong, run
 through with iron 
command Joyce shuddered.

“O-of course M-Ma Dame!” Joyce stammered, her heart hammering in her chest.

“Quickly *ma femme*…I do not expect to be kept waiting petite!”

Joyce could feel the eyes of the French witch burning into her.

“Y-yes Ma Dame!” she stammered, her hands shaking as they moved to where her 
clothes were fastened, undoing them to remove her choli and her slashed 
pantaloons, allowing them to slide to the floor in a sibilant shiver of soft 
silk to leave her naked.

The witch’s eyes widened in appreciation of the older woman’s slimly curved 
form. Joyce’s willowy body was in good shape, firm and lean from the 
vigorous training regime that the whole seraglio shared. She was slender but 
womanly, alluring, her breasts belly, hips and thighs full and shapely; a 
pale, faint maze of stretch marks showing faintly
 on the smoothly supple 
skin over pleasing curves that, with only the slightest signs of sagging, 
belonged to an attractive, handsome woman in her prime. She remained lithe 
and svelte, her youthful athleticism enduring into her middle years and her 
waist was narrow, trim; her limbs lean and strong with defined muscles under 
silky, pliant golden flesh. Ma Dame Lillianne smiled with delight giving a 
low gasp of passionate admiration as Joyce exposed herself fully to reveal 
the golden piercings that adorned her nipples, her labia, her clitoris with 
the slender gold chains that connected them. Her pubic mound was waxed, 
naked and smooth.

“Ah ­ Ma Dessee tres belle ma petite! Tres belle.” Madame Lillianne purred, 
slipping into her native tongue in delight as she circled Joyce inspecting 
her nakedness. The older woman moaned as the tall Frenchwoman pinched her 
firm rounded
 cheeks before spanking her bottom several times, making her 
buttocks bounce and jiggle. Breathless, gasping Joyce quaked as heat ignited 
across her flanks to send stabbing spasms to her core

“Vous êtes dans la forme très merveilleux pour une femme de votre âge.” She 
breathed slipping into her native tongue. “It is good to see!” she finished.

Sliding a hand between her thighs the witch tugged on Joyce’s clitoral 
piercing making her groan before she slipped between the liquid folds to 
enter her.

“Ohhh…mmm…ahhhh!” Joyce gasped her knees sagging slightly as her body 
accepted the long, slender invading finger.

“Bon! Good Joyce!” Lillianne murmured as she fucked the older woman her 
other hand spanking her again. “Ma Dessee but I must take you now cherie!

Releasing her she led Joyce to the bed, laying her down on her back.

Carefully she positioned Joyce, making her raise her arms together above her 
head to grasp the brass staple at the head of the cast-iron and brass of the 
bed. She drew Joyce’s feet up to press the soles of her feet together, 
spreading her knees, pressing them down to either side so that her legs 
formed a bow. Her position arched her back slightly, raising her hips, 
thrusting her hips, her sex upwards towards the lustful inspection of the 
Frenchwoman.

Madame Lillianne’s eyes narrowed appreciatively as she stepped back to view 
the older woman laid out in supplication before her.

“Mmmmm…” she purred in delighted approval as her eyes wondered lustfully 
over her courtesan’s body.

Joyce shuddered feeling Ma Dame’s heated scrutiny, her eyes seeming to burn 
into her as she moved now to either side of the bed to examine the feminine 
form laid out before
 her. The examination seemed to last an eternity and 
Joyce blushed in shame and embarrassment as she felt the younger woman’s 
keen assessment appraise her, evaluate her. She gasped as Lillianne ran the 
back of her finger up the delicate flesh of her under-arms drew a nail 
lightly up her shin, stroked her thigh, palmed her belly, swept the hair 
back from her face. Joyce’s heart raced, her skin burning at each contact

Ma Dame Lillianne stood upright, a wry grin on her face.

“Spread yourself now ma petite! Show me your treasures!” she commanded and, 
obediently, entranced as if she could not fathom any refusal, Joyce opened 
her legs, spreading her arms out wide in a cross. She shuddered, flushing as 
she displayed her body, exposing herself to the Frenchwoman’s avid lust.

“L-like this Ma Dame?” she whispered almost hoarse with her own surging 
desire.

“Raise your knees cherie. Show me your noeud…your little hole…”

Blushing, squirming with chagrin but unquestioning, docile, compliant 
despite her humiliation Joyce obeyed, lifting her knees, bringing them back 
towards her breasts so that she showed everything to the dominant witch.

“L-like this Ma Dame?” she repeated herself. “Can you see everything now Ma 
Dame…can you see that both my fuck holes are ready for you?” Her eyes were 
hooded, heavy with lust and shame as she breathed her lustful question to 
the attentive domme’s ardent zeal.

Mistress Lillianne smiled hotly before she swooped, descending on the older 
woman to claim her.

Joyce arched, shuddering, her core tightening in arousal as Ma Dame 
Lillianne explored her body; tracing her chains from one piercing to 
another; teasing her nipples and tweaking her clitoris, plucking at the four
 
golden rings in her labia; swirling her fingers in the flooding moisture 
within; probing the tight wrinkled knot of her anus, testing its taut 
resilience with pussy moistened fingers; scratching her nails over the soft, 
sensitive skin of her inner thighs, nipping the tendons where her thighs met 
her belly between thumb and forefinger; pinching her thighs and her bottom, 
slapping her breasts and her sex; dipping her fingers into her core her 
again before painting her lips with her slick seasoned essence, stroking her 
tongue so that she tasted herself, sharp and intense, the heated musk of her 
arousal filling her senses as Ma Dame’s other hand smacked her sex again.

Overwhelmed by sensation she moaned around her lover’s seasoned fingers, 
writhing as she was tormented by an excess of pleasure and pain at Ma Dame’s 
playing of her body.

She felt, rather than heard
 the younger woman’s words her voice admiring, 
uneven with passion, but soothing, gentling, restraining her. The whole 
experience filling her, overwhelming her utterly she became a crucible of 
desire, a sexual vessel in which the difference between the vessel and its 
contents blurred, becoming one.

She strained, gasping, her back bowed, her shoulders tight, her knees 
clutched to her chest as she felt a thumb, greased again with the juices of 
her core, slip inside the hidden knot of her bottom.

“Mmmm…good cherie,” she felt her tormentor murmur. “Shall I take you here 
cherie?” The thumb pressed deep into her before easing back only to thrust 
inside again. “…like your daughter…or perhaps I should mount you…ride you - 
your mouth, your tongue ­ ride you like a pretty pony?”

Joyce could only moan, her need gurgling with in her throat as the thumb 
stroked the inner walls of her ass while the cruel, smarting smacks on her 
molten core began again.

