With a storm rattling outside, two inventive lovers bring to life a magical fantasy.

Chad’s night had finally arrived. I watched him come into our home with the basket. It was brimming, and his eyes were shining. Beneath my murky frock and simple makeup, I felt my pussy pound. The tempo matched my thumping heart, which seemed to echo in my ears.

I watched him come toward me. His face was ecstatic. He waited for this every year. Chad is spellbound by Halloween and can’t wait for me to be his witch.

I stood there with my hands open, palms up. My hair was teased as if I were a feral maiden who lived into the woods. I’d even placed a few twigs and leaves in there for effect.

Every year I perfected her a little more. My witch. Chad’s witch.

He wasn’t into sleek, chic TV witches or the ones from horror novels. No nice witches for him. But equally, no hags.

No, his favorites were the witches from history books. The ones who were women of nature and power. Those who were nobody’s fool — and wickedly smart.

My feet were bare, and my face was adorned with a minimum of makeup. A blush of beet juice on my lips. A fine amount of mascara to make my blue eyes stand out.

My dress was muddy brown with white accents. A petticoat, an apron, tattered cuffs and two buttons at the bodice. A frayed ribbon was tied in my hair.

He was barely breathing as he approached. He knelt before me, took my hand hesitantly and pushed his mouth to it. His lips pressed against my flesh. He wore plain brown breeches, an off-white shirt — and that was it. No shoes. No cap. A plain country boy coming to beg the attention of a witch.

I twitched my fingers against his lips, and he parted them. I ran my fingertip along his tongue, and he sucked it. The sensation went from my finger to my cunt like a bolt of magical electricity.

We’d gotten lucky. Somehow, thunder had begun to rumble and a flash of lightning cut the sky outside. It had been a very warm day for October, and now the weather was cooling quickly. The changing atmosphere ramped up my excitement, and his as well, I was sure.

He seemed to tremble before me.

“What have you brought for me?” I asked imperiously.

He bowed his head, his blond hair falling forward over his brown eyes. He looked like a farmer boy, pleading mercy from the nature witch.

“Oil,” he said.

I had to keep from smiling.

He took the bottle from his basket and put some of the liquid in his hands. He rubbed his palms together and started to stroke the tops of my feet. His fingers were long and very strong. I wanted to sit and make him massage them all over, but didn’t want to break the spell. Instead, I fixed him with my most intense gaze and said, “Higher.”

He moved his fingers up my ankles, rubbing, stroking and touching. He worked knots out of my flesh I hadn’t known existed. With every inch he climbed, the wetness between my thighs grew heavier. I watched his cock stiffen in his pants and tried very hard not to think about how much I wanted his dick inside me.

He reached my knees, and I had to lock them to keep them from buckling. I swallowed a moan as he slid his hands up farther. They grazed the insides of my thighs and I trembled. He had his arms beneath my skirt, almost to his shoulders.

I looked down at him very sternly — I had to stay in character — then I gripped my skirt and hiked it up to my waist. That left him more room to navigate. It also exposed more of me. He licked his lips, his fingers digging into my skin.

He was waiting. Good. Just the way I wanted.

“Continue,” I ordered.

His hands slid along my thighs, massaging the muscles there, then moved around to cup my ass. He dug into the meat of my cheeks, and heat flooded my flesh and face.

He held me there, his hands warm and strong.

Finally, internally, I buckled.

“Put your mouth on me, boy.”

Color stained his cheeks, and he licked his lips. Then he rose to his knees and leaned forward. I clutched my skirt so hard my fingernails pressed into my palms. I did my best not to bump my hips forward to meet his mouth. I was supposed to be aloof and intimidating.

His tongue was heaven. I heard the rustle of fabric and knew he was fishing out his hard cock. That thought alone provoked a rush of juice from my pussy. He must have felt it — and tasted it — because he moaned. The vibrations shot through my sex. My clit pounded fiercely. I was lightheaded, horny and barely holding on to my persona.

I had to, though, because that’s what got him off. That’s what he waited for every night until October 31.

He parted my outer lips with his thumbs and brushed his warm tongue over my clitoris. He nudged it, swirling it repeatedly as I got closer to orgasm.

“Inside,” I hissed. A command. An order from his powerful goddess.

He nudged my wet slit with his tongue, moaned again, and then pushed two fingers inside my pussy. He knew what to do. He’d done it so many times. But this time he was pleasing the witch, giving her an offering.

He thrust his digits perfectly, stroking deep inside me. And when I was close — so fucking close — he sucked my clit. The sudden change and sense of pressure pushed me over the edge. I came with a gasp and a cry. I grabbed the back of his head roughly, anchoring him to me so I rode out each spasm, each flicker, against his wet, willing mouth.

