Bad, Bad Witchy Mother

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Bad, Bad Witchy Mother

Post by Hand-Holder » Wed May 31, 2023 11:45 am

I structured the sequence of this story, created it's main frames wrote a lot and filled some descriptive gaps with Chat GPT


Bad, Bad Witchy Mother

Chapter 1

Once upon a time, in a small village nestled within a lush, enchanted forest, lived a beautiful but wicked mother named Morgana. She was known for her enchanting beauty, with cascades of raven-black hair that framed her porcelain face. Her eyes were a piercing shade of emerald green, filled with a hint of malice, and her lips were forever adorned with a sinister smile. Morgana possessed an otherworldly allure that left all who beheld her spellbound, but beneath her captivating appearance lay a heart consumed by darkness.

On this particular day, Morgana's young and devious son, Damien, stumbled upon an ancient spell book within the depths of their ancestral manor. Filled with mischievous curiosity, Damien uncovered a spell that could shrink objects and beings. With a wicked gleam in his eye, he devised a plan to teach his mother a lesson she would never forget.

As Morgana glided through the halls of the manor, she wore an elegant black gown that accentuated her hourglass figure. The fabric clung to her like a second skin, adorned with intricate lace and shimmering sequins. She also wore a silver pendant that seemed to possess an otherworldly glow, an heirloom passed down through generations of dark sorcery.

Unbeknownst to Morgana, Damien silently cast the spell, directing it toward his unsuspecting mother. In an instant, Morgana's once towering presence diminished, and she found herself shrunken to a mere six inches in height.

As Damien's giant hands enveloped her fragile form, Morgana's heart pounded in her chest. Fear and anger coursed through her veins, but she knew she was at her son's mercy. The power dynamics had shifted drastically, and she now found herself at the mercy of her own creation.

Damien examined his mother's shrunken body with a mix of fascination and triumph. With each touch, Morgana felt a dizzying combination of vulnerability and helplessness.

As Damien's fingers closed around her, she felt a vice-like grip that squeezed the air from her lungs, her body pressed against his palm.

He lifted her up, his thumb grazing her delicate form, causing her to shudder in trepidation.

Damien's index finger traced the contours of her face, his touch both inquisitive and mocking. Morgana felt a wave of humiliation wash over her as he prodded at her cheek with a fingertip.

Moving down her body, his hand brushed against the intricate lace of her gown. Morgana's heart sank as she realized the enormity of her vulnerability, her dress merely a fragile barrier against the giant world around her.

Damien gently pinched her tiny waist between his thumb and forefinger, eliciting a gasp of pain from Morgana. The sensation of being held so delicately yet controlled so entirely was a cruel reminder of her newfound powerlessness.

His thumb trailed along her spine, the pressure light but undeniable. Morgana shivered involuntarily, the sensation akin to a spider's caress, amplifying her sense of dread.

Damien's fingertips danced along her limbs, his touch grazing her delicate skin. Each stroke sent a shiver down Morgana's spine, her body unable to escape the clutches of his scrutiny.

With a sense of sadistic pleasure, Damien tapped her forehead with his finger, causing Morgana's world to momentarily tilt and spin. The gesture reminded her of her son's newfound control over her existence.

He toyed with her hair, running his fingers through the once-luscious locks that were now mere threads in his colossal hands. Morgana felt a wave of sorrow for her lost beauty, her power stripped away, leaving her only with the bitter taste of defeat.

Finally, Damien brought Morgana up to his face, his eyes looming like giant orbs of judgment. His breath, warm and overpowering, washed over her diminutive form, as he examined her with an unsettling intensity. Morgana's heart pounded in her chest, a mix of fear and defiance flooding her veins. She could feel the weight of her son's power, his ability to crush her at any moment, and yet, a glimmer of defiance burned within her.

With each of these ways in which Damien examined her, Morgana's emotions intensified. Fear, humiliation, vulnerability, and anger merged into a tumultuous storm that raged within her shrunken being. She longed for her former stature, her dominance over others, but now she was forced to confront the consequences of her own malevolence.

