ROLEPLAY | SUPERNATURAL | FEMDOM
My Witchy Wife Needs My Cum
It’s more than just kinky roleplay for her
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Smut Mill is doing its very first prompt: Wicked Witches. Comment on this story if you would like to be added as a writer to participate!
Gabriel had forgotten it was Halloween until he got home from work, went to the bedroom, and saw Sara dressed in a witch costume, tall pointy hat and all.
Dinner could wait, then. Gabriel didn’t mind.
“Who invades my inner sanctum?” she asked sharply.
The lights were off, and she had decorated the room with black curtains, candles, and a table with a cauldron, and ratty-looking old book, and several novelty Halloween glasses. Only the cauldron and the book looked like they didn’t come from a department store. One of the kitchen chairs was near the bed.
Gabriel barely noticed that though, as he was staring at her costume: black romper dress with a V-shaped neckline that extended between her breasts, a flowing lacer skirt, long black gloves, black fishnet stockings, and tall black leather boots. And the hat, of course. Her eyes and lips were painted black.
“Sara, what is-“
“There is no Sara here,” she said. “I am Sybil, and you’ve had the misfortune to trespass into my lair. I do not suffer trespassers.”
She grabbed the front of his shirt, pulled him into the room, and pushed him down into the chair, hard. He dropped his messenger bag off to the side so it was out of the way for whatever she had planned.
This was the first time in half a dozen years of marriage she had ever dressed up, let alone brought up the idea of roleplay.
Well, it is a full moon, he thought. It and Halloween have brought out her kinky side, and I am here for it.
He smiled up at her, waiting.
“Smile now, while you can,” she said. Suddenly, she clutched my jaw in one gloved hand, and put her face close to mine. It actually hurt a little.
“You won’t be smiling when I’m done with you.”
A bit ominous, he thought. Wasn’t the idea that this little sorceress scene would end with them both happy? But he went with it, and made his face serious, even a little afraid.
“My apologies, Sybil,” he said. “I did not mean to intrude on your lair.”
She squeezed his jaw. “That’s Miss Sybil, you worm.”
“Miss Sybil, my apologies again.”
She released him, and turned to the table, inspecting the mugs and chalices shaped like skulls, bats, and even Cthlhu. Gabriel had seen them the week before and smirked.
“As it happens, your invasion of my sanctuary comes at a most fortuitous time — for me,” she said, as she ran her fingers over the vessels.
“You saved me having to hunt for a Cavia porcellus or other creature on which to test my potions. Although it would be odd to have it constantly-”
“A cav what?” he asked.
“Silence!” she snapped. “It is clear we should begin with this one.”
She picked up one of the skull chalices, and walked back to him, fixing him in her gaze as she approached.
“Now, will you drink willingly, or do I need to use force?”
She looked like force was her preferred option, her eyes smoldering in the middle of the black mascara. This was so unlike Sara, he thought. Unlike her, but so hot. His cock started to stiffen, and he felt a chill in his chest.
He was little scared, he had to admit to himself. It made him hornier.
“I will drink willingly, Miss Sybil,” he said. The meekness in his voice was wholly contrived.
“Good,” she said, and smiled. But the smile didn’t reach her eyes.
Gabriel took the chalice from her and drank, not sure what kind of nasty Halloween party concoction she might have found on Pinterest.
It was apple juice.
He stifled a smile after he swallowed.
“This one is to paralyze your vocal cords,” she said. “You can no longer speak, not until I give the potion to undo the effect.”
He nodded.
“But your tongue still works, and now you will use it. On your knees, now!”
He had never heard Sara speak so harshly, not even after he dropped and broke her iPad or scorched the lawn with too much fertilizer.
He dropped to the floor in front of the chair. She was not fucking around, he could tell from her eyes and her voice.
I love this freaky, bossy Sara, he thought. I’ll play sex slave all night long.
“Lick my boots,” she growled. “Start at the toe, and work all the way up to my knee. Then do the same on the other one. Now!”
Gabriel started, and thankfully, the boots were brand new. He tasted new leather as he licked, and they were free of dirt or dust.
It took him several minutes to finish the first boot (she lifted her skirt to allow access) and as she did not tell him otherwise, he decided it was safe to move on to the other one.
When he finished, she bent down and gripped his chin, tilting his head back to look at her. Her eyes still burned, and she seemed angry still. But Gabriel throught he saw something else in her face, barely visible behind the mask of anger.
