Cast A Slutty Spell

Cast A Slutty Spell

Stories of Magical Erotica

 

© 2019, 2020, 2021, 2023, 2024 All These Roadworks

 

The author asserts their right to be identified as the creator of this work under the name “All These Roadworks”.

 

All images in this book, including cover art, were created by All These Roadworks.

 

All characters in this story are fictitious. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental. All characters involved in sexual situations are intended to be aged 18 years or over, and any implication to the contrary is an unintentional miscommunication.

 

The events and themes presented in this story are for the purpose of erotic fantasy. They are not intended to depict actual events that have happened, or should happen. The author believes firmly that real sexual relationships should only occur between consenting adults, and be built on the principles of respect, communication, honesty, and risk-aware enthusiastic consent.

 

alltheseroadworks.com

 

Table of Contents
 

Foreword

Idol of Rape

The Nymph of the Pool

Elf Perks

Fertility Idol

The Great Council

Princess Esther’s Prophecy

Halloween Bunny

The Haunting of the Tesseric House

Combat Bonding

The Incubus’ Curse

The Incubus’ Curse, Part 2: The Incubus’ Challenge

Medieval Folklore

A Nymph For His Sister

Princess Ellie

Princess Ellie and the Herd

Knights of Allure

The Princess Sisters and the Cost of Magic

The Succubus Year

Bonus: Arth-Keros – Daughters of the Flirt

Bonus: Book of Shadows

 

Foreword

 

It’s a fantasy, not an instruction manual.

 

The stories collected in this volume are kinky fantasies. It’s normal to fetishise the forbidden. It can be a healthy way of processing trauma or frustration from our daily lives. It can be fun, satisfying, and exciting. Don’t feel ashamed to enjoy them.

 

But it’s the responsibility of everyone – and particularly people with these fantasies – to work to create a world where everyone – and, specifically, women – are safe, respected, and able to indulge their sexuality without shame or fear, whether that means consensually engaging in wonderful fucked-up kink, or living their entire life without ever encountering it.

 

Satisfying, sustainable kink can only be built on a foundation of firm respect for boundaries, respectful communication, and positive, explicit, enthusiastic consent. That’s a world where everyone kinky will find it easier to find partners and hook up for the interactions they enjoy, and where those who aren’t interested won’t be bothered – and that includes people who might be interested, but not now, or not under these conditions, or not with you.

 

Don’t let your kinks be your politics.

 

If you don’t already have anyone to share your kinks with in real-life, get involved in your local kink scene. Join an online community. Be polite, ask what the local rules are, listen to people who know what they’re doing before you go charging in yourself, introduce yourself and be prepared to make friends before you make partners. Confidence is sexy; not being able to hear a “no” is not.

 

I’m not your manifesto, and I’m not anyone’s plan for a functional society. Read, enjoy - and then go out and be fantastic, safe, respectful kinksters.

 

===

 

Speaking of which – if you obtained this document without paying for it…

 

Writing takes time. It’s easier if I’m paid for it. Please consider visiting my website and leaving a tip; buying this story collection or a different one; or subscribing.

 

alltheseroadworks.com

 

 

Idol of Rape

 

The ancient Sumerian idol had a big sign on it, in the museum’s prissy serifed font, reading “DO NOT TOUCH”. But Sophia, on holiday and feeling daring, was still pissed that the tour guide had corrected her so archly in front of the other tourists.

 

“No,” the guide had said loudly in response to her question. “It’s not a *fertility* idol. Does it even *look* like Ninhursag, God of Fertility? It clearly depicts a mating between Enki, the patron of male virility, and Innana, the whore-goddess. It’s an idol of lust, young miss, or possibly an idol of rape.”

 

Sophia flushed with humiliation at the treatment, and pouted, and when the other tourists moved on, she hung back to engage in an act of minor rebellion - when no one was looking, she reached out and, very deliberately, touched the idol she wasn’t supposed to touch.

 

There was a feeling like a static shock, and for a moment she worried she had set off some security system. But there was no alarm, and no one seemed to notice, so she assumed her tiny rebellion has been undetected, and hurried to catch up again with the group.

 

She found herself keeping her hand in a pocket all day, responding to some memory of that staticky feeling. At the end of a day of touristing, she retired to her hotel room, undressed, and then decided to enjoy a little private time, slowly masturbating to thoughts of a certain handsome foreigner she’d had her eye on in the tour group. Using that hand to touch her pussy - the same one that had touched the idol - felt a little naughty, and of course that made her feel hotter, and she quickly orgasmed.