As Morgana stared into Damien's eyes, a fire ignited within her. She vowed that if she ever regained her normal size, she would exact her revenge on her son, teaching him a lesson in pain and suffering that he would never forget. In that moment, her beautiful yet wicked soul burned with a renewed determination, even in the face of her shrunken existence.
Last edited by Hand-Holder on Wed May 31, 2023 6:32 pm, edited 3 times in total.
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Re: Bad, Bad Witchy Mother

Post by Hand-Holder » Wed May 31, 2023 11:57 am

Chapter 2

As Morgana found herself trapped within the clutches of her son's giant hands, her voice quivered with desperation as she pleaded with Damien to return her to her normal size.

"Damien, my dear son," she implored, her voice trembling. "Please, I beg of you, reverse this spell. I promise to change my ways, to be a better mother to you. Please, have mercy!"

Damien, however, wore a wicked smirk on his face, relishing in his newfound power over his once-mighty mother. He pretended to consider her plea, a façade of agreement washing over his features.

"Very well, Mother," he said, his voice dripping with faux sympathy. "I shall grant your request. But first, let us ensure that you have truly learned your lesson."

Morgana's eyes widened with both hope and trepidation. She couldn't help but wonder what cruel fate awaited her, but she clung to the possibility of regaining her normal size.

To her surprise, Damien did not release her from his grasp. Instead, he carried her over to a massive, ornate candlestick that stood tall in the center of the room. With deft and malicious precision, he used a length of fine thread to bind Morgana securely to the candlestick.

As the thread tightened around her tiny body, a sense of impending doom enveloped Morgana. Her heart raced, and her breath came in shallow gasps. The realization dawned on her that the worst examinations from her devious son were yet to come.

Fear gripped her as Damien stepped back, his eyes glinting with sadistic pleasure. He knew that by tying her to the candlestick, he could prolong her torment, prolong the reign of her vulnerability.

Morgana struggled against her restraints, but the thread held her fast, pressing against her delicate skin. Her mind raced with thoughts of the excruciating ordeals Damien might have planned for her. The candlestick, towering above her, seemed to cast sinister shadows, serving as a constant reminder of her current predicament.

In that moment, Morgana's heart sank as she realized that her plea for mercy had fallen on deaf ears. Damien's twisted game had only just begun, and the sinister examinations she had experienced thus far were but a prelude to the torturous trials that lay ahead.
Last edited by Hand-Holder on Wed May 31, 2023 4:11 pm, edited 1 time in total.
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Re: Bad, Bad Witchy Mother

Post by Hand-Holder » Wed May 31, 2023 12:29 pm

Chapter 3

As Morgana hung tied to the giant candlestick, her breath caught in her throat as Damien approached her once again, his devious eyes gleaming with malicious intent. In his hand, he wielded a colossal bird feather, its soft bristles towering over her shrunken form.

With a wicked grin, Damien began to trace the feather along Morgana's exposed skin parts, circling it over her delicate neck, travelling it downwards and slowly along the frail arms and finally poking carelessly at her beautiful ankles, eliciting a shiver of both fear and discomfort from her. The gentle touch of the feather felt like a barrage of relentless tickles, making her squirm in her bindings. Morgana's attempts to escape its teasing caress were futile, and each stroke only intensified her sense of complete vulnerability.

Not content with just the feather, Damien then fetched a massive pair of twizzers, their size dwarfing Morgana even further. He expertly maneuvered the twizzers, using them to prod and pinch at her delicate lowe limbs, by the shins, just above the ankles. Morgana winced as the metal jaws closed around her, causing her tiny body to throb with a slight pain. The sheer contrast between the giant twizzers and her minuscule frame intensified her feelings of powerlessness, amplifying her fear and desperation.

Unexpected and ominous, the giant twizzers took an ominous detour, as they turned their cold jaws right into the very rims that entailed Morgana's cleavage, pinning just the edges of the gown's V collar with devilish precision and immediately proceeding to pull and over-stretch them downwards. The fabrics that previously protected the dignity of her chest, gave way to expose her glorious bra and breast's presence, both now slightly bouncing outwards, to fully expose their maturity and perfection, guarded only by her intrincate black bra, lacy and stretched around her B-cups. Suddenly the twizzers open up from their invasive pull, releasing their grip and allowing the fabrics to recoil upwards, back to almost their original fit, offering Morgana some specks of bare regained dignity.

