The Wedding Will of the Wisp (Femdom, Yandere, Imprison, Slave/Mistress, cfnm) 500K Views!

This is my 500K views raffle winner story, written at the suggestion of Silly SadaSs. Again, thanks to all of you for 500K views! See you again at one million!

I clinked my glass, and the chatter of the crowded wedding came to a stop. I took a deep breath. There is an old adage that people would rather die than give a public speech, and it was certainly true on my case. I hated public speaking. With a shaking hand I looked down at my notes, which were smeared due to wrinkles and sweat.

“H-hey everyone,” I said, already displeased with how my speech was beginning. “We’re here to celebrate Phil and Marta. I mean, we’re here to celebrate Phil and Marta’s hasty wedding after, um…”

I looked over at Marta’s giant, swollen kitsune stomach. She had to have twelve pups in there. Her eyes were half-lidded and her ears pointing forward with that contentment of purpose that only a very pregnant mamono could have. Phil, sitting next to her, looked exhausted. He had no champagne, but just a quart of tomato juice, which he said was to build strength for “the endless marathon” of his wedding night.

“Um…so thanks everyone for coming, just as Marta thanks Phil for cumming in-” my eyes widened in horror. In the audience, my father was desperately doing the cutting motion that signals to stop talking. “Well, I see it’s getting late. Phil, I’ve known you all my life, ever since we were in first grade, and we used to go shit in the janitor’s tool shed at elementary school-“

Phil was now making the cutting motion with his hand, but at least I got a polite titter from the crowd. Mister Toppelini, the aforementioned janitor and the father of the bride, didn’t look very happy.

“It was-a you!” He shouted, standing. “I hadda shidda in my lawnamowa, shidda in my rototilla, shit inna my sawdust!”

He began to make a series of complicated hand gestures which I think are the Guinea equivalent of calling in a mafia air strike. This was not going well. In the crowd, my father had buried his face in his hands.

I cleared my throat. It was time to pivot to a safer topic. “So anyways, Building Seven…”

A piece of bread, well aimed and at high velocity, struck me in the back of the head.

“UHH at any rate, Phil has been my friend for years. We both went to college together, studied together. We even showered together, but that was when we were at the court after practice. We’re both all man, let me tell you, but I can say, and as you already know, Marta, that Phil has a pretty good seven inches…”

This time, a glass struck me upside the head, hurled by Mister Topellini, who was running his thumb against his front teeth in some Moorish incantation of aggression. Among the diners, my father was seizing up like a Roman Emperor, a folded napkin in his mouth as his eyes rolled back in his head. He had cringed into an epileptic fit. My mother, a praying mantis, was doing her best to console him.

“Alright, well, thank you Allan, for that great speech!” The emcee began, taking the microphone from my hands. There was a smattering of polite applause from the bewildered audience.

No, I thought to myself in horror. I was going to ruin the toast. I couldn’t do that. I had to pull it together, dammit. For my best friend, Phillip, and Marta, the sweetest foxgirl I had ever met.

“Wait!” I shouted, seizing back the microphone. “Look, I’m not a good public speaker. I tend to see a crowd and get flustered and just say the first thing that comes to mind. But Phil is my friend, and I was honored that he asked me to be his best man. Even knowing how badly I bungle things, he still wanted me to have this position. It speaks to what a great guy he is, that despite the risks, he still valued me as his best friend. I really, really am happy for him, and for Marta. Marta Toppelini is a great gal, Phil and I have known her for our whole lives. She dotes on him, and he loves her to pieces. This is as good a marriage as ever, and I even shed a few tears during the wedding. I don’t think I’ve ever seen a better couple than you two. I love you both.”

There was a general air of approval of what I had said, and so swallowing, I raised my glass. Again.

“With that said, I invite everyone to raise their glasses for a toast: Marta, Phil, may you be blessed with many years of happiness, and may you be blessed with many, many little ones. We all love you. Salut!”

“Salut!” Everyone called, as we all upended our champagne. I drank all of it.

“Alright, let’s here it for Allan Paul, the Best Man, everyone!”

This time the applause for me was genuine. I exhaled, and sat down at my table with still-trembling hands. Phillip shook my hand, with a big grin.

“Good job, Allan,” he said, happily. “I knew you could do it.”

“Well done, Allan,” Marta added patting me on the shoulder. “Well done.”

With that out of the way, I felt pretty good about myself. I spent most of the time just breathing, and basking in the fact that the most difficult part of the evening was done. It all went very well, except that my father’s cringe induced seizure didn’t end until long after my successful speech, so he could honestly say that he had never seen me do anything but disappoint him.

Of course, the old tradition of the Best Man giving a toast has given way to everyone giving a speech. Mister Toppelini gave a speech about the importance of not shitting in a toolshed, which I’d like to think was a response to my earlier comments, but it seemed very well rehearsed. And Gloria, the minotaur maid of honor in a cocktail dress two sizes too tight, gave a long speech about her and Marta.

Speeches eventually ended, and food was served. I sat at the head table and ate my meal, which was a very nice duck breast with rice and caramelized carrots in maple brown sugar. It was quite good.

Everyone was having a good time, or as good a time as people have at a wedding. I hear its better now that women all became mamono, since they are so horny it makes any party more entertaining. Mister Toppelini stopped giving me the evil eye, and my mother and father were having a good time.

My eyes wandered over this crowd of people, most of whom I knew, but they kept returning to one person. One spirit as it were. An undead girl my age, a Will-o-the -Wisp. Rowan McDerry.

She sat at the table farthest from the bride’s, on a raised platform. I had seen her enter the church, gliding as serenely and pristine as a snowflake in November, in her amazing purple and azure dress. Her bright blue flames covered her lower half, rising up from her feet, and her dress-cage remained a chilling yet intoxicating reminder of her nature.

Every time I found the courage to look in Rowan’s direction, to drink in her beauty, I saw her own azure eyes staring back at me. I began to shake again, but this time with nervousness and excitement. Rowan was cute, and sweet, but she was a very ferocious person, and I was a very placid fellow. My idea of excitement was putting cayenne pepper on a flatbread pizza. Hers was…well, Rowan’s whole life was one excitement after another.

