Fantasy, Ass to mouth, Bondage and restriction, Cruelty, Cum Swallowing, Dark fiction, Discipline, Domination/submission, Erotica, Foot or shoe fetish, Gothic, Horror, Humiliation, Male Domination, Masturbation, Mature, Mind Control, Monster, Older Female / Males, Pegging, Slavery
The following story is a work of fiction and any resemblance to real people or events is purely coincidental. It is important to note that all characters in this story are over the age of 18 and the content of the story is intended for adult readers only. Additionally, please note that this story is written with help of artificial intelligence.
The Witches Next Door ~ by DarkTalons
Spring break had finally hit, and the house was mine for a whole week. Mom, Dad, and my little sister had piled into the car Friday afternoon with all their luggage, waving like it was some big adventure to visit my grandparents upstate. I stood on the porch in my gray t-shirt and black basketball shorts, barefoot on the warm concrete, and gave them the classic “have fun, don’t die” send-off. The second their taillights disappeared around the corner I was already planning it: sleep till noon, order pizza all week, maybe hit a couple parties if the boys hit me up. No chores except the basic shit Dad told me about—take out the trash, check the mail, don’t burn the place down. Easy.
The neighborhood was dead quiet that Saturday morning. I woke up around ten, scrolled through thirst traps on my phone until my cock was half-hard, then threw on a faded t-shirt and a pair of loose shorts. The house was peacefully quiet except for the fridge humming as I padded downstairs and out to the mailbox at the end of the driveway to grab whatever junk mail had shown up.
I was turning back around, envelopes in hand, when she was suddenly just there.
The neighbor girl. Same age as me. Slim, cute in that perky, bouncy way—small waist, round little ass, tits that sat high and firm under whatever she wore. Today it was a tight white crop top that ended right under her perky tits, showing a strip of smooth stomach, and a short black skirt that barely covered the tops of her thighs. Black fishnet stockings hugged her legs all the way down to shiny black high heels with a thin ankle strap. Her makeup was on point: sharp black eyeliner, dark red lipstick.
She stood right in the middle of the path, blocking me, smiling like we were old friends.
I jerked back so hard I almost dropped the mail. “Jesus fuck—you scared the shit out of me.”
She giggled, all innocent and sweet. “Oh my god, I’m so sorry! I didn’t mean to sneak up. I just saw you come out and thought… we’ve never really talked, you know? Neighbor stuff.”
Her voice was soft, overly nice, the same tone she and her mom always used when they waved from their porch. I instantly took a step back on instinct, already having this weird feeling about her.
They’d moved in a couple months back. Single mom in her fifties and the daughter. Both of them were stupidly good-looking in that “too perfect” way that makes you stare a second too long. The mom had this tall, Amazon build—long legs, wide hips, big tits that filled out whatever she was wearing, strong but still feminine. The daughter, as said, was slimmer, cute and perky, with that tight little body that turned heads without her even trying. They both wore dark makeup, nothing full goth, just sharp black eyeliner and dark red or black lipstick that made their smiles look dangerous. Their nails were always immaculate. The mom’s were long, pointy stiletto, glossy black. The daughter’s were red, slightly shorter, squared at the tips. I’d only ever exchanged a few nods and overly nice greetings with them in the driveway or on the sidewalk. Nothing deep.
Our houses sat close enough that my bedroom window on the second floor looked straight out over the back garden between us. Sometimes when I saw movement over there I’d naturally glance out. Never saw anything suspicious… until that one afternoon a few weeks before.
It had been a normal day until the sky suddenly went dark and the first heavy drops started hitting the windows. I was at my desk when I noticed the mom hurrying out into their backyard. She moved fast, grabbing clothes off the drying rack before the rain could soak everything. Shirts, towels, whatever—arms full, rain already pouring harder, her black stiletto nails flashing every time she snatched something. She was almost back on the porch when I started to look away, thinking it was over.
That’s when I caught it in the side of my eye.
One of her daughter’s black fishnet stockings was still hanging on the rack, overlooked. Instead of turning around and walking back out into the downpour, the mom just stood there on the porch. And the stocking… it flew. Not fell, not got blown by wind. It lifted straight off the rack and zipped through the air fast, like something invisible had grabbed it and yanked it right into her outstretched hand. She caught it without even turning to look. Just added it to the pile and went inside like it was nothing.