“Ohggggghhh…Ahhggghhh…oh…ohhggghhh…ohhhhhnnnnuhhh…ohhhhhhh!”

“No cherie…perhaps later…” Joyce moaned with loss as the thumb was withdrawn 
from her sphincter leaving her empty, her secret mouth, pouting in an 
involuntary moue. A flurry of spanks on her thighs and sex set her writhing, 
crying, her legs twitching and kicking as she strained to keep herself 
spread for her lover.

“Ohhh…Ohhh…Ahhhhhh…Ohhhhahhhhhh….nuhhhh….nuhhhhhh…nuhahhhhhhhowwwwww!!!”

Lost in the abysm of her passion Joyce was almost oblivious as the spanking 
smacks stopped leaving her heaving and shuddering. But her relief was as 
brief as it was ill-regarded. She moaned quaking again as she felt her 
lover’s fingers within the coral of her sex once more,
 swimming in her lush 
heated flesh before slipping lower into the funnel of her womanhood, 
pressing into her aperture and inside the crux of her being.

“Ohhhhhhhhhh!!! Ohhh ye-e-e-esssss,” she cried as the two fingers sank into 
her center, raiding her core, thrusting in and out of her wetness, fucking 
her. “Ohhhhhh…ohhh G-Goddess Mistress…s-s-sohhhhhhhh…oh so good Ma Dame…”

“So tight ma cherie…so wet…ah your Mistress is fortunate…you have the cunt 
of a teenager not a mother!”

Arching with desire, desperate for release, relief, feeling her liquors 
oozing, flowing, flooding from her core Joyce cried as she felt the pressure 
against her g-spot.

“Ohhhhhhhhhhh…oh p-p-p-please Ma Dame…please…oh please…ohhhhhhhh…”

“Gently petite …gently…you are not ready yet cherie…” Lillianne gentled her 
again her free hand
 pressing firmly now on Joyce’s belly seeming to steady 
her, anchor her, denying her.

Joyce moaned; “Ohhhhhhhhhhh…” mournful almost as the pressure eased on that 
bundle of nerves behind her pubic bone.

“We have a long way to go before you are ready cherie…my exquisite hourri…”

“Ohhhhhhhh!!!” Joyce cried as she felt a third finger press into her core, 
beginning to stretch her, to strain the taut resilience, regained by the 
regular exercises that gave her feminine sheath that tight muscular 
strength, the equal of any other member of her Queen’s Seraglio, that her 
flame haired Lady so enjoyed.

Her shoulders and arms shaking to hold herself as Ma Dame instructed she 
Joyce felt Mistress Lillianne’s presence over her she writhed on the fingers 
that ravished her.

“That’s right cherie…can you feel it as you are *fucked* ma femme?
 Oh yes 
you can can’t you? So wet as you strain to take it…you are so wet cherie…you 
need it don’t you? You need to be fucked…you need to come don’t you?”

“Ohhhhh…ohhhh y-yes Mistress…yes I n-need…need to be f-fucked…m-made to 
c-come…oh please…ph p-please Ma Dame…f-fuck me…” Joyce shook violently as 
the pressure built once more inside her as she felt the witch’s fingers rub 
over, chafing her sweet spot.

Lillianne’s eyes were bright above her watching the older woman surrender 
utterly, lost in her desire.

“Not yet ma femme…you must not come …not until I have filled your harlot’s 
body! Not until I permit you to petite…or I will whip you cherie!”

Joyce shuddered in the desperation of the demanded self-restraint as she 
tried to calm herself, holding back the soaring, oppressive screaming demand 
of her orgasm.

“Uh…Uhh…uh…ohhh…oh yuh-yuh-yes Mistress.” She gasped.

Lillianne smiled.

“Now then petite…more? Oui?”

“AHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!” Joyce howled as a fourth finger pressed remorselessly 
inside her, straining her still further as it sawed, with its fellows, in 
and out of her womanhood, manipulating her inner flesh, straining her 
muscles, plying the soft, spongy bulge inside her.

“AGGGGGHHHHHHOGGGHHHHHHHOHHHHHHAHHHHHHHHHHH…p-p-p-please Mistress…please 
m-m-m-make me!!!” Begging she screamed her futile desire. But her 
obligation, her acceptance of her lover’s control held.  
“Ohhhhhhgggghhhhh...AHHHHH…OHHHHHHHH…G-Goddess Ma Dame…OHHHHHHHHHHH!!!

“Good petite…let yourself *feel* it as you are taken…let yourself feel 
it…but hold yourself…you may not come yet cherie…you are not ready…not 
full…”

“N-n-no Mistress I will n-n-not Mistress…as you command me…ohhhhhh…” Joyce 
groaned through her teeth as Lillianne’s fingers twitched inside her.

“Good Joyce…now then…”

Kneeling between Joyce’s legs as she did so the French witch had the perfect 
view of Joyce’s body, bowed as it was, her face distorted in a rictus of 
agonizing pleasure as she moved her thumb to the mouth of the older woman’s 
slick entrance.

“AHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!!!” Joyce’s cry was a scream as she felt the 
thumb press into her, entering her, to fill her womanhood with Ma Dame 
Lillianne’s entire hand.

Joyce knew what came next. She had been fisted before but never so 
masterfully, so completely, that she felt every knuckle, every bulge and 
ridge of her lover’s hand stretching her softness, her yielding, liquid, 
velveteen passage. She was no stranger
 to this type of invasion and she 
tried to relax herself to accommodate the anticipated clenching within her 
depths. But Lillianne had played her so skillfully, so slowly that the 
tension inside her could not be undone. By forcing her to hold back the 
release of her climax, Ma Dame had rendered her rigid, unyielding, her inner 
muscles knotted, corded around the hand that impaled her.

Joyce gurgled, moaning softly, whimpering in fearful anticipation and 
desire.

“That’s better cherie…your whore’s cunt filled non?”

“Unnggghh…ohhh s-so f-full Miss…so fu-u-ullllll…”

Grinning mischievously the Frenchwoman twitched her hand inside her prey, 
smirking at the shiver of tense fear that ran through the older woman.

“Lower your legs cherie,” she purred softly. “And push up your hips to take 
it.”

Biddable, obedient Joyce
 complied wordlessly; her eyes, limpid, pupils 
dilated, fixed on the dark intensity of the Frenchwoman’s gaze. She groaned 
as she arched her back, pushing upwards towards her lover’s hand, shuddering 
as her actions moved her against it.

“Good cherie…now are you ready petite?”

“Unhhh y-yu-yes Ma Dame…I-I’m ready for you Ma Dame…”

Madame Lillianne’s lips curved again; into a wide smile of admiration and 
pleasure.

