The Taming of The Witch

The same procedure as every year! I fucking hated Halloween. Sitting in the bushes in the yard of my house with the garden hose in my arms to drench potential toilet-paperers is not exactly my idea of a comfy dark evening. And, to add to my luck, it had rained all day, so the bushes were wet. Like the rain forest after the daily five o'clock shower. So, I got into my rain stuff, wondering if I am going to be drenched from the inside. After the rain was before the rain. And rain jackets tend not to be as breathable as advertised.

My wife Samantha and I moved here just a few years ago. Got along with all the neighbors quite well. Like my wife said, "The American way of neighbors." Not too close, but always friendly. Sometimes a bit too helpful and always full of advice you don't need right at that moment.

We had a lot of work to do, each of us full-time. My wife is a lawyer, international law. I am a carpenter, international wood-stuff and constructing. We met when Sam was living in a sorority dorm and one drunk hunk got a bit overactive on one of the old windows in her room on a party night. Don't know why he did to the window what he had done to the window, but he sure was passed out on stale Heineken the next day. To cut a long story short, Sam and I met. We dated, and then we fucked each other's brains out. After her graduation we had some periods of absence because Sam went "around the world" to work abroad. And I had some really nice refurnishing job down south. But somehow we always got hold of each other again and again. Cheap airport motels, Bed and Breakfast hostels and at one time a park bench in Central Park. Whenever we met, we fucked. Anytime, anywhere. Sometimes I think sex was at times the only binding element between us. But then again, no, there was much more to our relationship. A deep understanding of each other's choices, thoughts, and needs. When we got over the horny first years, we fell in love again, and I built this house for us to grow old in. The neighborhood was quiet, urban, and a bit conservative and had all the essence you need for a long and boring sitcom. Boring, and surprisingly erotic. We felt comfortable and settled down.

Our next-door neighbors to the right, for example. The Millers. A couple in their fifties. He was a renowned surgeon; she was a teacher at a local high school. Classic family roles. He earned the bucks and fucked the nurse, who was several years younger and much more crispy than his own wife. She, on the other hand, got him back with Paul, the pool guy, and raised their kids. Paul does everybody's pool in this hood. And he does the one- or other odd wife, too. But I was pretty astonished to hear he never made the moves on Sam. Neither she nor I really knew why. He must have some very good reason for it, because Sam might not be the most crispy woman in the hood... but she sure was hot as hell. Some underlying erotic directness. We were not monogamous, not at all. We both took our time off and had sex with other people. Every once in a while Sam visited her old friend Victoria from university, and they went to some secret love shack in the mountains. But we always told our adventures afterwards and our plans beforehand. Sometimes, we shared a lover. But we never shared Victoria. Ours was an open relationship, and I sure think that the one or other church would have something to say about how we lived our lives. Unfortunately, we had no kids of our own; it just didn't happen.

Anyway, Sam had an overwhelming sexuality and an equally overwhelming sex drive. She got easily wet, if you knew her buttons. And when she got started, there was no stopping her before she burned her powder. She was loud, wet, and cunning. And this mixture met my appetite.

As I was sitting in the wet bushes, the hose at the ready, I heard some whispering and giggling at our neighbor's garden shed to the left. The Persinsky's. Joshua and his wife, Heather, were a bit of a moral stuck up. Went to some church every Sunday. Don't get me wrong, going to church is fine as long as nobody around is drawn into it. And since neither Joshua nor Heather tried to talk to us about church stuff or religion, everything was okay. Other than their awkward stance towards their belief, they were a fine family. We saw their two daughters grow up, having their first kiss under the streetlights and their first breakup on the driveway of their house. I liked the Persinsky's. Sam was always a bit amused when we went over to them or had them at our place. For her the Persinys were the dull quintessence of Americaness; for me they represented the soil on which our Nation was built. Solid, earnest people with their heart at the right spot.

We had the usual BBQ in spring, watched the Super Bowl together on their big flat screen, and went to all the high school plays of the kids in the neighborhood. I don't know how often I had to go and see Cinderella put on stage. But, like I said, they were a bit tight in the morals department. Probably only knew missionary and did it only once a year right after the Super Bowl. Heather would never do something wonderful like giving head... or being eaten out. And Josh probably had just resigned long ago. Or he was one of those men who never grew out of their first insecure high school romance. And since he met Heather, he never had a chance of having some experience. He probably felt guilty. Sam and I had an understanding to leave them alone.

Joshua was probably sitting on the other side of the hedge right now, the hose at the ready to fire away at some joyful kid who thinks that a house wrapped in toilet paper is a fun idea on a wet autumn evening. But hey, I was young once, and somebody had been sitting in the wet bushes, hose at the ready to drench me. No reason to disappoint anybody, is there?

The whispering continued. I knew Josh carved his pumpkins back there. But pumpkins, as a rule, do not whisper and giggle.

"Oh, Amy!" I heard one of the daughters giggle a bit louder than before. "Don't do that. Ew, that's gross!" Okay, the two daughters were home over the holidays. Jenna had just turned 18. The other one, Amy, was 19. Both went to college and wanted to work with kids because they thought kids were easy.

When their mother gave birth to Amy and nursed her, she neglected her birth control. Probably thought that nursing would produce enough hormones to prevent her from getting pregnant. Or she didn't use any contraceptive at all. And Joshua didn't use condoms; he had told me once why. I have forgotten, probably for some religious reason. So, one girl was out; the next one was in. Such is life.

"Okay, take that small one there and cut it in half!" commanded Amy. "No!" "Yes! Or I will drop the bomb at dinner."

"You wouldn't," Jenna was almost pleading. "Oh, I would." Answered Amy firmly

"Okay, okay. I do it. Pass me the knife, will you?"

"I knew you wouldn't chicken out!" said Amy, satisfied with herself. She knew her sister well enough to pinpoint the most vulnerable spot to blackmail her to do anything.

As I recall, Amy was always the one who got into some trouble. And recently this trouble seemed to consist entirely of young men. At her eighteenth birthday she got herself a dancing bear stripper and entertained her friends by being fucked in front of them. Well, she wasn't the only one who got screwed that night. But she sure was the loudest. We could hear her screams of joy in the whole neighborhood. Her friends were ranging from staccato breathing to constant humming in overdrive. Every once in a while a short, high-pitched whimper came through the open windows. But, like I said, Amy was loud. And she didn't care. Joshua and Heather were not amused. And they had a lot to explain to their fellow worshipers from church.