Rowan was known for being…difficult. She was often easily infuriated, grim, and rather obsessive. I had always had a giant crush on her, because she was a bad girl who used to smoke in the bathrooms (since her feet were on fire) and take no guff from anybody. Very much the opposite of me, who tended to be very quiet, and eager to make it through the day with nobody punching me in the face, or declaring me their enemy. Rowan’s fierceness made her irresistible, and I was very, very careful to not let anyone know that.

You see, I had learned about Will-o-the -Wisps. My mother bought me a book: The Gentleman’s Guide to Being a Good Son. It seemed to be a primer on practicing wizardry until a unicorn came along, at which point you would breed her with eighty children and let grandma watch them every weekend. The funny thing was that its assessment of Praying Mantis like my mother was ‘accurate’ in a sense, and yet very unflatteringly portrayed.

At any rate, thanks to this book, I was worried that Rowan was going to lock me in her cage dress. Now don’t get me wrong, I kind of always hoped that she would do it, too. I masturbated pretty much just to the thought of being her slave. Locked naked in her cage dress, under its dark fabric and obscured in a wreathe of flame, servicing her as she glided through the sky. But there is a certain…finality to a Will-o-the-Wisp courtship that makes a man reticent, in addition to Rowan’s…demanding personality. I was afraid that after a while, she’d get sick of my clumsiness and just yell at me. That is why I never, ever talked about my crush.

Except to Phil, of course. And, in fact, I had even told Rowan once, in a manner of speaking. It was when we were all in eighth grade, for a combination of necromancy and eldritch magick had allowed undead women to birth undead children, who despite their undeath would grow into adulthood, and then settle in to centuries of emptying their husbands’ balls into their mouths, wombs, and (for some girls) buttocks.

The class were all exchanging Valentine’s Day cards, and while I called everyone else my friend or buddy, inside their card, I wrote a special message inside Rowan’s card, on a folded piece of loose-leaf with a heart I drew on the cover. I wrote:

“Rowan,
“I Love You,
“Love,
Allan”,

In hindsight, I shouldn’t have said Love twice, and the fact that I had never talked to the paradoxically young Will-o-the-Wisp was also a problem. But a crush is a crush, and love is not an act of wisdom, but a thunderbolt. I was so nervous when I dropped off my silly folded card on her desk that I made sure to do it when she went to the bathroom to smoke.

She never said anything about it, and later I realized that she had probably seen the Valentine and thought that it was just what I had written to everyone. Or, she had read it, and been so off put that she hadn’t responded. That is when I first suspected I was a jinx.

Now all men are unlucky, hated by fortune, but the basic idea of a jinx is that he is a man who is so unlucky in love that his karma actively sabotages anyone who is interested in him. It was an older term from a discredited branch of science, but a litany of my potential mates had met this strange end over the years, and I began to see it as potentially true. It was no wonder that Rowan, who was perceptive, would pick up on that.

I was a bit surprised that she was here, since I didn’t really recall Magda ever hanging out with her. But there she was, sitting with her two younger sisters – Lucille, a Vampiress, and Clytemnestra, a powerful Lich. Rowan was, by mamono standards, the least powerful of the three, yet like Mephisto to the Prime Evils, she was the leader of her sisters by virtue of her being the eldest, coupled with her exceptional ability to hate. Not many people wanted to cross Rowan, who was so ferocious she could be unstable.

All three of them were single. In fact, they were the only single ladies here. There were three single gentleman as well, for mamono refused to allow any wedding that didn’t have an equal number of males and females. It was a somewhat quaint idea that the free singles would fall in love and get married, and while it had been known to happen, it was by no means guaranteed. I was one of the singles, and with my bad luck in love I was sure to go home to my collection of pornography holo-tapes.

The wedding continued. Games were played, chickens danced, electric slides were…electricking. Many of the older guests departed and headed home, and I found myself mixing among people at the bar. I got myself a gin and orange, and reached for my drink, just as a blue hand reached for a dark drink with a black umbrella.

It was Rowan.

“Rowan!” I exclaimed, like an idiot.

She smiled at me. “Hi Allan,” she said. “That was quite the toast you gave.”

“Oh…” I said, blushing. “Thanks.”

“Well, it started off good,” she said. “There was one part that I wasn’t fond of.”

Well, that only makes sense, I thought to myself. “It’s the building seven thing, isn’t it? Well, you see, the thing is-.”

“No, no no. You said you had never seen a better couple,” she said, and her voice was raised.

“Oh, yes, I did say that. Well, they are my friends, so…” I replied with a shrug.

“Sure, but are they the best couple?” She asked. “I think not. How could YOU not be in the best couple?”

“Me?” I asked. “But I’m not in a couple…”

Rowan folded her arms, and hovered up above me, staring down with reproach “Aren’t you?” She asked, and the edge in her voice was unmistakable.

I stared at her in total bewilderment. The will-o-the-wisp’s pretty azure eyes were so intense, so affronted, that I felt that I could wither under their perceptive gaze. I trembled a little, and I saw the corner of her mouth turn upward in a smirk. Why was she smirking? My face felt hot.

“Uh-uh well anyways I th-th-think that I hear um Phillip asking about his ring boxes,” I said, stammering.

Rowan narrowed her eyes. “Ring boxes?” She asked.

I nodded vigorously. With a shaking hand, I held up the felt boxes that the rings came in. “I still have them. Phillip wants them.”

“Why?” She asked.

“Well for their rings, in case of, well…” I stammered.

Rowan was silent for a moment. “Of course,” she said, flatly, and with a hint of disappointment. “I do hope you realize how proud I am of you.”

I frowned. “Proud? Why?”

“I just remember how bashful you always were, in school.”

“You remember me?”

She looked shocked that I would ask. “Of course I remembered you! Heck, I remember that loud noises used to send you diving for cover.”

“It’s not so crazy. A loud noise might mean that Sam Hyde has shown up,” I said defensively.