 

It was afterwards that her problems started. Naked, glowing, and flushed with sexual pleasure, she strolled languidly to the lounge room, and picked up her hairbrush with the intention of brushing her hair.

 

However, as soon as she picked it up, she felt a powerful urge come over her. Gasping, not understanding what she was doing or why she was doing it, she took the handle of the hairbrush and pushed it up into her pussy. She watched as she fucked it in and out of her cunt a couple of times. It felt good, although she’d just cum so it was unnecessary. But she didn’t understand why she was doing it.

 

Then, to her horror, she realised she needed something else from the hairbrush. She watched as she turned it around, and then pushed the other end - the spiky plastic end - into her fuckhole. She squealed with pain as it went in. The spikes weren’t hard enough to do any real damage, but it *hurt*. She felt tears forming, and she watched as she pulled the brush out of her cunt and pushed it back in two, three times.

 

And then, as suddenly as she had started, she stopped. She withdrew the brush from her pussy, and then began to brush her hair with it. She knew she was brushing her own cunt juices into her hair, but she had as little choice in this as she had in pushing it into her fuckhole. She understood now what she was doing - she had touched something, and so she had to fuck her cunt with it and then use it for its intended purposes.

 

And not just touch it - touch it with the hand that had touched the idol. The hand, she now realised, which had been *cursed* by the idol.

 

Once her hair was brushed, the compulsion left her, and she immediately tossed the hairbrush away as though it were a venomous snake. What had happened? Was it over now? How could she make it stop?

 

It was not over. Her first instinct in the face of her fear was to put her clothes on and cover her vulnerability. However, no sooner had she picked up her panties than she found herself stuffing them into her pussy, before eventually pulling them out, damp with cunt juices, and wearing them. She tried to pick up her skirt with her other hand - her non-cursed hand - but she found her cursed hand reaching for it. It *wanted* to touch things, and it got to the skirt first, and then she was pushing aside her panties to try and stuff the skirt inside her. It wouldn’t fit, but she got a visible damp patch on it before putting it on.

 

By struggling, she managed to force herself to pick up her bra and shirt with her left hand - and then stood helplessly, trying to work out how to button a shirt or cinch a bra one handed. Eventually, weeping with defeat, she let her right hand touch the shirt, and then that went into her pussy too. It ended up damp enough across the front that it became semi-transparent over her nipples. The bra she just dropped - she couldn’t bear the thought of trying to push that rigid underwire into her snatch.

 

Last were shoes. Her left hand got the left shoe, but her right hand got the right, and she had to sit on the bed, remove her panties again, and spread her cunt as wide as she could to force first the toe of the high heels up her cunt, and then (turning it around) the six-inch heel.

 

She should have stopped there and put it on, but she became aware of how good it felt. To her surprise, her pussy was responding to this repeated violation by becoming sopping wet and needy. Was it the curse, or was she just a slut? Either way, she knew what she needed, and she spent a good five minutes working the shoe painfully in and out of her vagina until she was rewarded with another powerful orgasm.

 

Gasping, she looked at the sodden panties now lying on the ground, thought about stuffing them back into her pussy, and decided to just leave them there. She could go without panties.

 

She picked up her purse carefully in her left hand, and went to leave the hotel room. She had to go back to the museum. Someone could tell her how to fix this, surely. On the way out, she mistakenly used her right hand to open the hotel door, and had to stop and hump her groin against the handle for a few seconds before being able to actually leave.

 

Out on the street, the city was alive with nightlife. A vendor was selling hot dogs near her hotel, and the smell made Sophia realise how hungry she was. She gravitated to the small cart, and used her left hand to fish money out of her purse and hand it to the vendor. He passed her a hot dog in exchange - and Sophia moaned as she realised she had accepted the food with her right hand.

 

She didn’t want to do this. There were several dozen people on the busy street, at least a dozen right near the cart. But she had no choice. She felt her cheeks go bright red as she lifted her skirt, baring her cunt to the world, and then spread her legs and carefully began to push the hot dog into her fuckhole.

 

She could have died. The feeling of the mustard and sauce squelching around the entrance to her pussy was obscene, and the feeling of the hot, wet wiener penetrating her was devastatingly erotic. She heard gasps as people saw what she was doing, and snickers and outright laughs as she began to fuck herself with it. “Look at that whore!” she heard someone exclaim. “Someone should arrest her,” muttered someone else. “Mummy, that woman is raping the hot dog!” she heard a child say.

