The Erotic Mind-Control Story Archive

The Haunting of Crowley Manor

Chapter 3 — Dreams in the Witch House

DISCLAIMER: This story was originally posted to the superheroine story archive run by Mr. X over at Dangerbabe Central. Miss Americana is his creation; I encourage you to check out his site for more excellent work. This is a work of fiction, and all characters depicted are of adult age.

“Ughh...w-where,” Barbara Cummings muttered groggily, “Where am I?”

The disheveled blonde blinked hard, her vision blurry from sleep. To her surprise, she found herself face-down in a large, plush bed of seemingly antique origins. Great, embroidered pillows were strewn haphazardly about the bed, and the thick sheets were in utter disarray, as if she’d been tossing madly all through the night. The bedroom was richly decorated, but terribly anachronistic. The canopy bed she lay in was huge, with spiraling posts that climbed towards an even higher ceiling, holding up a thick, velvet top cinched open at each corner. On a nearby vanity, a tall oil lamp sputtered low, the only illumination in the room, as the heavy drapes had been cast over the windows on the opposite wall. Raising herself to a seated position, Barbara was shocked to discover that, beneath the fine cotton sheets, she was completely naked.

“What the hell...what happened? This has to be the Crowley house, but how...why...?”

She looked about in confusion, her sleep-addled mind struggling to catch up. She thought back to the events of last evening. She remembered arriving at the house, remembered meeting with Magda in the...was it a library? She remembered a fire...and warmth...

Suddenly, a wave of intense drowsiness swept her up, making her head spin. With a groan, Barbara was knocked backwards onto the bed, her vision swimming. She closed her eyes and cradled her head in her hands gingerly. What the hell was that? God, it was almost like she was hungover, but mercifully without the headache or the nausea. She focused on her breathing, forced her racing mind to calm down, and sighed gratefully as the feeling began to abate. A few moments later, Barbara tried sitting up again, and this time her eyes were able to adjust to the gloom. What time was it? How long had she been sleeping?

Where the hell were her clothes?

She grabbed hold of the nearest bed post and with deliberate slowness, slid off the bed and rose to her feet. No dizziness threatened to knock her back down, and all things considered...she actually felt more or less normal. Rested, even...and...

Recognizing a familiar but wholly unexpected sensation lingering on her body, Barbara allowed her hands to rise up and gently press against her heavy breasts, confused, yet confirming the residual hum of pleasure that greeted her touch. Slipping her hand lower, she traced a finger over her sex, and shuddered as a thrill tingled up her spine. Her fingers came away trailing a thin thread of wetness.

Barbara looked back at the wrecked bed.

God, she must have been having some crazy dreams.

Had she been drinking? She seemed to remember seeing a liquor cabinet in the library, but Barbara usually had no trouble holding her alcohol, and besides, she couldn’t imagine drinking that much in the presence of someone like Magda Crowley.

Barbara’s heart skipped a beat. Magda Crowley! That old dyke, she had to be responsible somehow. She had to have brought her up here, set her in bed. Barbara glowered. The bitch probably even undressed her; she wouldn’t put it past the musty old lady to try taking advantage of her like that.

With anger helping to banish the fog in her head, Barbara moved purposefully about the room, searching the dresser drawers and the standing closet, and finding a long, silk robe hanging inside. She slipped the garment on, noting absently that it seemed exquisitely made, and very old. Alas, it also appeared to be made for a woman lacking Barbara’s considerable...assets...because with the belt tied around her waist, the front of the robe was still split obscenely wide, revealing her deep cleavage and only barely covering her extended nipples. Barbara was used to wearing far less, of course, and modesty was never a major concern. It would suffice until Magda returned her clothes and she could finally get out of this place.

Before she went looking for the old woman though, she had to know what time it was. She needed to know how long she might have been out. Barbara strode to the tall window, and pulled open the curtain. She gasped, nearly jumping back.

She was greeted by the sight of the moonless evening sky, her window opening onto a narrow balcony several stories up. Below, a thick fog rolled along the sloping hills of the sparse moorland, broken only by old, gnarled trees that rose up like wrecked ships in the sea of white. Wordlessly, Barbara’s mouth worked as she struggled to comprehend what she was looking at.

Night time? How could that be? It was night when she’d arrived! Had she really slept through a whole day? It didn’t make sense!