But Damien wasn't finished yet. He reached for a colossal pencil, its imposing presence and close sharpness sending shivers down Morgana's spine. With a sinister glint in his eyes, he pressed the pencil pointy tip against her clothes, right where her belly button was hidding, applying just enough pressure to make her feel the weight of her son's dominance. He than turned it all around and dragged the eraser end along her body, slowly tracing her shaped gown from breasts to hips, leaving behind a trail of dread and a reminder of his control.

When Morgana thought the worst had pass, the endless pencil is turned around once more, pointing it's huge sharped carbon tip into her ankles, than mechanically moving into the tiny empty space between her shins, without touching them, but now standing still right under her gown's edge.

Damiens face grew closer, not to miss a single miniscule detail of what he most wanted to examine this time, Morgana's whole glorious legs, specialky where no one was usually allowed to see, right where they meet with her lower underwear, her secret and sacred panties. Despite the shrunken Mother reaction, starting to regain her frantic squirm against her relentless bindings, it was impossible to avoid the precision of that ominous pencil tip, as it moved telentless upwards, rather slowly but with clear mischeavous inttentions, indecently stretching and raising the front part of her gown, progressing little by little, to offer a more lasting and ejoyable discovery of little Morgana's most secret mysteries. Shins, knees, thighs, groin, an enticing festival of living sexual porcelain, where only her elegant black panty was showing stretched and provocative between her inner thighs. No more of a secret now, revealed now to Damien's lusty gleen, perfect, thin and lacy, to match the bra.

Damien's face was forced to unleash a wave of undisguiseable thirst and perversion, as he admired every miniscule detail of Morgana's intimacy with utter fascination, specialky how the very slightly transparent fabrics allowed a mear glimpse beneath, enough to reveal him another forbiden secret, how Morgana did not actually shaved her pubis, instead only carefully trimed it, leaving an almost natural triangle under her appealing small panties.

Suddenly, without any warning, the whole giant pencil tip swiftly slides away and from under her violated gown, leaving on it's place only the emptiness of her over-exposion, allowing Morgana's attire to naturally fall back in place. There was no hurry in Damien's devious examinations, since he knew he had all the time, and now, all the power in the world. Full control to release his most pervert fantasies, specialky on such an evil sexy witch, to play Morgana, to teach Morgana how it feels, for once, to be played.

Through this relentless series of examinations, Morgana's spirit was gradually crushed. The combination of the feather's relentless tickling, the twizzers' painful pinches, and the pencil's oppressive weight wore her down. She could no longer bear the torment, and in a moment of surrender, she pleaded with her son.

"Damien, my dear son," Morgana gasped, her voice tinged with defeat. "I will do anything you ask. Please, release me from this torment. I promise to serve you faithfully, to do whatever you desire. Just let me go."

Damien's smirk widened, a glimmer of triumph in his eyes. He reveled in his mother's surrender, relishing the power he held over her. Slowly, he untied the thread that bound her to the candlestick, his eyes never leaving hers.

As Morgana dropped to the ground, she felt a mixture of relief and trepidation. She knew that she had made a pact with the devil himself, but for now, her focus was on survival. She would do whatever it took to regain her strength and find a way to turn the tables on her devious son.
Last edited by Hand-Holder on Wed May 31, 2023 4:12 pm, edited 1 time in total.
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Re: Bad, Bad Witchy Mother

Post by Hand-Holder » Wed May 31, 2023 4:05 pm

Chapter 4

As Damien reveled in his newfound power over his shrunken mother, he decided to assert his dominance even further. With a wicked glint in his eyes, he demanded Morgana to prepare a cocktail for him, despite her diminutive size. A giant glass sat on the table in thunder, already containing all the necessary ingredients, waiting for her to be completely inside and stir it properly, just as Damien explained.

Morgana's heart sank as she gazed up at the colossal glass before her. The thought of being submerged, along with her clothes, in the liquid depths, forced to stir the cocktail while struggling to maintain her balance, filled her with a mixture of dread and resignation. Yet, she knew that defying Damien's demand would only invite more torment and cruelty.