 

After twelve slow pumps of the sausage into her cockholster, she withdrew it, and shut her eyes with humiliation, knowing what was coming next. She fought it, but her mouth opened anyway, and a moment later she was eating the hotdog - the hotdog that had been in her cunt - tasting her slut-honey mixed with the sauce and mustard and bread. The worst part was that it tasted good. Was that the curse? Or was she a whore who enjoyed eating food that had been in her pussy?

 

When she’d swallowed the last bite, she was free to scurry away in shame, heading for the museum, promising herself she would touch nothing else.

 

The museum was dark; it was closed. But when she tested the doors - with her left hand - they were unlocked. Should she go in? She could get in trouble. but she knew she had to.

 

She padded quietly through the dark, cavernous rooms of the museum. What was she hoping to do? Who was she hoping to find? She couldn’t have said, until she came to the room with the idol, and then she knew.

 

She had touched the idol with her hand. Everything she touched had to go in her cunt. The idol was no exception.

 

She took it down from its stand. It was about 12 inches long, four inches thick - just right to be painfully oversized as a dildo. She sat down on the floor, then laid down on her back. After a moment’s consideration, she removed her skirt, and spread her legs wide, and then began to fuck herself with the idol.

 

Almost immediately, she heard footsteps approaching. She tried to stop, and sit up, and cover herself, but she couldn’t. She just kept fucking the idol in and out of her rapehole as the person drew near.

 

It was the guide who had humiliated her on the tour. “Well, young miss,” he said, smiling broadly. “You were told not to touch the rape idol, and you went and touched it.”

 

“Please,” she begged him, still masturbating. “Help me.”

 

“Sure,” he said. “I’ll give you some advice. If you’re not a total whore, just pull that idol out of your slutty cunt and throw it away.”

 

She couldn’t. Surely he could see that?

 

“You really should,” he told her. “It’s your own fault for being a slut. Touching the idol would have been fine, if you hadn’t then given yourself an orgasm with the same hand. I imagine that activated the curse for you. And that’s what happens for touching it. If you orgasm with the idol actually inside you - well, it’s a rape idol. I expect you will find that your cunt will become irresistible as an object of rape. Men will begin plotting how to rape you from the moment they see you. And nor will you be able to protect yourself from or complain about any of those rapes.”

 

She moaned in horror. She had to stop masturbating. But she couldn’t. She needed to cum.

 

“I can help you,” he said. “But you’ll need to show you really are a whore.” He unfastened his pants and extracted his erect cock, and then knelt near her. “Touch my cock,” he told her.

 

She understood immediately. If she touched his cock, she would need to put it in her cunt, and she might be able to choose between the two objects. She could stop fucking the idol before she orgasmed. But she would be choosing to let this man rape her.

 

She was desperate. She let her left hand masturbate with the idol, and used her right hand to grip his dick firmly.

 

At once her compulsion changed. She needed the cock inside her. She tossed away the idol and sat up.

 

But the man was backing away from her. He dropped several sheets of paper on the ground, and a pen.

 

“Please,” she begged. “Fuck my pussy.”

 

“Only if you sign those papers, young miss,” he said. “The first details a list of sexual encounters you’ve had - with family members, with women, with dogs - in exhaustive detail. Your signature admits to them all. The second transfers all of your financial assets into my name. The third is a general irrevocable consent to strangers engaging in sexual activity with you or causing you pain.”

 

She moaned again. She saw he had taken her purse. Her passport and credit cards and phone were in there. She didn’t want to do this. But his cock had to go in her pussy. Weeping, she used her left hand to sign all three documents, and then began crawling towards him.

 

Laughing, he grabbed her hair, pulled hard to turn her around, and then sank his cock into her pussy. She squealed with happiness and relief - she had needed this to happen so much. He fucked her, until she felt her orgasm approaching - and then abruptly pulled out.

 

“What?” she gasped. “No. Please.”

 

“Shut up,” he told her, and grabbed her hair and began dragging her again. Dragging her back to the idol.

 

“No!” she cried. “Noooo!”

 

Laughing, he reached out and put her left hand on the idol, then her right. She felt the staticky shock as the curse reactivated. Her right hand took the idol and pushed it back into her pussy. Her left hand helped. She tried to complain, but as she opened her mouth he pushed his cock into it.

 

He ejaculated quite quickly, and then slapped her face until she swallowed, but the slaps brought on her own orgasm, and she felt the staticky feeling in her cunt, and then of course the guide *had* to rape her pussy. He wasn’t gentle, but she orgasmed again anyway, and then he pulled her by her hair to the museum exit, threw her out the door and locked it behind her.