Just then, Barbara heard the click of a latch. She spun to face the door of the bedroom, and saw the old knob twisting open. The door opened with a creak, and in flowed Magda Crowley, wearing her strange, black dress. She seemed surprised to see Barbara awake, but immediately her face broke into a wide, white smile.

“Finally awake I see! I was beginning to worry, Barbara dear. You sleep like the dead.”

“Magda!” Barbara exclaimed, her temper rising. “What the hell is going on? Why am I in this room?”

The older woman closed the door behind her, and moved over to the vanity, where she turned up the oil lamp, illuminating the dim chamber. Only then did she turn to Barbara, her soft, manicured hands clasped at her middle. “Don’t you remember?” she said, quizzically, “Soon after your arrival, you fell asleep in the library. You must have been terribly exhausted, my dear. Too many late nights in the city, I take it.” She furrowed her brow in admonishment, “You young people are all alike. You really should take better care of yourself...”

“I can handle myself just fine,” Barbara bristled, “And I certainly don’t appreciate having my clothes taken away.”

Magda shrugged, “In my country, it is traditional to sleep without clothing. As your hostess, it was I who disrobed you for bed.” The older woman’s eyes flickered mischievously, “Though I confess, I wasn’t quite prepared for the full effect. You are quite a beautiful woman, Barbara.”

“Now listen here you old perv, if you even laid a finger on me, I’ll—” Barbara stormed toward her, but suddenly stopped short, her brow furrowing. “I...I’ll...”

Magda’s gray eyes narrowed deviously, her lips curling. “Barbara dear? Is everything all right?”

But things were most certainly not all right. Barbara staggered, her hand reaching out to grab the closest object for stability, and closed in on the spiraling post of the bed. She blinked, hard. Her face felt flushed. “I feel...strange...”

As soon as Magda had entered the room, the weirdest feeling had begun to creep over her. Unexpected, more than a little disconcerting, but not at all uncomfortable. That was the problem, and precisely what was so disturbing about it. The feeling was actually sort of...pleasant.

Barbara took in a shuddering breath that made her barely-contained breasts quiver enticingly before Magda’s leering gaze. The befuddled blonde’s free hand settled over her belly, as if to try and calm the strange flutter that was making her breath catch. When she had awoken, her body had merely been vaguely tingling, a weird afterglow from the apparently riotous dreams that had consumed her restless sleep, but now those feelings were getting stronger. She could feel, as well as see, that her nipples had swollen to pronounced peaks beneath the thin silk of her robe, poking audaciously through the fabric, while between her thighs, a low, liquid throb began to pulse distractingly in her sensitive pussy.

God, what was wrong with her? She was starting to feel kind of...turned on...

Magda watched Barbara with barely contained glee. She had been eager to see how effective the post-hypnotic suggestions would be, and to her wicked delight, it appeared that Barbara was very receptive to her influence. Already she could see the color blossoming on her cheeks, the growing distress in her breathing as her voice took its sinister toll. The poor dear had no idea of the kind of peril she was in.

The old witch smiled. Good.

She left the vanity, slowly walking towards Barbara where she stood grasping the bed post, her face a mask of concern. “You’re not looking well dear,” she said, “Perhaps you need to lie down for a while?”

But Barbara shook her head, and immediately regretted it; the movement made her vision cloud up, made everything hazy. She tightened her grip on the bed post, afraid that if she let go, dizziness would send her tripping to the ground. “No, don’t need to rest,” she insisted, as Magda slowly circled around her. Her throat felt dry. “I’ll be fine. I’m just a little woozy, that’s all. It’s nothing.” She swallowed audibly. “Where are my clothes, I need to leave.”

By now Magda had slipped around the bed, and with careful slowness so not to startle Barbara, began moving up behind her. “You shouldn’t take these things so lightly, my dear,” she said, her thick, honeyed voice settling around Barbara like a heady fog. “You don’t look to be in any condition to drive.”

