Britwitch's Cottage

[Britwitch]

Gag. Then breathe.

Gag. Then breathe.

The pattern was settled into fairly quickly. Soon her chin was wet with saliva and her chest heaving beneath his slowly rocking hips.

When he left her mouth and throat long enough for her to breathe it was only ever long enough to do just that. Breathe. Never long enough for her to even think of trying to speak, to consider stringing words together into some kind of plea. Some attempt at reasoning with him.

She was playing the part he had decided for her. Victim in her own home. Used without mercy, without apparent care. And she was playing it well. Muffled noises intermingling with the gags and hacking sounds as he suffocated her again and again. Gasps and whimpers when she had time and an empty mouth to make them.

She thought she heard him adding his own sounds to proceedings but her head was a little fuzzy and she couldn't really be sure of anything. All she was aware of was his cock, his hand in her hair keeping her on her knees, keeping her against the table, and how she felt every time he pushed his groin tight up against her nose. Vulnerable, trapped. Used.

 

[Scuttle Buttin']

The last thrust into her throat was not a quick one, or a gentle one. He sank into the back of her throat with a swift and full driving of his hips, and then he held himself there, holding his own breath as electricity surged through his nerve endings, down his legs and up his torso, a stream of pleasure flowing through his cock.

He counted the seconds carefully, ignoring her struggles, her fresh tears, the pressure of her hands, time marching straight past any point he'd gone to with her previously, and still he was there. In her throat, blocking her air, filling her mouth, hard and demanding.

And then, finally, suddenly, he was gone from her, pulling his length fully from her. Feet shifting, he bent at the waist and pulled her hair to tilt her head back so she looked up into his face.

"Catch your breath, little Witch," he said, his finger grabbing, tugging on a nipple again in an almost absent action as he looked down into her tear-streaked face. "I'm not nearly done with you yet."

He released her then, her hair, her nipple, his touch left her entirely. Moving around the table, he was at the drawers in the kitchen again, fingers sifting through, searching until he discovers what he was looking for. The drawer is left open as he turns away from it, things in it he may want to return to soon.

The time is short before he stands above her again, fingers sinking into her hair, gripping the perfect leash and pulling her forward, onto hands and knees in front of him. In his hand is a long wooden spoon, scarred a little from years of use but still hard, strong. Up to the task.

The spoon is laid carefully with the points near her hips, the length of it balanced along the curve of her ass, not far below the small of her back, watching it for a moment to make sure it will stay in place on it's own, and then he's gone from her again. Bare feet carry him across the room, lowering him onto the center cushion of her couch, and his gaze slides back to her.

"Crawl to me."

 

[Britwitch]

Panic rose sharply inside her. Making her heart race and making her fingernails dig into his thighs. She needed to breathe, she didn't honestly know how long she would last. But still his cock remained buried in her throat.

Gurgling and gagging she shifted on her knees, trying in vain to make some small amount of room so she could move her head one way or the other and allow a sniff of air past his cock and into her mouth.

Just as her lungs were starting to burn and her head feel oddly light and heavy at the same time, he pulled out. She took a long, gasping breath as her face was twisted up to look at him. She knew she must look a sight. Red cheeked, saliva dripping down her chin, tear tracks on her face and panting slowly and shakily.

"Catch your breath, little Witch...I'm not nearly done with you yet."

She winced as nipple was tweaked and then he moved away. She bent forward slightly, hands braced on her thighs as she drew breath after breath. Licking lips that were oddly dry despite the sheer amount of saliva that had coated his cock.

More noises from the kitchen, rummaging. Searching. Then his feet reentered her vision. The hand returns to her hair but this time it is forward and down, leading her onto hands and knees. She frowns as she feels something being laid above her ass on her back. It's light and fairly smooth.

Then he moves away again, across to the far side of the room to sit on the couch.

"Crawl to me."

The challenge here is obvious. Crawl to him without losing whatever it is that he has balanced on her back. Biting her lower lip she starts to move forwards. Slowly, carefully. Hip swaying despite her best efforts to control them and their motion. She can feel the object rocking slightly as she makes her way across the floor. Breasts swaying below her in time with her crawl. She feels a new wave of embarassment at how she is being made to behave and how readily she is doing it.

She could have said no, she could have run for the door. But she didn't.

He said to crawl. And so she crawled.

 

[Scuttle Buttin']

He could hear her breathing still, filling her lungs fully now that she was allowed to do so freely. But her breathing was hardly his concern at this point. The length of wood, balanced precariously, held his attention now, and he watched it closely as she crawled towards him. He was ready to spring off the couch the moment it fell, snatch it up off the ground and let her discover in terrible ways just what it was that she was trying to keep off the ground.