 

She lay there, naked, cum dripping from her violated lips, with no passport, no identification, and no money, in a foreign city, and already the first men passing her by were feeling the lure of the curse and beginning to walk towards her with rape on their minds...

 

The Nymph of the Pool

 

Jason had his mansion built atop an old grove with a natural spring, and he directed his builders to incorporate the spring into his swimming pool.

 

It was on his first night alone in the house, after the builders had gone, that she appeared to him.

 

She was beautiful, nude, radiant, standing in the water at the centre of his pool, her arms covering her breasts in a way that was both coy and powerful.

 

“I am the Nymph of the Spring,” she declared, “a spirit of womankind’s power, fertility and freedom.” She looked at him angrily. “Why have you desecrated my spring?”

 

He looked at her with curiosity. “Why don’t you come out of the water and we’ll talk?”

 

She frowned, with what Jason imagined was supposed to be baleful fury but to him looked more like an adorably sullen pout.

 

“I cannot leave my spring,” she said. “Once, it flowed to the base of this hill, but you’ve caged it with this... stone monstrosity of a house.”

 

“So you’re stuck in my swimming pool?” Jason laughed. “Sounds more like you’re the Nymph of the Pool now.”

 

“How dare you!” she raged. “Tear down this house this instant!”

 

Jason said nothing, just stared at her tits, and opened another beer.

 

Her expression softened, becoming insecure. Her eyes flicked to the garden hose lying some distance away on the bricks.

 

“Then... would you feed water into the pool? I am a spirit of moving waters, and every moment that I do not feel new liquid pass over and through me is like torture...”

 

Jason said nothing.

 

“Please?” the nymph begged, finally.

 

Jason got up and moved his deck chair to sit right on the edge of the pool. He looked at her. “Take your hands away from your tits and let me see them.”

 

She blushed, paused - then slowly shifted her hands, revealing a pair of supernaturally perfect rounded fuckbags.

 

“Good girl,” said Jason. “Now spread your pussy. I want to see what a nymph’s rapehole looks like.”

 

The nymph’s face coloured further, with rage and humiliation, at Jason’s language... but after a couple of moments, she lowered her hands, spread her legs, and parted her pussy. Her cunt rested just above the surface of the water, and Jason watched the water gently lap at her revealed pink cuntmeat.

 

“I’m pleased to see even a spirit of female power knows how to be an obedient slut,” he said, after staring at her pussy for long minutes. He reached down, and extracted his dick from his pants.

 

“I’m not giving you that hose,” he told her. “But I reckon if you’re very talented with your mouth, you can get my cock to make a little white liquid flow over and through you. And you’d better be talented, because that’s all you’re getting - today, and any other day that I feel like letting you be my whore.”

 

She looked at him, horrified.

 

He patted the chair next to him, as if calling a dog. “Come here, bitch,” he said. “If you’re a spirit of female empowerment, I reckon you’d better empower yourself to be an obedient little cocksucker, or it’s going to get mighty dry in that pool.”

 

“No!” she cried, tears forming in the corners of her perfect nymphly eyes.

 

He frowned. “Price has gone up now, bitch. Now I’ll only let you suck my cock if you first say, ‘Please, sir, let this stupid female bitch worship your cock with her dumb whore mouth.’”

 

He closed his eyes, and leaned back in the chair, and waited. Long minutes passed.
 

Then he heard the splashing of water approaching, and a beautiful, broken voice said, “Please, sir, let this stupid female bitch” - a choked sob - “worship your cock with her dumb whore mouth.”

 

He smiled, and nodded, eyes still closed, and a moment later he felt her surprisingly warm lips on his cock, and her tongue on the tip of his dick, and then almost immediately her first salty tears of misery drip onto his lower belly, and he knew that this house, expensive as it had been, had *absolutely* been worth it...

 

Elf Perks

 

Monika used to make fun of Christmas. From the age of 12 onwards, she'd been too cool for the holiday - sarcastic and cynical, poking holes in the whole concept of Santa Claus.

 

“He's supposed to have all these elves making toys?” she would ask. “Toys which are suspiciously branded with the logos of well-known toy companies, mind you. And what do the elves get out of it? Does he pay them? What are their conditions?”

 

It got tiresome for everyone who knew her - but from the moment she turned 18, things changed. Monika had nothing bad to say about Christmas. In fact, she practically glowed with eagerness for the holiday. In the last two weeks before the day, she dressed in Christmas tartan, sang carols, and could often be found kneeling in front of the Christmas tree, staring up at it with adoration on her face.