Barbara’s pulse had quickened. She could feel her heart thudding in her chest like a small, caged bird. She was feeling nervous, and weirdly expectant. As she closed her eyes to clear the haze from her vision, a memory swam up unbidden from the recesses of her mind. Suddenly she was back in high school, a rebellious, angry teenager. She had always been in trouble, had always gone looking for it too. So when the school’s phys-ed teacher, an older, lecherous man, had offered her a quick A if she agreed to fool around with him after hours, Barbara had leapt at the chance. The feeling she’d had then, the anxious but exciting uncertainty just before he’d put his hands on her in the dark equipment room, was suddenly recreating itself now. Barbara had come a long way since then, had grown into a supremely confident woman both in her professional as well as her sex life, so the sudden sense of being out of control was something she was wholly unaccustomed to dealing with.

Just then, cool, soft hands settled on her shoulders, making Barbara jump. She glanced back to see Magda standing right behind her, a sympathetic look on her creased face. “Magda! What are you—”

“I’m just trying to help, dear,” the woman said, as her hands began to knead into Barbara’s shoulders. “You look so distressed. Whatever is the matter?”

Normally Barbara would have recoiled from such close contact by the strange woman, but the firm, soothing pressure of her hands as they worked over the tense muscles of her shoulders and neck was...nice. The protest that was forming in Barbara’s mind died before it ever reached her lips, escaping instead as an almost grateful sigh. Her eyes shut, and her head leaned forward to allow the older woman unfettered access to her shoulders. She did not see the sinful grin that split Magda’s ruddy lips. Just as she’d expected, Barbara did not flinch away from her touch. The unsuspecting bombshell was falling right into her trap. She only needed to exercise patience...and Barbara would be hers.

“You know, I think you and I got off on the wrong foot,” she spoke, her voice low, intimate. The mesmerizing, lilting tone oozed over Barbara, dulling her dangersense even as Magda’s hands stroked away the tension in her shoulders. “We aren’t so different, Barbara. To the contrary, we are in fact very much alike.”

“Mmm...what do you mean?” came Barbara’s airy reply. She was trying very hard not to purr; Magda’s hands felt just wonderful. The tension was slowly draining out of her knotted muscles, leaving them feeling warm and loose, but at the same time, the rolling pressure was making it hard to focus on much else. She didn’t realize how close Magda was; the woman was nearly pressed up against the sumptuous curves of her backside, and her breath alighted on the sensitive skin of Barbara’s neck with every word.

“I used to be just like you, my dear,” Magda whispered, listening to Barbara’s breathing grow heavier. Her hands began to slide outwards, moving away from Barbara’s neck towards the woman’s shoulders and arms. She inched closer. “Young, confident...beautiful. Yes, from the first time I ever laid eyes on you, I must say that you’ve reminded me of years long past.” The woman chuckled, “I dare say I might have been more than a little jealous.”

“Mmm...mmhmm...” was Barbara’s only reply. Her eyes were closed, her head rolling. She was feeling so relaxed. What was Magda talking about, again?

“You are so vibrant, so fresh. And with a body like yours, you could easily bed anyone you wanted, man...or woman. But there’s something else, isn’t there? Something...missing. Something that leaves you feeling restless, unsatisfied. You feel like no one understands you. No one knows what you want...what you need...”

Her lilting words were like a drug, they made Barbara feel so dreamy, so warm. Try as she might, she could barely form a coherent thought to even utter a word in response. Magda’s hands continued to move across her shoulders and back, but now instead of kneading, her sharp nails traced endless, nonsense trails that made her skin tingle. A breathy sigh slipped from her lips. She shouldn’t be letting her do this, her mind tried to protest, things were getting too weird, too...intimate. Magda’s insight into her innermost thoughts was disconcerting. Could the woman really read her so well?

“But I understand, Barbara,” the sonorous voice wafted, “I too was beautiful once. I’m no stranger to the games young people play. I pursued and was myself pursued by my fair share of lovers—more than my share! I can be such a glutton, you see. More, more, always wanting more. Never satisfied. I see the same drive in you, Barbara. What you don’t realize is how this strength is the very root of your dissatisfaction. You’re always in command, always in control...but I know what you really need...”

Then, Barbara felt Magda’s lips brush against the nape of her neck, making her skin erupt in goosebumps, and jarring her out of her hazy reverie like a splash of cold water. Her eyes shot open, and she spun in shock, only now realizing how close the older woman stood to her. “Now hold on just a minute! What do you think you’re doing?!”