He looked up at me eagerly, his face glossy wet.

I smiled at him and said nothing. I put my hand on his forehead and pushed him away. He landed on his back. Lying there, watching me.

His cock peeked out from his open fly.

“Take them off,” I said, waving a finger at his pants.

As he watched, I hiked my skirt up high and stood over him. I stared down at him with wild hair and fierce eyes.

He shuddered as if in fear, but it wasn’t. It was arousal. That I knew for sure.

I smirked at him.

“If you don’t hurry up, you’ll suffer my wrath.”

His hands moved quickly. He pulled his pants down to his knees. His cock sprang up straight and hard.

I lowered myself onto him. I sank down on his thick cock and had to swallow my sigh of satisfaction. When he was deep, seated well within me, I started to rock. I sang out a string of nonsense words that sounded like nothing and everything. A spell, if you will.

He groaned, reaching up to grab my hips and slamming up from beneath me as I rode him to my liking.

I fell forward, putting my hands on either side of his head, and then I rocked against him, grinding my clit against his pelvis — feeling the friction and the heat of him. All the while, he gripped my hips tight and slammed up fast and hard like a good boy.

I leveled my gaze at him as I crept closer to coming again.

“Do not finish. Do not unleash your seed in me,” I ordered him. “You do not get to finish. Not yet. Your offering is not done.”

His eyes alight with anticipation and excitement, he nodded. He looked like a man in a fever or under — yes, indeed — a spell. I dropped a harsh kiss on his mouth and listened to him gasp. Then I sat back up, spine straight, as I rocked over him. I moved my hips faster, getting myself where I needed to be. All the while, I took him closer to the edge. But I ordered him, under penalty of magic, not to come.

“Mistress,” he whispered. “Goddess.”

I came, my body wracked with bliss.

I stopped moving, and he held my hips tightly and looked up at me, waiting.

“Offerings,” I said. It wasn’t a question.

I moved off him, and he scrambled to his basket as I climbed to my feet, combing back my mussed hair and holding my ragged dress in my hands.

He handed me a flower. I smelled it and then nodded, handing it back. I took off my apron and dropped it on the floor.

Eyes shiny, dick still hard and at attention, he stooped and gathered another stem. A bloom that was hot pink and top-heavy. Its head lolled lushly. The smell of it was sweet. I took the flower, inhaled, shucked my petticoat and let it drop.

By the time I had a fistful of flowers, I stood there naked, breathing hard and waiting, with my hair hanging around my shoulders.

He knelt before me, and I smiled and brushed his hair back. I cupped the back of his head and pulled him toward me. He wanted more. I wanted more. It was written all over his face and showed in his body language.

I pushed his mouth back to my pussy, and he immediately began to lap at me — licking and sucking and inhaling deeply as if the smell of us commingling was the finest perfume.

I bumped my hips forward, seeking more of his mouth.

His hands curled against the tops of my thighs, holding me still and wide. My head fell back as my pleasure grew. When I was about to come, I stopped him and stepped back.

Chad groaned. It was a low sound, a rough sound.

I walked to the sideboard and put the blooms onto a tray. I turned, then lay in the center of our vibrant rug and crooked a finger at him.

He moved over me eagerly and stared down. He didn’t make a move without my word.

I took his handsome face in my hands and said, “You do not reach your peak without permission. Do you understand, boy?”

He nodded, the look on his face a mix of excitement and torture.

“The Earth elements are pleased with our coupling,” I said, winging it. “Enter me.”

He groaned, and the fine hair on the nape of my neck tingled. My nipples turned into small pebbles, and I sighed. I continued to hover on the edge of orgasm as his hand took a few swipes at his engorged shaft before he pushed his cock against my pussy.

He entered me slowly, as if I might bark a conflicting order at any second.

The room strobed with the storm’s lightning. Rain pounded the roof as he fucked me with slow, even thrusts, using the perfect rhythm as if we were fucking in time to really good music.

I hooked my ankles behind his back, urging him deeper. He sighed against my throat and then nipped me. My stomach trembled with the rush of adrenaline and arousal.

I squeezed my internal muscles and rose to take as much of him as I could. The pleasure swirled through me, my face hot and my body flushed.

He pressed his mouth to mine, his tongue sliding everywhere. He grabbed my hip roughly and squeezed as a sparkle of pain shot through me. My orgasm flared as a delicious spasm, and finally crested with a wave of pleasure that shook me like the storm outside shook our tiny house.

“Don’t come, don’t come, don’t come,” I chanted as I climaxed, holding his shoulders like a lifeline.

I could read his face; it was very difficult for him to keep his orgasm at bay, especially with my wet pussy gripping him and milking his cock.