“Good cherie,” she answered and she twisted her hand slightly inside Joyce 
making her groan before she curled her thumb behind her fingers to clench 
her hand into a fist.

“OHHHHHHHH!!!” Joyce cried as her body strained against the stretching mass 
of her lover’s fist. “Ahhhhhh….Ahhhhhhh…AHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!!!” Her 
cries grew in volume, in intensity as she felt her Mistress shift her fist 
inside
 her, thrusting upwards towards the mouth of her cervix, her womb, 
before withdrawing with a loud slurp of suction down the rippling muscles of 
her passage to stretch her cunt-mouth.

“AHHH!!! AHHHH!!! AHHHH!!! AHHHHH!!! AHHHHHHHHHH!!! AhHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!!!”

Joyce writhed, thrusting herself lewdly into her lover’s thrusts, her heels 
digging into the top of the bed. Crying tears of frustration and need and 
sorrow she heard Madame Lillianne’s voice, powerful and demanding through 
the haze.

“Yes now Joyce…yes petite… come now whore…come for me. Let it claim you, 
possess you, harlot…come for me hourri…come now…”

Bucking she surrendered as she felt herself surrender to the onrush of her 
orgasm.

Released by her Mistress’ words she felt the foundations of her resolve 
crumble like sand. Her tears became tears of joy, of relief and
 bliss and 
adoring gratitude and Joyce Summers was consumed by ecstasy, giving herself 
in the blissful explosion of her orgasm to her Ma Dame as oblivion took her, 
searing and bright with argence and fire, consuming her with its engulfing 
crisis.

An eternity later she felt herself floating, adrift in a sea of nothingness.

After that there was only heat and aching and her French Mistress voice, her 
elegant accented words over her, soothing and calming a tumble of French 
that she couldn’t quite grasp in the haze of her exhaustion as her body 
relinquished its clinging clasping embrace on the powerful mass of fist that 
filled her.

And then there was weeping, raw emotion, as she sobbed in gratitude, curling 
against the witch’s hard body beside her. After a while she looked up, 
sniffling and worn. Her lover rose to straddle her, moving up her to shroud 
her
 upper body beneath the dark flow of her skirt, plunging her into 
darkness, smothering her, swaddling her. She felt the bed dip as Frenchwoman 
settled her knees each side of her head; the heady, feminine musk scent of 
aroused cunt-flesh filling her senses as her mouth was claimed by Ma Dame’s 
hidden sex in a liquid kiss. Cocooned by the darkness she began to service 
her Mistress. Her lips, anointed with the bitter-sweet essence of the French 
witch’s need she opened her mouth to let her Ma Dame Lillianne’s juices the 
fill her mouth. She knew her duty and as the heady liquor flooded her mouth, 
coursing over her taste buds she let her tongue plunge between Ma Dame’s 
folds.

Above her Joyce’s lover hissed shaking in bliss.

Lapping between her Madame’s lips, savoring the pungency of the humid 
cunt-flesh, Joyce devoted herself, as she had been taught, to Mistress 
Lillianne’s pleasure. Her tongue swirled in the niche, the delicate cave of 
her femininity, drinking her precious, fragrant liquor, caressing her as she 
explored the sculpted petals.

“Ahh…oui…oui…petite…mmmm…ah oui…” Lillianne stirred over her, her hips 
rocking gently, her breathy pleasure coming muffled and soft to Joyce 
shrouded beneath her lover’s skirts. Encouraged she swept her tongue upwards 
to her Mistress peaking nubbin and she felt the witch quake above her. 
Working her tongue tenderly over the stubborn button of flesh she felt the 
tremors increase and so she closed her lips around the little organ to suck 
on it, fellating it as she felt her Mistress pleasure grow.

Joyce had lived for several years now in the Red Queen’s court. As one of 
her Carmine Mistress’ concubines, a diligent, faithful member of Her 
seraglio, an obedient odalisque;
 a willing Sapphic slave; she had learned 
how to please her many lovers. Leaving her upper lip to graze the 
Frenchwoman’s clitoris she opened her strong jaw wide and drove her tongue 
lower, into the narrow opening. Stroking inside, the tip of her tongue 
quivering she pressed home on her lover’s g-spot.

In answer to her skill she felt her lover tighten, gasping in pleasure as 
her hips twitched. Joyce felt Ma Dame Lillianne’s pleasure claim her as with 
a sighing, cry her essence spilled from deep within, spurting over mouth and 
face, anointing her with the precious emissions. Dutiful, respectful of her 
Mistress’ gift she lapped hungrily, not only as she had been trained but as 
her desires had come to demand, at the flood, drinking all that she could, 
savoring its sharp strength, allowing it to fill her.

“You are perfect, Joyce,” Madame Lillianne said softly as she
 held out her 
hand to the older woman to help her to rise. “The perfect hourri…your 
concubinage suits you well. Your Queen is truly blessed.” Helping Joyce to 
rise her eyes were warm on her body and Joyce blushed again at the honest 
regard, the warm appreciative desire that still illuminated her lover’s dark 
eyes. “I would like very much to enjoy you again Joyce ­ with your daughters 
­ if you are willing cherie.”

Joyce felt her heart beat, fluttering. “I-it is not for me to say Ma Dame. 
My Queen has instructed me to serve you…to bring you all the pleasures that 
her home and her seraglio may offer…i-if you wish to take your pleasure from 
me again my Lady, or to indulge yourself in my daughters’ charms or those of 
any of Her slaves then I will do all I can to secure your pleasure.”

The sorceress smiled. “I know that Joyce…but whilst I am here,
 while we 
await your Queen’s return…I would like you to choose to be my hourri…”

Again Joyce’s heart fluttered. She sank low in a renewed curtsey, bowing her 
head.

“Ma Dame…” she breathed, passion rising in her breast. “I-I would l-like 
that…I would love to serve as yours…whilst you are my Mistress’s guests… my 
daughters and I will be your three devoted hourris... your own harem…”

“Good petite. I am pleased. Now cherie…perhaps you might lead me to the 
harem chamber…the inner sanctum non…where I imagine my companions have 
continued to indulge their passions…”

Joyce curtsied again. Smiling at her lover she fluttered her eyelashes. 
“Please follow me Ma Dame…”


The room was a smaller version of the throne room. It was decorated 
similarly. Marble columns supported arches and erotic artwork adorned the 
walls. A mosaic formed of thousands of tiny, colored tiles depicted an orgy 
of numerous female couplings. Cushions were scattered about the room on 
which the inhabitants of the Seraglio lounged casually awaiting their 
arrival.

Joyce smiled, her heart filling again as she looked around the chamber with 
pride.