Despite the sway of her hips, the inherent shakiness created by being repeatedly forced to draw no air, he was impressed as she began crawling and it didn't clattered to the ground instantly. He didn't necessarily set her up to fail, of course, but it wasn't something he expected to be easy. She is making it look that way as she moves closer, though, and he had to admit, even if only to himself, that he's impressed.

But she's not quite there yet, and so he waits, silently watching. Her ability to keep the spoon balanced allows his eyes to drift, his gaze like a snake slithering over the curve of her hips, the roundness of her shoulders, the shape of her breasts hanging below her. He waits for her to come to him, his arousal evident at a glance, his eyes moving but never leaving her.

Only a few feet more.

Closer... closer....

Two very different fates await her at the end of this crawl. Whether she knows it or not, she is the one that will decide which one it is. He simply waits silently to see which it may be.

 

[Britwitch]

Nearer and nearer. The couch was so close. Then it happened. A splinter, sticking up from the floor, jabbed into her knee and made her jump.

That one tiny little thing making all her efforts so far pointless.

A split second after she had hissed and winced came the sound of something hitting the floor behind her. Her eyes widened and she quickly looked back to see the wooden spoon still rocking where it lay beside her on the floor.

Her head snapped back around to look up at him, where he sat waiting. Shaking it slightly in disbelief.

 

[Scuttle Buttin']

The spoon clattered to the floor, coming to rest not far from her knee, but the only immediate reaction from him was to meet her gaze with a steady, silent stare. And then slowly, almost imperceptibly so, a corner of his mouth pulled into something approaching a grin.

He was on his feet then, one fluid motion taking him from the couch to her, long fingers quickly in brunette locks. His grip is sudden and rough, unforgiving and unconcerned with what made her jump and drop the spoon as she did, the fact of it's falling the only thing he's concerned with.

There is only a momentary pause in his progress as he bends to pick up the spoon in his free hand, and then he's moving again, pulling her right back to the table. Approaching from a different side, a chair is once more in his way, and once more it is tossed somewhat carelessly aside, leaving an empty spot. The chair has barely stopped moving when he's pulling her back to the table, bent over it once again.

Once there, he uses the handle in her hair to pull her head back, leaning over the table himself and pressing the handle of the spoon to her lips.

"You don't want to let this drop again."

He paused, a low chuckle rumbling in his chest at the thought that followed that statement.

"Though I suspect you'll be biting down on it too hard for that to happen anyway."

He waits until she's taken the spoon between her teeth, and then he's gone, fingers leaving her hair as he crosses the couple steps to his discarded jeans.

 

[Britwitch]

A yelp as hair is gathered and pulled cruelly, raising her from her hands and knees and propelling her towards the kitchen table. Sounds of discomfort leaving her lips on the brief journey across the room, ending in a groan as she's pushed back over the table, air rushing from her lungs in the process.

He pulls her hair and yanks her head back and up, bringing his face before hers. Her jaw tenses as the spoon presses against her mouth.

"You don't want to let this drop again."

Her eyes narrow as the spoon pushes more firmly, realising where he intends it to go.

"Though I suspect you'll be biting down on it too hard for that to happen anyway."

Her lips part to utter an insult but the words don't make it past her tongue, ending in a growl as the spoon is wedged between her teeth.

Battling with rapidly rising anger and terror in fairly equal measures she barely registers that he is no longer holding her in place. Her naked frame remaining where he has left it. Bent over the large table, breasts squashed between her body and the wood, spoon between her teeth and hands braced against it's surface.

It's only when she hears the rustle of clothing that her mind realises something far worse then an improvised gag may well be on the way.

 

[Scuttle Buttin']

He finds the jeans quickly, they hadn't been kicked far from where he'd had her kneeling by the table, and then a glance is cast back in her direction. A simple assurance that she's not moved from her spot, yes, but there is also the simple appreciation for the way she looks bent over, exposed, obedient and, a wonderful topper on it all, frightened as well. And was that perhaps a touch of anger he'd seen in her eyes when the spoon was pressed between her teeth? A rebellion welling up inside her? He practically grinned at the thought.

His fingers lifted the fabric, a small click of brass-on-brass scatters around the room, followed quickly by a smooth whisper of fabric, and then the jeans are dropped again, discarded again without a thought as to where they end up. Bare feet carry him back to her, and then he shows her what it is he went to retrieve. But she does not get to see it.

