Forbidden Escape

This story is a tongue in cheek Femdom adventure with Magic. All characters are adults.

Chapter 1: Memorybulb

James's eyes snapped open. Awake suddenly but in his own bed. His memories of the night before flooded in like a brainwashing reel. An intense kaleidoscope of sights, sounds and smells. The dank armpit of a club he'd been in. The thumping beats of the crowded dance floor. The fists full of ass he'd grabbed after the pretty goth girl with magnificent hips had made her interest obvious. The blur of a drunken cab ride and finally, the sex.

He spread his arms around the bed, sweeping through the sheets. Nothing. He was alone. She was gone. What time was it? 8AM. She must have left so early. Why the hell was he awake? Oh. That's why.

He reached under the covers and took his morning wood in hand. He was completely naked, not how he normally slept. How exactly had he gone to sleep? The answer didn't come easily, but that was less important than his urges. Besides, reliving the sex might help jog his memory.

He worked his dick in his hand and remembered the incredible woman he'd brought home. What had her name been? Raven? Maybe. He knew she had an incredible figure. Short, wide hips, bountiful booty and perky tits. Her hair a shock of blue and purple. She'd been so forceful, he hadn't had to do anything. She made the first move, she escalated at every opportunity and she'd shoved him into the bed seconds after they entered the room.

She had been so sexy; shedding her club clothes quickly but leaving the stompy boots in place. Staring at him seductively as she crawled up the bed alongside his body before swinging her thick thigh over his head and bringing her pussy to his mouth.

He couldn't remember that ever being a girl's first move. He was more than happy to go down on a woman, but it was the first time a woman had taken to riding his face as soon as they got into bed. But it was so hot. He'd gone to work with his tongue immediately, but she was grinding into him aggressively and it was hard to make his nuanced tonguemanship a significant feature.

He remembered her scent or at least how intoxicating he'd found it. He'd found the way she crushed his head with her squishy thighs delightful; like she was trapping him in her sex, encased in a universe of pussy. He knew it hadn't been quick, recalling most of all the way his jaw ached and his tongue strained before it was over. But he'd stuck to his task, he liked to think of himself as a gentleman.

She came to a short, brutal orgasm. Violently clenching her body in its spasm and spewing primal groans in its wake. But she didn't miss a beat, turning her body and making her way to his dick; her boots awkwardly mashing around in the bed as she fussed for position. He rubbed at the side of his forehead for a sore spot and wondered if she'd inadvertently kicked him as she went. Clearly he hadn't minded at the time.

Good god, the sight of her as she lowered down onto his dick. Facing his feet he was staring at her majestic ass ride up and down his shaft. In the moment it had felt like entering sexual heaven; visually, texturally and aurally awesome. He'd have stayed in that position forever if he could and now he was refusing to leave the memory of it; pumping his meat in a frenzy as his mind's eye peered into the frame. They'd both cum like that. It had been an incredible night. But he knew that wasn't how it ended.

He kept pumping his dick. That's right, they'd snoozed with his dick still inside her for a few minutes; just soaking in the bliss of it. Then she got up and started to get dressed. He'd watched her artfully stretch her panties around her boots and shimmy them up the impressive flaring of her ankles to hips.

"Wait!" he'd called out, feeling his dick come to surprising life.

"You sure you can take any more?" she teased.

"How would you feel about sticking that ass in my face?"

Had he really said that? The memory seemed crystal clear but it didn't sound like something he'd normally say. Yes he'd been absolutely besotted with her ass, yes he remembered desperately wanting to feel it crush and smother his face. But it was still a weird thing to have blurted out.

"You should know that my ass is cursed. No joke, that thing could ruin your life." she'd said matter-of-factly.

"I'll take my chances, if you're game?"

As he remembered her panty covered ass loom into view inches from his eyes, he jerked his dick with intention to finish. The way her luscious flesh consumed his face; the earthy scent of her asshole separated by microns of fabric from his nose. It had been an overwhelming sensory experience and remembering it was making him beyond horny. He badly needed to cum. His right arm felt like it was going to fall off. He was jerking so hard and fast the skin of his dick was screaming.

