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Published by Susan Strict
Default Witches

“Witches” is a story from a new collection of femdom stories by Susan Strict, “Halloween 2”

A bit of fun - not to be taken seriously, of course.


“I’m looking for love, I’m looking for love…” Matilda sang lustily as she careered over the forest on her broomstick.

“Oh do shut up. If there’s anyone down there, they’ll be long gone before you see them,” snapped Cassandra.

“And they’ll run a mile the moment they see you,” returned Matilda cheerfully. “Remember last year? You landed in front of that beautiful young man and he was on his toes before you could say get your kit off.”

Cassandra sniffed. “Less of the vernacular, young lady. ‘On his toes’? Wherever did you get that phrase?”

“Brixton,” Matilda promptly told her. “Remember? The young Londoner we picked up. It’s your own fault. If you hadn’t frightened everyone for miles, we wouldn’t have had to land in the prison exercise yard. Talk about scraping the bottom of the barrel. He really was the dregs of society, and the one you collected wasn’t much better. ‘Blimey, we’re in for a rough ten-ton tonight,’ he said when he saw you. ‘I’d rather be in me peter for next five years’,”

“Ten-ton? I don’t remember him saying that. What on earth did he mean by that?”

“Cockney rhyming slang,” Matilda informed her. “Ten-ton truck: f….”

“Yes, all right, all right,” Cassandra interrupted. “Only I’m sure it’s not, and I’m sure he never said it.”

“Wear a mask, my love, then you won’t scare them so much,” suggested Matilda, and swooped down low out of earshot before Cassandra could reply.

“No one here,” she called up. “We should have stuck to the cities. Not everyone will be indoors.”

“They know we’re about,” Cassandra muttered to herself. “It’s getting harder and harder every year. We only caught thirty each last year, and most of them weren’t up to the job. It’s not as if either of us haven’t the body for it. It’ll be the best sex any of those mortals will ever have, and they all know it.”

“There’s one,” screamed Matilda, turning sharply to the right where a lone figure was sprinting across a field.

Both the witches accelerated towards the running man. They could hear his laboured breathing as he desperately tried to escape, knowing that he could not possibly outrun the two on their broomsticks. With a squeal of triumph, Matilda cut across in front of him, braking sharply so that the tail of her broom caught him just below his knees. He went down face first onto the damp grass.

“Got one, got one,” sang Matilda. “I’m ready for love, I’m ready for love.”

“Shut up and secure him,” Cassandra ordered as she brought her broom to a halt a few feet away and dismounted. Matilda was dancing round her victim in triumph.

“Naked?” she asked.

“Of course naked. He’s not a lot of good with his clothes on.”

“I enjoy taking them off bit by bit,” said Matilda. “The expression on their faces as each little strip of cloth comes off is exquisite.”

“We don’t have time for that now, and you know as well as I do that they’re easier to manage without clothes. It puts them in the right frame of mind, if you know what I mean,” said Cassandra.

“I do know,” agreed Matilda, and with a quick incantation the man’s clothes flew from his body and neatly arranged themselves over a nearby tree branch. “I like to be tidy,” she said.

The man still lay face down on the grass, not moving.

“You haven’t damaged him, I hope,” said Cassandra.

“Of course not. I only tripped him. He’ll be fine,” said Matilda, sounding worried. “He’s not very lively, is he?”

Cassandra leaned forward and ran a long fingernail down the man’s back and between his buttocks. He moaned.

“Good. Secure him.”

“Let’s have a look at him first. Help me turn him over.”

“If you must.”

Between them, the two witches turned over the young man. He was a prize catch, slim but well built, certainly not more than thirty years of age and seemed very fit. He was exactly what they wanted.

“I’ve got to have him right now,” declared Matilda, pulling the strings that held together the front of her dress and thrusting her breasts towards his face. He looked terrified, but Matilda saw the immediate effect she had on him.

“All mine,” she declared, reaching for his rigid manhood.

“Not now,” insisted Cassandra. “Tie his wrists and ankles, and send him back to the cage. Ariadne and Rhiannon can take care of him until we’ve finished.”

“At least you could let me sit on him for a while,” grumbled Matilda as she produced two short lengths of cord and knotted them around the young man’s wrists and ankles. “If his tongue is half as good as his cock, it would only take a few minutes.”

“A few hours, more like,” said Cassandra. “I know you, Matilda, and once you start doing that it’ll be all night before you finish. There’s plenty of time for anything you want to do later. You have him for a whole year, remember, and in far more comfortable surroundings than this wet field.”

Still grumbling, Matilda tightened the knots, tested them to make sure they were secure, and summoned the spare broom to take him away. She stood up and re-fastened the top of her dress.

“Where next?”

“If we go quietly towards the village, we might find a few more,” Cassandra told her. “It’s going to be a boring year if we can’t do better than we’ve done so far. Two hours and he’s the first we’ve found, unless you count the three you scared off in London. I think I put a tag on at least one of them, so we can try to collect them another night, but I’m not sure any of the three I threw at them took hold properly. Don’t forget, if you don’t take them or at least tag them properly tonight, you won’t have another chance until next Halloween.”

