The Witch Hunter [bdsm] [noncon]

Prologue – Excerpt from the Journal of Weiss Bucannon

*September 3rd, 1931*

*Witches are real. Not just real but alive and well, and plotting. After years and years of research I have finally discovered that the old stories come from a place of truth, only after being exposed and almost wiped out in the colonial era they now hide in plain sight. There’s at least one coven still out there that I know of, but they don’t stick together, instead they travel around the world alone, slowly gaining power and reconvening every few years to coordinate themselves. I don’t know what they’re planning but I know I can’t allow it to happen.*

*Someone needs to put a stop to them, and since I don’t know who I can trust it’ll have to be me, working alone. If it takes me decades, I will hunt them all down, one by one if necessary, and capture them. Whether it takes me to New York, London, Paris, or anywhere in the world.*

*Of course once I’ve captured them it would be an awful shame to just kill them, after all, according to some of the legends witches are said to possess immaculate beauty like no human women ever could. They’d make much more suitable slaves, and besides, what better way to make them reveal the details of their plan than with a bit of fun at their expense…*

***

Chapter 1 – Poisoned Tea

Therica unlocked the door of her apartment and stepped in, closing it behind her before waving her hand and whispering a few words in Latin. All at once the oil lamps started burning, her heels slipped off her feet and her heavy coat floated off her shoulders. Completely exhausted, she slumped down on one of the chairs at her small dining table. At the same time the kettle hovered under the sink and filled itself up in the kitchen, a cup of tea started to brew itself.

She sighed and brushed her hair back between her fingers. It was important that she gained as much influence in the city as she could but it wasn’t easy, even when she used magic as much as she did to charm and coerce her way up. In a few minutes her cup of tea floated over to her and she caught it in her hands, bringing it to her lips and taking a sip. It tasted… Odd. With a curious expression she cast another quick spell and waved her hand over the tea, the liquid glowing for a brief moment before she suddenly froze in place. A wave of dread washed over her, the spell’s diagnosis couldn’t be wrong. It was poisoned. She tried a simple curing spell but she could tell it hadn’t done anything, this was something more potent.

She jumped up, racing over to the kitchen where she frantically pulled open a handful of shelves filled with strange herbs and roots, brewing equipment magically arranging itself on the bench in the meantime. If she could just make up an antidote quick enough she might be able to… Then suddenly the drug hit her system and she paused. It was strong, really strong. It was all she could do to try and grip the countertop with a weak hand but it didn’t work, her legs were already going. A quiet and meaningless murmur escaped her lips, and she was out cold even before her body slumped over the bench, knocking the kettle to the floor and all the rest of the brewing equipment with it.

When she awoke, her normally superhuman intuition was incredibly dull to the point of maybe being sub-humanly slow, probably from the poison. At least she wasn’t dead, that was something, but as she slowly became aware of the situation she started to wonder if that was such a cause for celebration. First she had been stripped of the modest dress she was wearing, one of the few that she wore to parliament when she needed to play the part of the innocent wife merely following along with her husband’s affairs (this husband didn’t actually exist of course). The navy blue frock with a white collar was hanging on the back of a chair nearby, almost neatly folded over. This left her in the underwear she had on beneath the dress, black nylon stockings, running up to her thighs where the garters were gripped tight by metal clips, joining to her girdle in short, tight straps. The girdle was black too, a form fitting garment that did all it could to rein in her ample behind, large and round from generations of magical perfection on the female body. A point of pride, sure, but not very helpful when you’re trying to blend in. The zipper strained behind her. She was skinny enough to wear a brassiere separately from the girdle, also black and with plenty of support. It wasn’t too uncouth to show a bit of a bust but she was thankful for the extra inch or two of material that ran below her breasts to provide a little modesty and support. A lot of thoughts seemed to be running through her head at once. Thank god she wasn’t naked, but why on Earth had she been stripped at all? Who did this to her? And how? And how co-… As she was thinking she had realised she was lying down, and upon trying to get up she stopped mid thought. Something was holding her down and she started to panic as she realised what it was. Her ankles were bound with rough rope, as well as her calves just below her knees, and her thighs. She couldn’t move her legs an inch except to kick them both out like she was a mermaid. More lengths of rope bound her arms behind her, and two final lengths kept her strapped to… She realised it was the coffee table. One ran tight against her neck, the other against her stomach, over the girdle. The result was utter humiliation, tied down to her own furniture. Her mind still groggy and moving over her options much slower than normal, her next instinct was to cast a spell, and as she tried to speak an incantation the humiliation was compounded, before welling into horror. Her mouth was full, full of a big rubber ball that spread her lips painfully wide and held itself tightly in place with two black straps running behind her head. She was actually drooling from the corner of her mouth, an act that was so humiliating for someone of her stature she felt almost a burning pain inside her at not being able to reach up and wipe herself clean. She was Therica Nembus, the sixteenth witch of the Andromeda Coven to hold the title, but she had stupidly let herself be drugged and now lay tied down to her coffee table. The sisters of old would have burnt her at the stake for letting a human do this to her. She wondered what her own Coven Mother would do. She hadn’t seen Amelia in almost a year and she suddenly became resolute not to let her find out about this embarrassment. Therica was the only one in the coven in Australia after all, and probably the only witch in Sydney. If this happened in the old world she would likely be rescued by another witch within the hour and there would be no stopping the story from spreading. Here, however, she had a chance to deal with the problem herself before it got out of hand. She just had to figure out who did this to her, and why…

