by Van ©2020
		Chapter 5

After due consideration, Hermione decided that travel by means of an undulating carpet of a hundred or more scampering squirrels was not to be recommended, especially while one was naked, bound, and gagged.  For one thing, it was precarious, and would be more so if not for the plethora of tiny squirrel hands rudely clutching various parts of her anatomy.  For another, it was a rather bumpy and jarring ride, especially when the squirrels were required to climb over a fallen tree or boulder or negotiate some other obstacle as they made their way through the dark forest.

Now and then as she bounced along Hermione tested her bonds, more out of a sense of duty than with any real hope of regaining her freedom.  Back in Nimue's cottage, her furry kidnappers had trussed her up from ankles to shoulders, using the tieback-cords that should be holding back the curtains and drapes of her guest bedroom's window, and despite Hermione's best efforts, the knots securing the snug cords were holding quite well.  Thus far, the squirrels' handiwork was proving to be quite inescapable.  And as for the strips of torn bed sheet stuffed in her mouth and cleaving said mouth, the improvised gag was quite effective in reducing her attempted complaints and protests to totally unintelligible moans, whines, whimpers, and the occasional well-muffled squeal.

The distressing and annoying journey continued for some time.  Shadows deepened as the moon set and the squirrels continued their journey without pause.  Finally, Hermione was carried over yet another mossy, fallen tree and deposited on a soft carpet of green moss—but before she could lift her gagged head and look around—once again she was swarmed by the squirrels!

"MRRRmpfh!"

The bushy-tailed little monsters untied Hermione while simultaneously re-tying her!  She was never completely free during the entire process.  When the proverbial dust settled and the furry horde scampered back to gaze at their handiwork, Hermione was stringently spreadeagled on her back with each of her wrists and ankles wrapped in more than a dozen loops of tieback-cord.  She was in the center of a small clearing bordered by the trunks of four trees that happened to have fallen (or had been arranged) in the shape of a diamond.  Her wrist and ankle bonds stretched in four directions and were looped and knotted around the stubs of stout branches protruding from the middle of each of the mossy logs.

Hermione tugged and kicked but found that each of her limbs had been afforded severely limited slack.  The cords were easily strong enough to resist her efforts and the lashing points on the logs were proving to be quite solid.

Her squirrel kidnappers were now lined up side by side on all four logs and gazing (leering) at their struggling prize, just as they had back in Nimue's cottage after binding and gagging her on the guestroom bed.

As well as being naked, bound, gagged, and feeling totally vulnerable, Hermione was decidedly confused.  Squirrels are not carnivorous, and Hermione was most assuredly not a giant nut, nor could she have reasonably been mistaken for one.  So... what in Merlin's name was going on?

"Thank you, my friends."

Hermione flinched at the sound of the unknown speaker's melodious, soprano voice.  She lifted her gagged head and watched as two diminutive strangers entered the clearing.  Both were unmistakably female in dress and figure, but were only about three feet in height and were strikingly beautiful.

Elves! Hermione realized, blinking and staring at the decidedly petite newcomers as they walked a slow circle around her naked, spreadeagled form.  They stopped with one on her left and the other on her right.

The elf on the right was wearing a blouse, knee-length dress, and matching tights, all in forest-green, as well as medium-brown leather boots, belt, and wrist-bracers.  Her hair was long, straight, and red.  Most of it fell down her back, but a pair of long strands framed her beautiful face.  Her pointed ears were clearly visible, and clearly, Hermione decided, she was a wood elf.

The second elf, on Hermione's left, was dressed in a long, flowing gown with drooping sleeves, similar in style to the "witch's gown" Nimue had been wearing before Hermione's bedroom incarceration and subsequent squirrel abduction; however, rather than being black velvet, the elf's gown was satin or silk in a gorgeous shade of dusky rose-pink.  Her long hair was arranged in a similar manner as her companion, but was pale blond, rather than red.  Maybe she's a wood elf, Hermione posited.  She's not dressed like the other... but I'm certainly no expert on wood elf culture.

Both elves (and clearly, they were elves) had stunningly beautiful features... and as Hermione turned her gagged head to examine each visitor in turn, she realized that except for their hair colors and choices of attire, they were more or less identical.  Sisters, Hermione posited, and perhaps twins.