When Jenna turned eighteen, her parents made sure she didn't do anything likewise embarrassing. But they hadn't taken into account the cunningness of horny Amy. She got the same guy who made her scream at her birthday and gave him to her sister. Apparently it took some negotiating, because Jenna had locked herself up in her room. But Amy cracked her in the end, as she always did, and this time we could hear Jenna's screams of joy all through the neighborhood. Not as loud as her sister, but loud enough. Again, their parents were not amused. This was as much against their moral codex as possible. Again they had a lot to explain to their fellows. And although both their daughters were not little kids anymore, they got grounded for two weeks. Those weeks were some of the hardest two weeks Josh and Heather ever had. Having two horny, very creative escapees in the house is no fun when you have to go to work or do the shopping. In the end Joshua had to admit defeat.

Out of the fourteen nights, there were only two in which the two young women did not escape or got some young guy to climb through their window. And Amy made sure Daddy heard what was going on in her room. And since she made sure, her father knew that she was fucking her brains out, Sam and I knew as well. And there were rumors about what happened in the little back room at church on Sundays. I even heard that Amy got behind the stand and blew the flute of her pastor during sermon. That must have hurt Joshua.

"Get out of your sweater!" Amy again.

"Aw, it's cold. Don't do this to me. Look, my nipples are already hard." Jenna squealed, apparently pointing to her hard nipples.

"I don't care." Replied Amy in a singsong voice. "If we want to turn you into the pumpkin girl, we need to get as much pumpkin on you as possible. I want you to get your tits in this pumpkin bra."

"Why is it that you always get to be the Witch?"

"Because I am the Witch of this outfit. Simple as that. Quit bitching, get on with it."

Okay, this could be fun. More fun than sitting under wet bushes, waiting for something that might or might not happen. Amy made something happen in the shed of her dad. I think that was her secret to success. She made things happen. It might not be nice or smart or well thought through. But something always happened around her. And, like I said, in recent years this something seemed to be made of sex and pleasure. Preferably her own.

"Okay, the straps are too tight. I can't see enough of your tits. Here, let me loosen them a bit. And get out of your sweatpants!"

There was a pause, some rustling, and then, "And out of your panties. I want to see that pussy of yours."

"Shit! It's freaking cold. Look, I got goosebumps all over my body." Jenna still wasn't completely broken.

Amy let out a sigh: "Okay, we can do this the hard way, or we can do this my way. "Quit complaining, or I will send the link of your OnlyFans to Dad."

Ah! Know we are cooking with charcoal. Jenna dabbled in striptease and online eroticism, and Amy got to know of it. Well, that certainly is a powerful lever. Useful knowledge. No wonder Amy was stripping in the cold shed.

"You are cruel!" whined Jenna. "How could you do this to me?"

"Look at it like this, Jen," Amy explained. "I want to embarrass Mum and Dad to the bone. Is there any better way than flirting with our neighbor? And, if we wanna flirt, at least one of us has to show a little skin! And Witches, as a rule, don't show skin in public." And adding an afterthought: "Only to dance naked when meeting their sister Witches."

Okay. She somehow wanted to set me up with her sister. Not a bad future. I got curious and thought about getting into a better position when my first victim appeared. Okay, first things first. I turned on the water, got a satisfactory, high-pitched screaming from a male teen, and settled down again.

The incident not only prevented my house from being wrapped in paper, but it also cut into the beginning of the erotic atmosphere on the other side of the hedge. I could hear muffled voices but didn't understand a thing. They had probably closed the door. I just wished they also turned on the heat in the shed; any colder and they could catch their death out here. Okay, so I had to move to get a view. I felt a bit ashamed. Watching the two getting stripped for Halloween, what am I? An old geezer with troubles in the pecker department? I overruled the thoughts by giving myself an excuse which was as thin as paper, and made my move.

The shed was in the back of their neatly composed garden right on our property boundary. Joshua had an almost religious approach when it came to mowing the lawn and cutting the hedge. But every garden just needs to have this one corner where no mower went and trimmers went on strike. In Joshua's garden this was where the shed stood. Overgrown with ivy, only the door and the window at the back were cut out of the dark green, hidden behind an old maple tree. No wonder Amy had chosen this place for her office of war against their parents.

I went to my own odd corner of my garden. Working myself through the undergrowth I glimpsed a flicker of light falling through the only window of the shed. Well, a bit of luck there. I stood on an old tree stump and had a good view inside. Amy stood in the middle of the room on an upturned crate serving as an improvised cat-walk. Apart from the skimpy pumpkin bra, which barely covered the firm flesh of her two perkies, she wore nothing. I had a full view of her well-proportioned cheeks, long legs, and hourglass hips. Both of the sisters had inherited a body causing nothing but trouble since the day they first realized how much power they held with it. Well proportioned, two hands full of firm tits, ass cheeks to die for, and never-ending legs. Their mother has chosen to hide her body under unfitting, oversized clothes. Body positivity was not something that went well with a Christian moral codex from the late 50ies. What she hid, her daughters advertised. Amy held up a mirror, and Jenna turned this way and that to get a full view of her outfit. From my observation post I had a clear view of everything that happened in that room, and now Jenna had shown me what she was made of... or rather what she thought she was made for.

Her pussy was a delicious-looking little thing. Puffy lips, almost, but not entirely able to cover her over-sized inner labia. Probably a perfect butterfly when spread. Her cheeky clit raised its head rather arrogantly and crowned her sex. And, as it was almost customary with young women nowadays, she was shaved or plucked or waxed or whatever it is women do today to get their pussies bald. Smooth as a pool ball. Not my treat. Sam was a natural. And I liked it that way. Don't get me wrong, I wouldn't say no to any woman... but bald pussies don't give me a special turn-on.

Jenna was full of herself. Like any unobserved young human being full of sexual desire, she couldn't get enough of herself. Amy held the mirror and gave her sister the opportunity to fall in love with her own young body. And for me, this peepshow gave me everything I had not been thinking of this evening... up until now.

"Jenna! Amy!" Their father jelled through the garden. "Dinner is on the table!" There was some frantic, hushed, but nevertheless successful movement in the shed. Both women tried to get as fast and decently clothed as possible. Well, somehow they managed without hurting themselves and went over the wet lawn to their house.

I returned from my observation post and went into the warm cosines of my own kitchen.

We basically revolved around the heavy oaken kitchen table. Sam and I normally met there after the day's work was done. As usual, Sam was sitting at our table, bent over her laptop deep in thought over one legal problem or other.

"Hey, Hun! How is the drenching coming along?" she absently asked as I entered. She didn't even lift her eyes.

"Not much to do till now. Did you know that Jenna and Amy are on the prowl again? They behave like cats in heat. Well, Amy is. And as usual, she draws Jenna into trouble."

"Naw, I didn't even know they were at home. How did you notice?" There just was no way to dodge her wife's radar. She picked up those little signals and threw them right back at me. She sensed some mischief and put the hammer right on the head.

"Uh, I was eavesdropping..." The rest of the sentence got lost in her laughter.

