Otherworldly Discipline: A Witch's Lesson Page 2

  She considered this, but then didn’t respond. His heart wrenched—when was the last time she’d eaten? “I was doing fine,” she said quietly sounding both angry yet surrendered.

  So, she really couldn’t take care of herself at all. That must have been a bitter pill for her to swallow. He could just imagine her curled up in the freezing autumn air in a rat-infested, closet-sized apartment, with only a violin and whatever she snagged from her apartment before leaving to make a living with, and obviously it wasn’t as easy to make money being a musician as she’d hoped. She had to have been even more stubborn than he had considered to not have come crawling back by now.

  There was silence in the car for the rest of the drive. Moriarty was becoming very pleased with himself that he was dragging her back. Finally, in the middle of a field, he slowed down to park the car. As he put the break on, he turned his head towards the back seat. “Alright now—”

  Charlotte elbowed him on the lip and ripped out of the car.

  Oooh! He couldn’t wait to deliver her to Ashcroft!

  * * *

  “Urgh! Damn her,” was what Ashcroft Medwin normally panted as he was spending from his own hand. It was frankly embarrassing. He had so seldom been urged to give himself relief before he’d met Charlotte. Now, he sometimes did it twice a day—something he hadn’t done since he was a teenager. It was the only thing that helped him think straight. Sometimes he felt dizzy from how fiercely he desired her.

  He never realized that there could be someone so damn arousing. No; not just arousing, but appetizing in a way that made him actually hunger for her. Her scent, her looks, the way she moved, or walked, or bent over, and even the way she scowled at him when they were arguing had made him hard as a stone. Now, just thinking about her made him hard.

  He hated this; she was his apprentice, for god sakes. His student. He shouldn’t feel this way about her. It was indecent.

  Even if she was the worst apprentice ever. He never met a woman so insulted by being told what to do. In one way, it might have been because she was so young. She was only nineteen—she was a baby, and thus acted like a stubborn child. At the same time, he couldn’t help but wonder if the apprenticeship should have started when she was younger and more impressionable.

  He’d asked to start her apprenticeship when she was thirteen, but her foster parents balked, saying she wasn’t mature enough to survive in the Otherworld and that she was too disorderly to be sent to a great wizard like Ashcroft. They only signed her over to him when she’d finished human schooling and when they’d finally lost any and all hope of her growing to be any more orderly or more mature, and finally surrendered to Ashcroft’s pressure.

  He hadn’t actually seen her until that last summer and thus had no idea what to expect. He certainly hadn’t expected someone so damn beautiful that she would make him miserable with desire.

  “I should have treated her differently,” he had snapped to Moriarty after she’d disappeared. “I should have worn out her perfidious little bottom for her long ago!”

  Moriarty had just shrugged and bit into the apple he was eating without the slightest sign of concern about him, as was usual. He didn’t easily get upset over anything. “Why didn’t you then?” he had asked, chewing.

  Moriarty was Ashcroft’s closest friend, servant, and confidant—a man who had fought next to him in countless battles and had served him well for centuries… And Ashcroft STILL didn’t want to give him an honest answer to that question.

  Because the honest answer had been that the idea of spanking Charlotte was so damn arousing, that it frightened him.

  “She makes me so damn angry sometimes, I’m afraid of losing control with her,” he said instead, making it sound like he was really just afraid of spanking her to death.

  “Come now, Master,” Moriarty doubted openly. “A little bottom smacking never did any girl that sort of harm. When we get her back, you should really make a pact to be more firm with her. It would be the kindest thing you’ve ever done. She’s been spoiled enough. You’re the master, not her.”

  Of course, that comment had only left Ashcroft feeling like he’d failed Charlotte. He’d only shaken a stern finger at her when she’d shown up late and left early and did whatever she wanted whenever she wanted. Obviously, she could care less if he was disappointed with her.

  He had finally decided he was going to change his tactic and become more firm with her and enforce some measure of discipline… About the same time she had seemed to decide she’d had enough of him altogether.