“Anyway, I was happy that you overcame your fear, and powered through today. It’s a good step forward.”

“Well, I had to get it right,” I replied, ignoring that last cryptic statement. “For Phillip and Marta, and their little unborn child.”

Rowan smiled, but it seemed a gloomy, sad smile. “You care about them, don’t you?”

I nodded. “Of course. They are nice people, and my best friends. Is that wrong?”

She shook her head. “No, just…” she took a deep breath. “You aren’t ready yet. You need more time.”

“I don’t understand…”

“You should bring those boxes to Phillip,” she said sadly.

“Okay,” I said, confused. I turned to head to the table, then turned back, but Rowan was already gone, and in the throng of people clamoring for the open bar I was forced to push through lest I be lost.

I took my drink, and went back to the main table, where Phillip, Marta, and Gloria and her husband, Jeremy were all talking. Everybody had taken off their tux jackets, and mine was draped over my chair. I still had my dress shirt buttoned up, but no one else did.

“I saw you talking to Rowan,” Phillip said. “Why didn’t you ask her to dance?”

I looked at him as if he was crazy. “Me? Dance with Rowan?”

“Why not?”

“Because she’d say no, and heaven help me if she didn’t. I’m two left feet, and I’d infuriate her for sure.”

Phillip laughed. “Oh please. You aren’t that bad. I think she likes you.”

“You are nuts, Phil. She’s got some other guy in mind, trust me,” I said with a wistful sigh. “A Will-o-the-Wisp obsesses about one man. It ain’t me.”

“You don’t know that,” Phillip replied.

“I have a good reason to believe it: I’m not neck-cuffed to her thigh right now,” I said with a laugh, and a bit of regret. “I mean, look at her…”

Sure enough, Rowan was the picture of cuteness and feminine charm. Despite her fearsome exterior, there was something sweet in her nature, or perhaps just a clarity of soul which made her pure, in that way a jagged gem still had a pristine way of letting the light pass through it. She looked perhaps a little sad, but she stared at me as I looked at her, and I looked away quickly.

“Oh?” Gloria asked, hearing our conversation. “and just who do you think she is interested in?”

“Just a better guy than me. Like Rolland Drake, the rowing champ, or Drake Rolland, the other rowing champ.”

“I like Rolland and Drake,” Phillip said. The two men were sitting at a table together, like mirror images, having a detailed conversation on some topic that adults should really be paying attention to besides, say, reading smut.

“Oh, I like then too. Damn nice guys,” I replied. “Good rowers, too. But that’s my point; I can’t compete with them. Have you seen their business cards?”

I took out Rolland’s business card. Phillip took it with an audible exhale. “Good coloring,” he said.

“It’s bone. The letting is something called Sillian Rail,” I responded.

“Sillian Rail? Impressive,” Phillip said, handing it back. “But check this out.”

Phillip help up Drake Rolland’s card, and I took it. “Eggshell, with Romalian lettering. This is really nice,” he said. “Really nice.”

“I can’t believe you prefer Drake’s card to Rolland’s,” I said. “But anyway, I have no business cards, or squash appointments, or sea urchin ceviche. Rowan’s not into me.”

“We invited her for you.”

My eyes bulged. I looked around the room, in a panic. My secret was out! “You didn’t!”

“Look, it’s a mamono wedding,” Phillip explained. “You gotta have an equal number of men and mamono. Everyone needs a plus one.”

“But Rowan?!” I asked, looking over my shoulder with wide eyes. She was staring at me, her gaze the same intensity as it always was. I never knew what it meant – if I was about to be hugged, drained of life, or both.

I felt weak kneed. My heart thundered in my chest.

“Oh…” I began, reeling. I steadied myself on the nearest table. My vision began to tunnel as I hit that strange sweet spot where long held fantasy meets reality in a way never thought possible. In my mind’s eye I saw -and clearly heard in my ears- an iron cage slam shut. “Uh oh…Phillip, you may have cooked my goose.”

“Who the hell else could we call? You’ve been crushing on her since eighth grade…”

“Shhhhh!” I said, eyeing everyone nervously.

“We’re past the secret point, Allan,” Phil said.

“Why didn’t you and Marta tell me about this?” I asked.

“We knew how nervous you were about the speech,” Phillip said. “I wanted to make sure you got through that, first.”

“Well that went beautifully!” I exclaimed. “I only started talking about Building 7!”

“Relax, Allan,” Phillip said. “You get yourself so wound up into a ball, it’s no wonder you commit so many malaprops. But you always come through in the end, like you did today. I was very touched by what you said.”

“Maybe you can return the favor at my eulogy,” I snapped. “When I inevitably piss Rowan off because I’m a klutz, and she tosses me out a window.”

Marta laughed. “Trust me; there isn’t a mamono alive who doesn’t love a klutz. Except maybe for Salamanders, but even then they see klutzes as projects.”

“And what about Will-o-the-Wisps?” I asked.

Marta giggled. “I think that one has it bad for you. She’s had eyes on you the whole time.”

“N-no,” I said, my heart leaping at the thought. “She’s just looking at our table.”

Gloria, a nice Minotaur who was wearing a one piece cocktail dress, stopped her canoodling of her husband Jeremy.

“Don’t be modest. She’s single and you are single. Hell, you are such an adorable sperg, I’m amazed an Oni never carried you off in college,” Gloria said with a laugh.

“It’s because I’m a jinx,” I replied.

“You are not a jinx, stop it,” Marta said, pointing with her finger. “You aren’t allowed to say such things today.”

“It’s true; every date I ever went on has ended in disaster,” I said. “One time, this jaguar girl’s car blew up before our first date.”

“Oh I remember that,” Phillip said. “They closed the school for a day.”

“This other time, a wolfgirl got locked in a closet, then there was that Orc girl who woke up on a bus to Pittsburgh.”

“That still doesn’t mean you are a Jinx. There’s no such thing,” Gloria said

“Oh? I talked to a sorceress, and she said that I had a very powerful curse on me, and that I should go with her into her bedroom to perform a ritual to remove it,” I replied.