I blinked hard. Rubbed my eyes. “What the actual fuck…”
I later mentioned it to my best friend online, half-laughing, half-asking if he thought witches could be real. He lost it. Laughed so hard he fell of his chair wheezing. “Dude, you serious? Witches? In our neighborhood? ” He mocked me for the rest of the day. After that I never brought it up again. Kept the suspicion to myself and eventually kinda forgot about it… or at least told myself I had.
Now back to the driveway. Something about her felt off—too perfect, too calm.
“Yeah, uh… hi,” I said, already trying to edge around her. “We should grab coffee or something sometime. But I gotta get back inside, got laundry and shit.”
She matched my step, still smiling. “Come on, don’t be like that. How’s college going? Any wild spring break plans?”
I gave her the shortest answers possible—“Good. Parties maybe.”—and tried again to get past. She shifted, blocking me with her body. The third time I said, “Look, nice talking but I really need to—”
Her hand snapped out and grabbed my wrist. Not hard, but firm. Her red squared nails pressed into my skin, the flat edges scraping lightly as she held on. The pressure was even, almost blunt, but the edges caught just enough to make me feel every single one.
“Wait,” she said, voice still sweet but lower now. “I wanted to ask you something first.”
I froze. My heart was hammering.
She tilted her head, eyes locked on mine. “You saw something a few weeks ago, didn’t you? The rain. My mom… getting the laundry...”
My stomach dropped straight through the fucking pavement. Panic must have flashed across my face because her smile changed—just a little. Sharper. “I… uh… I uhhh….”, I started stammering not knowing what to do, but she already cut me off, not waiting for my answer.
“I think you know what we are, don’t you?”
Her irises flashed a faint, clear red for half a second, unnatural, like a camera flash behind her pupils. Staring straight into me.
Fear hit like ice water, as I was quickly realizing the full situation. “Please… let me go.”
Her nails scraped a little deeper on my wrist. “I’m afraid I can’t do that.”
I yanked my arm as hard as I could. Her red nails left three thin burning red lines across my skin as I tore free. Then I bolted for the open front door like the devil was on my heels.
I was two steps from safety when the door slammed shut in my face with a crack like a gunshot. I stumbled back and spun around.
She was still standing there, smiling like a cat that just caught the canary. One hand raised, index finger pointed lazily at the door, red nail gleaming. She made a little closing motion with her fingers and the door clicked like it had been locked from the inside.
Then she spread her fingers, nails fanned out, and pulled.
My body seized. Legs started walking on their own—stiff, jerky, like a broken marionette. I tried to fight it, muscles screaming, but my feet kept stepping forward, one after the other. Arms hung rigid at my sides, swinging in weird little arcs. I couldn’t even open my mouth to yell. My voice was locked somewhere in my throat.
And the view of that petite but powerful witch in front of me was pure fucking torture.
She turned and walked toward her house, hips swaying in that tiny black skirt. The fishnets stretched tight over her ass and thighs with every step, the thin diamond pattern flexing. Her heels clicked sharply on the concrete—click, click, click—and her perky tits bounced just enough under the crop top to make my traitorous cock twitch in my shorts. I was getting hard watching her walk while my own body dragged me after her like a reluctant dog on an invisible leash. Every time I tried to slow down, my legs just moved faster, more forcefully. I imagined the magic felt clumsy, fightable, like bad puppet strings. I could twitch my fingers a little, strain my neck, but the core movement was locked.
We reached their front door. It opened on its own and she stepped inside. My rigid body following without resistance. The door slammed shut behind us with another flick of her red nails.
“He knows, Mom,” she called out, voice echoing through the house. “Just like you suspected.”
Their place smelled like vanilla and something darker—incense maybe. Dark wood floors, heavy curtains, a few crystals on floating shelves. Not full-on witchy, but definitely not normal suburban.
The mom appeared from the kitchen doorway.
Holy shit.
She was even taller upclose—easily six-one in the black stiletto heels—and built like a fucking Amazon. Wide hips, thick powerful thighs, huge heavy tits that strained against a tight black blouse cut low enough to show deep cleavage. She wore a black pencil skirt that hugged her ass like it was painted on, and sheer black nylons that made her legs look endless and shiny. Her makeup was sharper than her daughter’s: black eyeliner wings, dark black lipstick. And those nails—long, glossy black, pointed stiletto shape, like elegant obsidian claws. She looked like she could break a man in half and smile while doing it.