Fred and Amy lay naked in Mademoiselle Serena’s arms. Limbs entwined, arms 
around each other, feet dancing in a playful game of footsie; their heads 
resting contentedly on the blonde Frenchwoman’s shoulders as her fingers 
toyed with their nipple rings. The bells on Fred’s and Amy’s piercings, 
jingled softly. The little bells matching those they wore on the chains at 
their ankles played a unique music as they performed sexually and there was 
a tinkling ring as they moved in the witch’s arms.

Ariel sat with Buffy’s head resting in her lap whilst
 Harmony spooned close 
behind the petite blonde, the witch’s hands resting lightly on their blonde 
heads. Harmony’s arm draped over Buffy’s hips, her hand cupping her former 
schoolmate’s sex, her index finger resting between the puffy pink lips, 
sliding lazily up and down the damp, dusky split, making Buffy’s hips move 
gently while the souled vampire writhed softly as the Slayer’s hand moved 
behind her. Though Buffy’s hand was hidden from view Joyce could see from 
Harmony’s face that it moved in the softness of the fleshy division between 
her thighs.

In the corner, facing the wall, as they had in the punishment chamber, Dawn 
and Kate stood naked, their bodies still showing the marks of their recent 
assignations with Faith. Theirs were the only eyes in the room that were not 
affixed, hot with desire, on the other side of the room where Erin also sat 
at her
 ease on one of the Harem chamber’s numerous deep couches. Cordelia 
and Anya knelt at her feet, either side of her knees with their heads in her 
lap. The statuesque brunette, her haunches cross marked with the evidence of 
the beating she had suffered at Anya’s hands for her failure to out-last the 
ex-demon in Erin’s earlier game, bobbed her head over Mademoiselle Erin’s 
groin. Her lips were taut around the glistening dildo that the witch wore. 
Sinking her head ever lower Cordy swallowed its long, fat shaft, her throat 
beginning to work, deep throating it with all the long learned skill of an 
adept fellatrix. At the same Anya's mouth was busy lower down the faux-cock, 
her lips sucking and her tongue lapping at its vitreous 10 inch shaft, 
laving the soft leather of its harness, making both glisten with her saliva. 
Seemingly unaware of their audience they moaned hungrily, contented,
 lustful 
in their service before stopping briefly to kiss deeply then to share the 
dildo between them before swapping so that Anya became the fellatrix, 
swallowing the dildo’s length and Cordelia took up position with her mouth 
lower.

Joyce looked about her with pride as Mistress Lillianne led her across the 
chamber to a sofa of their own where she drew her down into her lap. Sitting 
on her lover’s knees like a child, Joyce watched with a growing sense of 
success as Xander’s Girls swapped again and then once more before, at a 
brisk instruction from Erin, Anya moved to clamber astride the young witch’s 
thighs and engulf the huge girl-cock with her nether lips, her other throat 
swallowing it’s bulging, sculpted head. As she lowered herself with a gasp 
onto its length, sinking down to impale herself on its unyielding erection 
Cordelia moved behind her to bury her
 face between her girlfriend’s 
buttocks. As Anya began to fuck herself on the dildo Cordy’s tongue busied 
itself in her ass and the former demon squealed in lustful delight

As Joyce watched she was certain that her Lady Queen would be pleased with 
the welcome she had provided for her guests. Smiling she gave a little start 
and gasp as she felt Ma Dame Lillianne’s hand reach between her thighs to 
pinch her clitoris before dipping lower to probe her pussy. Her eyes glued 
to Anya and Cordelia, she began to squirm as her lover began to slowly fuck 
her again.

Her fingers moving skillfully within Joyce, Mistress Lillianne smiled. “When 
will your Mistress return cherie?”

“S-s-soon Ma Dame…”

“But we have time for more plaisir? Ah look how the blonde girl comes 
cherie…”

Anya cried out in the throes of ecstasy.

“Y-yess Ma
 Dame!” Joyce replied her voice expressive with passion as 
writhing on the younger woman’s probing fingers, she watched whilst Anya’s 
crisis claimed her.

“Ah bon…I think you will come often tonight cherie…”


The day passed into an evening as the Red Queen’s seraglio gave themselves 
in sexual service to the four foreign witches in a rushing, dizzying whirl 
of exotic, erotic exploits at the their imperious commands. As Joyce was 
brought again to shuddering pleasure at Ma Dame’s hands Serena seized on Amy 
and Fred. Their hands were bound their mouth’s stopped up with phallic gags 
that protruded both into the mouths and jutted outwards and they were placed 
in a sixty-nine position so that they both fucked each other. With Amy on 
top Mademoiselle Serena spanked her bottom hard with one hand making her 
whimper and cry, moaning into her gag as her bottom
 colored. Not pausing the 
rhythmic spanking of Amy’s ass the Frenchwoman’s other hand grabbed a 
fistful of Fred’s hair to force her head back and forth, working the phallus 
that protruded from her mouth in and out of the tense muscles of the blonde 
witch’s inner walls in deep thrusting strokes. “Oui fille ! Juste comme 
cela! Like that! N'osez pas s'arrêter! Don’t dare stop!” The willowy blonde 
witch almost growled softly as she transferred her attentions to the other 
end of the writhing coupling now slapping Fred’s thighs whilst  working 
Amy’s head so that the muffled moans came stronger, more desperate from both 
girls. Swapping again and again, sternly instructing them to continue each 
time, until the two slaves could hardly tell which sensation was pain and 
which pleasure, where one of them began and the other ended and they were 
lost drowning in the rush of
 sensation as she drove them relentlessly, 
headlong, crying and sobbing to their shared crises and all they knew was 
the rush of blood and the shuddering, unbearable intensity of their 
crashing, cresting orgasms.

Next Kate was drawn from her place of expiation into the middle of the room 
by Mademoiselle Ariel. Bashful and blushing at her first attention from one 
of the newcomers, her body was explored, the aching striped agony of her 
lithe, punished form teased and stroked and soothed; her flesh sampled, her 
nipples plucked, her breasts, belly, bottom palmed, her nubbin pinched until 
she was moaning and pleading for release as she was pressed back to the 
wall. With her left foot drawn up, caught in Ariel’s hand to rest on her 
shoulder, the police woman’s soft depths liquid and oozing, the young witch 
entered her, thrusting the dildo she wore deep into her welcoming core, 
making her sob as ecstasy possessed, consumed her leaving her tearful and 
weak as she was fucked until she came.

“She is new cherie? This one? Non?”

Ma Dame Lillianne asked Joyce softly, her fingers still stirring the lustful 
flood of Joyce’s honeyed sap where it welled in her center.