"Sure, honey, eavesdropping. Just eavesdropping. Babe, I've known you for quite a while. And you are nosy as hell. Tell me, what did you see?"

"Didn't see much," I mumbled. Sam came around the table and nudged me in the ribs. Then she gave me "that look" and I faltered.

"Babe-I-didn't-look-on-purpose-it-really-was-more-like-an-accident-but-I-saw-them-in-Joshs-shed-Amy-stalk-naked-her-tits-covered-by-pumpkin-halfs-she-wants-to-set-up-her-dad-with-me...!" I let all that and a lot more out in one constant stream. Sam grinned at me. She knew me well enough to let the wind of half-truths and quarter-lies rush past her before she grabbed me by my platonic balls. When I reached the point of repetition, she held her hands up and stopped me.

"Hey, just let me in on this, okay? I could do with a bit of pumpkin."

What? Okay.

Ten minutes later Sam stood on the tree stump and looked over the hedge. The light in the shed was still on. Sam told me that a lot of butchered pumpkin innards were splattered around the little room. So, nothing had changed. I had the thick thighs of my wife on nose level and slowly began my hike over her body.

"Mhhh, it's not only the neighbor's cats that are in heat!" She remarked and moved her ass closer to my face. I bit into her warm flesh and got the desired reaction.

"They are still out of the house. Let's go back and have some hot cocoa. Or, you can sit out here in the bushes and cool your erotic mood for a while." And with that, she stepped down, turned, and walked straight back to the warm and comfy kitchen.

Cold shower!

But I knew my Sam; she was turned on. Today she was in her edging mood. I would try to get her hot and horny, and she would try not to be aroused. We were able to play that game for two or three days straight before having the fuck of our lifetime. And Sam was pretty creative. The thought of having two horny young women stripping in the neighborly shed turned her on. Not enough to really get her going, but enough to get that little tingling feeling in her pussy.

Sam was right, as mostly always. There was no use in sitting out here, getting all wet and catching a cold. Amy and Jenna will be around trick or treating anyway. Our house was on their list anyway. So, we will see their skimpy costumes on our doorstep at some time this evening.

I was wondering, why would two young adult women go around doing something as childish as asking for treats? Was that malice? Provocation? Testing of their effect on men? Emancipation from their tight-up parents? Or just individual lust and basic horniness? I mean, yes, they want to set up their dad. Preferably with me. I didn't know why they had chosen me, but maybe because they already had every other reachable dick around here. I was curious about how far they would go. But Sam had other plans.

An hour later, Sam and I were cuddling on the couch, edging away in our own private lust; the doorbell went. I got my fingers out of her wet folds under her sweat pants, grabbed the bowl with sweets before Sam even lifted a finger, and rushed to the door.

"Ask for a trick!" Sam yelled. "I want to see what happens!"

What? Sam has caught me off guard again.

I opened and: "Trick or treat!" The kids from down the street, Spiderwoman and some other Marvel character, raised their ugly silicone heads and looked greedily at the bowl of sweets in my hands. No use in asking for something in return. They could probably tell me about the newest viral TikTok clip or the life of their Pokémon, but nothing that could interest me in any way. When was the last time I heard a decent song at our doorsteps? Must have been ages! After serving their greed, I let the door fall back into its frame with a loud "thud". Making clear that this was not exactly the outcome I had in mind. I turned and Sam stood right behind me. She was as quiet as a cat. Sometimes I wondered if she had some secret power. Meow!

She took the bowl: "Next doorbell 's mine!" she exclaimed with an erotic purr in her voice. Well, what choice did I have?

The bell rang, and Sam went to open the door and, "Trick or treat!" She had to serve some kids the stuff we had bought for this evening. More Spidermen, Hulks and Horror-Clowns. There was a coming and going at our door of various superheroes, plastic Witches, all of them ugly, all the costumes bought at the local mall. When did it end that costumes were self-made? The bell almost went on strike. And finally, it was all over. The neighborhood kids had circled the streets at least twice, but no Amy and Jenna had shown up. Maybe their father had gotten hold of them and managed to put his foot down, but I doubted that as soon as this thought crossed my mind. Or maybe they went straight to Paul and his magic pecker. Well, whatever it was that kept them from coming to our house in the middle of the street, it must have been good.

The old grandfather clock in the hallway struck eight. As usual, it missed the chime on the final beat. It had been rattling since the fifties, a stubborn piece of furniture that refused to die. I had fond memories of it, that is why it had a right to exist in our house.

I was halfway through pouring a glass of red wine when the doorbell rang again. Sam looked up from the couch, glancing at the window where the rain was coming down in a steady, cold drizzle. Surely not some poor hanger-on who was trying to squeeze the last leftover sweets from the neighborhood? I got up and opened the door.

A Witch and a... pumpkin? Or whatever Jenna thought she was. Anyway, the two young ladies from the morally challenged, Christian household next door stood there in their rather skimpy outfits dripping water on our front porch. Wet, one of them almost naked, and both clearly way over their freezing point, they shivered their "trick or treat" with blue lips and got an answer they had not expected.

"Treat!" Sam appeared behind my back and pushed past me to grab the Witch by her jacket. Amy had no choice but to follow Sam into the hallway and from there right through the first door into our kitchen. Otherwise she would have lost at least a sleeve of her outfit. Jenna looked at me with a pleading edge in her eyes, slowly went past under my arm and followed her sister. Sam had already started to undress the dripping Witch.

Amy was dressed like the regular Witch. Black pointy hat. A long, rather too lacy black skirt. A black see-through blouse, a short black jacket, and definitely no bra. To give her outfit some sort of unique touch, she had exchanged the broom with a huge pink vibrator-dildo apparition. She certainly didn't went around 'trick or treating' at the other neighbors with that thing. As I watched her, standing there gulping for air, I could clearly see her stiff nipples moving up and down the fabric of her blouse. Like Jenna, Amy had two handfuls of firm tits, pretty perky with large nipples.

"This is what you wanted, isn't it? Witch?" Sam asked with lust in her voice and malice in her eyes. Her hand darted out, went right under the waistband and found Amy's cunt under the long lacy skirt with pinpoint accuracy. The young woman squirmed under the attack. She almost jumped when Sam found her cold clit.

I gave the door just enough push to let it squeak in its hinges, adding some scary sound effects to the situation. At the same time I turned off the lights. When the door fell in its frame with a solid thud, I turned the key with a rather satisfactory snapping sound. The only source of light came from my lighter. I went around the kitchen and lit the candles we had standing around. Warm, flickering light spilled out, giving the whole scene some sort of cozy scariness. Jenna drew her breath rather sharp. Did Sam's attack on her sister surprise her? She knew Amy had other plans. And Jenna was caught off guard by Sam's forward motion. Whatever it was, she was beginning to understand that Sam had crossed their plans. Amy had met her master.