Magda’s lips bowed into a mischievous smile. “I’m sorry dear. I must have gotten a little carried away. It’s a rare occasion that I have someone as lovely as you in the mansion.” Her gray eyes glittered, “Besides...you seemed to be enjoying yourself...”

Her eyes dropped suggestively towards Barbara’s chest, and when the befuddled blonde followed her glance, she gasped. Her nipples stood at rigid attention, tenting against the black silk robe in lewd peaks. The lapels of the robe were stretched dangerously wide, barely clinging to her creamy shoulders. The soft pink of her areolas peeked out from just behind the robe’s silky edge. Barbara flushed, stammering. “What? No, I’m not—you don’t understand—I wasn’t—!”

Magda shushed her. “Now, there’s no need for embarrassment, Barbara,” she breathed, “I’m a woman too, and more than familiar with how a woman’s body works. And yours is so...”

Her voice trailed off as her gaze lingered on Barbara’s deep cleavage, before flowing down, lower and lower. Her pale hand rose up suddenly and took hold of the trailing belt chord cinching Barbara’s robe together. Barbara started, her heart skipping a beat as she felt the barest tug...but Magda simply let the chord slip from her long fingers, the knot at Barbara’s waist intact.

She gave Barbara a lingering, smoldering stare, her gray eyes boring into Barbara’s own, before she turned away and began gliding back towards the door.

Barbara’s heart was hammering. Why was she feeling so nervous, so anxious? She felt totally off her footing, like that awkward, uncertain girl in that dark gym locker again. Her throat was parched, her cheeks hot. The feeling as Magda dropped the sash was one of imminent relief, but twinged with...disappointment? What? Why would she feel that?

“I’ll have your clothes placed outside your door,” she said, as if the exchange had never happened, “You are free to leave whenever you like.”

She opened the door to leave, but Barbara stopped her, suddenly remembering. “Wait! You haven’t fulfilled your end of the bargain yet.” She tried to steel her voice, but could only manage so much; her stomach was fluttering horribly. “I want the evidence you have on me. All of it.”

But Magda only shrugged. “It’s already been taken care of. You burned them all last night, in the fireplace, right before you fell asleep,” she said matter-of-factly. She tilted her head inquiringly at the flushed blonde, “Or don’t you remember?”

Barbara’s brow furrowed. “I..did? Last night, before I fell...” but she stopped, her voice catching. The wave of dizziness, of drowsiness, suddenly swept back up, making her sway and nearly stagger. She grabbed the bedpost to steady herself. What the hell was wrong with her?

Magda looked at her again with that guise of concern. “You don’t, do you? Mm, poor darling, you must have been far more tired than you realized.” She opened the door, turning in its frame one last time. “You have nothing further to fear from me, Barbara. You’ve done me a tremendous service, and I am wholly in your debt. You have my word, your secret will never leave the walls of Crowley Manor.”

She nodded a farewell to the flustered blonde and shut the door. Her face twisted into a wicked grin, and she added quietly, “And neither will you.”

* * *

True to her word, Barbara’s clothes had been promptly returned to her soon after her departure, a sharp rap on her door announcing the arrival of the clean, pressed garments on a silver trolley. Glancing up and down the long hallway, Barbara saw no sign of the person who delivered it; they had apparently vanished into the mansion’s myriad doorways just as quickly and as silently as they’d come.

Come to think of it, Barbara thought as she quickly dressed herself, besides Magda she had seen not one sign of anyone else living at the Mansion, but surely a place so large had to have a considerable wait staff. Yet the halls of Crowley Mansion were almost uniformly silent, oppressively so. Occasionally a sound would drift through the vacant corridors; the creak of a door, the sound of steps on the hard wood, and a strange low...groan, almost, like the old bones of the house were still settling into the soggy moorland beneath it.

It gave Barbara the creeps.

She still didn’t know if she could trust Magda; the story was plausible enough, she supposed, but she wished she could remember more of last night...

At this point though, she had a choice: she could press the issue and try to get to the bottom of things, or simply leave and deal with the consequences. Given the increasingly distressing condition she found herself in physically, the decision was easy. She was getting out of this weird house. She needed time to mull things over, to plan. If she came back—

—no, when. When she came back, she would be prepared, and if Magda was somehow lying to her...well, she’d have Esha to answer to then.