“N-n-nohhhhhh…n-not n-new M-Ma Dahhhhhhm…ohhh…sh-she c-came with F-Fred but 
sh-sheeee…ohhh…she is…ohhhhh Ma Dame…she is not so pliable as 
Fred…oh…ahh…she is j-just n-not quite broken in yet…ahh!!!”

“And that is why your Miss Faith punished her so harshly earlier?”

“Y-yes Ma Dame…ohhhhhh!!!”

“Her…reluctance is… charming…” Casually transferring her fingers from 
Joyce’s core to her mouth, feeding her with the nectar that anointed them, 
Lillianne continued, “She is almost as coy as you are cherie…”

“Mmmm…mmmmm…mmmmmmm…” Joyce moaned softly appreciative suckling again on her 
new lover’s seasoned fingers; her eyes closed as she savored the zesty tang 
of herself, the heady, spiced taste of her sap.

“Good petite…open your eyes ­ look ­ it is now you that has the audience 
cherie!”

Her eyes flickering open as she milked the last motes of her syrup from Ma 
Dame’s fingers she blushed and the Frenchwoman smiled.

“Ah…so sweet ma petite…now pleasure yourself for your audience cherie!”

Blushing deeper still, Joyce looked up at her young lover. Her eyes wide, 
she blushed anew at Ma Dame Lillianne as the witch helped reposition her on 
her lap, easing her legs apart so that they draped either side of her 
lover’s thighs. Hesitant, nervously obedient she slid her hand over her soft 
skin and down her naked belly, into the soft wetness of her
 crux.

She sighed as her fingers slipped through the liquid spilt of her centre, 
gliding between her piercings to stroke the heat of her sensitive flesh. Her 
hips twitching, rolling she began to pleasure herself. Her second hand 
finding her clit where it jutted from its bejeweled hood, she sank her first 
hand lower to find her inner self, pressing, probing, searching within to 
fuck herself.

“Ahhhh…” she sighed again her head falling back on the French witch’s 
shoulders in a tumble of gold as she surrendered to the pleasure of her own 
fingers.


Willow Rosenberg, Queen, Witch, Carmine Mistress lounged comfortably in Her 
chair watching as the orgy unfolded in front of Her. She had returned 
earlier than expected to find Her play-things busily striving to please Her 
guests. The orgy had been in full swing when She had returned. Being only 
too keenly
 aware of the allure of Her seraglio and its many pleasures, She 
had expected nothing else than to find Her guests enjoying the delights it 
afforded. Leaving them to their pleasures She had placed the artifact that 
She had recently acquired at the cost of considerable effort in secure 
storage under arcane wards and protections before summoning them all to Her 
throne room.

Food and drink had been provided, served by Harmony, Fred, Amy and Kate 
under Joyce’s direction whilst Cordelia and Anya, Buffy and Dawn danced for 
their pleasure.

After they had dined the Frenchwomen fell upon Her slaves again, the food 
seeming to have reignited other appetites.

She stretched, arching Her back contentedly. Things had gone well. With the 
Watchers Council’s aid following its apparent change of heart She had 
removed a significant threat to Her power, overcoming the most recent
 
denizen of the dark to spew out of the Hellmouth and at the same time 
cutting a very profitable deal with the Council. It was so much easier not 
to have to fight them constantly and with them on-side a sudden opportunity 
had presented itself. With the French Coven’s help, She now intended a 
further consolidation of Her position as the most powerful witch in the 
whole world. She smiled; pleased. Maybe another reward was in order for Her 
agent.

She looked again with satisfaction around Her throne Room; at the sprawl of 
female bodies arrayed in their varying couplings. The room was heavy with 
the sharp musk of sexual arousal. Moaning gasping cries filled the air as a 
continuous excess of pleasure was forced from Her odalisques.

Lying back in Her place of power Willow surveyed the room again Her mouth 
quirking. She saw that Her friend and colleague Lillianne had, as
 She had 
expected her to, taken keenly to the Summers women. Willow nodded in 
approval, understanding their appeal quite well. Lounging across the room 
from Her, the French alpha witch sat back equally at her ease. The dark 
haired witch’s arms encircled the two Summers sisters; Buffy on her left, 
Dawn on her right. Holding each of them close, her hands resting, possessive 
on their heads, toying absently in shining, silky blonde and soft brown 
locks as they lapped, suckling, nursing on the thrusting, stiffened buds of 
her full, magnificent breasts; whilst at her feet, crouched between the 
long, pale slender legs that draped over her shoulders to rest on her back, 
tumbling, dark gold curls bobbing, reflecting the movement of her head, 
knelt Joyce on all fours. Naked; the folds of her sex, pouting and wet, her 
vulva dark pink, glistening, tempting from beneath her up-thrust derriere,
 
her flanks rosy, with the painful evidence of the spanking applied after her 
earlier masturbatory performance, cross-marked with the burning evidence of 
the succeeding, tear provoking, encounter with supple, burning leather 
Joyce’s mouth lavished her lover’s core, adoring, worshipping, devotedly 
attentive. The Red Haired Queen could not help but smile at the simplicity 
of Lillianne’s dominance. Besides, She thought to Herself: it was, 
undeniably, a pleasant sight.

With a moan Lillianne came, her hips bucking as she filled Joyce’s mouth 
with her nectar. As the older woman’s remained obediently in place, ensuring 
that not a drop of her lover’s essence was wasted, soothing the aftershocks 
of orgasm from her Mistress, Lillianne looked across at Willow smiling in 
languid pleasure, giving her hostess a nod of gratitude as she slipped a 
hand between first Dawn’s
 and then Buffy’s thighs to stroke and then enter 
the two sisters’ hairless, waxed cores, making them moan softly with bliss 
Their mother shuddered, looking up from where she knelt as the Frenchwoman 
spoke to her. She seemed to blush as her lover spoke, as her eyes fixed on 
the erotic display of her daughters’ ravishment and her blush deepening as 
she watched, squirming with escalating arousal, her face glistening, her 
lover’s liquor anointing her cheeks. Her eyes shone with pleasure at the 
dark haired witch’s words despite the swirl of emotions that shrouded her. 
Willow smiled at the sincere passion of Joyce’s unspoken response as the two 
sisters writhed on Mistress Lillianne’s fingers, tense and arching as they 
cried out in the onrush of their seizures.

Elsewhere the Harem chamber was an extravagant, tableau of exotic sexual 
couplings. The erotic display was in
 full swing. Willow settled back, 
enjoying the show.

In the middle of the floor Kate stood, sandwiched, impaled between Cordelia 
and Anya. Xander’s Things writhed and shook struggling under the searing 
caress of the flogger that Serena wielded with withering, cruel skill. 
Making Kate’s cries join theirs in a cocktail of pain and pleasure, they 
thrust the dildos now affixed to their groins into the tamed blonde 
police-woman as she clung desperately between them.