The blond and redhead were smiling, or more precisely, their expressions signaled amusement and were not openly hostile.  Spreadeagled, naked, and gagged, Hermione considered how to assert the dignity and gravitas expected of a representative of the Ministry of Magic... but it was hopeless.

Hermione tugged on her bonds one last time, then relaxed and heaved a gagged sigh.

The red-haired elf briefly directed her gaze to the hundred or so furry little kidnappers still lined up on the mossy logs and leering at Hermione... then returned her attention to Hermione (but she didn't appear to be openly leering, which Hermione appreciated).  The redhead then made a broad, graceful, sweeping gesture with her right hand.  "With the gratitude of the wood elves and the promise of future reward," she stated, "I release you."

The squirrels turned as one, leaped from the logs, and scampered into the forest in all directions.  In a matter of seconds it was as if they had never been present.

The elves were still smiling down at Hermione.  The redhead's arms were crossed under her breasts and the blonde's were at her sides.

"She is beautiful," the redhead purred, "for a human."

"For a human," the blonde agreed.

Hermione noted that the elves—who apparently were wood elves and had commissioned the squirrels to kidnap her—spoke with the same voice, melodious and pleasing to the ear (even when the listener was naked, bound, and gagged).  More evidence that they're closely related, Hermione decided.

"I am Conwena," the blonde said, placing her right palm on her chest.

"And I am Rowena," the redhead stated, repeating the same gesture.

Conwena made a complicated gesture with both hands, waving her fingers in a graceful and elegant manner.  Hermione realized she had yet to see a wood elf do anything that wasn't graceful.  Conwena and Rowena, she thought.  Such pretty names.  "Mrrr-Ahh!"

While Hermione had been contemplating the elves' names, her cleave gag had untied itself and flown from her mouth to Conwena's hand.  It was closely followed by the wad of cloth that erupted from Hermione's mouth, un-wadded itself, and also flew to Conwena.

Conwena held both strips of white cotton linen between the tips of her right thumb and index finger, then gave a whispered command.

Hermione watched with respect for the elf's mastery of magic as the two strips of cloth folded together into what Hermione could only call a pair of origami birds, fluttered away... and were gone.  She knew that all of the known varieties of elves have intrinsic magic.  House elves use their talents constantly to accomplish their assigned housekeeping tasks.  However, most magical scholars (meaning human magical scholars) agreed that there are actual sorcerers among certain groups of elves, individuals who study the principles and practice of magic as a profession or avocation.  Hermione strongly suspected she might be staring at an actual wood elf sorceress!

Conwena and Rowena waited patiently while Hermione worked her jaw and licked her lips.

"Ahem.  Excuse me."  Hermione swallowed, again, then affected what she hoped was a friendly smile.  "I'm very pleased to meet you both.  My name is Hermione Granger.  On behalf of the Ministry of Magic—"

"Yes, yes," Rowena interrupted with a dismissive gesture.  "Let's not bring human politics into the Green Wood, shall we?"  Her smile broadened.  "Welcome be, Hermione."

"Welcome be," Conwena agreed.

"Uh, thank you," Hermione replied, then tugged on her wrist bonds, kicked her bound legs as best she could, and looked from Rowena to Conwena with what she hoped was an encouraging smile.

Instead of untying Hermione, Rowena knelt behind her head and outspread arms, scooted forward, gently lifted Hermione's head and shoulders—"Oh!"—and settled them on her tights-clad thighs.  She then began combing Hermione's brown, tousled, wavy hair with her diminutive fingers.

Hermione gazed up into Rowena's beautiful, smiling face.  "You're not going to untie me?" she inquired in a quiet voice.  She has the most incredible green eyes, Hermione sighed.  She couldn't help but notice.

Rowena's equally incredible smile widened, and she touched her right index to Hermione's lips.  "Hush, pretty witch," she chuckled.

Meanwhile, Conwena had knelt at Hermione's left side and produced (or conjured) a clear, naturally shaped crystal dangling from a gold chain.  The blond elf's eyes focused on the crystal and it began to glow.  She then positioned the crystal and chain until the tiny yellow-white star was hovering less than an inch above Hermione's tummy, between her navel and neatly trimmed pubic bush.

Hermione frowned and squinted at the glowing crystal.  "What are you... Oh!  Oh!  S-stop!  Pleas-mrrrfh!"