  As if that was her decision to make! She and her guardians had signed a contract, and the contract was binding.

  And she was the last of her kind, for god sakes! The last remnant of a proud race; one that nearly didn’t exist. Her kind was mostly killed off by Merlin’s War and outside enemies centuries ago. Charlotte, to his knowledge, was purposely bred by a mother and father that couldn’t even stand each other, but slept with each other just to further their race. Soon, Charlotte’s father and mother were found and both killed off one after the other, although they had both been in hiding for centuries.

  Miraculously, Charlotte’s foster parents, simple herb wizards who had been watching over her mother in secrecy, arrived on the murder scene in time to rescue the child growing in the Byndian witch’s belly, ready to be born, and raised her as their own.

  Ashcroft was the only wizard left outside the Byndian faction that knew any of their spells and was able to use them. The task of teaching the last Byndian the spells most powerfully harnessed by her race was a task that befell his shoulders alone… And she acted like a surly little girl who didn’t want to go to school.

  The first week with her had been promising, simply because she had been in good spirits and had a good attitude; but it didn’t last.

  She was a funny girl—she was constantly singing, dancing, humming, and playing around with simple spells like an excited two-year-old when she thought he wasn’t paying attention. Just God save the man who tried to make her challenge herself.

  He walked over to the desk to dictate a letter that he’d been meaning to write; to hire some trackers to find her and bring her home, which was now his tower abode. Obviously, he wasn’t going to allow her to abide on Earthside any longer; she’d just runaway again at the very next sign of upset.

  He’d done enough waiting. There had been no sign of her, no contact, and she hadn’t come around to so much as claim her things. Something horrible had probably happened to her by now.

  He had been entrusted with her safety, her life, her education… and now she was probably lying dead in a ditch somewhere. He had failed himself, failed her parents, failed her race, and failed her. And frankly, before her, his record of failing at anything was very slight.

  Just as he pooled wax and was pressing his seal into the letter of parchment, he could hear a distant sound coming from the window.

  “You’re cutting off my circulation! This is just unnecessary!” a female voice huffed angrily.

  Charlotte? It couldn’t be. Ashcroft walked to the window to see a dark figure come up the path and into the gardens.

  “You hit me in the damn mouth, I chase you down, and then you try to kick me in the crotch? Oh, it’s necessary,” Moriarty seethed in return. “I’m close to strangling you.”

  Now that the figure was coming more into the light, it was clear that it was Moriarty hauling a floundering Charlotte by a tight arm slung around her waist, carrying her weight on his hip. Ashcroft’s eyes widened with amazement as he pushed away from the window and rushed towards the main foyer.

  “This isn’t comfortable!” Ashcroft could still hear a frustrated yell chime outside.

  “Good! I hope it’s painful, too!” was Moriarty’s teeth gritted reply as he opened up the doorway into the foyer, just when Ashcroft was finally at the bottom of the stairs, trying to look serious and not too excited. But when he took his first good look, his jaw nearly dropped out of his mouth. Her s
kirt was so short it crawled halfway up her ass in the back, exposing her black panties for his eyes to feast upon.

  And then Moriarty dropped her unceremoniously onto the stone floor of the foyer in a heap. She rolled over and sat on the ground, panting, her eyes slitted with fury. She leaned over to try to hit the back of Moriarty’s knee, but he stepped easily away from her, dabbing his bleeding lip with his shirt sleeve at the same time. “I found her for you,” Moriarty informed Ashcroft, waving at Charlotte and not looking at all happy about his discovery. “And she’s as charming as always.”

  “Go fuck yourself, Moriarty,” she hissed, apparently looking for a fight. “I hope your balls shrivel up and die.”

  “Charlotte!” Ashcroft barked, and silenced her. He had never yelled at her, but he was swirling with emotion and agitation. She looked up at him, her eyes round, but her posture extremely pouty. He bent down and grabbed her upper arm, pulling her to her feet. “Where have you been, Girl?” he demanded.

  “Away,” she snipped.