“She wanted to sleep with you!” Gloria exclaimed.

“Yeah, I picked up on that,” I said, sighing. “I, ah, I refused, because of…reasons,” I stopped, thinking of Rowan. “But the sorceress got forceful and kind of hypnotized me, or something. What happened next is hazy; I was in her room, and she left a minute…and I don’t know what happened.”

“You escaped, somehow” Jeremy said, “I mean, you aren’t married with four kids.

“It’s all a haze after that, but when I came to, I was on the street. The Sorceress’ tower was gone, and all that was left of her was a hat. I guess they found her up a tree like fifteen miles from the spot. She wound up marrying a yokel who caught her when she fell,” I said, speaking the last part as an interesting bit of trivia. “I thought of asking her what happened, but I think it best to steer clear, you know? Her new husband may not want me nearby.”

Gloria and Marta looked at each other for a second. “And you never put together what this ‘jinx’ was?”

I frowned. “I mean, my understanding is magic and currents and luck sinks, and such. That’s what imageboards told me. It doesn’t bother me, really…”

“…because you have a crush.” Phillip said with a grin.

“Shhhh!” I admonished.

“Oh hun, everybody knows,” Gloria said. “I never saw the two of you together, but, hell, anybody can see how you look at her.”

“And how she looks at you,” Jeremy added.

I must have blushed, because the girls began cooing and saying ‘awwww’ in that way that just made it worse.

“There’s nothing to it; you must go ask her to dance,” Marta said.

My eyes bulged. “No!” I exclaimed. “I’ll-“

“You’ll what?” Phillip asked. “I can’t stand it anymore, Allan: the pining, the wishing. Now just go do it for once.”

I took a deep breath. As cute as Rowan was, and as much as I fantasized about her, she scared the hell out of me. Even if she couldn’t fly, Rowan was the type to walk a tightrope without a net. I, meanwhile, was the type who liked to hold the railings going up and down stairs.

Maybe that was the real reason I had never talked to her, I thought. I had always been afraid of her. She had once fought a shark girl name Josie who was many, many times her size in high school over some mysterious note. I never knew exactly what that note was, but her fury had been so intense that her flames, normally decorative, had melted and ignited the surrounding cafeteria.

Burning down the cafeteria had cemented Rowan’s reputation as the most frightening monstergirl at the high school, outside of Sadie the Xenomorph exchange student who got in the air vents.

But there was something else. What if…what if she didn’t feel the same way about me? What did this illusive, glowing light who seemed to always be at the edge of my vision truly feel? And would she feel it if she really knew me?

I looked back over at her. Rowan was sitting at the table, watching me with unblinking eyes. She certainly did seem to be staring at me quite intently. I had a choice to make. If I walked up to her, if I asked her to dance, I would either be shot down by the girl of my dreams, humiliated and crushed. But if she didn’t…well…I would spend the next several centuries with the slightly scary, tough, and absolutely beautiful Rowan as my mistress and jailer. I swallowed, aware that my heartbeat had quickened.

I considered the two possible futures, and taking a deep breath, I crossed the dance floor. I moved toward my destination on shaking legs, my mouth watering, as I reached my destination.

The bar.

I ordered a shot of whiskey, and took the drink down with a burning gulp. The numb clarity of alcohol helped me to refocus. It also helped me to see Rowan’s eyes, their glow. The fire which burned around her pulsed with her eyes. They had never stopped looking at me. Never stopped watching. I took a deep breath. It was time.

I walked across the dance floor toward her, aware that her eyes were on me the entire way. Her face was growing brighter at my approach, her luminance matching the thundering in my chest.

I was standing before her, and her sisters. Rowan had not said anything the entire time, but she said a single word which I could not hear. Her sisters stopped conversing at my approach, staring at me quietly, as if they expected me.

“Rowan…” I began, my voice shaking and my knees knocking. Two big speeches in public, in one day. “Would you…I was wonder if maybe, if you weren’t doing anything, or you would like to…” I took a deep breath. Best to just get it all out there. “would you like to dance?”

Rowan smirked. I couldn’t read it, but it made my heart stop beating. Was she laughing at me? Was she thinking how ridiculous I was? How ‘cringe’ to use the vernacular of the young people?

She didn’t speak, but with her smirk she offered me her hand, tilting it downward and letting me see her perfect, slender fingers and long dark blue nails. I took her hand into mine, and helped her from her seat.

“It’s about time you asked me,” she said in a gentle voice, one I had never heard her use before.

“I…I agree,” I whispered.

My heart was doing cartwheels in my chest, and I wondered if I was going to wake up from this wonderful moment, something out of a dream.

We held hands on that walk to the dance floor, or rather, I walked and she glided. Even this brief trip, this smallest walk of a few yard was amazing, and the best walk of my life. It was the first walk that I took with someone. Rowan was pressed against me, holding my hand so tightly. I had never held a girl’s hand, except for my mother or my sisters, and so the feeling of her cool fingers against my own was exhilarating. I would doubtless screw this up later on, I knew, but for now I could enjoy this moment.

We reached the dance floor, stepping out onto the fake wood where the remaining wedding guests were happily swinging about to some ancient song from the 1990s our hands joined, and she pressed against me. The rhythm of the music swayed our bodies as we twirled together around the floor.

“I’m so glad you asked me to dance,” she said. She rested her head against my chest, and shut her eyes. “It’s so loud.”

“What is, the music?” I asked.

“No, your heart. It’s deafening,” she replied, her ear against my chest.

“S-sorry.”

“No. I love it. Usually it is so faint…” She said. She let out a contented sigh.

“Usually?”

“Yes. Usually I can only hear it from outside,” she said.

“Outside? Like, outside my ribs?”

“No, no silly. When I’m outside, watching your apartment.”

“You…watch my apartment?”

“Of course.”

I moved to twirl her, but though she let me lift her arm, and she twirled, she did not extend away from me, but turned in place like a ballerina on her fiery feet, hovering in the air.

“How do you mean, you watch it?” I asked.

