Neil was walking down the high street in a slow depressed fashion. The economy was crap, he had just lost his job and he was looking at how to waste time before he had to go home and tell his girlfriend the bad news. He stopped outside a shop called “The house of double-edged swords” and had an uneasy feeling that this store didn’t exist here before.

He entered the shop, it seemed filled with random antiques, lamps, books, a four-poster bed just sat in the corner. A young blonde woman sat at the counter idly playing with her phone. Upon seeing Neil, she sat up startled, put down the phone and pulled out a card.

“Welcome to the house of double-edged swords where power comes at low prices but huge cost – spooky voice.” She said in a monotone uncaring voice. “Fuck, let me try that again. But at *huge cost*” she repeated, in a half-arsed sinister tone.

“So, you sell cursed items?” Neil said sarcastically. He had been rather amused by the whole scene, the shop itself maintained the aesthetic of a creepy cursed then you had this young woman in a tank top who clearly didn’t want to be there.

The girl sighed, “Yes we do.”

“And how do you stay in business if customers know things are cursed before they buy?” Neil asked. He thought this was absurd, but the distraction was cheering him up immensely.

“Well, the boys at corporate figure that it doesn’t matter if we actually sell anything,” the woman readily answered.

Neil furrowed his brow in confusion.

“You see, when people owned the store, they would be cursed to maintain it until they destroyed one hundred lives with cursed items. Then they could sell it to someone else and the curse would continue. But then the store was bought by a multinational corporation looking to liquidate it. After the first three went bankrupt trying to close it down, it came to our attention. We bought it and figured out that as long as we keep it open, the company can’t die. It will live perpetually in a state of uncaring, unsatisfied limbo, which is exactly what a corporation wants.”

“So, you are paid to sit here and not sell anything?” Neil asked.

“Not just that” she snapped. “Often the boys from corporate come here and we try to figure out what they do. If you understand both sides of the item, sometimes you can game them, like we have with the store itself. But this is rarely the case I admit.”

Neil was pretty satisfied with this explanation, honestly. He wasn’t sure he believed it, but he was enjoying this, so he decided to play along.

“So, what would you say is the least cursed thing here?” he asked.

“Probably this pen” she said, raising the pen she had on the desk.

“And what do you use it for?” he replied.

“Writing, what else?” she replied before slapping her forehead. “Oh, you mean which is the least cursed item of power.”

She went round back and returned with a flat box and what looked like an old notebook. “This one just returned, yesterday actually.”

“What do you mean returned? You can just return these *cursed* items?” Neil was starting to see holes in her admittedly amusing story.

“No, it returned. When the owner dies the items appear back in the shop, usually a few months after purchase and stained in blood. But this one usually returns after many decades and is always nicely polished.”

She opened the book and started reading aloud. “The Circlet of Submission was said to have been created by a Djinn as a gift to a power-hungry Sultan, the Sultan was reported to be overjoyed with the gift but lost his head 2 years later. His successor kept the Circlet but lived a long full life”.

She opened the box and picked up a thick silver ring that was split and hooped at the front. She took the item out of the box and inspected it. It appeared to be inscribed with what Neil assumed was Arabic.

The notes read:

Effect: The item induces complete submission of mind, body and magic targeting the person closest to the wearer.

Curse: Unknown

The translation reads ‘Beware submission is contagious, but a good master serves the servants’

Translation notes: servant could also mean slave, serves may mean ‘used by’”

Price: 100 Gold pieces roughly (£150 with inflation)

“OK I’ll take it” Neil said. He had been enjoying this, but he had seen enough, and this would be the last present he would be able to afford in a while.

“Wait, what? You can’t actually buy this.” The woman said, suddenly tense.

At that very moment a three-legged footstool in the corner collapsed.

“Fuck, stay there and don’t say anything” she said as she went over and corrected the footstool. “This is the footstool of foreshadowing; it warns me when I’m breaking the rules.”

Once the stool was upright, she stepped back. Then slowly and clearly as if speaking for someone to overhear she said “Sir, are you sure you want to buy this item?” as she pulled a face and did the slit throat gesture.

“Yes, it’s a very nice circlet.”

The woman looked furious “Sir, I demand you to leave my shop immediately.”

No sooner has she said it than the stool collapsed again.

The woman ‘shopkeeper’ started looking distraught.

“Look this has all been very clever but I really should be going, so can you sell me the circlet and I’ll leave” Neil said.

She walked back to the sales desk muttering to herself, “Can’t deny a willing customer. Corporate will kill me for this, but corporate doesn’t know it returned. But can I let this doofus curse himself if he won’t change his mind?”

“Hey, this doofus is standing right here and trying to be a paying customer.”