What’s she anxious about? That I won’t go along? I licked her boots, for God’s sake! I’m in!
“Did you enjoy that, worm?” she asked.
He shook his head. He really didn’t. It felt like he’d French-kissed a baseball glove. For hours.
“How dare you?!” she screeched. “Maybe if you repeat the process, you will have sufficient opportunity to appreciate it. Serving me, showing your devotion is going to preoccupy for the rest of your days!”
Letting go of his chin, she pushed his head back toward the floor, where her boots awaited.
Okey-dokey, he thought. Whatever floats your boat and gets us to the fucking phase.
He licked the boots from toe to top again.
It was no better the second time.
“Well?” she asked.
He looked up at her and nodded.
“Sit on your knees.”
He did as I was told as she went back to the table, considering the “potions” again.
Please God, let this be the BJ potion, Gabriel thought.
Even if it wasn’t, at least whatever it was would clear the taste of leather out of his mouth.
“Now, maybe something to help you appreciate the finer flavours in life,”
Sara said, and selected another mug — a bat this time — and handed it down to him. He sipped.
Orange juice.
“That one makes an Altar of Venus irresistible. Try as you might, you won’t stop lapping up my love secretions.”
Altar of Venus? Love secretions? He choked back a snort. It wasn’t hard, he assumed the sounds hadn’t formed by the time he clamped it down in his chest.
“Now, lap them up!” she said, lifting the skirt and bunching it up around her hips, and with one leg up on the chair over his shoulder, she lowered her cunt to his face.
It was very wet, and Gabriel dove in with genuine enthusiasm. Sara’s pussy had always smelled great — a sweetness mixed with the metallic taste. He loved to make her cum with his tongue alone, her cum leaking out and coating his lips and togue. She’s not a squirter, but she does produce a lot of cream.
Gabriel started close to her asshole, licking one lip up to her clit, then brushing across the button, and licking down the other side. He flattened his tongue and pressed it into her, encouraged by her soft moans. He flicked and circled her clit, then sucked on it. Her pussy started to leak even more profusely, and he continued to lick, flick, and suck.
Sara gripped the back of his head, as if to push his whole mouth into her, and panted as he picked up my pace. Gabriel’s dick had softened again during the boot-licking. Now, the taste and scent of her, and her pants and moans, had it straining against his pants again.
God, I love her pussy and to make her cum, he thought. I love it so much.
After a few minutes, she closed her fist around his hair, and her moans become husky. She was close, he could tell. He licked her clit as fast as I could, and she spasmed around his tongue.
“Oh! Oh!” she grunted. “Oh yes! Drink down my secretions, worm!” Her creamy fluid flooded out of her, coating his lips and chin.
Gabriel was still licking furiously, trying to get every drop from her, when she pulled his head away from her, stepped off the chair, and stepped back.
He heard a whimper, and realized that he had made it.
She ignored that as she looked down at him. Her face was flushed, and her eyes had lost some of the fire, replaced by a faraway look he knew from her orgasms in the past.
Well, mostly. He still saw flickers in them. And the anger and anxiety on her face.
Creepy, he thought. Weird.
“Are you stiff?” she asked.
Gabriel nodded quickly.
He needed to get to the fucking part of this roleplay. His cock was straining against my boxers. Eating her pussy was great, but he needed relief. I needed her mouth or her pussy.
Maybe both.
Does she have a BJ potion in one of those chalices, like those mint sprays in the sex store that makes the mouth tingle on a cock or cunt?
He lost track of that thought, and tracked instead the course of a single rivulet of her secretion — her cum, his mind insisted, her delicious cum — that was slowly running down one boot.
“Worm!” she snapped him out of my fascinated stare.
He looked up at her.
“I said, I will help you with your priapic problem, but I intend to be satisfied fully. Do not let me down.”
He nodded, then snuck a glimpse at the rivulet. It had reached the foot of the boot.
Pain exploded in his scalp as she grabbed his hair and pulled his face up. She was inches away, and the fire had returned to her eyes.
“That means you will not stop until I am satisfied, and you will provide me with enough of your love-liquor for my cauldron. It’s the final ingredient I need for my most potent potion: the verum forma revelantis. Do you understand?”
He snorted silently. Love-liquor wasn’t much better than Altar of Venus. And did she look up these Latin-sounding terms, or was she making them up?
“Well? Answer me!” she sounded more than angry now; he sounded harried and worried.