"Hush, Hermione," Rowena chuckled.  Her right hand was tightly clamped over Hermione's mouth.

Oh by the way, some sort of tickling, teasing sensation was pulsing through Hermione's nether region, especially her lady bits!  "Mrrrf!"

"Even in the Green Wood," Rowena said, "we've heard about your efforts to improve the condition of our very, very distant cousins, the 'house elves' who choose to dwell in the human realm."

Hermione's eyes were wide above Rowena's hand gag, and she was continuously squirming, tugging, kicking, and fighting her wrist and ankle bonds.  "Nrrrrr!"  The glow from the crystal continued sending waves of unwelcome stimulation through her most intimate anatomy!  It was... horrible... (meaning wonderful)!  If this keeps up! Hermione realized, I'm g-going to... to...  "MRRRRR!"

Hermione's body went rigid and remained so as wave after wave of orgasmic delight coursed through her body.  It went on and on—she had no idea exactly how long—and then it was over.  Totally spent, Hermione collapsed in her bonds and gasped for breath.  Her breasts (and pointing nipples) heaved as she panted, and her entire body glistened with sweat.  At some point Rowena's hand had left her mouth, but all Hermione could do was breathe as deeply as possible.  Speech would have to wait.

"Well?" Rowena said, smiling at her fellow elf.

Conwena made a gesture and the crystal stopped glowing, its chain unclasped itself, the necklace drifted through the air towards the elven sorceress, and somehow arranged itself around her neck and under her long blond hair.  She dropped the crystal down the front of her gown and it disappeared between her breasts.  "Hermione Jean Granger has done many good works on behalf of all the fey races of her realm, and shall do more—much, much more.  Also..."  Conwena closed her blue eyes in concentration.

"Yes?" Rowena prompted.

"She is soulmate to a... 'Weasley.'  A Ronald Weasley."

Now Rowena frowned.  "Weasley?  Are you sure?  A branch of the  Ó hÉalaighthe clan?"

Conwena waved a hand in negation.  "Perhaps.  It's been so long since any of us cared about the goings on in the human realm, who knows?  Anyway,"  She shifted her smile to Hermione's still panting, sweaty, and wide-eyed face.  "Their children shall be strong, beautiful, intelligent, fair of face, and with normal hair."

"By which you mean red hair, of course," Rowena chuckled, smiling and lifting a strand of her long, ginger locks.

"Yes," Conwena nodded.  She then placed the palm of her right hand flat on Hermione's stomach, atop her navel.  "You are truly welcome in the Green Wood, Hermione Granger, now and forever.  I name you Elf Friend, and speak not from politeness, but on behalf of the wood elves and all of our allies.  We shall speak to all Fey of the Light and they shall know your worth.  You may visit at will, and we shall provide council and guides to take you wherever you wish to go."

"T-thank you," Hermione gasped.  It felt strange to be thanking an elven sorceress who had just taken such intimate (and glorious) liberties with her naked, helpless body, but Hermione was afflicted with reflexive courtesy.  "On behalf of the Ministry of Ma-rrrf!"  Rowena's hand was back over her mouth.

Conwena's smile never wavered.  "Not your Ministry, pretty witch.  You, Hermione Jean Granger.  You are welcome."

Hermione nodded, as best she could... and Rowena released her hand-gag.  "Was that a scrying?" she asked Conwena.  "Did you just make a prophecy?"

Conwena nodded.  "Forgive me.  I was curious.  And remember, the future is like a river, and rivers have been known to change their banks.  Only the past is fixed... most of the time, anyway."

Hermione nodded again.  As for a possible future with Ron, especially one that included children, for the last few years that had become something that she thought of as being probable, meaning highly probable, if not inevitable.

"Now," Rowena purred, "you have learned all that we wish for you to learn.  It is time for you to return."

Hermione blinked in surprise.  "I... I'm afraid you'll have to show me the way."

Rowena's smile broadened.  "Goodbye, Hermione Granger," she purred.

"Goodbye, Hermione Granger," Conwena also purred, then leaned forward, kissed Hermione's navel with her pursed lips, and—

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ zzzzzzz ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

Hermione opened her eyes... blinked... and sat up.  She was back in her guest bedroom in Nimue's cottage, and from the dim glow shining through the window, dawn was approaching.  She was naked, of course.  She'd been naked when she went to bed, so, of course, she was naked now.  She lifted the top sheet until it covered her breasts, and continued looking around the semi-darkened bedroom.