Looking at the circlet and the notes again she smirked, she picked up the silver ring and glanced at the footstool.

“Fine, I’ll have to change your mind for you”. Determined but clearly terrified, she slowly lowered the circlet onto her head while staring at the footstool in the corner. Contact! The footstool remained standing.

Neil watched a sequence of emotions play out on her face. First, she seemed relieved the stool hadn't collapsed, but then the relief continued as all tension seemed to flow out of her body, she seemed confused then locked eyes on Neil and stuck out her large chest. For the first time Neil noticed her name tag, “Amelia”. As his gaze lingered too long, he noticed her nipples become erect as if they were enjoying the attention.

“Look, ‘Amelia’ you’re clearly a fine actress but could you tell me what’s REALLY going on?” he said.

“I’ve been telling the truth from the beginning master. Although it seems I have misunderstood the notes. I thought wearing the circlet would let me make you submit, but it seems the permission wearing it submits to the person closest” she said, pleased his gaze was still lingering on her cleavage.

“So, you wouldn’t mind if I asked you to remove your top so I could get a better look at those funbags?” Neil said mischievously.

In a flash, she peeled the tank top over her head, tossing it aside. Her breasts bounced free—round, heavy, flawless—nipples stiff in the cool air. “Not at all, master,” she purred. “Look all you want. I’m glad they please you.”

OK, that has clinched it. No way a woman with tits this good was going to show them to the likes of him for anything less than an Onlyfans subscriptions. The bitch was telling the truth!

“So, if I fucked you what would you remember afterwards?” Neil cautiously asked.

“Whatever you want me to, master,” she said, stepping closer, her bare skin radiating heat.

“And if I didn’t specify?”

“Every part of my body is yearning to service you in some way, I guess I would be happy that you satisfied me.” Emily answered, her interest piquing.

“Take off your panties and join me on the bed” he ordered, slowly becoming more confident.

“No, not that bed master, it cures any insomnia, but you will never wake up!” Amelia said, grabbing his arm.

“Chair it is, then.” He yanked his jeans down, boxers following, and sat, his cock springing free—hard, pulsing, ready. Amelia shed her panties in one fluid motion, revealing a trimmed patch of dark hair above her glistening slit. She straddled him, thighs brushing his, her scent—a mix of sweat and something sweet—flooding his senses. Her pussy hovered over him, wet and inviting, before she sank down, taking him in with a slow, deliberate slide.

“Fuck,” Neil groaned, her heat enveloping him. She moved, hips rocking, her cunt gripping him like it had a mind of its own—tight, slick, pulling him deeper. He grabbed her waist, fingers digging into her soft flesh, and buried his face in her tits. They smothered him, warm and yielding, her nipples grazing his lips. He latched onto one, sucking hard, tongue flicking the bud as she moaned above him.

“Oh, master,” she gasped, her voice trembling with bliss. Her pussy clenched, a hungry rhythm that matched her grinding, each thrust driving him closer to the edge. He nipped at her breast, then switched to the other, leaving faint red marks on her skin. Her hands tangled in his hair, urging him on, her groans growing louder, rawer.

“When I cum in you, you will have a long satisfying orgasm which will solidify the idea that submitting to me was a good thing” he whispered in her ear.  
“Yes, master, anything,” she cried, her voice breaking as she rode him harder. Her tits bounced against his face, sweat slicking their skin where they pressed together. Her pussy spasmed, milking him, desperate for his release.

With a guttural grunt, Neil erupted, shooting thick, hot streams deep inside her. She screamed, a primal sound that echoed off the shop’s walls, her body shuddering as her orgasm hit. Her cunt clamped down, sucking every drop from him, her thighs quaking around his hips. Waves of pleasure rolled through her, her head tipping back, mouth open in a silent wail as she rode it out. Neil gripped her tighter, riding his own high, the world narrowing to the pulse of their joined bodies.

Finally, she stilled, panting, her chest heaving against his. “Clean up,” he said, voice rough, “then bag the circlet and sell it to me proper.”

She slid off him, cum dripping down her thigh, and grabbed a rag from behind the counter. 

As she wiped herself, then him—her touch gentle, almost reverent—she lifted the circlet from her head. Her posture shifted, the adoring haze fading to a shy, embarrassed warmth. She boxed the circlet, took his £150 with trembling fingers, and handed him the bag. “Please be careful with it, sir,” she said, her voice soft, genuine.

“Seems I handled well enough just now but if I run into any trouble, I’ll come straight back to you babe” Neil cockily replied.

“No, you won’t sir, after a customer leaves the store they are cursed never to be able to find it again.”

“Yeah, right” scoffed Neil as he took the bag, walked out the shop and turned around. Only to find that the shop was now a Starbucks.

Shit!