Instead, the strap of a leather belt meets her bare skin, leaving a stripe of scarlet across the pale globes of her ass. The buckle was held in his hand, a loop of it wrapped around his hand with part of the leather itself held over the buckle in his palm, assuring himself a tight grip on it, and the other end dragged against the ground now as he let his arm fall. He waited, watching her reaction, watching to see if she let the spoon fall, tried to stand or move or shrink away from what had to be an anticipated next kiss of leather of skin.

But really, was there ever even a question that there would be more to come?

 

[Britwitch]

She heard sounds, tell tale signs of movement, but not enough to reveal his actions. Not entirely.

His feet move closer and then it comes. The barest hint of a whistle before the snap of something striking her behind. A loud exclamation is partly blocked by the spoon, even white teeth sinking down against the wood as fingernails dig against the table top. Eyes widen in pain, in disbelief.

The source of the strike was uncertain but she reasoned it had to be his belt. The sound, the feel, the direction in which he had wandered, they all pointed to that usually benign strip of leather as being the culprit.

The sting was sharp and it's heat spreads rapidly across her behind. She is breathing hard, trying to calm herself. Certain more will follow.
But she does not move. She stays where she is. Bent and exposed. Vulnerable.

But for all that, determined.

She would not be so easily broken. Breathing heavily through her nose, teeth clenched onto the spoon she stayed exactly as he had left her. Muscles slightly tense beneath the skin. Waiting for the leather to bestow it's next vicious kiss.

 

[Scuttle Buttin']

A grin spreads on his lips for a moment, her breathing audible, but she does not otherwise move. She took it as he expected, really, and that is why the next meeting of the leather is a little harder than the last, his aim dropping a bit as well. The new strip of red on her skin overlaps just a little with the one before, the sound of it's creation filling the room again, both terrible and delicious.

And then he's behind her suddenly, his cock still hard as it moves against her, the bulbous head teasing against her, slow strokes against her pussy. His body leans over hers then, his voice near her ear.

"Mm... sorry, little Witch. You don't deserve it yet."

He straightens then, moving away from her, the strip of leather dragging across her body in nearly the spot the spoon has rested. He is standing on the other side of her when it falls away, and the belt is quickly cutting through the air again, perhaps a tad harder still as it meets her skin, decorating her once more with a new crimson mark.

 

[Britwitch]

A louder sound follows the next strike. It's that shade harder, that touch crueler. Teeth grind together to prevent the words that leap into her mouth from escaping.

Then something softer, and yet just as hard. He comes up against her, his cock slipping along her lips, barely touching. The contact making her tense. Causing her breathing to pause momentarily.
An increase in pressure as he leans down, breath glancing over her ear.

"Mm... sorry, little Witch. You don't deserve it yet."

A howl as the leather falls against her back, just above her rump. Spreading it's painful heat into new flesh. She pushes up onto her tiptoes, forehead pushing down against the tabletop as a long, shaking breath leaves her lips. Fear is rapidly being overwhelmed by frustration and fury. Fury at him for managing to get her into such a position with such relative ease. Frustration at herself for allowing him.

Lips part to let the loudest sound yet rise up from her throat. No doubt it carried beyond the heavy wooden door and out to the woods beyond, she didn't doubt any travellers on the nearby path would hear it.

Fingers curled into fists upon the table top as her behind throbbed with pain.
And, despite her best efforts to stop it, her core started to throb with something else.

 

[Scuttle Buttin']

She was far from quiet, but then he rather preferred that. Always nice to know you're having an effect, and if the warmth and wet that still clung to his cock or the angry bands of red he'd pulled out of her skin didn't tell him that, the sound of her would. It did, however, illustrate one of the nice things about a cottage in the woods: the trees wouldn't be coming to her aid no matter how loud she became, and the chances of someone being on the path and hearing her and trying to help the poor thing out... slim at best, he figured.

No, she was his. Until he was done with her.

He was close behind her again, no teasing against her this time though. Instead, his fingers found her hair, straightened her up, pleased to see the spoon still in place between her teeth. He wondered if he'd find her drooling on herself, swallowing it no doubt made harder by the span of wood in her mouth, but it was an absent curiosity, far from his focus when he pulled her up and against him.

The hand that held the belt lifted, the strap light now as it draped over her skin, down her collarbone and over the slope of her breast. "Let go," he said, fingers gripping the wood, pulling it from her mouth when she released it, and setting it aside on the table. Ready to be used again, if needed.