The tieback-cords where where they should be, holding back the curtains and drapes.  Also, the top sheet appeared to be entirely intact with no torn and missing strips.  She examined her wrists and found no ligature marks, not even faint ones.  So...

It was a dream.  How decidedly strange.

It also wasn't quite time to get up.  Hermione heaved a deep sigh... then lay back down, rolled away from the window and onto her side... and frowned.  There was something small and hard with her in the bed.  She sat back up, groped until she located the offending object, and held up... An acorn?  What is an acorn doing in my bed?

Hermione gazed at the acorn with a puzzled frown, then set it on the nightstand and snuggled back into the covers.  Curioser and curioser.

Time passed.

Perhaps an hour.

Hermione may have dozed off again.

She remained in the bed in the guestroom/prison cell to which she'd been assigned as her hostess/jailer, the ancient, supremely powerful, and beautiful witch, Nimue.  The same bed from which she'd been abducted by squirrels and spirited away deep into the Green Wood for a tête-à-tête with a pair of wood elves... in a dream.

The sun had fully risen and Hermione felt it was past due time for her to be rising as well, but there wasn't much point unless and until the sealed door of the wardrobe incarcerating her clothes and the sealed door incarcerating Hermione herself unsealed themselves.  And thanks to the early morning light streaming through the closed and presumably still locked window, it was clear that neither event had happened.

Thunk!

Clunk!

And then they had.  That is, the wardroom door was no longer fused to the rest of the wardrobe.  And almost immediately, the bedroom door had followed suit, meaning it was no longer fused to the bedroom wall.  By all appearances, both doors were once again... doors.

Hermione climbed from the bed, stretched, and padded to the wardrobe.  It opened as she approached, entirely on its own.

"I suppose you're trying to make up for being so very rude and uncooperative yesterday," Hermione muttered.  "Very well, I forgive you."  The wardrobe ignored both her rebuke and her magnanimous grant of amnesty.  The naked witch frowned at the wardrobe's contents.  The two black velvet "witch's gowns," the pair of black boots, and her reticule were still present, but she distinctly remembered cubbyholes holding neatly folded pairs of black stockings being off to one side, and now they were gone.  Either they'd vanished or were hidden behind a featureless wooden panel.

Hermione reached for her reticule—but its drawstring remained wrapped and firmly knotted around the wardrobe's horizontal hanger-bar and it was actively leaning away from her hand and groping fingers.

"Stop this nonsense immediately," Hermione huffed.  "I require a change of underwear... and my wand.

Her reticule—the larger-on-the-inside-than-the-outside hand purse holding her entire traveling wardrobe, toiletries, reading matter, and the work materials she'd taken from the Ministry, as well as her wand—remained uncooperative.  It continued dodging her attempts to grab it, and when she finally succeeded in taking a firm grasp, it began prodding and poking her palm.  It wasn't painful, but the sensation was decidedly disconcerting.

"How rude!" Hermione gasped as she released the reticle.  "We'll discuss this later," she promised what was supposedly her property with a stern wag of the finger.

Hermione directed her more-disappointed-than-angry gaze to the two black velvet gowns hanging from their hangers.  One was a medieval-style full-length dress with a generous décolletage and long, drooping sleeves.  The other was somewhat more... revealing.  She reached for the "conventional" gown—"Hey!"—but it also proved uncooperative, sliding away on its hanger and evading her hand.  Obviously, it didn't want to be chosen.

"Oh, rubbish!" Hermione huffed.  Rather than continuing to grab for the elusive gown, she reached for the alternative, not because she'd changed her mind, but as an experiment.  The second gown and its hanger allowed themselves to be taken from the wardrobe without resistance.  Clearly, unless she wanted to go to breakfast in the all-together, the second gown was what she'd be wearing.

Hermione dressed herself without difficulty.  In fact, the gown actively helped.  As soon as she gathered the bottom hem of the gown, dropped it over her head, and slid her arms into the sleeves—"Oh my!  Oh!"—the abbreviated row of buttons in the back (what there were of them) buttoned themselves and the pair of thin, crisscross laces of black satin ribbon on either side tightened and tied themselves in neat bows.  And then—"Eeep!"—the entire gown tightened itself even further!

