The small hovel of a home echoed with faint tapping noises as its lone occupant, Igraine, worked away at securing new soles to the weathered but well-made boots on her workbench. Being the only cobbler for quite a distance, Iggy, as most people knew her, stayed busy with repairs and new commissions for all the surrounding villages. She hammered in the last tacking nail, then reclined back in her chair, stretching. She let her mind wander a bit in the quiet solitude.
Living at the edge of town by herself was perfect in her estimation. She tended to eschew the company of others as a general rule, especially with her dark demeanor. Considering the day’s schedule, she was ahead on her work and she didn't expect anyone to be by for pickups until this afternoon. Her gaze drifted, as it so often did, to the chest wedged under another worktable with crafting supplies covering it. Perhaps I have time to enjoy a bit of fun, she thought, considering the opportunity to don some of her more custom, personal leatherwork. A grin spread across her thin lips.
She looked to her prized full-length mirror, imagining herself clad in naught but her favorite leather harness, collar, and cuffs. The blackened leather matched her dark hair and contrasted wonderfully with her pale skin. She could practically feel the soft leather hugging her body, the familiar sound of it creaking as she shifted poses, the intoxicating smell of it. Iggy barely noticed her own hand drift beneath her black skirt. She closed her eyes to better immerse herself. Her dream turned to pulling on the tight leather hood she prized most of all, the one that made the world outside vanish so completely. A small gasp escaped her lips as she lost herself in the fantasy that she fully planned to make a reality soon enough.
Then came faint tapping, this time from the direction of the front door. It startled Iggy out of her daydream, her eyes flashing open and darting around. No one could see into her workshop in the back. The shutters were closed over windows caked in years of dirt and neglect, but embarrassment flared in her chest nonetheless. It felt like she had been caught red-handed, or at least wet handed. She took a moment to compose herself. Who the hells would be visiting her this early? Another customer? But most were farmers and didn't arrive until the heat of the day made their toil too burdensome, and the townsfolk likewise didn't stop by until late into the evening, since she was so out of the way.
She rose and patted down her mussed skirt. The tapping came again. Impatient, whoever they are, Iggy observed. She shouted, irritation clear in her voice, "Hold on! I'm coming, damn it!"
She stomped into the front room that doubled as a public storefront and her personal kitchen. Dark wood tables displaying her completed works awaiting their owners alongside the dirty bowl she had eaten her breakfast porridge from. Half way to the front door, her mood soured further as she thought, what if it was another fool seeking that blasted witch who lived across the street?
It happened all too often. People expected witches to be black clad, sinister looking, gloomy women that lived on their own. Igraine had to begrudgingly admit she fit that particular aesthetic and description quite well, but that didn't make her a magic wielding witch. Of course, the look of her home didn't help her case either. It was a bit rundown. Cobwebs abounded, the door hinges rusty, and the ground around her house was a thicket of dead plants, weeds, disused planting pots, and the occasional bit of discarded refuse. She was a busy person and who cared if her place looked shabby? She had to confess, though, that it did happen to make it look a tiny bit like a hag's abode, and it definitely contrasted with the witch's actual house across the way.
Iggy's skin crawled, and her eyes practically burned at the thought of the sight of her neighbor's house. It was eternally in pristine shape, with whitewashed walls, bright pink shutters, and a multi-colored shingle roof that looked like a fucking rainbow. A veritable cornucopia of flowers and plants surrounded the garish building. The witch himself, Bartholomew Rosencraft MacTavish, and yes, he insisted on the full name, was equally flamboyant and sickly sweet. He always wore impeccable and vomit worthy bright attire. His face seemed eternally frozen in a jovial smile, and perhaps it was by some errant curse. The man was kind to all, finding the world a glass half-full sort of place in contrast to the cobbler's more pessimistic outlook. And as much as it pained her, Igraine had to concede he seemed to genuinely believe in his optimistic views. It made her want to retch, but if she was being honest, he was a truly kind person who, mercifully, mostly left her alone. Alas, his departure from the classic witch aesthetic meant far too many supplicants came to her door mistakenly.
Just as she reached for the doorknob, the weak knocking happened a third time. She was going to berate whatever misguided fortune seeking ingrate was pestering her and send them crying across the street so she could get back to her own, admittedly personal, business. She flung open the door with ferocity and a dark glare across her sharp features, but the bright morning light stopped her in her tracks. Her piercing gaze turned to a harmless squinting as she recoiled from the light reflexively.
