It wasn’t really a wizard’s tower.  Well it was a tower and it belonged to a wizard, of sorts.  I mean Howard Simpson doesn’t exactly do real magic.  What he does is just tricks and special effects and stuff, if you know what I mean.  Well, I guess you don’t, or I wouldn’t have to tell you, would I?

The tower was first built on a hilltop in Germany, overlooking the Rhine.  Back in the fourteenth century, they thought they needed such places to hold off their enemies.  It was obsolete before it was even finished, for the Mongols had brought cannons to Europe and no stone tower could long stand against them.  It stood mostly abandoned for two hundred years, hard to heat, tough to live in due to the steep winding stairs and not really practical as housing.

Then the Nazis wanted to run the autobahn right through the hill upon which it stood and Howard’s crazy old uncle heard about it and bought it, lock stock and turret.

Having it carefully dismantled, the stones numbered, crated and shipped to Michigan, the tower was re-erected on a hill just south of Jackson where it stands to this day.  It remains as it always was, cold, drafty, not very good for housing unless you like climbing stairs and pretty much useless.

Unless you have a flair for the dramatic, like Howard does.

I’d heard about his place and asked if I could come up and see it some time.

He’d chuckled then and said, "Just so you understand what happens to fair maidens who get locked up in towers, my dear."  In his best Vincent Price imitation, which was pretty good.

"I am not a maiden, kind sir.  I don’t believe I have anything to worry about on that score."  I said, trying to sound like the brave but foolish maid Marian talking to the sheriff of Nottingham.

Anyway, he invited me up for the weekend and I went, dressed up in a heavy silk brocade, ankle length gown that I’d found at a flea market in Ann Arbor.  On my head I wore a tall conical hat I’d made myself with a silk scarf trailing from its tip like the plume from a volcano.

He opened his door to me wearing a black velvet wizard’s robe, complete with stars, crescent moons and signs of the zodiac sewn on.  I giggled and curtsied to him, passing into his tower and thus, I guess, into his power.

It wasn’t until after dinner (Steak and lobster, catered by the best restaurant in the county) that we took the grand tour.  The first few floors had all been normal living quarters, kitchen, sitting room, bedrooms, a library, and a really neat bath, complete with Jacuzzi, sauna and a massage table.

By this time the waiters who’d served the dinner had packed up and gone, leaving just the two of us alone.

By the time we’d climbed to the top floor, some seventy feet above ground, I’d begun to regret the heavy gown I was wearing.  Until you got the hang of it, walking up those steep spiral stairs in that dress was quite a trick and by then I was looking forward to finding somewhere to sit down and catch my breath.  When Howard opened the door to that last room I faked surprise to see that this room was not so much furnished as equipped.

"What is this," I asked looking around the nearly windowless room. "your private torture chamber?"  Lit only by the setting sun coming in through arrow slits around the walls, the room’s furnishings looked like they’d come with the tower.  There was a bottomless witch’s chair, complete with restraining straps for the prisoner’s wrists, knees, ankles, waist, throat and forehead.  There were pulleys attached up to the rafters, shackles bolted to the walls and, in the middle of the room, a very real looking rack.

"Does it frighten you?" he asked, standing close behind me, his hot breath on the nape of my neck sending shivers down my spine.

"Is this stuff original?" I asked, inspecting the strong leather restraints on the witch’s chair.  The wood was old looking and dark but the straps were new and supple, as if they’d been replaced not very long ago.

"No, reconstructions from the original plans.  Uncle Henry had a devil of a time making the wood look old while retaining the strength of the original oak."

"Doesn’t look all that comfortable."  I said, sitting in the chair anyway.  "How does it work?"

"Well, first of all the occupant of that chair is supposed to be stark naked."  He said, looking down at me with a twinkle in his eye.

I was tired of that old dress anyway, plus I wanted to see what he would do if he had the chance.  I stood up and turned my back to him.  "Will you undo the buttons kind sir?  I’m afraid this dress was designed for someone with a maid."

"Aren’t you afraid I’ll hurt you?" he said, working at the buttons.

"Not very much." I said, looking back at him over my shoulder.  "I talked with Janice, she says you can be trusted to stay within reasonable limits."

"Ah the lovely and sporting Janice.  I miss her now that she’s married that Proctologist."

"She says she misses you too."  I said, letting the heavy dress fall to the floor and turning to face him, my hands clasped together behind my back so as to thrust out my big breasts.  "But her loss is my gain, right?"

"We shall see how you do."  He said, reaching out to touch my nipple and chuckling as it perked up in instant response.

I moved to sit in the chair but he stopped me with a touch to the elbow.  "I have a better idea.  Turn around and hold still."

Drawing my arms back behind me he began to carefully tie them.  Not tight together but so that they would run down my back parallel, a few inches apart.  When he was finished I was bound at wrists and elbows but in no real pain.  Then, helping me to sit down on the cold stone floor he pulled down a rope from the pulley in the rafters and bound my feet together using non-slipping knots and several wraps of rope.  Helping me to lie back on my bound arms he lifted my feet with the pulley rope and tied them off, leaving me with my legs in the air and my bikini-waxed pussy completely exposed.

Instead of taking proper advantage of my helpless situation, he spent a few minutes tickling my feet, driving me half insane with frustration and helpless exasperation.  Then, wordlessly, he turned away and walked out of the chamber, leaving me flushed, flustered and somewhat frustrated.