The bodice squeezing her waist had been most of the reason for Hermione's squeal, but it wasn't all.  The back of one of the open panels of the wardrobe door had suddenly become a full-length mirror and she was suddenly staring at herself.  It had been startling... and her appearance was disturbing.

Hermione had already noted the gown's generous cutouts for her shoulders and upper arms as well as its plunging neckline, but...  "This is ridiculous," she muttered under her breath.  The gown's shoulder straps were narrow, nearly to the point of being spaghetti-straps, and she could have sworn they were much broader when the thing was hanging on its hanger.  Also, the sleeves had tightened around her upper arms, just above her elbows, and were now constricted into a pair of broad cuffs that mimicked the gown's bodice with crisscross laces tied with neat bows.  Also, the drooping sleeves were ridiculously long.  They continued past her fingertips for several inches, covering her hands completely.

And as for the décolletage, the inner slopes of her breasts were fully exposed, almost to her nipples!  And the neckline plunged past her navel, stopping just short of exposing the top curls of her modestly trimmed pubic bush!  The front of her tummy was semi-exposed, "covered" only by the bodice's thin laces, which had somehow arranged themselves in a complicated cats-cradle that framed and exposed her navel!

The gown was immodest, borderline indecent, and downright scandalous!  And magic was the only explanation for how it managed to preserve "decent" coverage of her nipples and the rest of her upper anatomy.  No muggle gown of similar cut would have allowed her to so much as lift an arm without exposing her.... something... somewhere.  There were even generous cutouts over her hips!

Hermione blushed.  "I look like... like... an exotic dancer, a parody of a sexy witch!" she complained to the bedroom in general.  She turned and looked back over her right shoulder in the mirror.  Just as she'd feared, her back was very nearly completely exposed, and somehow the drape of the gown's skirt was accentuating her butt!  At least there are no cutouts to showoff my butt-cheeks, she silently fumed.  She dared not make that particular observation aloud, not even in a whisper, for fear the gown would take it as a suggestion.

"I refuse to wear this thing!" she pouted.  "I look like... like... some kind of tart!"  She took a step away from the wardrobe and fumbled with the bows of the overly complicated bodice, then—"Eeep!—squealed in alarm when the bodice tightened again!  Simultaneously, the wardrobe doors slammed together and fused to the rest of the wardrobe, as they had before.

"Alright!  Alright!  I'll wear you!" Hermione gasped, and the bodice loosened itself immediately.  This was something for which Hermione was quite grateful (mainly because she enjoyed breathing).  "What about the boots?" she inquired, but the wardrobe doors remained sealed.

Creak!

Hermione turned to the bedroom door and found it was now ajar, open by about three inches.

"I can't go out looking like this," she complained, stamping her bare right foot.  "I simply can't!"

Her only answer was another creak as the door opened an additional three inches.

"Oh, very well," Hermione muttered, gathered her black velvet skirts, and stomped (padded) from the bedroom.  She jerked the door the rest of the way open, but turned back to scowl at the comfortable bed that had allowed her to be abducted by squirrels (in her dream), the window that had refused to open for her but had opened to admit her furry kidnappers (in her dream), and the uncooperative wardrobe and its uncooperative contents.  "I'm reporting this entire bedroom to the Ministry!" she warned, then crossed the threshold and slammed the door behind her—and found herself staring at a very amused Sabrina Spellman.

The American youngster was dressed in a black velvet gown that appeared to be identical to Hermione's in every way—including being immodest, borderline indecent, and outright scandalous.

"I take it your Ministry of Magic has 'Decorating Police' to keep unruly domestic furnishings in line?" Sabrina chuckled.

"Never mind," Hermione mumbled, her blush deepening.  She was framing some sort of apology for her—for their—appearance, when she was preempted by Sabrina giggling and turning 360° in a whirl of black velvet.

"Aren't these outfits great?" Sabrina gushed.

"They're ridiculous!" Hermione muttered.

"Well... yeah," Sabrina agreed, "but aren't they great?"

Bloody Yank! Hermione fumed.  Maybe her thoughts were impolite, but...  The very idea!  "I think they're horrible," Hermione answered in an exasperated huff.