He chewed his lower lip in concentration. I pushed him away roughly, and he toppled off me.

“Offerings,” I said, finding my voice.

He went to his basket, his body slick with sweat. The storm rocked the house, and rain pelted the windows. He came back to me with herbs. Bay leaves and rosemary, and some others I couldn’t quite place. He threaded a few branches through my hair, and I twisted my tresses up with some clips I found on an end table. I stood there and smiled at him.

“You please me, boy. Let me show you what pleasure is.”

Once upon a time I’d have laughed at that dialogue, but I was just as into this game as Chad. My time as his witch was a lovely diversion, a celebration of fantasy and fucking.

I got down on my knees in front of him, and he made a greedy sound. I smelled the rosemary in my hair and felt the scratch of a leaf dangling from an errant lock. I leaned forward, inhaling deeply and taking in the scent of the herbs and our fucking. I let Chad feel the heat of my breath on his skin.

He was shaking like he was cold, but his skin was hot — nearly feverish — beneath my hands. I licked just the tip of him. I relished the gasp that erupted from him. Then I sucked the head of his cock into my mouth, swirling my tongue until his gasp turned into a strangled sound.

It was music to my witchy ears.

I took him as far into my throat as I could. I gagged slightly and heard him moan again. That was always a turn-on — as was the single tear that slid down my cheek.

Chad didn’t dare touch me, but he drove into my willing mouth, developing his own rhythm. I breathed deeply through my nose, and I let my tongue slide up the back of his cock, caressing the thick vein that ran along his length. I slid my tongue over the cap of his cock before taking a breath as he thrust back into me.

When I could tell he was hovering at the edge — his breath, his body language, the tension in his muscles said he could come at any moment — I pushed back and looked up at him.

“Pigments,” I demanded in my haughtiest, most authoritative tone.

He groaned, clearly wanting to keep fucking, surely wanting to let go and flood my mouth and throat.

I stared at him, and he quickly hung his head, blushing hotly.

He went back to his basket, his erect cock bouncing before him. I wanted it. I wanted him. I wanted him to take me and come inside me.

Outside, the thunder boomed and the windows rattled.

The pigments were last year’s addition. Every year we’ve added a little thing. He returned and painted vivid stripes on my face with mineral cosmetics. Vibrant, shiny, demented and beautiful. He marked me and then stood back, panting, with his cock straining forward like a divining rod.

My newest addition was going to be a demand.

I stood, kissed him and tugged his hair until he whimpered. Then I looked him in the eye and said, “Take me like an animal. Mount me. Fuck me. Make me climax. Let me loose like the storm that shakes this house.”

He gaped at me but nodded quickly. No face-to-face climax. No missionary.

“Take me, fuck me, pull my hair.”

I went to the bed. The glow of candles and dim lamps illuminated our magical space. I got on the bed, looked over my shoulder and arranged myself on hands and knees.

“Come,” I said.

He moved quickly, his muscular body tight, hard and gorgeous in the candlelight. He got behind me, grabbed my hips and squeezed them like he owned them. Arousal tumbled through my belly; my nipples grew tight and sensitive. I pushed back, presenting myself.

“Rut with me,” I said, the moment the word sprang to my mind.

Always at some point in our game, I felt the power of her. This woman I’d created. And there was no doubt Chad felt her power, too.

He let out an animalistic huff and drove into me. His cock filled me and stretched me, and I pushed back to meet his thrusts. Every bump was a blissful shock.

I gripped the sheets in my fists as I slammed back against him. His fingertips dug into my skin, his breath was hot on my back. He grabbed my hair and tugged.

He groaned, and I demanded: “Come in me, come in me, come in me.”

I squeezed him with my pussy muscles and felt heat and thumping pleasure sweep through me. He bucked hard against me, his hand spanning my lower back possessively.

I squeezed him again, pushing myself even closer to coming.

He bumped against me so hard that he drove me forward on the bed.

“I’m going to come,” I told him.

Lighting flashed, and thunder shook us.

I came, my fingers swirling tight, little circles against my clit. I cried out, and the storm sang along with me, lashing the windows with waves of rain.

“You, now, you,” I told my man.

He came, slamming against me and emptying into me. I felt the wet, sudden heat fill my cunt and the shudder of his body against mine.

Then he was draped across me, one arm looped under my belly, chuckling softly.

I laughed, too, and rolled to my side. He moved with me, and we were tangled together.

“Worth the wait?” I asked.

He grabbed my crazy hair and tugged me to him for a kiss.

“Magic,” he whispered against my lips. “Pure magic.”

“Halloween magic,” I said.

“Witch magic,” he corrected.