"I told you not to move a muscle, and you did. I didn't give you permission to try cover yourself, and you did. I tell you to crawl to me," his hand reaches over, lifts the spoon, holds it out in front of her, "And you drop it." The outward curve of the spoon's bowl is against her at this, a quick-but-firm smack against her nipple adding emphasis to that word, drop.

"But, I'm not unkind. You can fix all of it very easily. Just... count to five."

The leash, for that is what her hair had become in his hand, is used to bend her back over the table, crushing her breasts on the wood once more.

"No hesitation, little Witch," he said, moving a couple steps to her side, "Count up from one. And if you say the wrong number, then we start all over again."

He lifted the belt, then paused, a slight upward curve forming on his lips.

"You do know how to count to five... right?" His tone was mocking, and openly so, but he didn't want for an answer.

With the spoon held now in his other hand, the belt took it's first in a series of licks against her skin. When that series ended was entirely up to her now.

What happened when it did, however, was his decision.

 

[Nyte_mare]

~ Another day.... another adventure at the Cottage of the Pretty Witch.. and it was here, they found themselves... Nyte leading the Pretty One by the entangle of delicate fingers in her hair. She remembered the way, the path leading them unerringly to the Cottage....

He... of course.. was leading the way... they a few steps behind~

 

[Scuttle Buttin']

He walks a few paces ahead of them, not even wasting a glance back to make sure they are following. He can hear them behind him, sure, but even without that he'd know they followed. That they'd do otherwise wasn't even a consideration.

He knew the path well by now, and so he made short work of the trip to the Witch's cottage, a small grin toying on his lips at the memory of his last trip here. Always an interesting time to be had in this little cottage in the woods, it seemed.

The door barely breaks his stride, and he leaves it open behind him so they may enter as well. Without pause he walks to the table in the small kitchen, hands taking hold of the back of one of the comfortable wooden chairs and turning it around so it faces away from the table. Turning, he lowers himself into it and sets the ankle of one leg atop the knee of the other. Hands resting simply in his lap, he waits until they enter, eyes shifting constantly between the two of them.

"Close the door. And then the Witch needs to be made... more comfortable."

 

[Britwitch]

The path, with it's twists and turns, doesn't take long to travel. Apparently her guests are familiar with the route...and it's amazing the effect that desire can have on one's walking speed.

Soon they are within her cozy cottage. Him sat before them. Confidently looking between them both.

All she can hear is her own heart thundering in her chest, a sound which turns into a roar at his words.

Why does the idea of being made comfortable sound like she may well be anything but by the end of it all?

 

[Nyte_mare]

More comfortable...

Code words for... naked...

Naked and bared for His eyes, His touch, her body ready for Him to do with as He pleases...

The thought certainly made she, herself tremble...

Another gentle tug took the Pretty Witch to her knees, again just before Him. But this time, Nyte lowered herself down behind the Witch... her gorgeous mane released, hands glide about the front of the quivering Witch's body.. fingers slowly begin loosening buttons, gathering material in hand, and with a soft swoosh of cotten to skin... lifting it free off her .... a mere moment later, and the bra is unhooked.. an easy feat, and the straps slipped off delicate shoulders, the cups releasing her tantalizing breasts, the cool air washing over the flesh...

 

[Scuttle Buttin']

He watches closely, silently, blue eyes following the movement of her fingers along the Witch's body, loosening and opening and pulling and removing. Exposing. Stripping.

Every few moments, his eyes flicker to the one behind her, catching her gaze before returning to her work. He takes in the bared flesh openly, without reservation, and after a moment lifts his eyes to the Witch's face.

"Her turn."

 

[Britwitch]

By the time her upper body is bared her breathing is heavier than before, causing the now naked swells of her chest to rise and fall a little more markedly.
Her cheeks wear a slightly warmer shade of pink than they did when they arrived, and with no fire burning in the grate to warm the air, her nipples rapidly stiffen and darken too.

She bites her lower lip as an instruction is given. This one she knows is for her.

Turning, without coming from her knees, she moves until she is along side Nyte. Fingers reaching out to repeat the process with her visitor's clothing. Fingers open fastenings and graze warm skin as layers are removed. Unable not to notice the beauty as it is revealed. The smoothness, the curves.

Soon they are both naked from the waist up, both kneeling.
And, for the time being, both are his.