At least for now she would be definitely away from his grasp and invasive fingers

Damien powerfully grabbed the giant glass and held it lower, with it's rim slightly below the tables edge, so the evil sexy witch could fulfil her new punishment and destiny

With trembling hands and a resolute spirit, Morgana stepped forward, each step a daunting challenge for her shrunken stature. She approached the giant glass, its endless curved rim close below her, and peered inside. She could see the mixture of liquids, the colorful ingredients swirling together, waiting for her precious and forced contribution.

Gingerly, Morgana lowered herself into the giant glass, her heart pounding with each moment that brought her closer to her inevitable immersion. The thin liquid surrounded her legs, cool and unforgiving, as she positioned herself near the edge and about to slowly dive down. She grasped onto the glass's rim with all her strength, her delicate fingers struggling to maintain their grip on the giant glass curvy edges.

Finally, as Damien's hands loomed over her, menacing to give her a much unwanted careless incentive, she takes the initiative with utter resignation, bringing swiftly her whole figure down into the depths of her unexpected task, with only her face comfortingly safe above the surface.

Her petite form swayed precariously as she fought to keep her footing, her heeled feet stumbling and slipping on the bottom's smooth glassy surface. The task at hand became even more treacherous as Morgana attempted to stir the cocktail

A powerful invasive wave of degradation assaulted all her 5 senses at once, the slight thickness of all the fluids where she was now fully immersed, the overwhelming odor of several fruits and spicy alcohol, the ominous noises of thousand splashes around and beneath her, the speckled strong taste of a few giant cocktail drops hitting her lips and mouth. But what really nocked her out of her dignity was the cold moist that first found the bare skin of her neck, legs and arms, than slowly invaded her main garments, turning them both oppressive and heavy, than finally the indecent invasion of her underwear, soaking the cold cocktail fluids to deliver them right into the most sacred parts of her once proud body, flooding every crevasse with careless coldness and alcoholic juices

Along with her high heels battling against the curved smooth glass, the giant olives that adorned the bottom became treacherous obstacles, rolling and shifting beneath her, threatening to knock her off balance.

With each attempted stir, Morgana felt the liquid lapping at her body, her clothing becoming even more soaked and heavy than before. The fear of losing her grip and being swallowed by the swirling cocktail consumed her thoughts, but she persisted, determined to complete the task to the best of her ability.

As she strained to maintain her balance and stir the cocktail, Morgana's emotions were a whirlwind. Fear gripped her heart, each stumble reminding her of her vulnerability and the precariousness of her situation. She felt the discomfort of the liquid soaking into all of her, body and soul, clinging to her skin, as the taste of bitter defeat lingered in her mouth.

Yet, amidst the fear and discomfort, a flicker of defiance burned within her. Morgana refused to let her son's sadistic games break her spirit entirely. She would find a way to regain her power and turn the tables on Damien, no matter the cost. With every stir of the cocktail, she silently vowed to herself that revenge would be hers.
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Re: Bad, Bad Witchy Mother

Post by Hand-Holder » Wed May 31, 2023 5:01 pm

Chapter 5

As Morgana struggled to maintain her balance and stir the cocktail, a sudden movement caught her off guard. Damien, with a mischievous grin, lifted the giant glass to his giant mouth and tilted it, causing the contents to gush down his throat. Most of the drink spilled out, but Morgana, fortunately, managed to avoid being swallowed along with it.

Despite a 6 inches shrunken witch being not easy to swallow, nevertheless, if Damien really wanted, she would end up sliding to her certain death inside his mischievous son's throat

Or was it Damien who skillfully spared her life to prolong her torments ? In fact, right before he did what he did, Morgana seam to hear him whisper - Now is time to taste what today really is my dream cocktail, not just a stupid drink.

Now, with only her head above the giant's reddish lips, Morgana found herself at the mercy of her son's mouth. Damien's giant lips formed a wicked smile, that stretched them tight and moist around her frail neck, keeping her pinned down inside his jaws, as he took pleasure in tormenting his captive mother. He toyed with her, letting her figure remain trapped within his mouth, her cocktail soaked form at his mercy for his lascivious tasting.

Morgana's heart raced as she felt the wetness surrounding her, the remnants of the cocktail clinging to her body, lips closed on her neck weighing her down. She struggled against the sensation of suffocation, desperate to free herself from the confines of Damien's mouth. Panic mingled with a mixture of vulnerability and disgust, as her son's tongue swirled and teased her, playing with her, right between her inner thighs, like a mere plaything.