Why did the sun have to be so bright? she thought as her vision sluggishly adjusted. As it did, it revealed a woman in her twenties, likely a couple of years younger than Igraine. She was dressed in simple homespun peasant clothing. An ankle length dress left worn but well-made shoes exposed. So definitely not a client, Iggy thought, looking quickly back up to the starry-eyed young woman. The morning light haloed her head, faint wispy strands of brown hair turned golden in the light. Her eyes, a deep wonderful blue, wide and seemingly filled with anticipation. Her soft facial features took on an innocent, if nervous countenance.
Igraine's resolve, and her knees, weakened at the stunning young visage in front of her. She'd always had a soft spot for the sweet farmer girl types. Both women stood silent for a long pause. The peasant woman's adorable lip quivered slightly as she summoned the courage to speak, "Uh, hi! I-I'm Matilda, and um...see I've traveled two weeks to um...here, well, in the hopes that...uh see I was wanting to find true love, and I was um told there was a wise and powerful witch in this town, and they might be able to help me...and uh...”
Ugh! thought Igraine, of course, this cutie just wanted her romantic fortunes read or some other gag worthy tripe. Iggy, not wanting to waste either of their days, quickly held up a hand and, if a bit dejectedly, informed the confused woman, “I'm not the witch. He's across the street in the kaleidoscope that passes for a home. Sorry for the confusion. And just a heads up, he doesn’t do love potions on account of the whole lack of consent thing.” She actually admired the witch for that last fact.
Unsurprisingly, the woman's face contorted into a slightly confused look. It's really adorable how her brow scrunches and lips purse, Iggy thought absently to herself.
After a brief pause, the woman spoke, still in a nervous but light tone, “Oh, I-I know. I just visited him and when I asked for where to find love and my soulmate, he, uh, well, he pointed me to your door..." a sheepish and expectant smile had overtaken the perplexed look as she spoke.
Now it was Iggy's turn to look dumbfounded. She raised an eyebrow, and leaning to the side, looked across the street to see the familiar broad, toothy smile of Bartholomew Rosencraft MacTavish beneath a perfectly coiffed blonde mass of hair. As their eyes met, the wide shouldered himbo witch gave Igraine an emphatic nod and two thumbs up. The dour cobbler rolled her eyes in response. Did he really just pawn off this poor woman on her? she considered. But Iggy had never known the man to be a huckster or liar.
Her gaze turned back to the fidgety cute woman standing before her. This couldn't be real. It had to be a bad jest surely; she reassured herself. Iggy decided to see how far this would actually go. “I'm Igraine, and I think my neighbor, the witch, might be playing a trick on me, and you are caught in the middle. After all, I doubt a good and decent maiden such as yourself dreams of spending her life with this,” Iggy said with as much alien kindness as she could muster in her voice while indicating to herself with her calloused hands.
Matilda shuffled from one foot to the other. She brushed an errant lock of hair behind her ear as she stammered, "Um, actually...you're...uh, exactly the type of beautiful and gloomy sort of woman I've, uh...always um, dreamt of.” A sudden look of remembrance spread across her face. “Oh! And Mr. MacTavish said to present this as proof that, uh, we um...share some interests. He said you would like it and it would reveal our deepest desires, or something like that." The woman had turned a bright red as she pulled her hand hesitantly from behind her back, revealing a pristine leather collar with a deep purple amethyst that swirled with clear arcane energy.
Igraine's eyes widened. She stole another quick glance at her neighbor. He made a gesture of putting on the collar. Of course he did, and of course he knew her inner desires, the voyeur, but was it being a voyeur if someone used magic to peer into dreams and thoughts? she wondered. Perhaps the witch was being truthful. What then? Igraine loved her solitary life, but she had to confess she was lonely, and despite her appearance screaming otherwise, maybe, just maybe, this Matilda shared her more peculiar interests. With a bit of uncharacteristic impulsiveness, Igraine gently lifted the collar from the woman's hands. She saw hopeful eyes looking at her as she donned the leather. Wrapping it about her neck, it was remarkably comfortable. Taking a breath, she steeled herself and pulled it as tight as possible without affecting her breathing, buckling it closed with skillful hands.
Then...nothing. despite the magic radiating from it and promises of revealing true love, the choker remained disappointingly inert. Both women looked crestfallen. Iggy was shocked at how forlorn she actually felt. Had she really wanted it to be true so bad? She was about to shout at the witch, thinking this was a cruel joke after all, until a flash of arcane light blinded her worse than the sun had for a moment.