She looked at her daughter, then at me standing there stiff as a board in their entryway. “Are you sure, baby?”
“Positive,” the daughter said.
The mom sighed, annoyed but calm, like I was a raccoon that got in the trash. She walked toward me, heels clicking loud on the hardwood. Stopped a foot away, looking down at me. Even without the heels she would’ve been taller.
“Tell me everything you saw,” she said. “Right now.” Her eyes flashing the same red as her daughters before.
Her voice hit like a command I couldn’t ignore. My mouth opened on its own and the words poured out before I could even think. “I saw you in the rain. Grabbing the laundry. The fishnet stocking flew into your hand by itself. I thought it was magic. I told my friend but he laughed so I shut up about it.”
Everything. The spying from my window, the exact way the stocking had zipped through the air, how I’d kept watching them after that. It all spilled out in one nervous rush.
The mom nodded, almost nice about it. “Well shit. I tried to be cautious, but you couldn't leave your little spying eyes to yourself could you?”
“I guess we have to wipe his memory now”, the daughter added.
That’s when my stupid, angry, dickhead brain took over. Fear and rage mixed into the worst possible cocktail. “You fucking bitches,” I snarled, still unable to move. “Let me go right now or I’ll call the cops, I’ll tell everyone what you are, I’ll—”
Her black stiletto nails flicked.
An invisible slap cracked across my face, hard enough to whip my head sideways. Then another from the other side. Suddenly my own hand flew up and slapped me again—crack—humiliating.
“Watch your mouth, little boy,” she said, voice gone cold and mean. “We don’t joke.”
She gestured again—smooth, lazy motion with those long black nails—and suddenly the control over my body changed.
It was night and day.
With the daughter, my body had felt stiff, fightable, like I was wearing a bad exoskeleton. With the mom, it was perfect. Fluid. Effortless. Like my muscles didn’t even belong to me anymore. She could make me do anything and it would look natural, graceful even, while my mind screamed and thrashed uselessly inside.
She flicked her nails and my legs carried me smoothly into the living room like I was just going for a casual stroll. I sat down on their big leather couch without a single jerky movement. My hands rested on my thighs. I tried to stand up—nothing. Tried to clench my fists—my fingers stayed relaxed. She owned every single muscle.
The daughter followed, smirking, and perched on the arm of the couch. The mom sat across from me in an armchair, crossing those long nylon legs. One black stiletto heel dangled off her toes, swinging slowly. The sheer nylon foot beneath it looked soft and warm.
“You’re a cocky little asshole,” she said, smiling without warmth. “Threatening us even after we showed you what we can do. So we will change the plan now.”
She leaned forward, elbows on her knees, black stiletto nails tapping together with little click-click sounds. “You know…We get stronger by draining cum. Male lust, life force, whatever you want to call it. Every time you shoot for us, we absorb that energy. It recharges our magic, keeps us powerful, keeps us looking like this instead of old and wrinkled. Normally we’d milk a nosy neighbor like you once or twice, wipe his mind, and send him home with a foggy memory of the best wet dream he ever had.”
She paused for a second, her gaze drilling into mine, then continued.
“But you spied. You threatened us. You cussed at us like a stupid little boy. So now? We’re going to drain you mercilessly. Over and over until you’re empty and broken. Then you’ll be our slave for the week. Our personal cum pet. And if you please us…” Her black lips curved into a cruel smile. “Maybe we’ll keep you longer.”
I tried to tell her to go fuck herself, but my mouth wouldn’t open. She’d locked that too.
The daughter giggled and slid off the arm of the couch, kneeling in front of me. Her red squared nails traced up my bare thighs, pushing my shorts higher. “He’s already getting hard, Mom. Look.”
My cock was tenting the thin fabric, thick and throbbing. The mom’s perfect control had my body relaxed and open while my mind was pure panic.
The daughter hooked her fingers in my waistband and tugged. Shorts and boxers came down in one smooth motion—assisted by her magic or the mom’s, I couldn’t tell. My cock sprang free, already leaking at the tip.
“Pathetic,” the mom said, but there was a dark amusement in her voice. “Look how fast it gets hard for us. Typical weak male.”
She uncrossed her legs, causing the dangling heel to drop and extended her nylon-clad foot. She pressed against the underside of my cock, rubbing slowly up the shaft. The sheer nylon was warm, silky, with just enough texture from the pantyhose to drag perfectly. The sharp edge of perfect black toenails grazed my balls, not quite painful, just threatening.