  Moriarty was happy to answer for her. “She was playing in some band for cigarette money. I doubt she has a dime to her name. She’s been sleeping the dressing room of the singles’ clubs I go to.”

  Ashcroft looked down at her, his eyes wide with distress. Her face flushed from Moriarty’s words, validating them. “I told you—I was doing fine.”

  “She hasn’t even eaten today,” Moriarty snapped, looking accusingly at her. “Tell him!”

  Ashcroft didn’t want to hear it—an angry guilt seared through him as he watched alarm and humiliation glint through her eyes. “Moriarty, that is enough,” he decreed, and then dismissed him. “Thank you for your services. Goodnight.”

  Moriarty dabbed at his lip again, looking like he was still angry from being assaulted, but forced himself to bow to Ashcroft slightly, saying, “Goodnight, Master.” With that, he lifted his chin and walked up the stairs to retire for the evening.

  She squinted at Ashcroft. “Nice of you to sic the dogs on me,” she snapped angrily. “Or whatever he is… your lover.”

  Ashcroft forced himself to breathe, because his lungs didn’t seem to do it on their own at the moment. His relief was over, and he was realizing, with a bit of fear, that he had strangled people to death with his bare hands without reaching the level of anger he had with Charlotte right now. He felt like he had to literally push himself to keep from slapping her; every bit of frustration he had ever had with her boiled quickly back to the surface. “Charlotte,” he growled. “You are deep in trouble already. Stop digging.” His hand tightened around her arm as he turned and led her up to his study.

  “In trouble?” she balked as she was pulled along. “Why? Because I won’t get down on one knee and worship you?” She obviously had no idea how angry he was. “Well, think again, Buster! That’s never been me. You can take all this magical voodoo shit and all that ‘this is your destiny’ crap and shove it right up your ass for all I care!”

  He didn’t respond; just hauled her up the stairs and propelled her into the study before shutting the heavy oak door behind him. “What I think is absolutely astounding,” he began, “is how completely selfish you are.”

  She tensed and cocked her head to the side as if he was a spider she needed to squash. “Say what?” she replied, putting her fingers across her chest. “I—I’m selfish?”

  “Yes,” he said surely.

  “I’m selfish?” she echoed again. “Well, like, excuse me for living! In case I haven’t made it very, very clear to you, let me attempt to make it crystal.” She slowed down her voice to say as pedantically as possible, “I don’t want to be your stupid apprentice! I don’t care about anything you do. I don’t want to learn what you have to teach me. You’re a bully, Moriarty’s an ass, and my parents are, like, complete morons—”

  “I don’t know how you can even begin to disrespect your parents after doing all that they’ve done for you. They’ve never raised a hand to you or let you know a moment of grief,” he lectured. All he could remember from when her foster parents had taken her on is how worried they were that the evil forces that had killed her parents would come after them as well. Yet they raised her, anyway. “If you—”

  “—and all of you are living in the wrong century. You’re all so damn backwards that you think you can keep me here like an indentured servant—”

  “—had the slightest measure of respect, you would thank them. They saved your life, and they only want the best for you. Now I’m the only one that can provide what you need. You have powers that nobody will be able to wield with the power you can develop! I’m the only person that can teach them to you, but you’re so cocky you’d rather throw it all away so that you don’t have to answer to anyone.”

  “—that you have the nerve to threaten like I’m some child! Your arrogance is so legendary that you could do reality TV. And no,” she replied when she saw his mouth open again, surely to repeat what he’d just been arguing, “I’m not cocky. You’re the damn cocky one. You’re so stubborn you don’t even know what to do with yourself when someone dares not to kiss your ass—!”

  Ashcroft was very much used to being the most important person in the room wherever he went. The sensation of being talked over was not one he had ever gotten used to, nor did he care to ever become used to it.

  The lights in the room flickered and darkened, and then the room shook slightly, causing her to jump back with confusion before she closed her mouth, silent.