Damien reveled in his power over his mother, savoring the control he had over her fate. He delighted in tormenting her, moving her around with his tongue, relishing in the discomfort and vulnerability he inflicted upon her. Even enjoying the occasional light sting of the high heels, fighting for a grip here and there.

Morgana could feel his taste buds against her drenched skin, the wet warmth of his mouth surrounding her, and the knowledge that her son held complete dominion over her.

On his side, Damien was able, even if just very faintly, to taste her bare womanhood, a minuscule and very discrete, but distinguishable flavor flowing into him amidst the remains of the drink she bathed in. He acknowledged his living doll's very personal and specific taste as an equal mix of 3 flavors, Morgana's salt, vanilla and sweat, barely noticeable, but somehow right there.

After his twisted game, Damien finally plucked Morgana from his mouth with his giant hands, her tiny form, hair, clothes and limbs, now completely soaked and vulnerable in his grasp. As he lifted her, her drenched clothing clung to her body, making each movement a struggle, but enhancing her mature perfect figure in an unspeakable sight to be seen. Morgana's heart pounded with a mixture of fear and desperation, knowing that she was entirely at Damien's mercy.

The sensation of being held in his giant hands was a constant reminder of her diminished stature and the immense power he possessed. The wetness of her body mingled with the warmth of his hands, creating an uncomfortable and disconcerting sensation. Morgana could do nothing but endure her son's twisted game, hoping for an opportunity to escape and reclaim her own power once more.
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Re: Bad, Bad Witchy Mother

Post by Hand-Holder » Wed May 31, 2023 6:29 pm

As Damien observed his mother, soaked and vulnerable in his giant hands, he decided that she needed to be properly dried. With a calculated yet sadistic intent, he grabbed Morgana once again and secured her against a flat piece of wood. Her back faced upward, and her limbs were stretched out, awaiting their restraint.

A mix of fear and resignation washed over Morgana as she felt the cold surface of the wood against her soaked clothes and body. She shivered, partly from the dampness that clung to her skin and partly from the anticipation of what was to come. The knowledge that she was now at the mercy of her son's wildest desires and the fact she could not face and watch whatever would develop and come next, intensified her feelings of complete helplessness.

With careful precision, Damien bound Morgana to the wooden surface using four giant nails. Each nail acted as an anchor, securing her wrists and ankles, immobilizing her. The metallic touch against her delicate skin sent shivers down her spine, a stark reminder of her cruel captive state.

Morgana's mind raced as her body remained fixed in place. Anxiety coursed through her veins, knowing that she was completely at Damien's mercy. The feeling of being restrained, unable to move or escape, intensified her vulnerability and a deep sense of dread settled all over her, from head to toe.

As Damien meticulously completed the procedure, Morgana's emotions fluctuated between a desperate longing for freedom and a grim acceptance of her circumstances. She fought against the restraints, her futile struggles only serving to highlight her powerlessness. Her heart pounded in her chest as she feared the torturous fate that awaited her.

As Morgana remained bound to the wooden plank, her heart skipped a beat as Damien returned with the giant pencil, its sharp carbon tip gleaming with malice. With a wicked smirk, he raised the pencil high, threatening to strike the her tiny figure with its dangerous point.

Fear gripped Morgana as a dagger, as she anticipated the lethal blow, but instead she heard a dry impact in the plank right next to her, yet not on her. The sound of the sharp tip hitting the wood reverberated through her being, sending a shiver down her spine. Each strike was a reminder of her vulnerability and the ever-present danger that Damien posed.

To Morgana's surprise, however, Damien's intentions were very different from what she most feared. Instead of using the pencil as a weapon, he began to roll it against the wood, applying pressure to the tip. The once-sharp point transformed, becoming rounder and less menacing. As the pencil tip became smoothly round, Morgana's fears shifted, her mind racing to comprehend what her son's intentions could be.

A mixture of relief and uncertainty flooded Morgana's thoughts. The pencil, now transformed into an instrument that was thin, pointy, and accurate but no longer lethal, left her wondering what Damien had planned next. The change in its shape instilled a sense of trepidation within her, as she knew her son's sadistic imagination knew no bounds.