It took her ten minutes to realise that there was nothing she could do to escape right now. The ropes were well tied, and witches weren’t exactly known for their brute strength, preferring of course to solve their problems with magic whenever possible. If she could either speak or simply wave her hand a number of spells would release her from this, but her captor, whoever they were, clearly knew of her abilities. That explained the gag and the bindings but not, she had to admit, why her clothes had been stripped off. Very few humans since the dark era even knew witches existed, let alone the intricacies of their abilities, perhaps it was another witch who had done this to her? Physical conflict between covens was rare historically but not unheard of. It was also possible that a witch somewhere had let a demon or something similar slip out of her grasp, but this was also unlikely. It wasn’t hard to imagine a demon seeking revenge against the witch who tried to enslave it, but they don’t exactly feel comfortable in the mortal realm, it wouldn’t make sense for one to go around attacking witches at random. As the minutes continued to tick by she grew more and more restless, her wrists were red from struggling against their bindings, and her arms cramped behind her back. Her shoulders ached, the rope bit into her neck, she was sweating, quickly becoming more and more of a mess. She started to wonder if her assailant planned to reveal themselves at all. Left here long enough she would starve to death, surely that couldn’t be what they had in store, such a cruel method of execution… But then again humans had shown themselves to be crueler in the not-too-distant past.

Finally, after what felt like an eternity, there was movement in the apartment and someone stepped into the room. It was a man, which brought both feelings of relief, having not been found by another witch, and of dread, since it really only raised more questions. She glared at him furiously, bound and helpless, only able to wait for his next move. He was dressed sharply, in an outfit that wouldn’t be out of place around parliament and a large overcoat over the top. She didn’t recognise him, but upon seeing his delighted stare she felt like the anonymity only went one way.

“Omn, ooyoo ommn?” She tried to say, immediately becoming frustrated with her inability to speak and the continual build up of drool around the gag. The man stepped closer, until she could make out his sharp features, piercing blue eyes, short blonde hair. He was attractive but, she had to admit, somewhat intimidating. He couldn’t have been past his late twenties.

“Therica of Andromeda? Am I correct? Apologies for my lateness, I only had to ensure that you weren’t being watched. By anyone else I mean.” The man spoke with a gravelly, sharp voice. It was mostly sincere but she detected a slight element of jest. After all, a mere human should deserve to gloat a little after capturing a live witch, a particularly difficult task now that they were in hiding. She could of course only glare back at him, only imagine the thousand painful and deadly spells she’d be casting on him if she could.

“I’ll take that as a yes, but I was fairly sure already. I’ve been watching you for some time, you’re a long way from your coven aren’t you? And indeed you’ve been having some success here. In fact I’m afraid that’s what finally revealed you to me.” As he kept talking he moved closer, taking slow and deliberate steps, his eyes flicking down from her face to her body. She started to feel nervous deep in her stomach, a special kind of nervousness that women only get when they suspect a man might be interested in more than just talking to them, and also happens to be in a perfect position to overpower them. This feeling was about tenfold in intensity for the young witch, mixed with a fair dose of humiliation and shame. Witches liked to use their sexuality, flaunting it or leveraging it, promising or exciting with it, but never truly offering it away. It was a game to them, one with often useful results and with their magic they always had the upper hand. But of course actually having any kind of intimate relations with a human was among the deepest, darkest taboos there were. A proud witch might die before letting a human bed her, but with magic on their side it would much more likely be the human who died after pushing a little too far or even trying to take advantage through force. Some witches think death too merciful a punishment for this kind of male behaviour, instead choosing spells of permanent impotence, or horrible disfigurement.