He remembered her take his resurrected dick in her tiny hands and grip it with a firmness he didn't think possible. He remembered the way she'd shuffled and pressed so that he was as deep inside her as possible, completely separated from the world and all its oxygen. He remembered the speed with which he went from nascently aroused to on the edge of orgasm; oxygen deprivation intensifying every sensation. He'd cum in her hands and passed out in her ass. That was the end of the highlight reel. The last frame in the tape.

His arm was flagging. His dick was dying, too much soreness and pain.

"JESUS FUCKING CHRIST WHY CAN'T I CUM!"

Chapter 2: Maven's Cravings

After lifting herself off her pleasant perch she'd looked back on this evening's conquest and realised he'd passed out. It wasn't the first time a guy had passed out in her ass and it probably wouldn't be the last. She had tried to give it up, she knew it wasn't really fair, but they always asked for it. She could deny herself many things but when a cute guy begs you to sit on their face, why should she refuse?

Oh right, the curse, of course. That's why she should refuse. Oh well, no one is perfect. She cleaned up the cum, used the bathroom, put her clothes on and headed out. In her experience, after inflicting a curse, it was best to make yourself scarce.

She didn't know exactly how it was that her ass had come to be cursed. Her best guess was that it was a familial thing, something passed down through the ages. The first time it had caused problems she'd run screaming to her grandmother who told her she wasn't crazy. As far as her grandmother was concerned it was magic. She said calling it a curse was accepting the male frame. Maven preferred to conceptualise her ass as being magic, but she called it a curse to avoid confusion.

Men had a terrible habit of being upset at having succumbed to the magic of her ass, so she'd taken to giving them fair warning if they asked for it. And they always asked her for it. She often wondered if that was part of the magic, but she preferred to believe that her ass was just that good.

She knew that this one, whatever his name was, would try to find her. She knew that the curse would drive him insane. In her experience it was best to give them a couple of days to come to terms with things before she saw them again. Best for her that was, she was certain they would not agree. She preferred the gears of explanation be greased by desperation; it made the process both more efficient and more enjoyable.

Ultimately she knew her enjoyment was the only way out of this for them. For whatever the vagaries of magic were, there was no hiding from the fact that she was the fulcrum of its power. Her desires were the well from which such torturous impositions sprung. The curse would last until her ass was sated.

Chapter 3: Agentic Testing

It had taken just 3 days for James to transform from mild mannered accountant to Occult Noir Detective. He'd booked all the time off work that he could get away with, his full allowance of paid leave and the extra he could purchase through salary sacrifice. If he could get this sorted out he'd cancel and go back to work, but right now he needed to be on the case. Every day that passed was more potential for that girl to disappear. Every bad lead he followed made the possibility of never finding her again more likely. Each night of failure was another step closer to his own sexual demise.

It had taken only 2 days for James to turn to prostitution in order to discover the limits of his predicament. He had paid top dollar after asking his boss for a recommendation and was as explicit with the poor woman as he could be.

"This is gonna sound weird, but do whatever you have to do to make me cum." He was too desperate to not say the words, but the look on her face made him ache with embarrassment.

"Yeah sure, of course." She was a pro and she hid her bemused disdain like a champ.

"No I'm serious, I'll double your rate if you can make me cum." his eyes flaring like a maniac.

"Challenge accepted." she said, happier with the stakes of the arrangement.

She had gone to town on him. From certain perspectives this looked like the best sex of his life; his beautiful escort certainly seemed to be enjoying herself. They fucked doggy style, cowgirl, reverse cowgirl; hell she even tried missionary and looked him in the eyes while she choked him to her 5th orgasm. She had sucked his dick until he'd begged her to stop due to overwhelming soreness.

"I'm sorry mister, you might need a doctor more than you need a whore right now. That thing is not normal." she giggled throughout, steeped as she was in her own bliss.

James couldn't hide his upset. Here he was, performing the role of sex god for a beautiful woman and he was purely frustrated and in substantial pain. He'd knocked back painkillers before she'd arrived just to take the edge off how sore his dick was. 2 days of trying to bring himself to climax by any means necessary had left it in a sorry state.

"Look, can we try one more thing?" James pleaded.

"Seriously? I don't think I can take any more, my pussy is spent." she declared as her eyes glazed in search of snooze.