Jenna was not only dripping water on the tiles in the kitchen, but she also dripped pumpkin. Her whole body was smeared in pumpkin goo. Wherever there was skin, there was pumpkin. Sam let go of Amy and turned to Jenna, who had used the absence of attention to adjust her slipping DIY bra.

"And you, young lady, look more like a very confused vegetable! Still let your sister get yourself into trouble? Again? Jenna, when will you grow out of your childish ways?" With a stern voice, she scolded the pumpkin and took another step closer. Then she purred like the playful cat she really was: "Oh Jenna, so naive, so needy, so full of lust." And, turning to me, "Help her on the table; we have to get her clean."

I lifted the pumpkin off her feet and sat her on the table in one go. Jenna was way too surprised to protest. And she still hadn't found a way of adjusting that pumpkin-bra safely. She was constantly holding on to bits and pieces of that skimpy thing. There was probably some inner fight going on in her head between her hormones and her morale. Caught between a rock and a hard place, she wasn't able to react anyway.

Most of her outfit was biodegradable. Since the pumpkin was rather fresh, Sam collected what she could scrape off in a pot for later use in a soup. Never waste good food. Some of the orange stuff was easily collected, but some of it found its way into more delicate areas of Jenna's folds. Sam had a rather direct approach and roughly pushed her hand down the jeans shorts, grabbing Jenna by her labia. Sam had Jenna by the balls, or rather by the lips of her young pussy. A sudden squeak from Jenna and a soft moan were all I needed to know that Sam had not only found her target but also locked on.

Amy just stood by. Tingling with excitement after Sam's fingers in her crotch, she made huge eyes when Jenna was receiving her fair share of finger play. Her nipples reacted and poked the thin fabric of her blouse. But I guessed her pussy had overtones to deliver.

At this point Christian morale hit the bullseye of our erotic center of gravity. Or rather, it hit the knob of our doorbell. Smeared with a bit of Jenna's pumpkin goo I went to answer the door. No use hiding. You couldn't look in through the kitchen windows because of the thick rose bushes underneath it, but you could see the light from the candles. So, we were obviously at home. Before the bell was pressed into service again, I opened the door. Joshua stood there, a strong flashlight in his hand like a weapon against all evil things that could be rushing out from the dungeon dimensions.

"You seen my daughters?" he asked briskly with a shaky voice. No "Hello", no "blessings on this house" as usual. Right to the point. He could barely control his anger. I looked at him with a surprised look on my face and went for the straight lie: "No. Not today. We had the Stevenson's kids over, the Sanchez's, the O'Donnel's, the Miller's, and, of course, the Pratt's. But I haven't seen Amy and Jenna. Are they home for the holidays?" I ticked off the names of the families with my fingers. At the edge of hearing I could hear a sound, almost a suppressed scream. Sam didn't hold back. She probably had her hand in Jenna's jeans, fingering that bald little pussy with brutal pinpoint accuracy. I have seen her fingering some of our playmates. A sight to remember. She probably had shoved two of her fingers up that hopefully wet twat of Jenna. Edging comes in many ways, and Sam never let a chance pass to add some spicy ingredient. So, she added the danger of being caught red-handed.

Joshua grunted and turned around. Adding a rather stupid afterthought I went on: "Need help looking for them?" Oh stupid, stupid me. I knew that there were two young, horny women in my kitchen who would get at least the finger-fuck of their short lifetime this evening, and now I offered to go out into the rain and search for them? Luckily Joshua didn't even think about this offer. "No need. I already searched the neighborhood. When they get home, they will feel the flat of my hand on their hinies, and I don't care that they are grown-ups." And with that, he left. Funny thing though, he didn't even seem to have noticed the pumpkin squash on my clothes.

I closed the door, turned the key, and returned to the kitchen. I could almost feel the collective intake of breath. Great. Now I have to report a future domestic violence. I grinned. Maybe this is what Amy had in mind. Sam indeed had her hand down Jenna's open shorts and let her fingers do the dance. The young woman on the big heavy table whimpered and moaned. She clung to Sam's arm, pressing her pussy against the warm skin of my wife. Bucking against the experienced fingers of my wife. Sam lifted her up a bit and got those skimpy short jeans off. The middle seam was already soaked. But, without sniffing, I couldn't tell from what. Pumpkin? Pussy? Who knows? I could have asked Sam, but that would have interrupted the flow of the things. Jenna wore no panties, string, or other equipment that stood between Sam and fresh pussy. Sam started to scrape off mashed pumpkin that had crept into the wet folds of Jenna's Pussy. Sam wasn't shy or easily grossed out. So, she collected the stuff in the big pot to use as a basis for the next day's soup. Leftovers, I thought. Already well seasoned.

Since Jenna was cleaned out by Sam, I decided that the Witch needed my attention. Amy leaned on the counter watching the show. Her mouth was open, her eyes bulging in astonishment while glistering with lust. The pink dildo lying useless on the counter, a forgotten contraption of lust. She couldn't believe her senses and still had to cope with the fact that her plans had not worked out as planned. She has had that naive idea about getting her parents into some moral dilemma and having some fun with me in one go. Although I doubted that she really knew when to stop. But her plan had run head-on into Sam's cunning horniness and gotten instantly obliterated. Instead of staying in control, her control faltered as soon as she entered Sam's range.

Amy's outfit whispered around her body. Lacy, black and wet. Amy was soaked; her breasts showed through the thin, wet fabric of her blouse, showing her fresh perkiness underneath. Her jacket hung over the faucet, and her floppy hat rested on the banister in the hallway. Her hair was hanging down in wet curls, and circles of water formed around her shiny, pointy black leather boots. She was a sorry sight, for a Witch. For somebody who wanted to fuck, she was an open invitation.

"You are pathetic!" I exclaimed, whispering in her ear. "What did you think would happen?" I went straight for the facts of life, pushing Amy even further off her guard. I wanted to shake her up a bit. Make her feel helpless, prepare her for the evening.

"You think we would be stupid enough to get caught in your scheme? Think again! You, young lady, have a lot to learn." I made clear that she was nothing and my experience was everything she longed for. She could have some of that erotic star dust, but she had to give herself up to us.

"Your parents are the least of your problems. Now you have to face us. Daddy's Christian wrath is nothing compared to what you will feel in our hands." I never left her side while giving her a sermon to remember. "Remember the pastor during the sermon? Giving him head? Was it good? Did you swallow his heavenly seed? Did you let him plow your pussy? Yes, we know. We know a lot more than you like us to know." That was a wild shot in the dark, but it hit home. Amy reacted in a way that said it all. Quietly I dropped threats and healing into her ear. "But we do not mean harm. We can free you." A continuous whispered flow of words, much of it absolute nonsense, lulling her into submission. And all the time she watched with growing astonishment how her whimpering sister got eaten out by Sam.

