"Here's how it's going to work."

“So,” says Arabella Pynchplum, founder of Upknott College, immortal witch and mistress of the dark arts. Some time has passed. “Here’s how it’s going to work, Meg.”

“Why do you get to decide how it works?”

“Because I’m a much more powerful witch than you,” says Arabella, sliding a hand down Meg’s slender back possessively and cupping her pert tomboy buttocks. She snaps Meg’s garter belt, making the girl squawk, and says “See, I’ve been doing this for three hundred years. You’ve been doing this for like, a month. It’s hilarious that you think this is your power fantasy, it really is.”

“Sitri, make her stop!”

“Sorry, Meg. She took away control as soon as we stepped into the pub. You’ll just have to put up with it.”

“I can’t believe how bad you are at this. You don’t even know the full Rite of Sheba or the Seven Squeals of Power! Did you read, like, any books?” Arabella slips a hand between Meg’s thighs. The tomboy gasps as the witch toys with her brunette bush, strokes her vulva, slips an experimental finger deep inside her wetness. “I can rob you and strip you and make you my **** any time you like, and there’s nothing you can do about it, you silly little girl. Now, here’s what’s going to happen. I’m going to take your boyfriend upstairs.”

“No! Sitri!”

“No help for it, Meg. I have to do what she says.”

“And you,” says Arabella, sliding another finger inside Meg, sending a shudder through the tomboy’s whole slender body, “are going to stay down here and serve drinks. Wet. Helpless. Humiliated. In front of everybody. Won’t that be nice?”

“Ahh! No!” The pub’s visitors all laugh as Meg struggles to stand still, doing her best to resist the impulse to thrust against Arabella’s fingers. The tomboy stands in the middle of the bar, wearing white stockings, a garter belt and a frilly white corset. Seems that’s what Arabella likes. The witch withdraws her fingers, pats Meg’s bottom and says, “Don’t feel so bad, girl. At least you have Prudence for company. Isn’t that right, Prudence?”

“Yes, Miss Pynchplum,” says the raven-haired woman who played Georgina, woodenly, staring straight ahead. Arabella pinches her thigh and says “Prudence here was a witch hunter! Isn’t that right, Prudence?”

“Yes, Miss Pynchplum.”

“And what are you now, Prudence?”

“A witch’s pet, Miss Pynchplum.”

“And how often do you get to cum, Prudence?”

“Once a year, Miss Pynchplum. On Halloween. Under the most degrading circumstances you can invent, in front of the biggest audience you can find. That’s what I get for messing with you, Miss Pynchplum.”

“Isn’t she cute? I think you two should kiss!”

“You’ve really come a long way, Arabella,” you say, watching Meg and Prudence reluctantly embrace before all the cheering pubgoers. They lock lips and grope each other’s buttocks, cheeks blazing yet unable to pretend that at least a little bit of them doesn’t enjoy it. “We have so much to catch up on! Did you ever find that elixir of transmutation you were searching for?”

“Oh my god, yes! I have to tell you all about it. But first, you have to fuck me!” Arabella claps her hands in delight and bounces up and down. “Gosh, I’ve been looking forward to this for ages. Meg!”

“... yes, Miss… Miss Pynchplum?” Anger blazes in her eyes. She has to **** the words out.

“Sitri and I are going to leave you to it. Anyone who wants can touch your ass or those cute little titties, but not your pussy, since that belongs to me now. I want you down here, dripping, unsatisfied, thinking about all the fun I’m going to be having that you’re not invited to. And it’s going to be like this the whole time we’re travelling together. Is that understood?”

“...yes, Miss Pynchplum.”