With her resolve helping to boost her spirits, Barbara dug into the pile of clothing, eager to get dressed and get out of Crowley Manor. A moment later though, her brow creased in confusion. Where the hell were her panties? Her skirt was there, her blouse, and her expensive black heels...but her underwear was nowhere to be seen.

Barbara frowned. First Magda had undressed her, and now her underwear was missing. Barbara wasn’t stupid. The woman clearly enjoyed taking advantage of her. Her pride raged inside her, demanding that she confront the sly older woman about her unwelcome intrusions, yet part of her hesitated. Unbidden, an image was forming in Barbara’s mind. She imagined Magda leading her stumbling, half-asleep, into this very room, until the two of them were standing beside the broad canopied bed. She imagined Magda behind her, reaching around to unbutton her silk blouse, imagined her long, pale fingers grazing against the skin of her neck and chest as she slipped the garment away. The Barbara in her mind stood mutely swaying as Magda loosened her pencil skirt, letting it fall around her ankles until she was only in her heels and black lace panties.

Barbara’s pulse began to quicken.

She imagined being made to lie back onto the silk sheets so that Magda could undo the thin straps on her tall heels, imagined the long, expectant pause before the older woman finally reached up, took hold of her flimsy underwear, and began sliding them slowly down her long, slender legs. Then, once she was fully naked and vulnerable, she imagined Magda’s hands returning...stroking her...caressing her...

Baraba had to shake her head hard to dispel the suddenly erotic fantasy, her heart pounding, and that maddening, all-too-pleasant warmth spreading through her all over again. That her feelings could vacillate so rapidly between distrust and...desire...made her intensely confused. This wasn’t like her at all. She needed to get away, needed time to focus.

Unable to fully stop her shaking hands, Barbara got dressed quickly with the items she had left. Beneath her clothes, the nakedness of her braless tits and uncovered pussy was intensely distracting. She felt every step as she moved out into the hallway and began striding towards the broad stairway that led down to the entrance hall.

She found Magda waiting for her at the foot of the stairs.

The woman’s cool eyes fell palpably onto Barbara as she appeared at the top of the landing, making her stop short. she took a deep breath to calm the nerves that suddenly started jumping in her then. What was it about this woman that made her feel so anxious all the time? As Barbara descended the staircase, she was painfully aware of how short her pencil skirt was. Magda almost certainly had quite a view from where she stood.

Barbara descended as quickly as her heels would allow.

“It appears like it might storm,” Magda cautioned her as she escorted Barbara to the doorway. “You’re quite sure you are feeling well enough to drive?”

She opened the heavy door, and the cool night breeze, pregnant with the damp smell of the coming rain, sent Barbara’s hair tussling. It was a refreshing change from the stagnant air of the mansion, and already Barbara could feel her spirits lifting. She nodded to Magda, “I’ll be fine. Goodbye.”

She pushed past the black-clad older woman, relieved to see the old rental still waiting for her at the bottom of the stone steps. Magda stood in the doorway silently, watching with an implacable expression as the lovely blonde made her departure. Barbara glanced back only once, an irrational fear sparking inside her. She almost expected Magda to leap from the doorway and descend upon her like some infernal bat...but the woman stood stone still, watching her.

Barbara shuddered, and slid into her car. The key slid into the ignition, and a turn later, the car grumbled to life. The night was even darker thanks to the rolling storm clouds overhead, and the occasional lash of lightning made the ever present, rolling mists flicker with borrowed luminescence. She put the car into gear, and pulled away.

The sound of gravel crunching beneath her rolling tires and the sight of Crowley Manor growing ever more distant in her rear-view mirror did wonders for Barbara’s mood. Her headlights cut through the swirling fog far enough that she could easily follow the worn stone roadway as it wove and twisted around copses of sagging trees and expanses of dark moorland. Above her, the clouds thundered ominously, but Barbara paid them no heed. Soon she’d be back in the city, in her own apartment, and she could put this whole strange affair behind her.

She’d only managed a few minutes of travel, one or two miles of twisting road at most, when she felt the car give a sudden lurch; the gas pedal sank uselessly toward the floor, the engine sputtering in protest. She slammed on the brakes, cursing loudly, swerving off the road with a spray of gravel. The car rolled to a stop, and died, the sudden loss of her headlights plunging her into deepest night.