The fair haired witch laid the flogger on, pitiless, harsh, cruel, across 
first Cordelia’s legs, buttocks, back and shoulders making her pump ever 
harder into Kate’s core before switching to Anya, forcing her to thrust 
harder too, plumbing the knotted sheath of the Kate’s rectum with powerful 
excruciating strokes. Xander’s Things cried and wept as their hips jerked 
and shook pumping Kate’s
 body.

Not far away Fred knelt at Ariel’s feet her mouth slurping as she sucked on 
the black shaft of the strap-on dildo that the young raven haired wiccan fed 
deeper and deeper into her throat. At the same time her pussy swallowed the 
huge glass cock that Erin thrust into her. Impaled, suspended between the 
two faux-cocks, the slender brunette arched, quaking and bucking, her 
gamine, waif’s frame struggling to accommodate the huge dildos as they 
stretched her body. It seemed almost impossible to credit that her slight, 
slender physique could take the two faux-cocks.  Moaning helplessly in 
ecstatic anguish, she gagged and drooled as Ariel reamed her throat, her sex 
oiling Erin’s shaft as she was taken hard from behind.

Willow smiled Her face glowing with satisfaction, confident that Her guests 
were enjoying themselves.

Nearby Amy, and Harmony sat naked,
 legs crossed their hands resting in their 
laps, waiting in motionless silence for whatever demand should be made of 
them. Only the bright excitement in their eyes told how they yearned to be 
allowed to join their fellows in the sexual frenzy around them.

Willow’s eyes narrowed, Her razor sharp mind doing the calculation and She 
smiled.

“Amy! Harmony!” Despite the softness of Her tone the two girls became 
instantly rigid, suddenly bristling in attention at the sound their Mistress 
voice. The sound held an undeniable demand that they could not resist. The 
feather light twining, skein of enchantment that wove its irresistible web 
through their existence, drawing on all those secret, denied, hidden 
components of their psyches that made them yearn to submit or drew them 
towards their own sex or long for pain or for any perversion, rendering them 
all subject to Her,
 made them ache at the mere sound of Her voice. “Come 
here little ones.”

Rising to scurry forwards they fell to their knees before Her, bowing low, 
their foreheads pressing low to the floor in obeisant salaam. “Mistress!” 
They sighed as one.

“Ah!” The Red Haired Witch purred. “Such pretty strumpets, aren’t you, my 
sweet concubines?”

“Yes Mistress!” They answered breathlessly as adoring they gazed up at their 
Queen. “Your strumpets Mistress!”

“Shall we have some fun?”

“Oh yes Mistress. Let us please you Mistress.”

Turning to the conquered, soulled vampire She smiled again.

“Harmony sweetie, when did you last taste human blood baby?”

A dull hunger in her eyes, Harmony replied softly “M-Mistress…a-a week ago 
Mistress…you know it was…I-I’ve only had pig’s blood since then…I-I promise
 
Mistress!” Her brow furrowed with concern.

“Yes Harmony ­ I know you have. You are a *very* good, obedient little 
vampire-whore aren’t you?”

“Y-yes my Queen,” Harmony answered seeming to calm as Amy stirred, the 
blonde wicca’s eyes widening, an odd excitement showing in them as she 
watched her Mistress’ and her friend’s exchange.

“And who did you feed on last week Harm?”

“M-Mistress you were there…you ordered me to feed on Buffy and Dawn…you 
watched me…”

Amy gave a low sigh watched the exchange with interest a surge heat flaring 
within her.

“Ah yes…” Willow pretended that She had just remembered. “Yes…interesting 
how the two sisters always get their periods together!”

“Y-yes Mistress,” said Harmony.

“And you loved it didn’t you Harm: the flavor of their blood and their 
desire? It was strong wasn’t it sweetie?”

Harmony groaned. “Oh yes Mistress…you know it is Mistress. It’s 
delicious…and …very strong… intoxicating for a vampire…especially Slayer’s 
blood…”

“Good Harm. And now you can smell Amy can’t you?” The witch gave a low moan. 
“You can smell that she’s begun her period can’t you?”

Harmony licked her lips, her face flickering. Straining, quivering with 
excitement, she fought to retain her human form, holding back her game-face.

“Y-yes Misstress…she…rrrrrr…” The vampire’s low growl of lust rumbled in her 
throat. “She smells so good! Mmmmmm!!!”

A thin moan escaped Amy’s lips.

“Mmmm…well Amy dear?” Willow asked. “Are you ready to feed Harmony? Ready 
for her tongue deep in your cunt?

The blonde witch nodded her jaw slack, her eyelids heavy with
 desire. The 
only human blood that the dizzy blonde vampire was allowed was the menstrual 
blood of her fellow concubines and if the experience was intoxicating for 
Harmony there was something intensely, exquisitely thrilling about it for 
her ‘victim’.

“Oh y-yes Mistress! P-please let me feed her?” She pleaded, her words heavy 
with need. “Ohh I’d so love to have Harmony’s tongue in my cunt!”

Willow’s smile was wide and smug as She ordered Amy onto her back with her 
legs wide. She watched happily as Harmony, game-face on, dipped her head to 
the witch’s exposed split.

Watching them fondly their Carmine Mistress smiled as Harmony ravished Fred. 
The blonde’s cries rose rapidly as the Vampire’s powerful tongue lashed the 
inside of her sex making her thrash in ecstasy on the cushions on which she 
lay. Growling like the beast she was, Harmony
 drank deeply, her mouth and 
face quickly smeared with her willing victim’s dark, bloody secretions as 
she dined, gorging herself, devouring the copious, sanguine flood.

Quickly Amy came for the first time, loudly, violently, humping hard against 
the vampire’s face but Harmony continued to feed and despite her orgasm the 
witch was soon moaning and writhing again: Willow watched avidly as Amy 
began to crest again. She would be a weary, exhausted wiccan by the time 
that Harmony had eaten her fill.