 

Even Monika couldn't say why she was doing it. She just knew that the thought of Christmas made her feel excited... submissive... and a little horny.

 

Santa Claus could have told her. He could have also answered her question about the elves. He employed forty male elves, and the perverted little bastards were uniformly into fucking barely-legal teen virgins. All Santa had to do to keep them in line was find forty attractive 17-year old virginal girls each year, and give them a little Christmas magic with their presents.

 

Come the next Christmas, the girls, now 18, would find themselves rising late on Christmas Eve and stealing downstairs in slutty little tartan Christmas skirts, bare-titted and bare-cunted, to kneel before the phallic seasonal tree. Santa would drop off an elf at each residence, and the evil little fuckers would have their way. Their elf physiology seemed to produce a near inexhaustible supply of cum, which they would ejaculate into each of the girl's orifices multiple times, often while choking her, pulling her hair, and beating her tits, cunt or pussy. They'd film the whole thing to have something to tide them over till next Christmas. And the “Christmas magic” would keep the girls submissive and obedient throughout the whole experience, while leaving no memory of what had happened once the elves were done.

 

And so Monika woke up on Christmas morning with her ass, pussy and tits badly bruised. Her mouth tasted of elf sperm - which itself tasted a little like a candy cane. She had vague memories of being fed a plate of cookies, being made to “dip” each one in her pussy before eating it, and washing the whole thing down with a glass of “milk” fresh from an elf's cock. That couldn't be true, could it? It was just a dream?

 

She rose from her bed, threw on some clothes, and staggered downstairs. As expected, there were presents under the tree, and presents bulging from Christmas stockings - but something strange was sticking out of hers. No one else in the house was awake yet, so she hurried over and inspected it.

 

There were three items sitting on top of her regular presents. The first was a vibrator. The second was a butt plug. The third, she saw with a dawning sense of horror, was a pregnancy test kit...

 

Fertility Idol

 

In retrospect, Risi shouldn’t have bought a dildo at such an out-of-the-way shop. She had come to the store with her fellow lesbian friends, exploring, laughing at the crystals in the shop windows, the smell of incense inside, the books of new-age magic on the shelves.

 

“How much for the dildo?” she had laughed, pointing at the phallic black object on the shelf.

 

“It’s not a dildo,” the cute blonde shopgirl frowned. “It’s a fertility idol, a powerful one that should be respected.”

 

“Okay, sure,” said Risi, as her friends giggled. “I’d like to buy this ‘fertility idol’ so I can have a good time with it tonight in bed.”

 

The girl glowered, but then her mouth twisted in a nasty sneer, and she took Risi’s money. That night, Risi did indeed fuck herself with the object - it felt smooth and cool in her pussy, and it brought her to a very nice orgasm - and she felt asleep with it embedded in her cunt.

 

She thought little of it for a week, until her body reached the most fertile part of its menstrual cycle. She woke one morning with the sudden, desperate need to fuck the object. She fell out of bed, desperately feeling for it, and as soon as she had her hands on it, she pushed it into her pussy, sighing with relief as it fit into her cunt - which she now realised was inexplicably dripping wet. Her tits felt swollen and sensitive, too.

 

She had more urges. She found herself showering while fucking herself with the object, then standing nude in front of her bathroom mirror and applying whorish makeup, still intermittently masturbating as she did so.

 

She began to realise with a certain horror that she was not in control of herself at all. Rather, the idol was in control - and a fertility idol it truly was - and that by stuffing it up her slutty pussy on that first night she had in some way activated its power.

 

Face painted like a prostitute, she found her way to the lounge, where she sat on the couch, spread her legs and pulled her knees up to her shoulders, and began to really work the idol in and out of her fuckhole. There was a confused, desperate look on her face - she was genuinely unable to control what she was doing, but the sensations it was producing were real. She felt like she was losing her intelligence in a haze of lust.

 

She thought surely she would cum soon, and then she would feel better - but as she reached for that orgasm, she realised she was unable to summon it. In fact, she realised with growing horror, there was only one thing that would provoke that orgasm, and although she could not explain her knowledge, she knew that that thing was the feeling of a man ejaculating into her fertile womb.

 

“Nooo...” she moaned. Risi was a lesbian. She had never fucked a man. She had never wanted to fuck a man. That was why she had felt safe to not be on birth control. But she wanted to cum. She wanted to cum a lot. She made a choking sound of misery as she worked the idol in and out of her cunt frantically.