With each passing moment, Morgana's fears deepened. The unknown purpose of this modified instrument gnawed at her, leaving her to speculate on the forms of torment her son had yet to unleash upon her. The prospect of enduring further pain, both physical and psychological, filled her with a sense of dread.

As Morgana's heart raced with anticipation and fear, Damien wielded the modified pencil with an eerie sense of purpose. With a swift motion, he carefully lifted the edge of Morgana's soaked gown, exposing her sexy soaked panty and also her legs and thighs damp skin to the open air.

With a mischievous glint in his eyes, Damien leaned closer, his breath powerful and relentless. He held the rounded tip of the pencil firmly holding the stretched fabrics, prolonging the exposure of Morgana's vulnerable form and unleashed a forceful gust of wind, blowing endlessly all over her. The rush of air assaulted her, causing her damp skin to tingle and her gown to billow around her shrunken frame.

Morgana's body was at the mercy of the powerful wind, her tiny and tight soaked panties clinging to her as the force of the blowing pencil worked to dry her from the remnants of the previous cocktail and the lingering moisture from being in Damien's mouth. The relentless gusts whipped against her, tousling her hair and creating a mixed and weird sensation of both relief and discomfort.

As the wind kept enveloping her, Morgana couldn't help but feel a mixture of conflicting emotions. The relief of being dried from the dampness was invaded by a sense of vulnerability and exposure. Each gust felt like a reminder of her smallness and her powerlessness in the face of her son's cruelty.

Damien's eyes lingered on the exposed expanse of Morgana's backs, tracing visually along the curve of her spine with an unhinged fascination. He reveled in the vulnerability of her position, captivated by the way her bound form accentuated her tense curves and also her pure helplessness. The stretched gown exposing the subtle contours of all her small but very perfectly proportional figure, drawing his gaze to the delicate slope of her shoulder blades, her mature and perfectly designed very erotic legs and the all the smoothness of her pale skin. He took perverse pleasure in the sight of the generous round but perky buttocks barely covered by the thin stretched panties, an ass that she kept pinning upwards as she squirmed in vain against the four pinning anchors of her faith. He exhilarated with the spectacle of all her restrained and exposed diminished state, savoring every moment as he drank in the visual feast before him, reveling in his unquestionable full power over her.

She desperately clung to her resolve, vowing to herself that she would find a way to break free from this torment. She yearned for an opportunity to regain her power, to escape from Damien's clutches, and to put an end to his sadistic games.

But as time passed and Damien played her with his evil intent, also clearly mixed with his young sexual drive, that light at the end of the tunnel seamed further and further away in space and time

With a sinister gleam in his eyes, Damien now grabbed the edge of Morgana's gown with two fingertips from his free hand, so he could keep it well raised, with all of his living doll lower body perfectly exposed and at the mercy of his next torments, continuing to wield the modified pencil, out of her sight, since she was facing down. Morgana's heart pounded with a mixture of trepidation and anticipation as she wondered what her devious son had in store for her next.

Keeping a malevolent grin on his face, Damien approached Morgana, the pencil held firmly in his giant hand. He moved with deliberate and calculated motions, reveling in the power he held over his shrunken sexy witchy mother. As she heard him draw closer, Morgana's senses sharpened, through the corner of her eyes she fixated on the seemingly harmless but looming instrument that had been transformed into a tool of potential torment.

Without warning, Damien pressed the smooth tip of the pencil against Morgana's exposed leg skin, right in the small bend behind her knee. The sensation sent a shiver down her spine as she braced herself for the unknown. She couldn't help but feel a wave of fear wash again all over her, unsure of what Damien had planned with this seemingly harmless instrument.

To her surprise, instead of inflicting pain, Damien used the precise tip of the pencil to trace intricate patterns along Morgana's miniature legs, travelling along her thighs and hip, than downwards again up to the tiny shapes of her calves, always with enough pressure, more than needed, just to assert his indecent intentions. The lascivious long strokes elicited a mixture of confusion within her. The smoothness of the pencil against her skin provided a stark contrast to the prior torments she had endured, leaving her momentarily perplexed.

But as Damien continued to maneuver the pencil with indecent skill and precision, Morgana's emotions remained in flux. She felt again an intensified sense of vulnerability and unease, knowing that she was entirely at the mercy of her son's whims.