"Can you just stick your ass in my face and jerk my dick? And don't let me breathe until I cum." he was aware of the paradoxical danger he was placing himself in. He'd not been able to cum. It had been as if magical forces prevented it. If she didn't let him breathe and he couldn't cum, then he might actually die. But breathless and smothered was how things had been the last time he'd made it over the edge.

"Pretend I made good on our bet and it's a deal." she said, dragging herself back to full awareness and giving him a wink.

The financial hit was not insubstantial for James. Not that he had a price range for this sort of thing but this girl was definitely out of it and he was about to pay double, but he had to find out.

"Do it."

Her small, pert buns were nothing like the Raven's. This was a cute and classy ass; the product of a dainty waist and slender hips, but it wasn't the size that mattered, it was how she used it. It seemed to James he probably wasn't the first client who'd asked her to breathlessly smother them because she was putting that ass to work with purpose. Drilling into his face until they reached the equilibrium of maximal submergence then reaching back to grab his hair to hold his head to task.

Once satisfied he was firmly ensconced she turned her attentions to his dick. It was only now that she noticed how red it was; it seemed to glow with blood flow, just as erect as it had been hours earlier. Whatever this guy's deal was, she wasn't going to complain about a satisfying payday.

She got to work quickly, as her air tight ass demanded and his dick felt the fire of her firm grip. 30 seconds later and she was becoming fascinated that he hadn't cum. Surely he was close after all that fucking? Surely the impetus of requested asphyxiation was going to demand arrival before death?

After 45 seconds she lifted off his face and he gasped and gulped down the air in desperation.

"How you doing down there?" she asked over her shoulder with a smirk.

"Jesus! I thought I was gonna pass out again!" Still breathless in his exclamation.

"Do you want to go again?" she suggested with a wiggle of her sexy butt.

"Jesus, I don't know if I can take any more." James was dizzy already and his dick ached inside and out. Worse than muscle fatigue this was vascular strain; blood vessels pressured beyond their tolerance.

"Well you paid for ass so have as much as you want."

"Okay," digging into his resolve. "One more try."

She slammed her hips down into him and worked his dick with ferocity; electing to find their fit in the thick of it as she went. He'd hardly had time to prepare a breath and was scantly recovered from the prior decent; the pang of chest implosion hitting within seconds.

When he'd come to she was slapping him in the face. The binocular blurring clearing to reveal her pretty, smiling face.

"Did I cum?" he croaked groggily.

"No." she said with a pout.

It was no use. He needed to find the Raven. There was no other explanation for it. He'd been cursed by her ass. He needed to become a detective.

Chapter 4: High Lying

While Maven enjoyed this process of playing hard to get, it was a point of principle that she not lie low. It went against the spirit of the game. So, since leaving James's room a few nights ago, she'd been out dancing. She loved to dance. Her musical tastes were varied and it was a rare venue that didn't play something she could happily shake to. It was a zen like experience for her; she could be on a floor surrounded by dozens of people and feel blissfully alone. Dancing in her own pocket dimension; feeding off their energy but not living in their world.

While few people in any of these clubs and bars knew her to any extent, they all remembered her when asked. She was quite frankly hard to forget. And the description was an easy one to give. Goth boots, wild blue & purple hair, huge ass hottie. She liked to leave these breadcrumbs. Sometimes she'd chat up the bouncers and bar tenders a bit; drop the names of other bars she'd been to recently, feed them some cryptic nonsense about herself. Fake names, fake friends, fake jobs and the real names of some old friends.

The goal was to give her pursuer a satisfying arc. Yes, desperation did most of the heavy lifting but people are much more likely to accept a story after putting the pieces together themselves. But of course, there really wasn't much to this story. Maven had a magic ass. That was it. There wasn't anything else for them to meaningfully discover.

In the early years this created constant tension and the men in her life would go round and round in circles insisting that there must be something else; there must be a deeper mystery. "You lying bitch, just give me the antidote" they'd scream; "Who the fuck put you up to this, who are you working for?" they'd shout. One man became convinced he was embroiled in a government conspiracy to emasculate the male population. Another demanded that she was working with Aliens. Some men had paid her ludicrous sums of money as an offering, however, they were typically very disappointed by the return on investment.

