Knock on the door of the purple colonial house with the witch's cauldron.

Outside Second House (Witch's House), Breedmore Lane, at 9:47 PM on Friday October 31, 2024.

My knuckles rap against the purple-painted door — three quick knocks, my hand trembling. The wood is warm beneath my fingers, almost alive, and I swear I feel it pulse once before the door swings inward without anyone touching it.

The woman standing in the doorway is breathtaking. She's tall — easily six feet — with deep brown skin that seems to glow from within, as though lit by candlelight even in the dimness of the porch. Her hair falls in long silver-streaked locs past her shoulders, and her eyes are a startling, unnatural green — the same green as the porch light flickering behind me. She's wearing flowing robes of deep emerald velvet, open at the chest to reveal the swell of her large, heavy breasts, the fabric clinging to wide hips and a thick waist. A smile curls her full lips — knowing, predatory, delighted.

"Well, well," she says, her voice a rich contralto that seems to vibrate in my chest. "An angel on my doorstep. And such a pretty little angel." Her green eyes travel down my body — lingering on my nipples visible through the sheer fabric, on the outline of my pussy, on my still-trembling thighs. "You look like you've already had quite the evening, sweetheart."

"Trick or treat," I manage, my voice barely above a whisper.

She laughs — a warm, musical sound. "Celeste," she says, extending one long-fingered hand. "And this is my home. Come in, little angel. I have something special for you."

Before I can respond, a figure appears behind her — a man, younger, maybe mid-twenties, with warm brown skin and dark curly hair, wearing nothing but loose black silk pants that hang dangerously low on his hips. His body is lean and sculpted, and his dark eyes fix on me with an intensity that makes my stomach flip.

"Darius," Celeste says over her shoulder. "Look what the moon brought us."

Darius smiles — slow, hungry. "She's tiny," he says, his voice smooth as velvet. "Barely anything to her."

"Perfect," Celeste purrs. She steps aside, gesturing me inward with a sweep of her arm. "We're offering treats tonight, angel. A warm bath in our cauldron — enchanted waters, healing herbs. You look like you could use some soothing after whatever roughed you up out there."

The interior of the house is dim and fragrant — incense and something earthier, something that makes my head swim pleasantly. Candles float near the ceiling, casting shifting golden light across walls hung with tapestries and shelves of glowing bottles. Through an archway, I can see the source of the dry ice smoke from outside — an enormous iron cauldron, easily big enough for two, filled with steaming, iridescent liquid that shifts between violet and gold.

My sore, cum-leaking pussy throbs at the thought of hot water. My legs ache. My whole body feels wrung out and tender.

"Come," Celeste says, her hand finding the small of my back and guiding me forward. Her touch is electric — literally, a tiny spark of warmth that shoots through the sheer fabric and straight to my clit. "Let us take care of you."

Darius is already moving toward the cauldron room, and I notice something strange — a shadow at his feet that seems to move independently, tendrils of darkness curling and uncurling against the hardwood floor.