  “I think we need to start over,” he said with a low, gravelly voice. “Either you stop this childish squabbling and take a seat so that we may have a discussion, or you continue to harangue me whereas you will end up listening to me while over my knee.”

  She opened her mouth, horrified, and then closed it again. She swallowed deeply and then seemed to again find her courage enough to speak. “We’re not discussing anything; you’re attempting to lecture me,” she clarified. “If you were listening, you’d know I don’t appreciate being threatened by you.”

  He ground his teeth. Yes—she was attractive even as a blonde—her turquoise eyes always seemed to glisten all the bluer when she was angry. But he didn’t let her put him off this time. He had argued with great Kings of Elves and Men and had earned their respect, and damn it; he would get it from a teenage girl. “I’m not threatening you, I’m promising you! Things are going to change around here, young lady. I mean it—I deserve and demand your respect.”

  “Well, all you’re gonna get from me is the bird,” she assured, and flipped him off as she turned heel to properly storm out of the room. And there was a long moment where she didn’t even hear him move; as if he was going to just stand there like always, fuming and annoyed.

  But when he did move, just about the same time as she had approached the door, he moved fast.

  He grabbed her upper arm tightly in his hand before he yanked her over towards an armless chair in his study. She let her shoes dig into the floor until he turned and wrapped an arm tightly across her chest and continued to drag her so that her toes couldn’t even reach the ground at all. Her little feet kicked around violently. “Ashcroft! What—you can’t—you won’t—I won’t—”

  He sat down and threw her over his lap like she was a ragdoll who wasn’t even trying to fight him; even though she was trying her damnedest to get up onto her feet. It wasn’t working—he crimped her legs underneath one of his own, hampering her kicks, and then put her scratching hands behind her back until she was pinned. “No!” she cried. “You can’t! I’ll bite you!”

  “I wouldn’t do that if I were you. This could always get worse,” he replied between gritted teeth. Her lily-white, smooth little bottom squirmed back and forth before he even brought his hand down. The edge of her skirt stopped mid-bottom in this position.

  What was she wearing and why? He’d never seen anyone dressed so scantily, and in truth he didn’t even believe Moriarty when he was telling him about girls dressing like this! Maybe it
wasn’t just in his mind—maybe Charlotte was a damned tease.

  SLAP. His first stroke landed square in the middle, and her body went completely rigid when he’d done it, making only a gasp. He forced himself not to let his hand linger across her hot skin and began to spank her sharply and rapidly.

  It seemed like she was determined not to cry or squeal, but those plans went to hell after the first minute. She suddenly began to give a panicked sort of squirm and then gasped in a cry, letting out an, Oooh-h-h! noise. “Stop! Stop!” she finally said, every word getting louder and louder. “You’re hurting me! Stop it! It HURTS!”

  “It’s supposed to hurt,” he growled, continuing on.

  “Stop it! You’re insane! I’ll tell…. I’ll call…” Her words died out as she seemed to figure out that there was nobody in authority over Ashcroft that she could possibly know of—indeed, the only ones in the universe above him were the collective Wizard’s Circle and God, himself. He could hear her tongue lag as she comprehended how at his mercy she was.

  “I’ll kill you!” she said, and when he spanked harder in response, she gave a sob and said, “You’re killing me!”

  After that her words became more or less nonsensical. Mostly just shrill cries resulting from every flash of pain she encountered from his hand. Once she began to really cry in a more quieted fashion, the spanks slowed down until they came to a complete stop.

  He finally let his hand rest upon her bottom—the heat of her reddened skin could be felt through the thin dark cloth of her panties. She hung wearily over his lap, sniffling and squirming resignedly. “So do I have your attention?”

  For the first time probably since he met her, he knew that he actually did have her undivided attention.

  Chapter Two

  When Charlotte was five, she was in love with Ben Harper; a blonde-haired boy who seemed to lord over the local sandbox. To show him how much she cared for him, she poured sand over his head repeatedly until he was coughing it up and crawled, screaming and crying, to his mother. He never returned to the sandbox again, and by the time they started first grade, it was clear he’d never give her a second chance.