"Your idea of Hell will become even more colorful after this evening." I went for the last straw she held on to. The ultimate belief in good and evil was brainwashed into their heads from the moment they gulped their first breath of air. Even though she broke the morale codex to break free from her parents, she still held on to some of the basic principles. To break her, I needed to shake up these core principles.

Jenna squealed, moaned, and wailed. Holding Sam's head, pressing the fast tongue and stiff lips of my wife on her young pussy. She was on the homestretch to her orgasm and did everything she thought she would need to do. But Sam, well, Sam had other plans. She stopped her deep diving into Jenna's wet folds and withdrew abruptly. Open, wet, and on the verge of cumming, Jenna couldn't believe this change in the course of action. Like a big ship changing course, she needed a while to realize the variation in Sam's approach. Sam didn't wait for her to cope with the new situation; she grabbed her by the thin arms and pushed her to one of our heavy chairs. She made her sit down and told her to stay. Like an obedient dog, Jenna stayed and waited. Sam opened the bottom drawer of the cabinet and took out some rough rope. Jenna's eyes opened wide in panic, for she sensed, deep down in her hormone-flushed guts, what was going to happen.

Amy, on the other hand, didn't have a clue about what was going to happen. She was still in the stage of adapting to the fast-changing tracks around her. My words rushed past her consciousness right into her spinal cord, bypassing any leftover threshold of belief, morale, or principle she might have. I grabbed one of our high bar stools, put it down in the middle of the kitchen, and made her sit down. Still facing her sister, she finally started to realize what was happening. At that time Jenna was already bound to the chair. Her hands were behind her back, her ankles around the wooden legs. Her perky tits stabbed the air in front of her, and her wide-open, bald pussy glistered with the wetness of Sam's saliva mixed with her own juices. Jenna tried to rub her clit against the hard surface of the chair, but the way Sam had bound her arms behind the back of the chair prevented her from giving herself the pleasure she needed. Sam edged Jenna along a master plan in her head. I knew, of course, that she was in "cat mode". She would play with her toy as long as it was alive and kicking. Jenna was in for one hell of a ride.

The atmosphere was contagious. Rich erotic vibes lingered in the flickering shadows of the warm candle light. The air already smelled of sex, sweat, and pumpkin. The sweet mixture of erotic foreshadowing. And Amy reacted to this. She began to get squirmy on the bar stool. Her hips began to revolve around the center of her body, which currently was placed somewhere around her pubic area. I began caressing that one hard spot between her shoulder blades, where muscles and sinews met her vertebra. My sudden, well-measured touch sent a shiver through her body. No other touch or other stimulus was applied by me, just my two fingers gently pressing the small dents right and left on her spinal cord. Transfixed and almost paralyzed Amy sat there and let her body take over. Every once in a while she tried to get her clit to get in touch with the surface of the stool. The result was obviously not very satisfying. To get a touch down, she had to move away from my probing fingers. Losing that touch was something she could not bear. So, unable to get the much-needed stimulation by herself, she settled for a more relaxed approach and let me do the work of caressing her. She had given up and submitted herself into my hands. That was the point Sam and I were waiting for. Sam sensed the change of Amy's mood and looked up to meet my eyes for confirmation.

We nodded knowingly in silent agreement and moved on to stage two.

I moved around the Witch and leaned her skinny back against my chest. Her selfishness, her role as being the manager of her plans, and her ego driven by whatever drives the ego of a 19-year-old horny 19-year-old all evaporated under the constant flow of new impressions and her own emotional overflow. She cuddled her skinny back against my chest, seeking a new security in a place where security was just an illusion. I rested my hands on her shoulders, adding weight and pressure, supporting that illusion. She relaxed and became warm wax in my hands. I bent down, brought my mouth to her ear, and blew warm air against her lobe. Amy shivered. I let my hands move slowly to her waist.

The rain pounded against the kitchen windows, adding a constant underlying rushing sound to the warm atmosphere. It was cold, wet, and windy outside. Inside, erotic shot off a whole firework of warm feelings, emotions, and longings.

Sam had moved the naked Jenna around to face her sister by simply turning the chair on one leg. Both were bound to their seats. Jenna by some rough ropes, Amy by my will.

I moved my hands down to Amy's ass. Stroking and touching here and there. She arched her back to give my hands room and to press her lower body against my probing hard fingers.

The clock in the hallway struck half-time, leaving out the last chime. The timing was perfect. Only half an hour from doorstep to submission. For Sam and me, that was faster than usual.

My hands moved along Amy's legs. I reached her knees and slowly began to work up her lacy, black skirt. When I hit the skin of her knees, I waited for Amy to catch up. With an almost undetectable motion, she nodded her agreement. If you didn't wait for it to come, it would have gone unnoticed. But I needed her active surrender, and I knew she would give in to my attacks. She stood no chance.

Amy's submission to my advances on all levels was a gradual shift from active to passive. It was not the usual submission of someone who wanted to be used and commanded from the start. It was the kind of submission where someone so full of herself that it meant to manage their own image in public had to undergo a complex emotional process. This image was a cloak she wore even in private. The only way to reach her was to give her ego something in return. To provide it with a substitute for her self-control and a sanctuary for her decision-making. Submission, in this sense, was not a defeat. It was a profound relief; it was the luxury of finally being told exactly what to do, taking away her responsibility over herself without giving her the feeling of not being worthy.

The best torture is made of people's own ideas. Nobody can imagine horrors as good as ones own mind. Horror and torture are purely individual experiences and need an individual approach. The same goes for submission.

The Witch brought her own torture tool, her pink dildo. One hand rested on her shoulder; my other grabbed for the tool. The device, the machine.

I introduced the dildo by turning it on behind Amy's back and holding it up to her ear so she knew what was coming. She sighed as she craved her toy and opened her legs a bit further to give me the room I needed. She still wore her lacy skirt, her see-through blouse, and her leather boots. For future events I needed her to get naked. I used the dildo to slowly undress her.

My first move was not going down to her lap, as Amy anticipated and craved, but to her perky tits. I let the slow buzzing hum creep around her still autumn-cold flesh, lifted her tits one by one, and let them fall again. Testing their softness and flexibility. Firm but echoing with a certain amount of shake. Satisfied with what I saw and felt, I suddenly touched her nipples, sending ripples of lust through her body. Amy opened her mouth and let out a long, soft moan. Then I went under her blouse, letting the vibrator hum over her navel and her soft belly, and lifted the fabric higher and higher. In the end Amy got impatient and pulled the blouse over her head. At last her perky tits were hanging free, their skin shining in the warm light of the candles. But she still wore that lacy skirt.