The smooth but powerful pointy tip was now clearly leaving the landscapes of her porcelain legs and stroking indecently all along the curvature of her thighs and hips, than squeezing slowly all the way along the perfect roundness of her buttocks, pressing above her panty fabrics but feeling just as if it was rubbing directly on her bare skin.

The anticipation of what he would do next fueled her anxiety, as she couldn't predict how he would utilize the instrument's newfound rounded and smooth shape.

Finally the tip stopped in a not so obvious part of Morgana's delicate little body, still pressing with dominance, but completely motionless, right on the lowest part of her backs, where the shape of her buttocks begin to form.

Coincidentally or not, it was also exactly there where the upper edge of Morgana's sexy panty start enclosing over the roundness of her beautiful behind.

In the midst of the confusion and uncertainty of this ominous pause, suddenly only one word can describe the single sensation that took hold of all her world, invading the back of her neck, her stomach, her belly, her throat and her mind.

FULL PANIC !!!
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Re: Bad, Bad Witchy Mother

Post by Hand-Holder » Wed May 31, 2023 8:47 pm

Needless to say that from that moment on, Morgana did not stop squirming against her four binds, but she was so perfectly stretched and constrained that Damien only needed a bit of skill with his ominous pointy pencil, if not to finish what he had already decided to do, at least to avoid hurting her delicate figure unwantedly.

The whole giant pencil leaned almost into her backs, looming closer, cold and powerful, in the corner of her eyes, creating the right angle to carefully but decisively slide between her soft skin and the upper edge of her panties. And when it finally did, it was now much easier to proceed, burying deeper and deeper under the tiny piece of underwear, taking a pervert advantage of being helped in it´s journey by the narrow round valley between her butt chicks.

Than as it regained a higher angle, to naturally stretch upwards the tiny garment, Damien had to apply some caution to not press too much that it would painfully stick it against said small valley, as she was still managing to bounce a bit. She kept squirming legs and arms the best she could against the rude but firm giant binds, contorting her waist and tensing her shapes, what excited Damien even more, shouting insults and curses at her devious son, but her total despair was securely confined by her stretched binding. Pulling the stretched little panties, down along her round ass and sensual hips, was easier thought than done, since the wetness of the fabrics created extra drag and the accentuated shape of the elegant garment kept the side strings stuck on her minuscule and very sexy hip bones.

A violent insistent pull upwards was more than needed at this point, since Morgana´s punisher was not interested in spending unnecessary time releasing a single inch of power and control back to the sexy witch, no matter what difficulties her condition posed. The fabrics dragged all her delicate figure upwards at first, as much as the bindings allowed to. But finally the over-stretched thin panty snapped on one side, releasing all her body from the pencil pull in one swift go.

Now without the last spec of dignity that her sexy panty was lending to her long ordeal, Damien noticed how the details between her legs were so clear and interesting, despite the tiny proportions they offered to his eager eyes. Her barely trimmed pubic hair was a voluntary presence on her aesthetic choices, but despite that mature generous womanhood, it could not hide the intricate details of her labia, once secret and sacred, but now fully exposed to the giant´s will. The fact her legs were stretched by bindings at her ankles, ensured her sex was generously in full sight, completely offered to examination, at least from the vantage point Damien had from above. Morgana´s most secret temple was already at the the giant´s mercy, even before she was properly toyed, as her evil past confirmed she deserved that day.

Damien readjusted his giant fingers to ensure their grip on Morgana´s raised gown was steady and the more revealing it could be. When morgana felt the round and smooth, but thin and cold, carbon tip started merely pressing between the outside of her butt chicks, the squirming tripled, surprising even the pervert excited giant. An animalistic despair took over her, a wild instinct of pure fighting back, yet she was fighting back the inevitable, as Damien and, in the end Morgana herself, both now knew.

To ensure minimum of physical safety, Damien´s invasive and lascivious procedures had to be done in phases. First he managed to slide the very small but firmly aimed carbon round tip right between her butt chicks, carefully maintaining it there, barely buried between them but not yet where it was supposed to be going. Inevitably Morgana had to surrender to the fact that, diminishing her squirming, immediately alleviated the already tight invasion of the narrow valley at the depths of where her buttocks meet.