“I mean I float outside your apartment and stare in at you. I have an apartment across the street,” Rowan said. “Just like I was in the dorm across from yours in college, and the locker across from yours in high school.”

I blinked, still not quite believing it. “I’ve never seen you,” I said. “I mean, I knew about the locker, and I knew you were on campus, but…the dorm? And you live across the street from me, now?”

“I moved in a month before you did. I like the ferns on your deck, by the way.”

“Oh, thank you. I mean…wait, how? How did you know where I was?”

Rowan laughed. “I’ve watched you ever day since we were in eighth grade. You almost never look up,” she said. “You have no idea how many flying monstergirls would have swooped down on you if I weren’t there.”

“So that’s why no girls ever approached me…” I said. I blinked for a moment, then smiled. I was liked all along, I thought to myself. “So I wasn’t a jinx!”

“Oh, heavens no. Sometimes I wished you were, I’ll admit: every other day there was some new kobold or cat girl sniffing around you. I needed to make sure no other girls tried to steal my precious, precious, Allan…”

I stopped dancing a moment, staring at her. I should note that at no point was I any farther away from her, for she had so tightly seized me that escape was impossible. The reckoning finally came to me. “You have really been watching me the whole time?”

She stared at me, eyes sparkling, and nodded.

“For how long?” I asked.

She released me for a moment, reached between her ample blue cleavage, and pulled out a folded piece of paper, which was wrinkled and tattered, taped together. She handed it to me.

I opened it, and with shaking hands I saw the valentine’s day card, which I had given to her over eight years ago.

“It’s my card,” I said, obviously

Rowan bit her lip and nodded, staring up at me eagerly. I folded it reverently and gave it back to her.

I looked at the tape. “You ripped it?”

Rowan’s nostrils flared. “Not me. It was that shark girl, Josie…”

“Oh, the big fight! So it was over my card?”

“She grabbed it from me, and was teasing me with it. I grabbed it back, and it ripped. Then…well…I got mad.”

“But…why didn’t you ever come forward? Why didn’t you talk to me?”

“Why didn’t you talk to me?” Rowan asked, with a bit of frustration. “You had my number. Don’t tell me that you didn’t have it – I always made sure that you had my latest. I’d tell Magda, or your sisters, and they’d pass it on. I made sure.”

I couldn’t deny that. “I had it, you’re right. There were so many times that I wanted to call. So many times I’d stare at the phone, my thumb hovering over the call button.”

“I know. I was watching,” she said. “Hoping you would press down, and always saddened that you didn’t.”

“I…I had no idea, Rowan. If I had known…”

“We’ve both been ridiculous. I sometimes think I should have pounced on you,” Rowan said.

“Why didn’t you?” I asked.

“At first, we were too young. I knew that I had to wait until we were both 18. And then, I wanted to let you get out of college. This last year I could have, but… I didn’t want to just entrap you; I wanted to give you your space, let you go out and see the world. Plus you can be so awfully skittish, and the last thing I wanted was to scare you, or hurt you. It was against every instinct in my body, but I resisted the urge to drag you off in your sleep and rape you in a cage. I always knew that you needed to come to me.”

“So I suppose you’ll be letting me have some space, then?” I asked. “Because of the importance of not smothering someone?”

She smiled up at me, and her grasp tightened.

“Guess again. I gave you time, kept you from being molested by other girls, and let you come and ask me, face to face. That’s how I know that you are ready.”

“To date you?” I asked.

She smiled.

“To be my slave.”

The word slave, spoken by Rowan, conjured up many emotions, most of them favorable. But still… “I am? Because I-I’m not sure…”

She put a hand to my face, a tender hand which conveyed more than words. It conveyed trust, and care, and firmness. I shut my eyes.

“I’m ready,” I said

“I know. I love you, Allan. I have for over nine years.”

The words excited me, and I clutched her tightly to me. She smiled happily, and floating downward, she put her chin to my chest. Her hair smelled of waterfalls and floral scents, a sweet fragrance mixed with the strong, cool air of the mountains.

We twirled about the dance floor, hip to hip. Her dress was not massively puffy, but I could feel the metal of her cage within it, loose, like the rods of a tent. Each time I felt them, and understood them to be the metal bars of my future prison, I shuddered, not in fear, but in anticipation.

I led in the dance. Somehow Rowan knew that it was important to me that I fulfill that role, and she was sweet enough to accept that, and let me. Rowan could rise and fall as she wished, being able to float, and so all I had to do was lightly press against her and she would move in that direction, gliding so gracefully.

“Mmmmmm…” Rowan said, gripping my shoulder with her dainty hand and grabbing it with surprising strength. She ran her other hand up my chest, which made me feel very big and strong. “…The Best Man…”

“Hehe…t-the better man,” I said, stammering a joke that I heard in a Sandler film.

Rowan grinned, and her eyes gleamed. “No, the best man,” she whispered, and there was more than a hint of aggression in it as she pressed her hip into my groin, pushing my cockhead against her and making it throb.

She was trying to give me an erection, but honestly she didn’t have to try too much. I was rock hard, buried in her hip. Her body was pressed against me, and she held me so tightly I realized I could not pull away. She knew I was erect, and as she felt it, she grew more possessive, more clinging, and I grew harder.

I looked over the dance floor, and saw Phillip happily giving me a thumbs up while Marta waved enthusiastically, hokding her pregnant belly. Everyone in the wedding room seemed to be watching us with big grins. Their delight looked genuine, and I realized that my ‘secret’ was not really much of one at all. Everyone knew, and everyone was waiting for me to just screw up the courage to do it. Despite how embarrassing it was, I smiled, but I was still beet red. Seeing my blushing, Rowan rose up so she was higher than me, and pressed my face against her chest.

I was against her cool skin, feeling her smooth flesh against my face. I shut my eyes for a moment, and felt totally safe. Normally I always felt a little bit anxious, especially in big crowds, and under such scrutiny I would have normally died of shame or embarrassment. But here and now I felt secure. Rowan was with me, and she was holding me tightly. I was okay.