As her senses returned, and by the intense blush that had consumed Matilda, Igraine became immediately aware that her attire had most certainly changed. Gone were her dark gothic clothes, her self-made heavy boots. She could feel the warm morning breeze across most of her body. She was nude! Well, that wasn't entirely true. A plethora of leather bit exquisitely into her body. Tight leather bands wrapped around her ankles, knees, and thighs, holding her legs welded together. Another wrapped up and over her feet, keeping them from separating. A small tong of leather binding her toes. Her arms were uselessly pressed together by belts about her wrists and elbows with a wonderful single sleeve of leather overtop. Her fingers tried to flex from a balled fist within, only proving that leather mittens held them fast in their position under the rest.
Another lattice of leather enveloped her torso. Bands of the wonderful material pressing in above and below her chest and at her hips. A strap ran between her legs tightly, cutting into the pale and soft flesh there and leaving next to nothing to the imagination. Two more belts wrapped about her body, pulling her leather-bound arms flush to her back. The taste of leather filled her mouth from a bit-gag suddenly there. It took a second for Igraine to grasp, but all of the leather binding her now came from within her own special chest, even the arm binder she had never had the chance to try. I’ll be damned, the witch knows his, well my, stuff, she thought.
A mystified and very aroused Iggy looked to see Matilda staring at her, mouth opened in disbelieving silence, but a familiar hunger in her eyes and a glint of something more predatory replacing the innocence once there. She seemed unaware of the leash she held in one hand and that connected to Igraine’s collar, nor the leather flogger she was gripping in her other. “You look magnificent,” the woman said, a new confidence starting to bleed into her words. Iggy flushed at the words and situation. A soft moan escaped the bit-gag. The strap between her legs was already slick with her excitement.
Suddenly, Igraine became very aware of how exposed she was, standing all but naked, barely inside the threshold to her home, the door wide open to the world beyond. Her eyes widened and her breath quickened at the realization. She couldn’t let anyone see her like this. In a panic, she attempted to retreat into her home by hopping backwards; the leather prevented any other locomotion. Suddenly, though, Igraine found herself stopped in her escape attempt, the leash having gone taut. She nearly lost her balance.
She beheld that a wolfish, predatory look now consumed the previously timid Matilda, “Where do you think you are going?” Those blue eyes now looked like the ominous depths of a lake, ready to drown Iggy. A shockingly strong tug by the woman forced Igraine to hop forward across the doorway and into the warm morning air. Iggy found herself doubled over, standing in her front yard, nude save for her bondage. She looked erratically around. Mercifully, there was no one in view here on the outskirts of town so early in the day.
A lighter tug at the leash brought Iggy’s attention back to Matilda. The woman leaned down slightly as she turned Igraine’s chin up with the handle of the flogger. She whispered softly to the distressed cobbler, “I think Mr. MacTavish was correct. We do share an unusual set of desires. Don’t you think?” Igraine trembled excitedly from the humiliation. Where had this woman been a few fleeting seconds ago? she contemplated. Reeling in the moment, she managed a nod in agreement. Matilda then raised the chain, forcing Iggy to stand straight. The emboldened woman whispered, her breath hot on Igraine, “I’ve always wanted to have such a pretty woman at my mercy…what do you say? Do you want to be mine?”
Igraine’s arousal spiked. For a moment, she forgot she was standing uncovered in her own front yard. A loud, pleasure filled whine escaped her gagged lips as she nearly climaxed there on the spot. Her deepest, darkest fantasies were somehow being made real. A bit of drool slipped down from the gag to her chin as she nodded slowly, with half-lidded eyes to Matilda. The other woman’s smile intensified. “Good, before we indulge ourselves though, I think you need to thank Mr. MacTavish, don’t you?”
Before Igraine could muster an answer, Matilda pulled the chain past her with a yank. Iggy hopped a few more times forward, further into the sunlight of her front yard, passing slightly by her new mistress. Her humiliation and arousal intensified in tandem. She righted herself, and a harsh thwack resounded as leather met flesh. Iggy grunted in pleasure filled pain as Matilda giggled slightly before mockingly asking, “Well then?”
Igraine smirked and shot Matilda a glance that said ‘thank you and more please,’ before she turned to see the Bartholomew Rosencraft MacTavish standing there in his gaudy paisley waistcoat. With genuine gratitude towards the himbo witch, Igraine said, her words muffled by the gag, “Hangh mphoo, Barffolomew Rosenkraff Mffmmffavish!”