Damien clearly noticed she was surrendering to that evidence, tensing all her figure upwards, in a stretched pause, that ensured jus a bit more of her tiny buttocks gap, allowing for no pain at all. Without wasting any time, but very very slowly, the thin and cold pencil tip slid into the impossibly small and narrow entrance of her mature but perfect sex, washing her with an intense feeling of shame and helplessness, with the bare entrance of her crotch already being invaded. As she instinctively tried to squirm, quickly her body reminded her that the best option for zero pain would be to stay very still and very tense on her stretched bondage. It was so much exciting to fuck Morgana from behind, also so much appropriated for an evil sexy witch !!!

The thin carbon tip was not bigger than a proportional generous male cock would be if she, but it was not soft, it was not bending at all and although quite smooth on it´s surface and texture, smoother than a cock, nevertheless was cold and completely stiff. Since Morgana quickly learned to stay very still, Damien proceeded indecently bury the pencil tip, deeper and deeper, slowly but resolute, until the natural enlargement of the invasive object could not allow to go further. Damien was planning to fuck her with disdain and persistence, making it las forever, but now that the tip was firmly and tightly buried on her tight and narrow inner sex walls, Morgana instinctively restarted her squirming, slowly but noticeably contorting her whole back and ass again, so Damien just had to stay still, ensuring that when she squirmed downwards, the invasive tip followed along and she did not managed to ease the cold pencil tip penetration of her mature and surely experienced sexy pussy. Squirming upwards was up to her choice, since she would make the penetration slightly painful and even more invasive.

Finally she was getting what she utterly deserved, a total loss of intimacy, dignity, power and control, a shower of punishments and humiliation. Damien was finally fucking his evil and beautiful evil mother, without him being the fucker, but with him being in full control of what was happening, how it was happening and for how long it would prolong. He than decided it was not enough how she ironically was managing to fuck herself with the feisty squirming, so he had to take some initiative. He doubled on his skills and precision, managing to find the right rhythm and the right level of invasive oscillations, ensuring his was now actively owning the speed and deepness on how Morgana was being completely fucked, taken, shaken and intensely desecrated from all her will and power, from all initiative and indecently possessed with eager and lust.

Morgana was consumed by an overwhelming sense of despair and powerlessness as Damien subjected her to most harrowing and intense torment she could ever suffer. Each agonizing successive penetration was a tiny but quickly renewed punishment inflicted upon her, heightening over and over her physical and emotional suffering, leaving her shattered and utterly defeated in quick and powerful succession. The combination of her restrained position and the unrelenting cruelty of the penetrating torments crushed her spirit, plunging her into a deep abyss of anguish and despair. Every split second was a harrowing reminder of her complete and utter helplessness, fueling an insatiable yearning for liberation from this powerful unhuman fuckery on her whole tiny body and right on the deepest of her very soul.

Damien knew no woman could be made to get excited, all wet and finally made to cum in this type of ordeal, unless she really enjoyed it and eagerly requested it, but obviously this was not the case at all. Damien knew he had to stop sooner or later and he also knew there was probably no other punishment left that could be harsher to erase her evil pride and dignity. But he could not stop enjoying watching those perfectly round and perky little buttocks' squirming around, the intricate details of her backs and hips being shaken by his power and the way her sensual arms and legs were helplessly stretching and contorting against the firm binds to the four giant nails. Although not literally fucking her, nevertheless he was the one doing the pencil fuck her, excitingly fucking her from behind and being able to watch it from a vantage point, with a complete view of all her body and reactions.

So it could practically be the same, he was fucking a miniature evil witch, RIGHT FROM BEHIND, that was feisty, hot and sexy as hell.

When Morgana became inevitably exhausted, with so much squirming, finally slowing down to almost and abandoned and surrendered halt, showing a clear depletion of her physical and mental resilience, than Damien knew it was time to stop, mainly because the rhythm and precision he imposed on his skilled fucking of Morgana, also managed to tire his hand a bit.

Was it all finished now ? Was this the moment she finally had enough of her own poison back, would she stop using her power and control over everyone around, if she regained her normal size ? I´m still in doubt myself as the story author...

Using a comic strip from - Terrore Elettronico from Fummeti fel Futuro - I made this animated gif

Image
My works are 100% free - Send a thanks here - https://www.patreon.com/SWErotica

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