It was like giving water to a man of the desert who never drank it, and her presence made all my fears and anxieties disappear. I realized how much I loved her. There was only one thing left which scared me: losing her.

Rowan’s eyes were sparkling, azure pools which glowed with dancing lights inside, as if fireworks were exploding in the skies of her eyes. She rested her head on my shoulder again, and I suppose there was music playing, but neither of us were really listening.

“Rowan…” I said, almost panting from the arousal. “I want to apologize for all the things I’ll screw up…”

Rowan laughed. “You’re adorable,” she said.

“I know I might seem that way in small doses, but I make a lot of mistakes. I do things wrong all the time. Hell, I shouldn’t even be telling you this…”

Rowan looked unconcerned. “I know everything about you, Allan,” she said. “I watch you constantly. I’m well aware of your personality. You aren’t nearly as big of a screw up as you think.”

“I know so little about you, I feel at a disadvantage.”

“You are, and it pleases me. I will exploit my advantage, to dominate you.”

“Am…am I in trouble?” I asked, laughing nervously.

“Yes,” Rowan said. “I intend to use you, and use you well and good. I’ve seen all your porn. I know all your sexual peccadillos.”

“I have peccadillos?” I asked, not even bothering to ask or question how she knew what porn I’d watched. I was beginning to guess that she was the reason for my missing underwear.

“Oh absolutely! You really like watching girls control boys,” she said. “I already could guess that when you gave me that Valentine’s Day card – the greatest gift I’ve ever gotten – but even I was surprised by how much you want a girl to do to a boy. But don’t worry, I’ve taken the ideas from your pornos and built on them.”

My heart pounded. She was speaking so gently, and so tenderly, about so utterly enslaving me that I was trembling with desire. My earlier doubts and fears were gone, replaced with an uncontrollable desire to please Rowan, to be with Rowan, and to obey and be subject to her every whim. This is a lot of faith to put in someone, but as I looked in her eyes, I saw the gentility with which she would treat me. She would never hurt me.

They started playing some faster songs, and people started doing faster dances, and that didn’t interest Rowan at all. She had wanted to slow dance.

“Alright, enough dancing. Let’s go,” she said to me.

While I had led on the dance floor, she was in charge, now. She gripped my hand and tugged, pulling me back to her seat with her powerful feet-flames burning like afterburners. Rowan’s sisters were both dancing, funnily enough with Drake Rolland and Rolland Drake, and so we were alone at her table. She sat at my right side, our hands still locked in place. Rowan’s strong grip meant that I was unlikely to get my hand free from her grasp, but that was fine. I liked it. I liked knowing there was no escape, no way out. I liked being smothered, and clung to.

Rowan liked holding hands, too, and as she rubbed my hand with her thumb she alternated between smiling and baring her teeth at me. She was enjoying this from the point of view of a little girl who just got a new pet from the garden, to smother and love in a tiny cage…

Being that this was a mamono wedding reception, there were a lot of nooks and crannies for couples to go off and fuck. Magda and Phillip had disappeared somewhere, as had half of the guests. The shaking of some of the tables indicated what was going on beneath them, as did the tie or bowtie draped over the surface, the universal sign that men and mamono were plowing each other.

I watched the disappearing guests and the commotion on the dance floor – Gloria had picked up Jeremy and was carrying him off over her shoulder towards the door upstairs to their hotel room. I soon realized my lap was no longer free.

Rowan was sitting in it, her heavy dress adding to the pressure on my already cramped genitals. She rubbed her hands on my chest for a moment.

“It’s time, Allan,” she said. She didn’t ask, she told me – and that is why I loved her so much. She was in charge. I would obey.

Without waiting for my response, she untied my bowtie. She took the long, slender black ribbon from around my neck and draped it on the table, then taking my hand again, she wordlessly brought me underneath the tablecloth.

The wedding hall knew what was up, and so while the reception hall was tile, the space under the tables had a nice, thick rug, which I was soon sprawled out on. The tables themselves hovered in the air thanks to an enchantment, and hovered just high enough for two people of potentially large frame to lie on top of each other. It was dark, but the light from Rowan’s eyes and her lower half lit the space. Her light went yellow, and cast a warm, homey glow across the carpet and white table cloth. It felt like we were a million miles away from anyone, in a cabin by ourselves.

Now it was the time for my long stalking, patient mistress to become forceful. Rowan was not a muscular or super-buff mamono, but her fires burned hot, and gave her unnatural energy. With my gentle nature, she easily had me underneath her, pinned to the floor, and straddled by her beautiful blue thighs.

“Now, Allan,” she said, trembling with desire. “Now, I make you mine. Forever.”

With a lunge and a playful growl, she invaded my mouth with her tongue.

What can be said of a first kiss? I had thought of kissing Rowan’s lips every day since we had met, wondered what kissing a girl would be like, what feeling her tongue in my mouth would do to me. Rowan was far fiercer than I had thought, her tongue far less of a playful entity than a savage huntress. She took control of my mouth, bullied my tongue, licked at my saliva and swallowed even as she spit hers into my mouth. I swallowed down her spit, my head swimming. I felt her breath enter my lungs, and fill them, and the air was invigorating, warm air fresh from inside the wondrous unliving lungs of my Will-o-the-Wisp wife.

Her hands went to my face, holding it in place as her tongue and lips continued feasting on me. I was immobilized, in a world which was Rowan, a world I would come to know well over the centuries. I reached up, and put my hands to her waist, feeling at her tight tummy, when her hands swiftly grasped mine, and pinned them.

“No,” she said, breaking her kiss. “You will hold me, Allan, and you will hold me for hours and hours, but only when I say so. I can touch you anywhere and everywhere, but you must wait for my permission to worship my body. Do you understand?”

I nodded. “C-can I hold you, Rowan?”

Her answer was to pin me by my wrists, and kiss me with even more ferocity than before. Her hands then moved along my body freely, groping, squeezing, and touching anywhere they wanted. Then, with a growl, she lifted my hands and put them to her waist. I felt at her, my hands traveling up and down her dress, feeling the curves underneath, wanting desperately to feel her out of her dress.