“I never did understand that,” Matilda complained as they mounted their brooms again. “We can use our powers all through the year, but we can only take mortals tonight. Why?”

Cassandra sighed. “You’ve been told a million times, at least. Tonight is the only time that the plane of power is close enough to the mortal world to make it safe. Sure, you can try to take mortals on other nights, and you might be lucky, but what happens if they manage to overpower you? It’s not like the old days when there were hundreds of witches flying together on the chase. Now, it’s just the two of us, unless you count Ariadne and Rhiannon, and they’re too old to be leaping around on broomsticks. I’m surprised they’re still interested in the young men we bring back, but Ariadne certainly managed to exhaust a few of them last year, didn’t she? No, without the plane of power giving us the additional protection, the risks are too high.”

“There’s the village,” said Matilda suddenly, pointing. “I can’t see anyone.”

There was no sign of anyone in the streets. Matilda and Cassandra moved slowly between the houses and cottages, hoping to spot someone in one of the gardens or, perhaps, coming home late.

Most of the buildings were in darkness, but in a few there were lights on. Being careful not to go too close and risk being seen, the witches peered in through some of the windows.

“Cassandra, look! I don’t believe it. There’s a naked man in a cage!”

Cassandra came up immediately.

“Cassandra! Cassandra! There must be a witch living there. What else could it be?”

Cassandra was more cautious. “Let’s wait and see,” she advised. “If it is a witch, she’s bound to appear soon. No witch would leave a man like that on his own for very long. Would you?”

Matilda had to agree that it was unlikely she would leave a naked man alone for very long, although this particular specimen would not have been her first choice. He was in reasonable condition, not fat and not too skinny, but he was not a young man. He would not have the energy she liked in her men, however much she encouraged him or whatever she threatened to do to him if he failed to perform to her satisfaction. In fact, he was not completely naked. He wore a collar around his neck.

“There she is.”

The door of the room opened and in came a woman. She did not look like a witch, Matilda would have readily agreed, but she did look somewhat impressive. She was dressed in black, thigh-high boots, and a one-piece garment of a figure-hugging shiny black material. The garment had strategically-placed zips around her breasts and between her legs, but the zips were closed, effectively encasing her and accentuating her curves as she moved. In her right hand, she held a riding crop.

“I want a suit like that,” said Matilda enviously.

“You don’t,” Cassandra told her. “You’d look ridiculous.”

They said nothing more, their attention held by what was happening in the room.

The witch, or whatever she was, had unlocked the cage and reached in, grabbed the man’s collar and pulled him out, slashing at him with the riding crop by way of encouragement. Once out, he lowered his face to her feet and meticulously kissed each of her toes in turn.

This seemed to please the witch. She tapped him lightly on the buttocks with the riding crop in a way that, strangely, seemed to signify approval for his efforts. She pulled him by the collar until he was standing up, and then she gently raked her fingernails all the way down his chest, over his stomach, and on to his genitals. He winced.

Apparently not quite so satisfied with him now, she grasped him firmly by the balls, squeezed enough to make him yelp, and led him, still yelping, over to the bed where she pushed him onto his back and let go.

He seemed to know what she expected him to do. Without being prompted, the man assumed a spread-eagle position, hands outstretched towards the top corners of the bed and feet towards the lower corners. The witch was prepared. Evidently she had already attached restraints to the bed’s corners, and all she now had to do was to fasten these securely around the man’s wrists and ankles, and then tighten the straps until he was stretched uncomfortably.

His position seemed to please her. She spent some minutes walking around the bed and looking down at him, pausing to reach over and tickle various parts of him with her fingernails. On one occasion, she stopped to slap his now rigid manhood several times with the end of her crop. Finally, she sat on the edge of the bed next to him.

“Here we go,” said Matilda excitedly. “She’ll get those zips undone and….”

Getting the zips undone seemed furthest from this witch’s mind. Instead, she reached over and grasped his manhood.

“What is she doing?” asked Matilda. “Surely she’s not going to do it to him without getting any pleasure herself?”

Doing it to him seemed furthest from her mind, and although she rubbed her hand up and down a few times, it appeared that her only intention was to assure the rigidity before she continued, which she then did by gripping hard and digging in her fingernails.

He squealed and writhed, but she had only just started. Changing her grip from his manhood to his testicles, she encircled them and pulled the upward so that she had unrestricted access to them. She then proceeded to tap them very lightly with the crop.

It remained, as Matilda and Cassandra could see, very light taps that she was giving him. One tap on its own would not have been enough to hurt him, but the continued stream of steady tapping soon had him flinching, then squirming, then groaning, and finally writhing in agony and squealing loudly enough for both the witches outside the window to hear him clearly.