I mapped the periphery of her desire with the tool tip of her dildo. Under her hitched up skirt, I traced the humming silicon along the sensitive inner skin of her thighs, circling the apex of her legs without ever touching the center. She tried to chase the vibration, arching her back, moving her bottom towards the slowly vibrating dildo between her legs. Each time she tilted her pelvis and opened her legs to meet the device I shifted away. Letting her hang in her desire and lust. Some strong self preserving, unconscious intuition reflexively still tried to take back control. She was still fighting some sort of guerrilla war against the onslaught of my willpower. Well, she didn't know, but probably sensed, what she was in for.

I let the vibrator move down her back under the waistband of her skirt between her cheeks and waited for her reaction to end.

The wind took up its frantic banging on the walls of the house. The trees and bushes outside rustled with the last leaves of this year, and the rain was swept against the large window, sounding like small fireworks. From time to time the house shook, when a particularly violent gust of wind hit the framework. The atmosphere in the kitchen had long ago shifted from playful to primal. Jenna had become a study in instant surrender. But she has been submissive from the start. Over the years Jenna had been trained unknowingly by her sister and became a submissive woman. Not even Amy knew what she had done; it hadn't been planned, and there never had been any intention. It's just something that happened.

Jenna's body arched like a bow against the heavy oak of the chair. The flickering light danced over the curve of her perky breasts, their peaks tight and trembling, echoing the frantic rhythm of her breathing.

By the time I had Amy confessing her defeat, Sam had started to caressing her victim again. Bound to the chair in the middle of our kitchen, Jenna had to witness the downfall of her sister's rather arrogant self-consciousness. She saw an Amy that lost all her will to lead, to be the general on the battlefield of social misbehavior. She couldn't believe her eyes when she saw how her sister was seduced to give up to me.

The heavy oak chair had become a throne of forced patience, the coarse rope biting just enough into Jenna's wrists and ankles to keep her grounded while the rest of her felt like it was floating. The flickering candlelight played across Jenna's skin, highlighting the flushed warmth of her chest.

Sam didn't rush, she was a cat with all the time in the world. She moved like a cat, sensed like a cat and waited like a cat. Her fingertips barely grazed Jenna's thighs, creating a trail of electricity that made her victim shiver. Having already tasted her pussy, Sam knew almost exactly where the tension lived and how far she could go to keep Jenna out of reach of her peak.

Starting with slow strokes over Jenna's hair, Sam worked herself down to the spread knees. Unlike me, she didn't hesitate to touch Jenna's perky tits and bald pussy directly. The already hard nipples got even harder under her hard touch. Twisting them between her fingers, Sam got Jenna instantly moaning again. The young woman squirmed and bucked to get more. More of everything. Held back by the rough rope, her movements were limited to a few inches. A few inches, which decided over when and how she could get her much-needed relief.

"Ohhh fuuuuuck!" Jenna whimpered. "Please! Give me your fingers!" Her heavy breathing became a pleading rhythm interrupted by her unintentional screams of "Yes!" or "Fuck!" or "Please!" Sam edged her on. For someone new to this, it must look like torture. For Sam and me, it was a delightful promise. Climbing it was easy; keeping it out of reach was skill. When Jenna's erect and highly sensitive clit was suddenly touched by Sam, her head thrashed back, and a strangled moan escaped her as she hovered on that agonizing, shimmering verge of release. The edge of the cliff was near.

Sam didn't let Jenna fall. Instead, she played on the edge with a cruel, beautiful precision. She let her fingers play with the small head of the clit sticking out from the smooth lips, inviting Jenna to dance. The young woman bucked, squirmed, and tried to move her hips to get more touch, more feeling, and immediate satisfaction. But Sam was a master of the art. She got her Ph. D. in edging a long time ago. Every time she sensed Jenna's oncoming climax, she withdrew and changed course. Leaving the clitoris out of her caressing, she suddenly dove deep between the fluffy labia and inserted two fingers in the wet depth. I could almost hear the squashing sound as she entered. What I certainly heard was the sudden gasp of air and suppressed scream coming from Jenna. "Oh sweet Jesus!"

"Your Lord is not going to help you in this!" Sam replied and thrust her fingers deeper into the warm, wet folds.

She used the wind for her timing. She always took in her surroundings and adapted her play to them. The rushing of waves against the beach, the rustling of leaves, the wind in the trees, and the rhythm of the wheels on a highway. Tonight she took the rhythm for her attacks on Jenna from the groaning of our house. Delayed only by a fraction of a second, she used the creaking for timing and intensity. Jenna never knew that she was finger-fucked by something not even Sam was able to control.

Just as Jenna's hips began to buck again in a desperate search for friction, Sam would pull back again. Leaving Jenna shivering in the void, Sam was sculpting a peak of desire so high that the air felt thin. Jenna was brought to a shimmering verge where every nerve ending was screaming for a release, which Sam denied.

Again, Sam pulled back. Turning to less arousing areas of Jenna's body, she started to massage the bony shoulders of the young woman. Sensing the tension and the agony in the muscles, she tenderly averted the focus of attention away from purely erotic touches. Although, by now every touch had an erotic whisper to it.

I pushed the vibrating tool deeper between Amy's cheeks and tilted it a bit back to follow the curves of her body. Amy lifted her ass to make way for the dildo, to let it touch places she needed to be touched. At one point she almost jumped from the chair, and I knew I had landed a hit on her anus. I left the tip of the tool vibrating at her ass and slipped my hands under the waistband of her skirt. Amy sensed what my plan was, lifted her skinny little ass, and closed her legs, and I was able to slip the skirt over her waist. It fell to the floor. Amy was now almost naked. The only piece of clothing left was her shiny leather boots. She sat down again and met the vibrating tool coming the other way.

"Oh shit!" she almost screamed. The tool had hit home. With one hand on the pink contraption, I pressed my other between her legs, urging her to spread them wide. There was no resistance. Willingly Amy opened her legs, giving us a good view of her smooth, shaven pussy. Like her sister, she had big, fluffy inner labia opening up like butterfly wings crowned with a big clit raising its head through the fleshy folds of her sex. And she was wet. Glistering, creamy juices lay like a film over her aroused vulva, showing us exactly the successful outcome we hoped to see.

"Yes!" she exclaimed. "Deeper!" she moaned as she wiggled her body over the dildo. There was no way she could insert the pink tool into her body. No way of penetration. But the vibrating instrument of lust lay under her on the stool, giving her the pleasure of massaging her anus. This brought her even closer to her edge. I motioned her to lean forward a bit and pushed the vibrator a bit further under her body. She now had full contact of asshole and pussy, and her moans became louder, deeper, and more animalistic.