Her tongue never left my mouth as she pawed at my shirt. I heard buttons rip, and felt the constriction of my dress shirt on my shoulders and chest give way to freedom.

“Get this fucking shirt off,” she commanded.

I struggled to comply, as her greedy hands pulled and pawed at my shirt. Finally I was naked to the waist, my back pressed into the rough but cushioning threads of the carpet.

She grabbed me and pinned me by my wrists again, and she leaned down. Her dark hair fell into my face, and she gave my nose a lick. “I’ve been waiting to do this to you for years. I was patient: you can’t say I wasn’t patient.” She traced a finger on my naked chest, digging her fingernail in to leave a faint train of white, a mark upon my skin to indicate her ownership.

“You certainly were,” I agreed. “I should have come to you earlier.”

“That is past,” Rowan said. “We have centuries to make it up.” With her nails, she reached down and began to tear my pants open with loud sounds of ripping fabric.

“My pants?!” I asked in alarm. I looked at my shirt, which despite missing a few buttons was at least still intact. But without pants…

“Boys don’t need pants,” Rowan explained, matter of factly. “You are going to be naked, Allan, until I decide it is time for you to wear clothes. My cage, and its flames, will protect your bare flesh from the eyes of others.”

My pants were off, in shreds. Unwearable. Rowan’s grasping hands reached for my underwear, and the fabric began to rip under her sharp nails.

“Let’s take a look at my rightful property…” she said with a ragged breath. Her flames burned white, and her hands were trembling. She was…she was nervous, I realized.

But the feeling past as I was made bare. I was exposed before her, my manhood swollen with desire for her, and her flames burned blue as a devilish grin appeared on her face. I was her slave and her prisoner already, by virtue of her immense beauty and raw aggression. Now, Rowan’s eyes feasted on my most private spot, now hers.

“Impressive,” she said, seeing my cock in the open air. “Very nice. Now, let’s see Allan’s cum…”

She squeezed my cock with her blue hand, her fingers wrapped around my base and compressing, making my eyes bulge. I gasped, and a shimmering droplet appeared on the tip of my cock. She took the pre-cum on her finger, staring at it with wide eyes.

“Look at that subtle off-white coloring, the tasteful thickness of it….My God…” she paused, trembling. She traced her finger through my precum. “It even leaves a watermark…”

She plunged the finger covered with my droplet into her mouth. Her eyes widened, and her flames burned brightly and hot. She licked her finger, savoring the remnants.

“…God…” she said. “Your boy goo is so tasty, Allan! Very, very tasty. You shall have to make a lot for me. But I think it’s only fair that as I taste you, you should taste me. Don’t you think?”

I nodded, unsure what she was planning. Would she sit on my face, right here and now? My mouth watered at the thought. Instead, however, she reached between her legs, then brought her dripping wet middle finger up to my mouth. She rubbed her girl juice on my lips. The smell of Will-o-the-Wisp, the musk of a forest in the late winter fog, filled my nostrils.

“Open your mouth,” she commanded, and I obeyed.

Her finger plunged in, covered in the strong scent and taste of her womanhood, and I was enslaved by it. I groaned, licking at the pungent, strong taste on her finger. She withdrew her digit, leaving it near my lips, gently touching them with it.

“Good boy,” she whispered, idly flicking my lips. “Good Allan. We have a lot of lost time to make up for…”

She reached down, squeezed my cock, and growled. “Mine,” she said. “Acknowledge who its owner is.”

“Y-you, Rowan,” I said, rapturously.

Rowan smiled in triumph, still squeezing. “It is good to have a naked boy as a slave. One who knows his place…” she said.

“Will you take off your clothes?” I asked.

“Not now,” she replied with a devilish grin. “It is improper for a lady to undress in public. Besides…it establishes nicely who is slave, and who is mistress. Don’t you think?”

“Y-yes,” I said, I stared at her beautiful blue cleavage, wondering when I would see them, and touch them.

“Don’t be disappointed, Allan,” she said. She put her hands to her tits, rubbing them through her dress. “If you want to worship my breasts, all you need to do is ask me.”

“May I worship your breasts?” I asked.

Rowan folded her arms. “Is that how you ask your Mistress?”

“M-may I worship your breasts, Mistress Rowan?” I asked. Saying the words, calling her Mistress and saying her name, made so much difference. It was real. Spoken. She was my Mistress Rowan.

And she was a kind, generous Mistress. She leaned down and kissed me on the lips tenderly. “Good slave. You may worship my breasts, Allan.”

She pulled down her on her dress, revealing her round, smooth breasts. Leaning forward, she put her left nipple against my mouth. Her smooth, soft boob pressed against my face, overwhelming my lips with the feel of her cool skin. Her nipple pushed between my lips, and shutting my eyes I began to lick her nipple and kiss her tit.

I lost myself in my work, shutting my eyes as I reverently attended to Mistress’ perfect, heavenly orb. I had never kissed or tasted a breast before, but it was clear that Rowan’s were special. Big for her frame, they were not too big for me to worship effectively, and her nipples were so sensitive that as I licked and kissed them, she began to finger herself almost unconsciously.

After a few minutes of licking, I could hear her breath getting more erratic. Her fingers were swirling more clumsily, her sex was squishing louder and louder. I continued kissing her tits, continued losing myself in their taste, pouring out all my sexual frustration on adoring them with my kisses. I was rewarded by both the feel of their softness, and the rising cries of my wonderful Mistress.

“Oh God!” Rowan cried. “Oh, Allan! ALLAN!”

She screamed her way through a giant orgasm which shook the table. Her flames spread throughout the whole table the gusts of wind from the backdraft making the table cloth walls of our sex tent flutter. With her hand she pushed me in between her cleavage, smearing me against her body.

She had masturbated herself to an orgasm, while I had earnestly kissed her tits. And as her howls of pleasure settled, she began to gnash aggressively. Her eyes were alive with fire, flaming as intensely as her feet.

She brought her sopping wet hand up to my lips. It was so loaded with her girl fluids that she had it cupped, and I could see the small puddle in her hand.