“Feel that?” she purred. “My foot. These nylons. You’re going to cum so many times for us, little perv.”
She gestured with her free hand—black nails spreading—and suddenly my hips rolled forward on their own, grinding my cock against the sole in a slow, filthy hump. I couldn’t stop it. Couldn’t even slow it down. It looked natural, eager, like I was desperately fucking her foot while my brain was screaming no.
The daughter wrapped her red squared nails around the head of my cock at the same time. Different pressure than I expected. The flat edges of her nails pressed in firmly, creating broad, even friction as she stroked downward. Not as sharp as her mom’s would be, but the squared shape gave her a solid grip, like she was holding me with little red paddles. She twisted on the upstroke, thumbnail catching just under the head.
“Fuck, look at him twitch,” she laughed. “He’s trying so hard to fight it.”
I was fighting—every muscle in my mind straining—but my body just kept humping the mom’s nylon foot while the daughter’s nailed hand worked my cock in slow, teasing strokes. The contrast was insane. Mom’s foot was smooth, warm, dominant. Daughter’s hand was firmer, scraping, the red nails flashing every time they slid over my skin.
The mom pressed harder with her foot, pinning my cock against my stomach for a second before releasing. “You’re going to cum for us now,” she said calmly. “First of many.”
She flicked her nails.
My orgasm hit like a truck. No build-up I could control—just sudden, violent pulsing as thick ropes of cum shot out across the daughter’s red nails and the mom’s nylon foot. I groaned through gritted teeth, body shaking under perfect magical control.
Both women moaned softly at the same time. The mom’s eyes flashed brighter red. Power. They were absorbing it. I could feel the energy leaving me, sucked into them like heat into a sponge.
“Good boy,” the mom crooned, mean and sweet at the same time. “First load down. Now the real fun starts.”
She gestured again. My body moved smoothly—standing, then dropping to my knees on the hardwood in front of her. She lifted her nylon foot, cum still glistening on the sheer black material, and pressed the sole against my mouth.
“Lick it clean.”
My tongue came out on command. I tasted my own cum mixed with the faint scent of nylon and leather and warm skin. The daughter watched, biting her dark red lip, one hand sliding under her own skirt to rub herself through the fishnets.
The mom’s other foot—the one still in the heel—came up and rested on my shoulder, the sharp stiletto point digging lightly into my skin. Not enough to break it, but enough to remind me exactly who was in charge.
“You’re going to worship these feet,” she said. “These heels. These nails. This body. Every single day. And every time you cum, you get a little weaker. A little more ours.”
She snapped her fingers—nails clicking—and my cock, which should have been soft and spent, throbbed back to full hardness instantly. Magic. No refractory period. Just aching, desperate need.
The daughter stood up, skirt riding high, and turned around. With a little gesture of her own red nails, the fishnets tore apart slightly as she backed up until her ass was inches from my face.
“Smell,” the mom commanded.
My face pressed forward. The warm, musky scent of her pussy hit me. She was wet. I could feel the heat.
The mom’s nailed hand came down and wrapped around my cock — her nails this time. The difference was immediate and electric. Her long black stiletto points were sharp, precise. She didn’t grip like her daughter. She traced. One sharp nail dragged slowly up the underside of my shaft, circling the head with surgical accuracy, flicking the slit. Another nail pressed lightly into the side, just enough to sting in the best way. She could have drawn blood if she wanted. Instead she used them like five tiny knives of pleasure and pain, stroking and scratching and teasing until I was leaking again in seconds.
“Beg,” she said softly. “Beg to cum for us again.”
My mouth was free now. I tried to tell her to go to hell.
What came out was a broken, desperate, “Please… please let me cum…”
Both of them laughed—low and throaty, supremacy dripping from every note.
“Good boy,” the mom said. “Now cum.”
Another flick of those black nails and I exploded again, harder than the first time, cum painting the daughter’s fishnet thigh in thick white streaks. She moaned and rubbed it into the mesh with her own red nails, smearing it like lotion.
The energy drain hit me like a wave. My head spun. My balls ached. But my cock stayed rock hard, twitching in the mom’s nailed grip.
She stood up, towering over me. With a casual gesture, her skirt unzipped itself and slid down her nylon legs. She stepped out of it, blouse unbuttoning on its own. Her huge tits spilled free—full, heavy, dark nipples already stiff. She kept the sheer black nylons and the black stilettos on. The look was devastating.