Gabriel nodded, wincing in pain almost immediately, as her hand still gripped his hair. He risked another small motion, to look down at her boots. No secretions.
His heart sank a little, surprising him.
Whatever, I just want to cum, he thought. Fuck that cunt and cum.
“Take off your clothes.”
He stripped as fast as he could, tossing the clothes aside, narrowly missing several of the many candles . He dick wasn’t pushing uncomfortably against his underwear anymore, but it still ached for stimulation and release.
Gabriel turned back to her.
“Drink.” She had the Cthlhu mug in her hand.
Grape juice this time.
‘This one will increase your stamina and your ejaculate, so I can get what I need,” she said. “Sit. Chair.”
He happily complied, determined to last as long as possible as she had requested, to draw out his own pleasure. She hiked up her skirt again. Gripping the back of the chair, she sank slowly onto his cock.
He gasped as her wet, silky cunt slid down his shaft all the way to the bottom. He grabbed her hips and started to thrust.
There’s not much leverage to be had, fucking while seated, but Gabriel did his best to pump hard and fast into her, the friction against the entire length of his cock making his body hot and his mind go blank.
Sara helped after a few moments, using her thighs to lift herself up and down, matching his rhythm.
Their breathing quickened, and any sounds Gabriel may have made were drowned out by her pants and moans, the squelching from her cunt, and the slap of her ass on his thighs.
The corny juice potions, the dollar store mugs, and the ridiculously large cauldron were all forgotten as Gabriel lost himself in the delicious friction of her cunt. So lost that he don’t know how long he fucked her, but it was long enough to make his hips and ass ache later.
Finally, he couldn’t hold back any longer; it felt like he had a gallon of boiling cum to release. He tightened his grip on her hips, and she quickly dismounted, ran to the cauldron in both hands, and carried it back to him.
Gabriel didn’t notice whatever was already in it; he was too far gone. He spurted ropes of cum into the big pot, where it sat on top of the liquid already in there.
She waited until he had shot every last bit, then set the cauldron down and slid her hand over and off the head, shaking the last few drop she collected into the cauldron.
She looked down at the mixture, and frowned.
“This is not enough!’ she said. “Again!”
They both looked down at his cock, dry at the tip where she collected the cum, and wet at the base, where her juices had collected.
And flaccid like soggy asparagus.
She pulled it, squeezed it, cupped his balls, but he was spent. She rushed to the window and ripped the curtains aside, looking up at the sky. The moon was gone, and the sky was lightening.
“We missed it!” she screamed. “You worm!”
But Gabriel barely heard her. He ached and he felt like he could sleep for days.
The last thing he saw as he collapsed on the bed was her mixing his cum into whatever else was in the cauldron — maybe cranberry juice, he thought — and then ladling some into her mouth.
The next morning, Gabriel awoke to her mouth on his hard cock, sucking deep and fast, and her cunt on his face.
He tried to voice his pleasure, and no sound came out of his mouth.
He tried to slow the pace of his tongue on her pussy, as it was as exhausted as the rest of him and his jaw ached, but he could not.
He shot what felt like eight ounces of cum into her mouth, but his dick did not shrink or soften.
She swallowed, and from down at his crotch he heard her whisper to herself. Her voice sounded different.
“They worked! I just needed to give them time!”
She climbed off him, and Gabriel found himself still moving his tongue in the space where her pussy had been, as if he could collect her taste from the air.
He only stopped when she leaned down close to him.
Her skin was grey now, her hair the colour of poison ivy.
Her eyes didn’t just look on fire, they were composed of flame.
“It’s taken six years, but All Hallow’s Eve has finally fallen on a night of the full moon,” she said. “It is the only time my lust potions can take effect.”
He felt his eyes bulge as she cackled. A real, full-throated cackle.
“Verum forma revelantis: true form revealed,” she said, sneering down at him. Each of her teeth now ended in a sharp point.
“Your love-liquor has transformed me, and now will keep my magic strong,” she said. “I chose you years ago for this, and I’ve waited so, so long.”
Gabriel tried to sit up then, but couldn’t do that either: his hands were bound to the headboard above and behind him; his feet were bound together.
“This is your life now, worm,” she said, her voice dropping octaves and crunching in her throat like boots on gravel.
“I am Sybil, last of my coven, and you are now my thrall. Your sole purpose is to provide your manly ingredient.
“And I require a great deal.”
He couldn’t scream as she mounted him.