Therica had already decided herself that death would be too merciful for this man. She started running through all the most horrible spells she could think of, trying to decide which would be the most appropriate punishment. The flaying spell came to mind. She thought about casting it, but as she tentatively made the movements of her lips around the gag she lost some of her resolve, being so harshly reminded that she was in no position to be doling out punishment. The man didn’t look the slightest bit nervous either, after all he couldn’t read thoughts, and even as she imagined herself a fearsome and dangerous witch, she looked no different from a helpless, slobbering woman. He was standing over her now, she could see scars on his face, and for the first time she considered who he might actually be. It can’t have been easy to pull this off after all. What had he gone through? What started him on this path? And most importantly what did he want?

“I’m going to make this nice and easy for you. Obviously you can’t answer my questions, which will make interrogation a little tricky, but we’ll start simple. Shake your head for no, murmur for yes. Are there any other witches in Sydney?” He said calmly and quietly, slowly heading over to her legs. So far she had kept them still, wondering why he hadn’t tied them down to the table like the rest of her body and assuming it was a mistake. If it was, she only had one chance to use it to her advantage, and now was the perfect time, or so she thought. She lifted her legs and delivered the most powerful kick she could manage. She certainly wasn’t strong, but she hoped it would be enough to at least do some damage. What she wasn’t expecting was the astounding speed at which the man recognised her attack was coming and the seemingly minuscule effort it took to step to the side and avoid it completely. As soon as she even realised it had missed, her legs were tucked under his arms. Perhaps he had left her legs untied on purpose and was expecting the attack the whole time, but at any rate she had to admit he was an agile man. She noted the information down, even as another wave of panic and humiliation washed over her.

“And here I thought you’d be helpless without your spells! It was a nice try but it’s time to be serious now. Are there any other witches in Sydney?” He asked again, his voice a little upbeat, almost jovial. She only glared at him. There was nothing she could do to defy him beyond doing nothing at all. So she sat still, made no noise, kept her head frozen in place. He didn’t drop his smile, but in a split second brought one of his hands up and struck it down with tremendous force against her upper left thigh, right between the girdle and the stocking, hitting her bare skin and stinging it painfully. As much as she didn’t want to, she let out a yelp through the gag, the surprise of the attack being too great not to get a reaction. She silently cursed herself for showing how much it hurt, even as the hurt was still radiating through her. Still, it would take a little more than that to break her.

“Very well, I’ll come clean. I didn’t actually expect you to crack that easily, I just wanted to see how you’d react. We’ll get you talking soon enough but for now I want you to know that you’re not just my prisoner, you’re my prize. I’m sure I’ve done humanity some good by getting you off the streets but that doesn’t mean I can’t enjoy myself as well. You must know how attractive you are to men, you probably rely on it sometimes. Well… That will be my reward.” As he talked her stomach got heavier, she started to feel sick, taste blood in her mouth even. Her fears were slowly confirming themselves, even beside his words he started to slowly push her legs back against her torso, displaying her round ass to him bound up in the girdle, panties flashing below. She suddenly tried to jerk her legs against him in a show of defiance but he was more than ready. He only gripped tighter, and with his free hand delivered a loud spank to her ass cheek, gripping the flesh tight afterwards. This was it, it was all too clear what he wanted now. She could almost see him start to remove his pants before he actually did seconds later, before stripping himself completely naked. He was certainly a physical specimen, not that any such thought was at the forefront of her mind. She had never felt so exposed before, even as her own body was still comparatively covered. She looked away, not wanting to see anymore of him, especially not what was between his legs. And that’s when she felt his thumb slip between her thighs, bound tightly together by rope. With her legs held up he only needed to reach under the girdle and he was caressing the mound of her labia, rubbing slowly between them in small circular patterns. She immediately began her struggling anew, from her head to her toes, but he was ready, holding her still and trusting his ropes, which hadn’t failed him yet. His fingers skirted around either side of her folds, feeling the shape of her pussy through the fabric, before finally tugging on the panties and pulling them to the side to reveal her sex. She couldn’t help taking a glance at him, but she turned away almost instantly, having briefly glimpsed the man’s cock as it was hardening, growing to a very generous length. How could this possibly be happening? Was he really going to rape her? Just like that? This had to be a nightmare. While gripping her calves tight and pushing her legs back almost against her breasts, he took a step closer to her and placed his cock down against her warm lips, the tip nestled snugly between her folds. Every inch of her was frozen, horrified, mortified.

