slut witch

Her purple hair is no longer tied back in a practical braid; it hangs in loose, messy waves around a face that has forgotten how to scowl. Her eyes, once burning with determination, now hold only a glassy, reverent hunger.

She sits on her knees on the cold stone floor of the Blight Manor, which has been repurposed as a private training ground for her new Master.

"Is the spell prepared, Amity~?" the Master rumbles. He is a towering Black human mercenary, brought to the Isles as part of the new inter dimensional enforcement division. His presence alone radiates an authority that makes the very air vibrate.

"Yes, Master~" Amity coos, her voice a breathy, melodic trill. "The spell is set for... optimal extraction~"

She traces a glowing abomination circle in the air with her fingers. But she isn't summoning defensive constructs. The spell she casts is a complex enchantment designed to enhance sensation and prolong climax, ensuring her Master receives the maximum possible yield.

"Good girl~" he growls, unbuckling his tactical belt. His massive, obsidian cock springs free, dark and intimidating against his skin.

Amity's breath catches. A year ago, she would have summoned an abomination fist to crush anyone who dared approach her like this. Now, that memory feels like a faded painting from someone else's life. She doesn't want to fight; she wants to serve. She wants to feel the overwhelming reality of him erasing every thought she ever had.

Without hesitation, she crawls forward, her knees scraping against the stone. She closes her eyes and opens her mouth wide, taking him in with practiced, desperate skill.

"Mmmph~! Ohhhh~! Mmmph~!"

The sound of her gagging is drowned out by the magical hum of the enchantment she cast. As she works, her abomination magic responds to her arousal; small, purple tendrils rise from the floor around them, gently massaging her shoulders and thighs, keeping her positioned perfectly. The spell amplifies the friction, sending waves of artificial euphoria crashing through her brain with every stroke.

Her cheeks hollow out as she takes him deeper, her throat working convulsively. She isn't just performing a service; she is worshipping. To Amity, this cock is more powerful than any spell she ever learned at Hexside. It is the only magic that matters.

"That's it~ Suck it like you mean it~" the Master commands, gripping her hair to control her rhythm.

Amity's eyes roll back, her pupils dilating until they nearly swallow the lavender of her irises. She is lost in the wet, rhythmic slide, her entire identity dissolving into the simple, magical need to be filled.