While it was often incredibly funny, or lucrative she'd decided it wasn't ultimately worth the trouble. It slowed things down, made things awkward. Much better to let them come to terms with it on their own. Besides, she had a great time doing it.

Chapter 5: Abyssal Vasts

Being an Occult Noir Detective was harder than it looked. Not that he'd given it serious thought in his past life. The sheer amount of time he had to spend in and around grotty night clubs and goth rock joints was bewildering to him. The first few nights he'd spun in the sensory overload but he quickly became numb to the gratuity. The pressure waves of sound washed over him. The feasts of flesh passed by his eyes uncoveted. He was a rock in a roiling ocean of drug fuelled frenzy. More than that, he had a job to do.

In the comics, Constantine always wore a shirt and overcoat, but in his experience dressing like this in the relevant venues marked him out as a narc. Just the act of sidling up and striking up conversation with an often busy bartender was hellishly awkward. The first few times he'd done it he'd been shut down and thrown out because they thought he was a stalker creep. Were they even wrong? Yes, for Christ's sake, he was a victim. He hadn't cum in a week! He'd discovered that he could jerk himself indefinitely and never cum. All of the pounding to get across the line just made the line throb harder and burn brighter.

Suitably motivated, he worked on his craft. He stopped aping detective chic and started aiming for "Rich Asshole" as an aesthetic. He stopped asking directly about the curvy goth girl and started spinning yarns; sprawling webs of blithe minutia to soften the pitch for real information. He'd learned to time his arrival to minimise distraction, waited for soft spots in the DJ sets intensity.

He was making progress, at least it felt that way. Everywhere he went people had seen her. And most of them pointed him to another bar where another 4 or 5 others remembered seeing her. This felt productive but he knew he was going around in circles. Lots of people had a name for her but they were frequently different. Raven, Maven, Pagan, Wyvern. Close enough to be chinese whispers but just off enough to feel like he was being played.

During the days he hit up various psychics, mystics, tarot readers and other assorted whack jobs. They all charged a pretty penny and they all had scam written all over them. A couple of the more convincing hacks had made a big song and dance about the spiritual or cosmic cloud hanging over him. One called him a dead man walking. The most chilling had been a tarot reader who told him that he was locked on a path from which he could not waver. Not that danger abounded if he failed to walk it, but that he could not avoid walking it.

Chapter 6: Who Detects the Detectives?

It was much easier for Maven to keep tabs on her pursuer than it was for him to track her down. After all, she knew where he lived. She took great delight in drinking coffee across the road from his many meetings with the spiritual community. She found immense amusement in his shifting attire for each evening as she'd watched him leave his house for the nightly hunt.

Watching to see where he was going allowed her to make sure she went somewhere else. While she knew their paths would cross again, she didn't want to be caught out randomly. She'd make sure that the next time they met was on her terms. Plus, it added a layer of satisfaction to her enjoyment of the game. Putting herself right across every street from him. Seeing the ever increasing levels of nervous energy radiate from him.

Not every chase ended of course. There were men who hadn't put it together, or whose faculties failed them in one fashion or another. People who found other ways of accepting their fate. She was pretty sure one of them had joined a chaste monastery and she'd heard rumours that another guy had gone into porn. She wished she could keep tabs on all of them. Her lost boys. She wondered if the curse really did last forever or if it faded in time as her memory of them faded. So she tried to always keep them a little bit in mind.

This one, however, was obviously not going to give up. She could see it in his eyes, he was fit to burst. He wasn't going to be overcome by spiritual profundity or recognise this as a new career opportunity; he needed this as much as she desired it. That's how it should be as far as she was concerned.

Chapter 7: Dark of Day

It had been 11 days since that night. James was different now. You don't live like this and not be changed by it. He felt like a diamond; the soft carbon of his past life pressed into hard crystal clarity. He could peel the layers and veils of the world above and strip it down to its primal reality; There is magic in this world. Magic riven to use by the carnality of desire. Magic captured and constrained by the consumptive hunger for devouring.
It was tracking down the ex boyfriends that made this obvious to him. It had been lingering in the peripheries before that; knowledge he did not want to know. But speaking to these men made such self deceptions impossible.