Sabrina seemed genuinely surprised.  "Really?"  She smiled and gave a little shrug (for which her gown magically compensated to prevent her breasts from popping out).  She then flipped her right hand free of her long, drooping sleeve, groped thorough Hermione's left sleeve until she located and grasped Hermione's left hand, then led the way down the hallway.

"Let's find the kitchen," Sabrina suggested (ordered).  "I'm hungry enough to eat a horse."

Hermione rolled her eyes as they padded along.  "Very well," she sighed.  "I'll settle for bacon and eggs."

Meanwhile, at about the time Hermione and Sabrina were leaving their beds and getting dressed...

---

"Wake up!" Nimue's voice commanded.  "When did you become such a slugabed?"

Cassie opened her left eye... followed by her right eye... then blinked them both several times.

It was morning.  Cassie was still in her hostess' thaumaturgical/alchemical laboratory and light was streaming through the windows at a low angle.  Also, she was still naked; however, she was no longer tightly and elaborately bound from shoulders to toes and gagged with her own panties and a cleave-gag of more rope, nor was she lashed to the daybed in front of the laboratory windows.  She was comfortably reclined on her side on the daybed with a cozy blanket pulled up to her chin—a blanket she now realized was made of loosely woven hemp rope.  Such a "blanket" should have been anything but cozy, but this one was.  Obviously, Nimue had yet to reveal the limits of her rope magic.

Cassie threw back the net-like blanket, sat up, swung her legs off the bed, planted her bare feet on the floor... then stood, yawned, and executed a full-body, back-arching stretch, reaching for the cottage rafters overhead.  She then smiled at her hostess.  "Good morning, My Lady."

"Good morning, wayward apprentice," Nimue purred, her coral lips curled in an appreciative smirk and her sparkling green eyes focused on Cassie's body, especially her breasts.  The Lady was dressed in what was almost certainly the same black velvet "witch's gown" as yesterday—and why not?  Cassie knew that every item in Nimue's wardrobe was self-cleaning and self-repairing.   (The same was true of Cassie's wardrobe as well, of course, but all her things had been confiscated).  Nimue's glorious red curls framed her gorgeous face and formed an orderly riot about her shoulders.  Something like two-fifths of her lightly freckled breasts were visible, revealed by the plunging neckline of her gown, the same as yesterday.

"At some point you are going to show me to a guest bedroom?" Cassie suggested, "aren't you?"

"At some point," Nimue conceded, "but not right now.  Right now, I need to dress you for breakfast."  She planted a quick kiss on Cassie's smiling lips, then took a couple of steps back, raised both hands, and made an arcane gesture.

Cassie heaved a tolerant sigh.

The rope blanket lifted off the bed, unraveled itself into a swirling tornado of ever-lengthening loops and strands, and pounced on Cassie.

When the proverbial dust settled, Cassie was up on tiptoe with her arms over her head and her wrists lashed together, her hands and fingers encased in rope-mittens, and with several vertical strands linking her bonds to the rafters.  This only accounted for a fraction of the many linear feet of hemp that had comprised the former blanket, but as always, Nimue's rope was as long or as short as it needed to be.

Cassie continued smiling.  "My Lady," she purred, "you know I don't mind your playing with my body like I'm your favorite rag doll, but we must think of the girls."

Nimue stepped forward, cupped Cassie's breasts in both hands, and gently squeezed.  "What are you prattling about?"

"Hermione Granger and Sabrina Spellman are quite young," Cassie stated (doing her best to ignore Nimue's hands).  "And I'm sure neither of them have given much, if any, thought to what it's like to live for more than a thousand years and watch a hundred or more generations of humanity come and go."

Nimue rolled her eyes.  "The so called 'Mayfly Problem' you droned on about during your last visit.  Or was it the visit before?"

"Actually, it was two visits before," Cassie purred.  "Anyway, I know you don't think of us mundanes as short-lived insects, here today and gone tomorrow, but it's only natural that you should exhibit some impatience with our lack of experience and to simply ignore our wants and needs, but this is too much.  You need to start treating the girls like normal guests, which, unfortunately, means you need to start treating me like a normal guest."

"But you all have such an irritating tendency to repeat the same mistakes, over and over, and exhibit the same depressing naiveté."  She continued kneading Cassie's breasts and toying with her now erect nipples.  "And don't call yourself 'mundane' in my presence, young witch.  Remind me, Cassandra, was a Tudor or a Stuart on the throne of England the year you were born?"