“Drink it,” she said with clenched teeth, forcing her fingers in my mouth. “drink all of it. It belongs in your stomach, or on your cock. Do you understand?”

I nodded, my heart pounding, as the potent, intoxicating liquor flowed past my teeth and into my throat. I swallowed, feeling the full gulp of Rowan’s pussy juice travel into my stomach, to become a part of my body.

My Will-o-the-Wisp followed up her fingers with her tongue, kissing me so forcefully that I saw stars and nearly blacked out. The orgasm had, rather than sate Rowan, ignited her passions. Overcome with lust and love, she seized me and pinned me.

“You made me wait. For years,” she growled. Her eyes were pure flame.

“D-don’t hurt me, Rowan!” I cried out, afraid beneath that intense glare.

Rowan kissed me again, savagely, possessively, before she broke off with a pop. “I will never hurt you, Allan. But I am going to fuck you so hard under this table that I break your mind. You will be my adoring slave, forever.”

“I…I already am,” I said, timidly.

Her fury subsided a moment, and she giggled. “You are so sweet,” she said, giving me a gentle, loving kiss on the lips. “But don’t think that I’m going to go any easier on you. You got this coming, Allan…”

She straddled me, her bare thighs against my waist. I could feel her warm, tight, moist hole pressing against the tip of my cock. Her labia and clitoris smeared against my cockhead and frenulum, and I pulsed, making both of us moan. For a moment I thought she might rub us off together like this, but all at once, she thrust herself down onto me, down to the base of my balls, with a loud squish of her juices.

It’s hard to say whose eyes bulged out more, and both of us cried out. Losing control for a moment due to the sheer hardness of my manhood made her aggression return, and with a growl she pushed both her breasts into my face.

“Keep licking my tits,” she commanded. “Keep worshipping them. Don’t you dare stop…”

I didn’t stop. I licked and kissed, nuzzled and even motorboated. All the while Rowan controlled our sex. I would have thought her womanhood would be cool because of her undeath, but due to her fiery nature that was not the case at all. She slid her tight, hot pussy up and down on my cock, milking it tightly. Her groans continued as before, and I realized that she was using me to get herself off. I was being used for her pleasure. It was so wonderful. She was taking the pleasure that she, after her years of patience, had so rightly deserved.

Rowan’s womanhood plunged down on my cock, milking me with her tight pussy. I moaned into her breasts, but continued my worship.

“Yes…” she whispered. “Yes…God, your cock is so big and full…it’s perfect. Finally, you are where you belong, slave. You will give me all you cum, forever. For centuries.”

Rowan fucked me, but really she was using me to get an orgasm. This was amazing, and I loved it. My body was quaking from the pleasure that my penis felt, servicing her greedy and voracious undead pussy. It squeezed and gushed with such power and energy, and I felt as if each squeeze was draining me, emptying me of more than my seed, but of my essence. But I wanted her to have it. Her having it would make me stronger. Better. Happier. She needed everything. She needed my soul.

Though she was using me to pleasure herself, the effect of her body on me was greater, and I was on the very edge of erupting into her. She knew, and she was eager to experience it. As she growled and worked, sliding up and down on me, I looked up from her tits, and her glowing azure eyes met mine.

“Rowan…T-take my soul…”

At the words, her eyes widened, and she let out a loud cry. She pressed down on me with force, gushed, and came with a massive, massive orgasm.

“ALLAN!” she screamed, “Cum inside me, NOW!”

Her command sent a shudder through my body, and I exploded into her insatiable and strong womb, which squeezed me as I pulsed without mercy, demanding even more from me. Pulling it from my very balls. As we shared this intense orgasm, we stared at each other. Our eyes met as slave and mistress, as lovers. I was Hers, and She was mine.

As the aftershocks passed, Rowan kissed me, over and over on my face and lips, with genuine and full affection. All the attention she had put into using me to make herself cum was now focused upon me, upon cuddling me and loving me

“Good boy, Allan. Good, good boy…” she said, panting. “I love you. I love you, I love you…”

“I love you too, Rowan,” I replied, panting, almost unconscious from the pleasure. “Can I hug you?”

“YES!”

We wrapped each other in an embrace, and we kissed, full and firm, and our tongues mingled. We were lost in that perfect moment, underneath a table at my best friend’s wedding. I held her, and she held me, and all that mattered was the feel of our bodies together.

“We should join the rest of the Wedding party,” Rowan said at last, as we heard the music dying down.

“What’s left of it,” I joked. “But I do need to say goodbye to Phillip and Magda. And thank you.”

Rowan laughed. “Yes. I suspect they are in their room. We’ll have to get you home.”

“I have a room, here…”

“That’s nice, but I have plans for tonight,” Rowan said. She fixed her dress top, so she was again proper, and pressed her legs against me. Her skirt flowed around me, and her flaming feet were next to mine. And yet, despite their blue flame and heat, I was not burned.

“Ready?” She asked.

I stared at her delicious blue thighs, and at her glistening little slit. She was wearing no underwear. “C-can I…”

“Embrace my thighs?” Rowan said, announcing my thoughts. “Yes. When we are in the air, I’ll expect you to do more than embrace them.”

“In the air? Shouldn’t we go to my hotel room?”

“In good time, Allan,” Rowan said. Her eyes lit up brightly. “Tonight, in the moonlight, I will dance in the clouds. We will go down the road to Lake Ulysses, and as I hover in the fog, you shall worship me, as is proper.”

I smiled, and licked my lips. “Yes, Mistress Rowan,” I said, as we crawled out from underneath the table, and emerged as a married couple.

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12 thoughts on “The Wedding Will of the Wisp (Femdom, Yandere, Imprison, Slave/Mistress, cfnm) 500K Views!

  1. As a whole, I’m into Yanderes at all, so I was a bit scared when I read the tags lol
    But thankfully, I had a really good time reading it! This is the side of yanderes I can appreciate when done well and it was great!
    And again, congrats on the 500k!
    (reading about Josie gave me PTSD from a story which shan’t be named xd)

    Liked by 1 person

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