“I’ll ask one more time if you’d like. Are there any other witches in Sydney?” The voice reached her ears, her eyes closed tightly. She was no longer too proud not to at least consider answering him. The shame of yielding information to him was rivaling the shame of becoming his victim. All it took was the slightest pressure from his thumb against his cockhead, burying it half a centimetre into her, that pushed her over the edge. Still with her eyes closed, she shook her head vigorously, breaking a string of drool off onto the table.

“Now there’s a good girl. I’ll admit again, I didn’t think it would actually be that easy to get something out of you. I didn’t want to stop so soon.” He laughed, still with his cock nestled against her. She opened her eyes and looked up at him, her feet slightly covering his face from her point of view. Was he really going to let her be now?

“But of course I don’t have to, like I said, I’m not after information, I want you to know you’re a prize, an object. Besides, I already knew you’re the only witch in Sydney.” And with that he sunk his member into her, plowing through her folds into her vagina, forcing his way through any resistance until his balls touched her skin and the tip of his penis tapped against her cervix. The sudden penetration took her breath away, literally. As she gasped into the gag the pain radiated through her body, setting off a deep, deep humiliation ten times more than any she had felt so far. She now joined the lowest, most shameful caste of witches there were, those who fraternised with humans, whether willingly or not. Her mind suffered a few moments of numbness as he slowly started to thrust against her, sliding the entire length of his monster in and out of her body, skewering her against the table. She wanted to scream into the gag but her voice caught in her throat, her neck bending back as far as it could and every muscle in her body completely tense, most of all her sex against his cock. The tight grip only pleased him more, spurring him on to gradually build up speed. It wasn’t long before he was plowing into her with force, slamming his weight down against her soft, plump thighs, pressing her legs down against her torso, using her like an object. She couldn’t help but let out the occasional pained grunt through the gag, despite her best efforts not to give him the satisfaction, but eventually the pain and humiliation overcame her and she simply didn’t care. She screamed into the gag, just to relieve some of the agony and shame, and perhaps some anger as well. Her cries were indecipherable, she knew, but she at least tried to make them sound angry, scorned, vengeful, rather than just tortured. She wasn’t sure how successful she was.

Aside from her muffled screams and the man’s quiet grunting, the only sound in the apartment was that of his thighs slapping against hers, then his palms striking her ass and gripping the flesh of her cheeks. He pulled her apart so he could bury his cock even deeper, the rope ironically offering some defence against his attack as it stopped her legs from being spread. Not enough defence to stop him from digging a few inches deeper in, making her voice crack again, getting a moan of renewed pleasure from him. She could feel his disgusting member twitching inside her, he was going to cum. Never in a million years did she actually think he would finish inside her, she wasn’t sure what he was going to do but not even the smallest part of her considered that. So when he did bury himself in, putting almost all his weight on her thighs and crying out loudly in tandem with his load of sperm emptying inside her body, she was beyond mortified, at a complete loss. It was like a poison inside her that paralysed her every muscle, she felt like her life was over, like the world was closing in on her. She could barely hear the man’s voice as he started speaking again.

“Well Therica, you can consider yourself the first of your coven to be conquered, but you won’t be the last. I don’t know what you harpies are planning but I’m going to put a stop to it for the good of humanity.” His cock was still inside her as he spoke, but finally he pulled back, holding her legs down with a strong hand, cum leaking out of her. It took every ounce of courage inside her not to cry, not to give in and believe him, that she was conquered, finished as a witch. She looked up at him and her eyes no longer projected fury, instead they barely managed to hide an utter sense of defeat, glazed over and quivering slightly. She laid her head back and closed her eyes.

***

Feedback/notes encouraged.

Source: reddit.com/r/Erotica/comments/pikrcc/the_witch_hunter_bdsm_noncon