“You are most welcome, my lovely neighbor! Now, you two darlings have fun!” the man said with a soft, knowing smile and a wave as he turned back into his own house. Iggy returned the smile as the witch disappeared. She had no idea how he had figured out her dreams, or how well they fit with the woman currently holding the leash, but Igraine was eternally indebted to him.
She felt herself spin around unexpectedly as Matilda strode, without a word, into Iggy’s house, the leash remaining in hand. The restrained woman hurriedly leapt after, grateful to cross back into the safe shadowed privacy of her own home. Matilda moved rapidly into the darkened room. Iggy could barely keep up, panting from the overstimulation of the physical exertion and the kinky situation.
The other woman stopped suddenly and wheeled around on her heel, stepping up into Iggy’s personal space. Those once innocent looking blue eyes raked over Igraine, a bright burning lust in them now. Iggy licked the underside of her bit gag, groaning with matching desire. Matilda reached up with the hand holding the leash, the lead still wrapped about her, and she seized a tangle of Igraine’s dark hair. She pulled back hard, forcing Iggy's head to snap back painfully, and simultaneously there was a pressure on the strap between the cobbler’s legs as the other woman pushed the handle of the flogger against her. Matilda leaned tantalizingly close to Igraine’s gagged lips. “Ready to get to know each other?” The question delivered with seductiveness, yet something else lay in the undertones of Matilda’s voice. It gave Igraine a reason to pause. Was it uncertainty she sensed seeping back to the surface?
"Too much?" Matilda finally asked when her first question went unanswered. The mask had dropped for a brief moment. The question and concern in those words revealing the sweet farm girl was still there beneath.
Igraine stared in silence for a moment longer, relishing how cute Matilda was with that look of worry. It was practically laughable how she fidgeted insecurely while holding the leash and flogger. The absurdity of who was actually in control was evident. Iggy's excitement now mingled with a more meaningful swelling in her heart as she knew Matilda was actually concerned with her well-being and not some mean spirited and uncaring sadist. She was a gentle, if very kinky, soul who would respect Igraine's wishes.
Right now, though, Iggy wanted to be dominated and controlled. Seeing the faltering dominant persona retreating already, Igraine thought quickly how best to resurrect that other, surprising Matilda. The one from the front yard that had forced her to say gagged gratitude to their mutual benefactor while exposed to the world. Only one thought came to mind to answer Matilda's concerned query. Igraine smiled as broadly as her bit gag allowed, the corners of her mouth pinched painfully by the creaking straps, "Noh, Mphtresh!"
Blue eyes widened in surprise before they narrowed sharply. Soft features turned menacing as she slipped easily back into the dominant persona. "Good, slave. But where to start your training?" the once more mistress asked, looking about the room and twirling the flogger in hand.
With a grunt and a jutting of her chin, Iggy indicated to her workshop. Matilda nodded thoughtfully before tugging the chain down and holding it there as she walked into the back room. It forced Igraine to bend over awkwardly as she chased after.
Entering the workspace, Matilda, wearing her mistress mask, observed, “My, my slave, this should work nicely as I break and train you.” Iggy's whines and whimpers made clear her need for that reality. To be strictly bound in divine leather, serving her demanding, if actually sweet, new mistress. She felt warm fluid slipping down past the leather between her legs as she anticipated the coming storm of domination and pleasure.
“And, what's all this?” Her mistress asked rhetorically, drawing Igraine's befuddled gaze to her own special chest. It now rested in the middle of the room. The remaining contents neatly arrayed about it by some supernatural force. The witch really had known what he was doing, the cobbler turned temporary slave mused.
Matilda let the flogger dangle from her wrist by its strap as she picked up another piece of leather that had caught her attention, apparently. Iggy instantly recognized it as her favorite, the punishing leather hood she had so recently dreamt of. Holding it up towards her captive, the peasant dominatrix slyly smiled, “I think we need to add this exquisite beauty before we start, don't you slave?”
Iggy nodded assent. That Matilda would pick that particular piece from the plethora on display seemed like destiny to Igraine. Any doubts from mere minutes ago were gone, stamped out by powerful lust. She could already tell in her soul's deepest recesses; this woman and she were meant to be. Igraine couldn't wait to learn everything about this kind, kinky being a witch had brought sweetly into her life, but for now she would fall into the submissive desires of her heart as the hood was thoughtfully pulled over her head and cinched tight, taking away her unneeded sight. There would be time later to ask questions and devour every little delicious morsel of who this captivating person was, but in this moment, it was time to relinquish control and submit to her mistress.