She sat back down, spread her legs, and crooked one finger—nail gleaming.
My body crawled forward between her thighs like it belonged there. She grabbed a fistful of my hair with her free hand—nails scraping my scalp—and pulled my face into her pussy. She wasn’t wearing panties under the nylons. The sheer fabric was soaked.
“Lick through them,” she ordered.
My tongue pressed against the warm, wet nylon, tasting her through the thin barrier. She tasted like power and sex and something dark. The daughter knelt behind me, her red nailed hands sliding around to stroke my cock again while her fishnet-covered thighs pressed against my sides.
They worked me like that for what felt like hours—edging, forcing, draining. Every time I got close the mom would pull my face back or flick her nails to hold my orgasm right on the edge until I was sobbing into her nylon-covered pussy.
“Look at you,” she taunted, voice thick with pleasure as finally another load was ripped out of me onto the hardwood.
The daughter’s red nails dug into my hips as she grinded her fishnet covered clit against my back. “Can we keep his cock locked in chastity sometimes, Mom? Make him desperate for weeks?”
“We’ll see,” the mom said, almost indulgent. “First we have to break him completely.”
She stood, pulling me up with her by the hair. My body moved perfectly under her control. She turned me around and bent me over the arm of the couch with one lazy gesture. My ass was up, legs spread, cock hanging heavy and dripping between my thighs.
The daughter stepped in front of me, skirt hiked up, fishnets torn open at the crotch as well now. She grabbed my hair with both red-nailed hands and pulled my face into her bare, wet pussy.
“Eat,” she ordered.
I did. I had no choice. My tongue worked her clit while the mom positioned herself behind me. I felt the blunt head of something thick and warm press against my ass—magic, or a strap-on she’d conjured, I didn’t know. It pushed in slowly, stretching me while her nailed hands gripped my hips.
The dual sensation—daughter’s pussy on my tongue, mom’s magical cock in my ass, both of them using me—broke something in my head.
I came again without anyone touching my cock.
“Again,” the mom growled, thrusting harder.
And again.
And again.
By the fifth forced orgasm I was babbling, crying, begging—not to be let go anymore, but to be allowed to serve, to cum, to be their good boy. My mind was fogged with red flashes every time the mom looked at me. Hypnotic suggestions sank in with every nail gesture: You belong to us. Your cock is ours. You love being drained. You need to worship superior women.
The daughter came on my tongue twice, thighs shaking in the torn fishnets, red nails raking my scalp.
Finally, after what felt like the tenth load had been ripped out of me, the mom pulled out and stepped back. My body stayed exactly where she’d put it—bent over, ass up, trembling.
She walked around in front of me, still in her heels and nylons, cum and pussy juice glistening on her thighs. She crouched down so we were eye level, black stiletto nails framing my face.
“You’re ours now,” she said softly. “Forever. Say it.”
My voice came out hoarse, broken, but obedient. “I’m yours forever.”
She smiled—beautiful, cruel, satisfied. “Good boy.”
With a final, elegant gesture of those long black nails, something clicked into place inside my head. A permanent binding. I felt it settle like a collar around my soul. My resistance evaporated. All that was left was need. Worship. The desperate, aching desire to make them stronger with every drop of cum I could give.
The daughter stood up, smoothing her skirt over her fishnet thighs, and patted my head like I was a pet.
“Welcome home, slave,” she said sweetly.
The mom straightened, towering over both of us, and snapped her fingers. My clothes reappeared on my body—neat, clean, like nothing had happened. But the magical collar was still there, invisible, unbreakable.
“You’ll go home,” she said. “Act normal like nothing happened, but come back here every night. We’ll drain you in ways you can’t even imagine yet. And during the day…” She leaned in, black lips brushing my ear. “You’ll think about these nails. These heels. These stockings. And you’ll get hard like the desperate little cum slave you are.”
She flicked her nails one last time.
My body turned, walked smoothly to the door, and let myself out.
I made it back to my house on autopilot, legs moving perfectly under her lingering control. The front door opened for me. I went inside, closed it, and sank to my knees in the hallway the second I was alone.
My cock was already hard again.
I pulled it out with shaking hands and started stroking, red scratches from the daughter’s nails still visible on my wrist, the phantom feel of the mom’s magic commands still circling the head.
I came in under a minute, moaning their names like a prayer.