To add some pressure to her lust, I pinched her already stiff nipples. They crowned her perky tits like little marbles, hard, red, and sensitive to my touch. With my hand on the vibrating dildo, I guided it home. Pushing it with calculated pressure against her clitoris. By gently drawing at her tits, I guided her to lift her ass and present her open, wet vulva to me. Slowly I searched for the entrance into her body, knowing that this search alone was edging her even further. When Amy let her head fall down on her chest, I suddenly pushed the tip of her tool between her butterfly wings, giving her a small taste of what she yearned for. Slowly I began to fuck her with the device, using it not as a tool for a quick release, but as a piston of pleasure. I ground the vibrating head into her with a slow, agonizingly steady pressure. The vibration became a wall of white noise in her mind, erasing the last ability to think, to plan, or to resist. She was no longer a person with an agenda. Amy had become a collection of nerve endings reacting to an unstoppable, pulsing force. While the piston in her did the work it had been designed for, I used two of my fingers to simultaneously pinch her erect clit.

"Awwww! Yes! Yes! Yes!" Amy was not able to control her voice. Small ripples rolled over her body.

As the tension in her hips grew, she began to move with me. This came not out of a desire to lead, but as a reflex to the humming pleasure deep in her wet pussy. She reached the edge, that shimmering precipice where the world disappears. Just as the first contraction of an orgasm threatened to break, I pulled the device away.

"Don't do that to me!" she moaned. "Please. Don't let me hang!"

The sudden vacuum of sensation left her gasping for air. Her body was still humming in a state of suspended animation. I didn't let her slide back into comfort and didn't return for the last blow she desperately needed. I held her there, perched on the very brink of release, denying her the climax. I watched the desperation cloud her eyes, the way her breath became a series of shallow, jagged hitches. I listened to her whimpers, to her pleading breathing. Every time she tried to push herself back toward the peak, I withdrew. I gave her clit a gentle tap on its oversensitive head and drew back, keeping her in a state of a slowly growing suspension.

Jenna had never seen her sister crying out, pleading for relief. Normally others need to be freed from Amy's slippery slopes of gaming. She was always in control, always the manager of any situation. And now? Nothing. Amy's surrender threw Jenna completely off her track. She realized that her older and bolder sister was not the self-confident Witch she had advertised to be. Never has been and never will be. Amy was just another young human in search of herself. She was just better in hiding her insecure ego behind an aggressive, extrovert attitude. Seeing her shaking, wet, sweating, bucking back and forth, and becoming wax in my hands hit Jenna with an emotional impact like an earthquake. And it seemed to make her even more willing to submit to Sam's attacks.

"Please, Mrs. Clarke. Touch me!" This was the first time she spoke directly to Sam. My wife grinned. "You want to be relieved?" she asked in a hushed voice at the very corner of the hearing. Jenna nodded her head and looked pleadingly, wide-eyed, up into Sam's eyes. The begging, sorry, look on her face, almost made my wife laugh. She knelt down in front of the young woman, went between her legs, and gave that fresh pussy a swift kiss on the wings. Jenna sought this as the start of what she needed. Sam loosened the ropes that held Jenna's legs bound and helped her to get up. Her hands now only tied behind her back, Sam walked her over to the big table. She made Jenna bent over the warm, oaken wood, beckoning her with a touch of her feet to spread her legs. Jenna could not see what Sam was up to, so she was not able to notice Grandma's wooden rolling pin in her tonight's Mistress's hand.

"I see you are wet from anticipation," Sam whispered as she dipped her index finger in Jenna's overflowing, wide-open pussy. "Anticipation and lust. And from almost coming." She flicked against the hard clit of the young woman, making her yelp, playing with her like the cat she was. I could not see the wetness, but I was able to hear the squishing sound Jenna's pussy made as my wife began to finger-fuck her. The rolling pin at the ready, she prepared Jenna to be fucked by wood. Jenna's arms were resting on the table, her head buried between them, she was a picture of submission. She gave her body to my wife. Jenna was like an overripe fruit for Sam to be plucked. And like an overripe fruit, Jenna began to become runny.

When Sam finally inserted the slim end of the rolling pin in Jenna's open pussy, the young woman almost sagged with relief. She couldn't know what she was fucked with, but she sensed that this was a step further. She arched her back and pressed her sex against Grandma's hard wood. Even though the small handles weren't big enough to fill her hungry pussy, she was obviously delighted by the strange material inside her. Sam was good at fucking with toys; she had a lot of training. And she had trained a lot of lovers. She knew what could be done with a little slim stick. She did need the occasional huge toy or dick, but for her the technique was the important thing. With almost scientific professionalism, she worked the rolling pin along the depths of Jenna's sex. When Jenna was open for more, Sam pressed the thick end against her butterfly labia. Inserting more would probably hurt Jenna, so Sam used the much bigger roll as a promise, like bait. Shaking, moaning, and begging, Jenna was on the verge of her climax again.

In the meantime, Amy was sitting in a puddle of her own juices. I had worked the vibrating dildo up to her little pussy and left it resting just a few inches away from her needy clit. Giving her double pleasure, or rather the promise of pleasure, I placed one finger of my free hand at her anus. For a fraction of a second Amy stopped her moaning and wriggling as if she had sensed something she was not okay with. I froze. This was one of the moments that decided the proceedings of this evening. The sound of the rain against the windows, the rushing of the wind in the treetops, and even the shadows dancing in the corners of our warm kitchen, everything seemed to hold its breath for a little moment. The world waited for Amy to decide. Some sort of inner dialogue came to the conclusion that my finger at her asshole was exactly what she needed; she relaxed, and her moaning became even more intense. The world around us began to breath again. She pushed her little ass back to amplify the new feeling at her rear. On the concavely formed seat of the stool Amy's juices added new oozing liquid to the small puddle of creamy goo. She was more than willing to go every step we would lead her. I pressed on and inserted the tip of my index finger. Her tight anal sphincter resisted the onslaught, giving me the feeling that nothing had ever entered here ever before. Not even Amy herself had probably inserted anything in her ass. Neither to explore nor to give herself pleasure. I pushed further, and Amy, for once, held still.

"Relax," I whispered in her ear, moving the dildo so that the vibrating tip touched her erect clit. And she did. I felt how her muscle loosened up a bit, giving me just enough space to enter my finger to the first knuckle. Slowly I began to circle in her tight hole, using her own goo as lubricant. The further I pushed, the louder she moaned. It was a mix between pain and pleasure, just the right amount of both to whip her further along her personal edge. When she began to fuck my finger on her own, she was ready for more. I pushed the dildo right between her butterfly lips, turned up the vibrating, and let it rest there. The double sensation made her jump. She came down heavy and shoved my finger up her ass to the second knuckle in one go.