The evening’s diversions went on long into the night in an extravagant orgy 
of Sapphic dominance and submission. Willow looked up from where She towered 
above Fred as she lay on her back he legs spread wide to take Her fists 
deep, plunged almost to Her elbows, into the soft warm grasp of the shy 
scientist’s quaking, inner flesh. Across the room Amy, utterly drained,
 was 
fainting as she came yet again under the attentions of the ravening 
vampire’s bloody tongue. Nearby Cordelia had been positioned above Ariel, 
squatting on the dildo at the young dark haired witch’s groin whilst her 
bottom received the unyielding hardness that was the shaft of Erin’s 
faux-cock. Her mouth and throat were filled once again by Serena so that she 
gurgled and moaned around the third shaft as the three witches sank as one 
into the three receptive entrances to her body making her ‘air-tight’. Of 
Her other courtesans, Kate and Anya sprawled, scissored, twitching and 
writhing on a shared double penetration, their nether mouths and their 
bottoms chock-full, skewered on a pair of two headed dildos. Their toes 
curled, their backs arched in an excess of pleasure as they thrust against 
each other, their fat labial folds pressed tightly, closely in an intimate 
mouth to mouth as they strained towards yet another orgasm. Lastly She 
turned to the Summers women a renewed smile crossing her face. The three of 
them were curled into a bizarre daisy chain. It was not their tongues, this 
time that were busied in the softness between each others thighs. Each one 
of them now squirmed, moaning and gasping, jerking in the throes of extreme 
pleasure as they each plyed their fingers within the dampness before them. 
As She watched Joyce pressed a third and then a fourth finger into the 
gasping Dawn, prompting a ripple, a cascade through her daughters as first 
Dawn then Buffy followed suit so that lastly Joyce moaned as Buffy forced 
most of her hand into her mother. Willow watched approvingly as Joyce 
shuddered and moaned. The three of them continued to fuck each other for a 
while until Lillianne spoke. “All of it now Joyce,” she said fiercely and 
Joyce began to ease her thumb into her younger daughter’s snatch.

“Ooooohhhhhh” Dawn groaned as her youthful pussy strained around her 
mother’s hand but, obediently, she duplicated her mother’s action to press 
her whole hand into her sister, making Buffy squeal with delight. Joyce’s 
cry of ecstasy as she was penetrated massively by the blonde Slayer’s hand 
followed almost immediately. Next came Lillianne’s instruction to Joyce that 
she close her hand into a fist and soon the wrist of mother or sister or 
daughter was deep inside tightly welcoming flesh as they fisted each other. 
Moaning and sobbing with anguished pleasure they were soon coming together 
again.

Eventually it was all over, the celebrants seemed to reach an unspoken 
consensus and She watched them slip away retiring to bed chambers throughout 
the mansion to continue their pleasures in more
 privacy; Serena leading 
Xander’s Things away as Ariel drew an adoring Kate by the hand back towards 
the punishment chamber and renewed torment. Willow smiled at the blonde 
police-woman’s wiling devotion to the young black haired witch. It seemed 
that at last Kate had been broken. Cinching a leash to their collars Erin 
drew Fred and Harmony after her as she led them in search of some warm nook 
in which to indulge herself in their charms.

Willow quirked a grin again as Lillianne led the three Summers women from 
the Harem chamber; a flurry of smacks to their naked behinds sending them 
scurrying down the aisle towards the doors. The French witch drove them, 
giggling and crying startled, surprised as their buttocks jiggled, coloring 
anew under the sudden assault. Willow heard the growing pain and the ring of 
willing submission and eager arousal in their cries. Mistress
 Lillianne’s 
appetites were intense, fierce and almost insatiable. It was going to be a 
long and interesting night for the blonde Slayer, her mother and her sister. 
Perhaps, mused the Red Queen, She would use a simple cantrip to look in on 
their pleasures later.

And then only Amy remained.

Willow smiled at Her old friend.

“Well then Amy dear ­ it looks like you and me then!” She quipped Her 
eye-brows wagging as the lesser witch bobbed a curtsey.

“Yes Mistress,” she purred, a smile large on her face

“Business before pleasure Amy…please contact Mr Giles…” The Queen waved a 
hand casually at the blonde Wicca.

“Y-yes Mi-Mistress,” Amy responded, a suggestion of disappointment sounding 
in her voice at her Mistress instruction.

“Amy!” Willow said a note of warning in Her voice.

Amy was clearly frustrated
 that Willow’s needs were less…physical than she 
had hoped when summoned. She shuddered a sudden spike of alarm, fear running 
through her to settle like an itch in the base of her body. “S-sorry m-my 
Queen,” she stammered as she began the necessary spell.

Willow’s good mood held. She nodded tolerantly, contentedly choosing to let 
the other witch’s petulance slide on this occasion. Always delighted at how 
fervently all of Her seraglio desired Her, She felt that it might only 
confuse Her slaves if She were too harsh when they acted out of love and 
desire for Her.

“Well then good Amy,” She purred, turning to watch as Amy crafted the spell 
that created the necessary viewing field from eldritch nothingness. “Your 
skills are improving nicely!” The blonde witch’s face was strained and 
intent with effort as she performed the spell that Willow might have 
conjured in an effortless moment. “Well done dear…”

Amy shuddered with longing, beaming with pride as her Carmine Mistress 
patted her head in approval.

In the shimmering field the Englishman’s visage swam and Willow turned Her 
attentions to her agent in the Watchers Council, and to business.

“Rupert…”

“My Queen.” Rupert Giles image nodded respectfully in the spell’s field.

“I wanted to tell you how well everything proceeded with the Council…thanks 
to your help”

“Oh…well…erm…y-yes…th-thank you My Queen!” The tweed dressed Englishman’s 
normally clipped tones were slightly strained as he replied. He hesitated, 
his eyes narrowing slightly in tension before continuing. “O-only t-too 
happy to be of s-service My Queen.”

Willow’s eyes narrowed slightly, puzzled as She felt Amy’s kiss on the flesh 
on Her calf.

“I’ve not interrupted you at an…inopportune moment have I Rupert?” She asked 
lightly, with a disingenuous smile.

“N-no my Queen…n-not at ahlllllll…”

Willow smiled suddenly with understanding and, with a nonchalantly arcane 
gesture, widened the field of the spell to allow Her to see more.

“Just a little higher Amy dear,” She murmured casually, laying her hand on 
Amy’s head to move her former schoolmate’s mouth upwards towards Her thighs 
as She surveyed the scene, a knowing grin spreading across Her fine 
features.  “Ah, Rupert, I see that my gift is earning its keep!” She teased 
waggling Her eyebrows suggestively.

Sitting in a high backed, padded armchair behind a huge leather topped oak 
desk, the erstwhile librarian’s trousers were unfastened and a familiar dark 
haired figure knelt between his knees, its
 tousled head bobbing over the 
Englishman’s lap. “Y-y-yuh-yes m-m-my K-K-K-Queen .” he stammered.

“I am glad to hear it…Rupert. Very good Amy…mmm…very good dear…Now Rupert… 
tell me…my payment from the Council for ridding them of that irritating 
infestation visited on them by Wolfram and Hart…are they ready?”

“Well…ohhhh….y-yes my Queen…yes they ahhhre.”

“Mmmm…And you have arranged shipment?”