The witch in the room did not seem to care how much he squealed. Fortunately, the house was well away from the other houses and cottages in the village. However loud his squealing became he was unlikely to be heard by anyone, and however hard he struggled against the straps restraining his wrists and ankles, they were far too strong and well secured for there to be any chance he could break free.

When, finally, the riding cropped ceased its relentless tapping on his balls, the man was covered in sweat and his squeals had reduced to a low, continuous moaning. His erection had completely wilted.

“What a waste,” commented Matilda. “I could have done something far more useful with that!”

However, the witch in the room had not finished. She grasped the man’s wilted manhood between finger and thumb, and began to massage it vigorously with, evidently, expert skill. Soon, her expertise proved itself and the rigidity began to return. In minutes, he was as stiff and as large as ever.

The witch regarded his manhood critically. Apparently satisfied, she lowered her head and opened her mouth.

“No!” exclaimed Matilda. “She’s not going to… ugh, I would never want to do that to a man’s… Oh!”

The “oh” was because instead of providing the restrained man with a sensual massage from her undoubtedly soft and sensual mouth as it had looked as though she was going to do, she had gripped his manhood tightly between her sharp teeth and appeared to be applying considerable pressure. He squealed and writhed again, more violently than before, if that were possible.

She was not satisfied with this, and, indeed, it looked as though his erection was not wilting. Slowly at first, and then steadily becoming faster, she started to move her head up and down, and without relaxing her teeth’s grip on him.

His eyes were wide, his muscles rigid, his hand gripping at nothing – there was nothing he could reach. His mouth was wide in a continuous shriek of horror.

Matilda watched in fascination.

At last, his manhood wilted and the witch in the room released him. He gasped, struggling to steady his breathing and looking as though he had just run a marathon. She clasped her hand around his sore but undamaged manhood and held him gently until he stopped trembling.

She then stood up and went to the end of the bed, bent down and began to undo the straps holding his ankles.

“She’s going to let him go?” Matilda sounded disappointed.

It quickly became evident that letting him go was not her intention. Straining a little to lift his legs and his hips, she pulled him back until his legs were over his shoulders, and then she re-attached the straps to the top of the bed by his wrists. She stood back and raised the riding crop.

Matilda and Cassandra did not count the number of times she brought the crop down against his buttocks. She did not hit hard enough to break the skin, but by the time she finished his flesh was a mass of glowing red lines crisscrossing each other, and he was crying and shaking. And then she put down the crop and went across the room to rummage in a drawer.

“What now?” asked Matilda. “Surely she’s going to take her pleasure on him now? Oh! Oh look! What is she doing? I’ve never… I mean, doesn’t she know what sex she is?”

She was tightening the straps on a substantial strap-on dildo, now firmly attached in front of her. There was not much doubt about where she intended to put it, and with just a little lubrication spread over it she did just that. He squealed again, and went on squealing as she thrust in and out, varying her speed, twisting and gyrating her hips, jiggling back and forth or from side to side, pausing deep within him or no more than a fraction of an inch into him, sliding all the way in or out in a smooth, steady thrust, or ramming in and out in a single violent plunge. It went on for nearly an hour until she stopped and released his legs from the top corners of the bed, immediately fixing them to the lower corners again.

She unzipped the fastening between her legs and removed a large piece of the material. As both the watching witches could see, she wore nothing underneath.

“At last!” said Matilda. “If the silly woman hasn’t ruined any chance of doing anything much with him for a while.”

Whether or not he would have been ready for her straight away, with a little encouragement perhaps, they did not find out. She ignored his groin area completely, and knelt astride his head. She spoke to him, and although the witches could not hear what she said, it appeared to be a command. She lowered herself until she was nearly touching him, and then proceeded to writhe and wriggle on top of him. She seemed to be enjoying it, and, after some considerable time, so did he – if his physical reaction was anything to judge by. Now, at last, she took notice, in a more conventional way, of his obviously ready and eager male attributes.

It was over in less than thirty seconds.

To the surprise of both Matilda and Cassandra, the witch in the room released the man from his restraints, helped him remove his collar, and handed him his clothes from a chair. She even helped him dress, smiling at him, as he was at her. It seemed a little odd after the way she had just treated him. To their even greater surprise, he reached into his pocket, produced a wad of banknotes, and handed over a substantial amount of money to the witch in the room.

And then she opened the door for him and let him out!

“Quick!” said Matilda. “Go get him. I want him. I want to do all that, and I want to do it to him. He even paid her for it!”

“You can’t take him,” said Cassandra, pointing eastward. “Look.”

In the sky in the east, grey streaks of dawn were already in the sky.

“Next year,” Cassandra told Matilda. “Until then, you’ll have to make do with the one we’ve got, when I’m not busy with him, of course, and when Ariadne and Rhiannon aren’t using him. You’ve wasted the whole night!”

“Wasted? You call that wasted? I’ve so many new ideas, and I’m going to try them all, as soon as I’ve bought a few accessories.”

“You’re probably right,” agreed Cassandra. “I think we all might enjoy it, don’t you? What a pity we only have one man to do it to for the next twelve months…”

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