 

[Nyte_mare]

"her turn"

~ she actually quivered, ever so slightly, when she heard those words come from His lips. And that trembling only intensified as fingers loosened, opened and slipped off the simple white blouse she had been wearing. A moment later, the white tank top and bra, are gone, her own heavy breasts, dark nipples, now exposed to that chill in the air. Long dark hair falling down the now bared plane of her back, tickling the skin ever so lightly. The chill curls around them both, yet, her skin felt warm, flush.. The 2, now side by side. Distinctly different, yet both so utterly submissive... ~

 

[Nyte_mare]

(unfortunately, I must go for now... the real world is calling... SB, Brit, please feel free to continue and I can catch up when I am back... )

 

[Miss_Vivi]

The boys bring her in and deposit her upon the bed, she's bound to the bed spread eagle. Gingerly, almost tenderly her clothing is cut off, leaving her clad in only her very pretty panties and a bra.

I know I told him naked, but he won't get everything he's asked for.

The boys kneel and kiss the tip of my leather clad feet and then they are gone. My sweet little minions.

For my part, I lay out all the toys. Dildoes, a remote controlled vibrator, crops, a couple of floggers, a razor blade, and a few candles. Once the preparations are done, I sit next to her on the bed, I watch her murmur in her sleep, and it makes me smile. She's so cute.

And then I wait.
For him.

 

[Scuttle Buttin']

Dark brown leather is covered in a thin, almost wholly transparent shade of dust as he makes his way through the forest. Roaming blue eyes catch tracks here and there, and even as he approaches he knows that they're there already, waiting. He's more than a little intrigued as to what he'll walk in on.

The steps up to the door creak a little as he takes each in turn, and he enters without a knock. He's dressed quite casually, dark and relaxed jeans, a brown leather belt, blue button down shirt untucked, all but obscuring the belt. He suspects he won't be wearing it all for long, but the belt... the belt may come in handy.

The door is pushed shut behind him, and then he pauses, twisting the lock. No escape, little Witch, he thinks with the shadow of a grin passing across his lips. A quick survey of the room is taken, reacquainting himself with the location of various things.. table.. chairs.. block of knives.. and then he's moving again, past the couch, quick steps carrying him to the doorway of her bedroom.

He stops in the entranceway, all but filling it up, and glances from the one asleep... across bare thighs, over naked torso, along the full swell of breasts that soon will be... and then to the one awake, a slight arch in his brow as a nod of the head indicates the slumbering Witch.

"Shall we wake her?"

 

[Miss_Vivi]

I hear him before he says anything. A moment of silence as he takes in the tableau I've set up for him, well.. for us. And for her, although she may not at first agree.

"Shall we wake her?"

"I think we should. Though the how of it is debatable. Ice, wax, sitting on top of her with a knife and slapping her. All equally fun." These ideas, of course, make me giggle.

In the end, I am much nicer, well, by my standards at least. Straddling her, I lean down and whisper sweet nothings into her ears, nibbling here and there upon her neck and teasing her awake.

I don't stop even as her murmurings become louder, I'm waiting for those pretty blue eyes to open, for that moment when she realizes that she's tied down and pinned to the bed.

That's when the fun will begin.

 

[Britwitch]

The sleep is heavy, too heavy. Unnaturally so. Which is probably why my mind fights it. It loses but it fights it.

Then out of the gloom comes warmth, glancing across my neck. Making me shiver in spite of the heat. Whispers, unintelligible at first, against my ear. A soft pressure across my middle.

I frown, my head turns. I'm...lying down?

Eyes flutter open briefly, familiar surroundings. I know that ceiling, those beams. I'm at my cottage. A sigh and another.

Then eyes open again slowly. Familiar the surroundings may be but...something isn't right.

That's when I realise my arms won't comply with my brain's wishes. That the whispers become words and a voice registers in my brain.

Eyes wide now, arms and legs pulling but going no where.

"How...?" I start to ask before I realise there is someone on top of me, nuzzling my neck, nibble.

A question floats through my mind. 'Yes or no'.

What the hell did I agree to?

"What's going on...?" My voice is heavy from whatever sleep she put me into but the trace of panic is unmistakable.

 

[Scuttle Buttin']

He chuckles lowly at the suggestions, none of them unappealing, and finally steps inside the door. His feet don't carry him far, however, just inside the doorway, and there he leans against the wall, content to watch for the moment as one moves atop the other. Blue eyes roam over them, watching silently as the Witch is roused from her sleep, and at her question the low chuckle sounds again.

"Happening?" His voice is low, and though he speaks, revealing his presence to her, he remains against the wall. "Nothing yet, little Witch. Except that you are now ours."