I tried to find a way to escape my bondage but found his knots to be well out of reach of my questing fingers.  I was there to stay until someone came to release me.

By this time the late setting spring sun had finally gone down, leaving me all alone in the dark stillness of the high lonesome tower.  I thought about calling out but rejected the idea.  I didn’t want him to think I was a sissy after all.

I spent the time, as I’m sure he intended, thinking about how exposed I was.  I pictured how I must look, my legs high, my bare ass sticking out, my hairless sex completely exposed.  I felt myself growing warm down there, my flower blooming and becoming wet with anticipation for what was sure to come.               

It must have been midnight when I finally heard his footsteps coming up the stairs.  Under the door I saw the flickering light of an approaching candle.  As the old oaken door began to swing open I twisted around to see him standing there, completely naked now and armed with a thin wand of hardwood, perhaps two feet long.  Standing out from his groin as a cock of impressive dimensions, both longer and thicker than any I’d ever known.  Well, I thought, so far Janice has been right on the money.

Mrs. Dr. Janice Farmington Wilson used to date Howard in college, back before he inherited this tower from his uncle.  The only reason she’d left him, she’d said, was because Dr. Wilson was both richer and kinkier.  "A girl has needs after all."  She’d smiled, sipping her martini.  "I mean the doctor makes twice what Howard does and I love that pony stuff he makes me wear."

After lighting several candles around the room Howard came over and knelt beside where I lay, his hardwood wand in one hand and a pump bottle of K-Y in the other.  The K-Y was cold at first but when he began rubbing it on and then inside my sex it warmed up, fast.  I had heard about the new warming K-Y but this was my first time using it. 

In a very few minutes I was very warm indeed, inside and out, with beads of sweat popping out on my forehead.  I was also getting quite horny, just the sight of his big organ sticking out of his lap making me want to mount him like a bronco.  I made a small pleading noise in my throat that caught us both by surprise, me more than him I think.

He switched his attentions to my aching breasts, squeezing them and bending over to suckle my nipples while at the same time continuing the pussy greasing massage until I was flopping on the end of my ankle tether like a landed fish, not actually begging but embarrassing close to it.

He bent down and kissed me on the mouth, whispering that I was ten times as exciting as Janice had ever been.      

He smiled down at me and picked up the wand.  Made of thin, springy hardwood it felt cool against my K-Y warmed flesh as he caressed my bottom with it.  It was almost as if he were staking out the area he planned to mark, from mid thighs to the curve of my ass, just below where my anus must have been winking out at him.

Suddenly my cool reserve was gone as a wave of panic hit me.  What was I doing here, strung up like a pig for butchering?  I fought my bondage, gaining nothing.  I screamed and swore at him, trying to find some means of escape.  I tried to roll over, hoping to find a way to get my arms free.  And all to no avail, alas.  I was his and there was nothing I could do to escape him.

When at last I had settled down, my panic passing as quickly as it had come, his hand returned to my pussy, making me know how very turned on I was, how desperately ready.

Then, without the slightest warning, his hand rose and fell, the wand whistling as it passed through the air on its way to my blushing butt.  The impact was like he’d sliced my hams with a razor sharp sword, cutting me to the bone.  Worse, cutting me to the quick for the impact had reached in down between my bottom cheeks and bit into my swollen, dripping labia.

What I’d thought were my best efforts to escape before were as nothing to my attempts then, still to no avail.  I was his and I was going to remain his until he let me go.  It was just that simple.    

By the time he was done my bottom was one big tartan welt.  I was marked exactly as he’d planned, from mid thighs down to even with my asshole.  It felt like I’d sat in a waffle iron. 

Then I felt something new and my eyes flew open wide.  He was down on his hands and knees, nuzzling my wide-on, delving his tongue deep into my hungry vulva, kissing and suckling my clit, sticking his extra long tongue deep inside to stimulate my G spot, humming and inflating me in a way that made want filling even more.

I was screaming in passion by that time, half in shock from the pain of the welting, half in desire for his big cock to come and fill my aching void.

I looked down at him and saw that his big organ had grown even larger and now it was glistening with a coating of his pre-come as it approached my fully open vagina.  I lifted myself to him, needing his magic wand as much as I needed air itself.  I screamed as he thundered into me, my hip bones wedging open as his big organ drove into my gulping sex.

It was as if he’d supplied my missing piece.  I humped my hips up to engulf him, needing to feel his hard body spanking against my welt covered bottom, his long organ hammering at the gates of my womb, needing to feel his passion mixing his juices with mine, needing his very essence to flood me and inseminate me and make me his for ever and ever.  My pain was not forgotten so much as forgiven.  I simply no longer cared about it as much as I needed his magic wand of passion within my clutching, shuddering, spasming glory hole.

It was as if there were no gravity and we were flying out of this tower coupled and glorious, our shared pleasures transforming us into a dragon of pure pleasure, a Pegasus of passion, a phoenix of flaming lust. 

Later he untied me and took me down to the Jacuzzi for a long soak and cuddle.  Beside the tub he had a bottle of good champagne in an ice bucket and several sticks of really outstanding Michigan Sticky Bud reefer.

Like I said, not really a wizard, but close enough.