Barbara gripped the steering wheel, her heart pounding, looking down at the dashboard with dismay. She tried turning the key. The engine whined, but she didn’t even hear the sound of it attempting to turn over. Her battery might be dead, or God knows what else. She hit the steering wheel in frustration, her stomach sinking in crushed disappointment as the freedom that had been dangling so close evaporated into the thick fog swirling outside the car windows.

This sucked. This so totally fucking sucked.

Barbara wasn’t unfamiliar with the mechanics of a car engine, having spent quite a bit of time on her own roadster back home, but out here, with no tools and no illumination, her odds of locating, much less fixing the problem was next to nil. She reached into the glove compartment and found her cell phone, but a quick glance at her reception meter confirmed her fears. Dead zone. No signal at all. She couldn’t even call for a tow truck. The only recourse was an obvious one, but she despised it nonetheless. She turned to look through the back window at the gravel road that unwound behind her.

She didn’t have much choice. She would have to walk back to the mansion, and see about calling a cab.

Above her, lightning cracked loud enough to make the car roof shudder. Drops of rain began to pepper the windshield.

Just fucking great.

Pausing only long enough to mutter a long string of curses at her luck, Barbara opened the door to the rental and stepped out into the foggy night.

The rain thankfully was as yet only a very light drizzle, but Barbara knew that if she didn’t hurry, it was liable to switch to a full on downpour at the drop of a hat. She had quite a ways to go too; the mansion itself had to be at least a mile back the way she’d come. She knelt down to unstrap her shoes. Heels would just make the whole thing worse. She’d stick to the grass beside the road, it seemed thick enough that she’d be able to walk quickly and not totally wreck her feet. Thunder cracked threateningly overhead, an unnecessary reminder of the urgency of her predicament. Steeling herself as best she could, Barbara began to walk.

The statuesque blonde unhappily trudged along the roadside, her useless heels dangling from her left hand. The moorland stretched out around her, desolate and quiet, the only sound the occasional rustling of an old tree and the her own footfalls on the soft ground. The drizzle had only seemed to exacerbate the fog, which lay like a great blanket of mist as far as she could see. Walking through it was both slightly unnerving but also strangely beautiful. It lent a gauzy screen to everything around her, and when the lightning would flash overhead, the brightness would flare in the pale fog, illuminating everything almost the way a blanket of snow would.

It was almost like walking through a dream. Had the circumstances not been so miserable, Barbara might even have enjoyed the experience. She’d never seen fog quite like this before. It flowed and curled in an endless, languid dance of whorls and spirals. It rippled away from her as she walked, only to rush back in the wake of her passing. It was, however, growing thicker by the moment; with every minute that passed, and every yard she closed towards the mansion, her visibility was only getting worse. It wasn’t long before Barbara found herself totally engulfed in the pale mist; the cool dampness was soaked into her skin, and the gathering moisture made her silk blouse cling to her shapely form in enticingly revealing ways. She felt trickles running down the supple curve of her back, her long neck, and the deep cleft of her cleavage. The way the mist seemed to lick at her legs as they strode forward made her acutely aware of how sensitive her bare skin had become. She felt, or rather imagined, the faint brushing of ghostly fingers up the backs of her calves, and along the curves of her thighs. It was getting kind of distracting, but Barbara couldn’t let herself lose focus; she had to keep on following the road. If she got too far off course, she doubted that she’d be able to find her way back in the thick fog.

But as she walked, the rhythmic repetition of her footfalls in the soft grass and the gauzy, obscuring haze of the mist began to dull her concentration. With nothing much to look at, her mind began to wander. How long had she been walking? She couldn’t be that far away from the mansion, surely she’d have noticed some sign of it by now?

Thoughts of the mansion immediately brought to mind all the strangeness of the last few days. The museum, Carrie, the strange, blood-red diamond...and Magda.

Barbara felt the butterflies in her stomach again.

What was it about the woman that Barbara found so...compelling? No, that wasn’t quite right; it was more than that. while their previously brief interactions had only left her feeling a sense of antagonism towards the haughty woman, since coming to her mansion, Barbara couldn’t deny that being in her presence had an almost intoxicating effect on her. She was used to men (and women) staring at her; indeed, she often relished the attention. She dressed scandalously on purpose, to amuse herself at the way her body made people react. It was a tool of power for her, one she usually wielded with confident skill.