And suddenly she came. This one finger was all she needed to ride over her cliff. Her body shook, squirmed, and trembled. Goosebumps ran over her body. The nipples on her perky tits stood to attention, and out of her mouth came sounds that are normally found in the animal kingdom. She got loud. Really loud. And wet. Her pussy squirted her clear liquid on the floor; the smell of the seaside became intense.

The release was violent and total, a cascading collapse that left her falling limp against me. She couldn't move for some time, her body occasionally twitching as the aftershocks rippled through her from head to toe. I kept holding her, providing the only anchor she had left in a world that had just been reduced to a singular, pulsing point of light.

When she came around again, she began to cry. Not from pain or out of sadness. She cried because the suspense had finally ended in something so intense she probably had never experienced before. She sagged against my chest and quietly shivered, holding on to my arm, tears running down her smiling face.

Amy looked exhausted, but there was a strange, newfound peace in her expression. The armor she had worn for nineteen years had been stripped away, leaving something softer, more honest in its place.

The real Amy, not just an expression.

Jenna stared wide-eyed at her sister. I didn't know if she had ever seen Amy cum. She had certainly never seen her cum so heavy. Amy herself probably didn't know she could climax with such a force and intensity. But, the way Amy commanded Jenna in their daddy's shed, I gathered that they had explored their bodies together in the past. But to what extent was a closed book to me.

Jenna's astonishment grew when Amy sagged against my chest and the tears of relief ran quietly down her cheeks. Sam chose this moment to drive Jenna home. She withdrew the warm wooden roll and inserted two fingers. I couldn't see exactly what Sam was doing behind Jenna's back, but I knew the ways of my wife. She would go up to four fingers, stretching the wet pussy to the max without hurting. She would let Jenna climax only to use the relaxation afterwards to also insert her thumb. I was eager to see if Jenna was a squirter as well.

"Hold still, you're shaking too much," Sam murmured and pressed Jenna back on the table when she lifted her head to look at Amy squirt on the floor. The young woman's tits dangled over the warm wood of the heavy table, brushing their already hard nipples against the surface, making Jenna grunt. Sam's finger worked relentlessly with rhythmic precision. She was staking her claim over Jenna by using the possessive strength, which has worked in similar situations over and over again. Sam's hand was a blur of motion, her fingers diving deep into the dripping, warm wetness.

Every thrust of Sam's fingers was a calculated, deliberate assault on Jenna's sensitivity. The friction of the oak table against Jenna's breasts created a secondary, agonizing pleasure. As she bucked and bent again and again, her nipples dragged across the grain of the wood, sending jolts of electricity straight to her core. Sam added a flow of commands and soothing right into Jenna's ear, giving her no way out but to follow the lead.

Jenna's legs began to shake as Sam increased speed. She shifted the angle of her thrusts, reaching for yet untouched spots deep in Jenna's womb. In between the deep stabs, Sam would hit the oversensitive clit, each time adding new shivers to the old ones. Jenna was no longer just shaking; she was vibrating. Her breath came in jagged, broken whimpers. The words she used would have made her dad go red. Jenna tried to push back against Sam's hand, desperate instinctive thrusts to meet the pressure. Sam was driving Jenna toward her personal edge, pushing her further and further into a state of erotic overload.

"Look at you," Samantha hissed and abruptly stopped screwing Jenna's pussy. Her voice was a dark, sultry velvet that underlined the young woman's whimpering. Sam pressed Jenna's shoulders down, pinning her to the table. Once more, she increased the speed. The slapping, wet sound of fingers fucking an overflowing pussy echoed through the quiet kitchen. It was a raw, carnal percussion that timed itself to the rain gushing against the windows. Jenna's lower belly must have felt like a coiled spring ready to snap. She needed more of everything that Sam could give her, but she didn't know what everything really meant.

Sam's fingers were no longer just moving in and out; they were plowing. She hooked her hand deep inside of Jenna, her knuckles brushing against the swollen labia while her fingertips hammered relentlessly into the depths. Jenna's breath came in ragged, high-pitched staccatos, her head to one side, her cheek pressed hard against the oak. Every time Samantha's hand retracted, it pulled a string of glutinous, thick cream with it, only to plunge back in with a wet, heavy thud that echoed through the kitchen.

The friction on the table had reached a fever pitch. Jenna's nipples were raw, dragged across the polished wood as her body bucked instinctively, trying to escape or get more of the overwhelming intensity of the pleasure in her pussy. Sam didn't let up, she accelerated. She ground her thumb in a tight, punishing circle against the clitoris, creating a sensory storm that left Jenna sobbing and shaking. The pressure in Jenna's pelvis felt physical, a mounting tide of heat. Sam's voice cut in like a whip and told Jenna exactly how to take the poundings. Pushing her further onto the edge of a climax that felt less like a release. It was an explosion.

Thrashing, screaming, and bucking, Jenna reached her personal point of no return and then climaxed. Sam still had her hand inside her overflowing pussy. Otherwise, Jenna would have sagged to the floor. Her legs gave way to a shaking that she had never felt before. Uncontrollable spasms ran up and down her body, making her twitch time and time again. Like an echo, the ripples of her orgasm only subsided slowly and came back from time to time until she hung powerless and motionless over the table, gulping air like she just broke some world record at a marathon. She was out. She didn't squirt like her sister, but she had clearly reached one hell of an orgasm.

The old grandfather clock in the hall clanged away the full hour, leaving out the last chime. Amy and Jenna sat together on our couch, still leaking creamy, off-white goo. Nothing our couch has not seen before.

Each of them had a small glass with a drop of single malt in their hands. Sam and I sat in our big lazy chairs, listening to them, letting them chatter. They needed the time to cool off and get the adrenaline out of their system. We all knew that the special time tonight would be over soon. The evening had been a promise of things to come. They would come back, whenever they visited their parents. They were hooked.

Soon Jenna and Amy would go over to their house, to their waiting, angry father. They hoped that he had used the time to let off some steam, that the full force of his wrath had been damped down by time.

The Witch got dressed with her costume, while Jenna didn't have any mentionable clothes when she came through the door. Sam lent her a sweater and some sweatpants, and we sent them on their way.

That night Sam and I fucked on the kitchen table. Bent over like Jenna, Sam offered herself to me. Letting me plow through her experienced pussy. The puddle of Amy's juices dried up on the stool, leaving an impression of her climax. We left it drying up to become a constant memory.

The wind blew the whole night long, washing rain against the windows and shaking the roof.

The next day, Sam stood in the kitchen and composed a creamy pumpkin soup a la vulva. Of course she made way too much for us. In the afternoon, we went over to Heather and Josh, taking the soup with us.

The door was answered by Jenna. When she saw the pot, she blushed. "Pumpkin?" she asked quietly. We just grinned and opened the lid. I imagined the aroma of her pussy lingering through their hallway. And when I looked up, Jenna's eyes said it all.