Cassie shivered as Nimue's massage continued.  "Unimportant.  Also, our little secret.  What is important, however, is that Hermione and Sabrina don't know you the way I know you, and have no reason to be understanding or forgiving.  You need to start treating them with courtesy and not lock them away simply because you want to play with me."

"I suppose you're right," Nimue sighed, then dropped her hands and strolled to a nearby worktable.  "I'll try."

"That's all I ask," Cassie purred, then tugged on her inescapably bound wrists and hands.  Unfortunately, Nimue didn't take the hint.  Cassie heaved a sigh and stopped squirming.

At the worktable, Nimue had made an arcane gesture above an elaborately carved wooden casket roughly the size of a hatbox... and was now lifting its lid.

Cassie watched (with mild apprehension) as Nimue reached inside the casket and produced... a golden object.  It took a second or two, but Cassie eventually recognized the object for what it was, then heaved a resigned sigh.  The object was a golden chastity belt!

"Where did you get that thing?" Cassie muttered.

"A gift from the King Under the Mountain," Nimue purred as she carried the belt towards her guest.  "Isn't it beautiful?  Gold and adamantium alloy.  The craftsmen wanted to titivate it with runes and elaborate carvings—you know how dwarves can be—but I asked them to keep it simple.  'Less is more,' as the saying goes."

"I see that it has your name engraved on the front," Cassie observed.  "Untie me and I'll help you slip it on."

"Silly apprentice," Nimue chuckled.  "It says 'Nimue' so everyone will know the wearer is Nimue's property."  She opened the belt, fit it around Cassie's waist, lifted the dangling crotch-plate, deftly secured the fittings, and clicked the belt's owl-shaped padlock closed.

Cassie gasped as both the belt and the adamantium cables holding the crotch-plate tightened against her labia.  "It's cold," she pouted.

"Oh, I'm sure your hot little quim will warm it up in no time," Nimue chuckled.  She resumed gently playing with Cassie's breasts and nipples.  "Did you notice the perforated adamantium panel in the crotch-plate?" she inquired.  "Pure adamantium holds a magical charge much better than the alloy.  Allow me to demonstrate."  She took a step back and made a slow, graceful gesture with her right hand.

Cassie squeezed her eyes tightly closed, gasped, tugged on her bound wrists, and danced on her toes.  "Ahhh!"  Wave upon wave of titillating, erotic, magical energy were pulsing through her crotch!  "Nimue... please!" she begged.  "N-not before b-breakfast!"

"Do you really think I've forgotten about the way you treated me last night in your dream?" Nimue inquired, continuing to slowly twist her hand.  "Do you really think you can strip me naked, bind me to a chair, and invite the local bees to sup honey from my breasts and nipples without consequence?"

"P-please!" Cassie gasped.  "It was a harmless dream.  Ahhhhhh!"  She shivered, fought her bonds, and writhed in the ecstacy what was obviously a full-blown orgasm.

"Oh, that's true," Nimue purred.  She dropped her hand.  "Very well."

Sweat beaded on her forehead and chest, Cassie hung in her bonds, panting and gasping for air.  Then, her wrist-bonds melted away and she came down off her toes.  She rubbed her wrists and glared (meaning smiled) at her hostess.  The gold-adamantium-alloy belt remained locked around her loins, of course.

"Get dressed," Nimue ordered, and made another gesture.

"And what, exactly, am I supposed to get dressed in?" Cassie chuckled.

As if on cue, the laboratory door flew open and a rather large and misshapen black bird flapped its wings across the space and landed squarely in Cassie's arms.  The "bird" then unfolded itself and was revealed to be a black velvet gown, more-or-less identical to Nimue's.

Cassie rolled her eyes, tossed the gown into the air, raised her arms, and the gown settled over and onto her body.  The bodice tightened itself and the ends of the laces formed an elegant bow.  The gown was a perfect fit, showcasing Cassie's perfect body and providing a generous glimpse of her smooth, tan breasts, just as Nimue's gown partially revealed her lightly freckled bosom.

"Stop dawdling and follow me to the kitchen," Nimue ordered.  "I'm suddenly hungry."

Cassie watched her ancient, powerful, beautiful, and "eccentric" hostess turn in a swirl of black velvet and pad towards the door.  "Yes, My Lady," she purred, and quickly followed.