“Ohhh…oh y-y-yes my Queen…T-the first ‘b-batch’ will be s-sent…” again he 
paused, breathing heavily, taking a low gasp to catch his breath; gathering 
himself before going on. “They will be ­ ah ­ dispatched to you this 
morning. Ohhhh!”

“Good Rupert…good…and you will contact me each week with details of all the 
new Potentials identified as being appropriate to enter my service…yes?”

“Uhhh…oh..y-yuh-yes M-My Queen…o-of c-course I-I-I will my Queeeen 
ohhhhh…ahhhhhhh!!!”

Her agent shouted out in ecstasy as his hands locked onto the arms of the 
chair, his head snapping back and his hips bucking as his orgasm shuddered 
through him.

Willow watched with amusement and with a touch on Amy’s head encouraged her 
to dip her head between Her legs and to sweep her tongue along the tender 
inner flesh of Her milky thighs.

“Excellent Rupert…and if this arrangement is successful then I may well 
reward you with a second playmate I have just the boy in mind!”

Mr. Giles smiled blankly, dumbly back at Her, weary, almost unable to 
understand Her words as the head in his lap turned its face towards Her.

“Hi Will!” Xander said brightly, using a finger to wipe a drop of pale cream 
from where it dribbled from his mouth. Licking his
 finger clean he looked 
hopefully up from the Red Haired Witch Queen to the Watcher. “Did you s-say 
another playmate? Oh please Will…please Sir…that would be way beyond 
cool…big with the awesome…big…with the hotness!”

“Xander!” Mr. Giles growled in warning as he recovered.

“No, it’s alright Rupert…let the boy have his fun…would you like that 
Xander…another boy for you to play with?”

“Y-y-you mean it?”

“Maybe Xander…if the Potentials are as good as Mr. Giles tells me…You could 
handle two cocks Giles?”

“*I* can!” Xander interrupted enthusiastically.

“Yes we know you can boy, you cock-hungry slut!” Giles chided him but he 
smiled affectionately at the young American as he spoke.

Willow smiled always astonished how easily the two men had been molded and 
remade by Her witchcraft. “Ah that’s
 you Xander a cock-hungry slut aren’t 
you sweetie.” Xander smiled shyly blushing as he nodded. “Well we’ll see. 
For now ­ well done Rupert. I will expect the first consignment of 
Potentials in two days. Now I have an important appointment with Amy’s 
tongue.”

With a flicker of memory of their old selves the two men looked up in hope 
and expectation, frankly prurient interest on their faces and She smiled.

“Not tonight gentlemen!” She quipped and dismissed the spell.

As it dissipated She saw, in its fading field, Her agent stand from his 
chair, his erection standing out proudly again. “Up you get boy!” She heard 
him command as if from a distance. The younger man’s buttocks were pale and 
muscular, showing the fading wheals of what She estimated was a recent 
caning as he was positioned over the desk. Taking his position behind the 
catamite She
 had sent him, hands gripping his hips, Rupert Giles obscured 
Her fading view but she was certain that She knew exactly what was to 
follow.

The sound held briefly as the spell’s field faded from view.

“Mmmmmm…Ooooooohhhhhhhhhh!!!” She heard Xander cry out.

Twitching aside Her scarlet gown with an ironic smile She indicated that Amy 
move her mouth upwards. “Now Amy…ohhhhh!!! That’s so good dear!” She groaned 
as She felt the witch’s tongue between the folds of Her sex, lapping in the 
heated wetness of Her divide.


Epilogue.


It was late next morning when Ma Dame Lillianne led Joyce, Buffy and Dawn 
out onto the patio where their Carmine Mistress watched Anya and Cordelia 
swimming naked, playing in the clear blue water. They had passed Kate and 
Fred Heading for the gymnasium and their morning work out on their way to 
the
 pool. Amy, Harmony, Kate and Fred and the other three members of the 
French Coven were nowhere to be seen.

Though wearied by a night during which sleep had been regularly interrupted 
by the tall French witch’s sexual appetites the three Summers women curtsied 
as one to their Carmine Mistress as they stepped naked into the morning sun.

Willow quirked an eyebrow, instantly grasping the need for their joint 
obeisance.

She nodded approvingly to Her friend from Her reclining position by the 
pool, She did not make many friends now. Power scared away all but a very 
few. Lillianne was one of those few. Though her power was dwarfed by 
Willow’s, she was still an accomplished sorceress in her own right, leading 
a powerful coven and enjoying the respect of both Watcher’s Council and her 
fellow Wicca. What was more, their shared tastes gave them plenty in common.

“Lillianne! I see you have been busy…taking full advantage of these three!”

The Frenchwoman leaned over her friend to embrace her, kissing both cheeks 
and she smiled, at her hostess. “Thank you, Willow, for your generous 
welcome.”

“Oh you’re welcome,” the Red Head replied warmly. “I hope these three have 
served you well!”

“Ah yes! Very well, very well indeed! Most especially cette peitite...”

Joyce moaned softly her body shaping towards Lillianne, her head angling 
into her French lover’s as the raven headed Frenchwoman brushed her cheek 
with a finger.

“Excellent,” Willow nodded delighted that Joyce had taken Her instructions 
to welcome the French coven so personally. “Oh, and *love* what you’ve done 
with their chains!” She rose from her recliner with a laugh, moving closer 
to the family triad. They shuddered,
 moaning as She tugged gently on their 
chains.

Where once they had run from nipple to nipple, to hip chain and belly button 
ring, and then to clitoris, they now hung from one to the other so that 
Buffy’s left nipple was connected to her mother’s right and  Dawn’s right 
nipple was chained to Joyce’s left bud. Two chains then led from Joyce’s 
clit-ring to those through her daughters’ nubbins.

Willow smiled, impressed how quickly they had come to move in unison.

“Yes…very nice! But now my dear Lillianne we must discuss business. There 
will be lots of time to enjoy these three some more later. While your coven 
is,” She grinned again Her eyes sparkling, “distracted, I have a proposal 
for you.”

Returning the smile Lillianne quirked an eye-brow at her friend. “Oui? Tell 
me more, please, ma cher amie.”

“Oh ­ something I think
 you’ll like…” The red haired Witch-queen gestured to 
a lounger near Her own. “Please, Lillianne, make yourself comfortable.” 
Turning Her attention to the three waiting slaves. “Your new…chain 
situation…won’t stop you making breakfast will it?”

“N-n-no Highness!” The three of them bobbed, their curtsey synchronized as 
they replied as one.

“Good…well off you go then…” She dismissed them with a wave and they 
curtsied again as She turned to Lillianne.

“Well Lillianne - you know how we talked about acquiring you a harem?”

“Of course Willow, how could I forget it?”

Willow smiled “Tell me, Lillianne dear, have you ever heard of *Potentials*?


Fin



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