But Magda...Magda was different. The way the older woman’s eyes roamed over her, confidently, openly ravenous, blatantly predatory, was so unlike anything Barbara had ever encountered before. When Magda ogled her, Barbara could just feel the woman undressing her with her eyes. It made her skin prickle, made the small hairs on the back of her neck stand on end...and made her feel other things, too. And her voice...!

Barbara flushed.

The smooth, liquid rhythm of her voice was so undeniably alluring. It could disarm her, make the words catch on her tongue. Only a few moments of that low, confident purr was enough to turn Barbara’s convictions to jelly. She’d never encountered a person who could make her feel so...vulnerable...so easily. And as much as Barbara wanted to deny it, from the way her body reacted it was clear that, subconsciously, she found the whole thing to be a ridiculous turn on.

God, what was wrong with her? It wasn’t right...so why was just thinking about it making her all hot and bothered?

As her mind drifted further and further into her heady daydream, Barbara’s steps through the dense fog had become almost absent-minded, automatic. She ceased to really pay attention to the winding road, dwelling instead on the increasingly lurid images that were playing across her mind’s eye.

She thought back to their encounter in the bedroom. She remembered the way Magda had snuck up behind her, how her cool hands had caressed and massaged her shoulders until the steady pressure and the lilting sound of her voice had lulled her into a sleepy daze. She couldn’t even remember what Magda had been talking about—all she could recall was the sensation of her muscles melting under her stroking hands.

As if responding to the memory that danced in Barbara’s mind, the fog behind her began to swirl with preternatural focus. As it revolved, the dense mist coalesced into two long, sinuous tendrils. Weaving their way forward, they arched over Barbara’s back, and slithered like phantom snakes down the back of her collar. They spread out, coiling across her shoulders, their feather-light, ghostly touch barely registering to the statuesque blonde. Yet as they roiled beneath her clothing, their ethereal touch seemed to reinforce the sensations in her memory, until Barbara let out a drawn sigh. She could almost feel Magda’s cool hands on her skin, rolling away her tensions, her cares.

And just like in the bedroom, a lapping tide of warm lethargy began to batter her consciousness. As the stroking hands drained away the knots in her muscles, they also siphoned her strength. Barbara remembered how she began to sag into Magda’s hands, how her knees just seemed to wilt. At the same time, the nonsense whispering, and the sensation of her warm breath flowing across the sensitive skin behind her neck, had caused her nipples to spring to eager attention. Looming over her from behind, Magda would have had an almost unobstructed view of them as they tented the slim fabric of the black robe away from her curvaceous tits. God, even now, the thought of those stormy gray eyes staring hungrily at her barely-covered breasts was enough to make her nipples throb.

Beneath her blouse, the tendrils of mist pushed down past her shoulders, curling under her arms, where they began to slowly wind themselves around Barbara’s full and sensitive breasts. With impossible lightness, the hazy plumes wound in endless spirals over her heated skin, while ghostly fingers plucked and tweaked at her aching nipples. Barbara staggered slightly, her eyes drifting shut as a sharp breath pulled across her lips. As she steadied herself, her hands rose almost of their own accord to take hold of her suddenly tingling tits. She shuddered, gasping in astonishment as her rock hard nipples pressed into her warm palms. Not a little reluctantly, her suddenly shaky hands let go of her jutting breasts, revealing the rigid peaks pushing obscenely out beneath her silk blouse. She could almost see their needy throbbing—she could certainly feel it.

“Get a hold of yourself, Barbara,” her mind scolded, “Get your mind out of the damn gutter. Concentrate. You need to get back to the mansion and call a fucking cab. Walk.”

Trying her best to push the distracting sensations from her tits out of her mind, Barbara continued forward. But now, she was acutely aware of how the silk of her blouse felt as it brushed against her with every step. For a few minutes, she successfully managed to stay on the task at hand, had even managed to increase her pace, but presently, the monotony of the landscape and the implacable haze of white once again took its toll.

Barbara’s mind returned to the brief, feather-light brush of Magda’s lips against the back of her neck. The mist was more than happy to supply a fresh tendril to help her relive the moment.

Fresh goose bumps erupted down her spine in the wake of an unwilling, all-too-pleasant tingle. The tendrils of fog chased after it, their touch as fleeting as the barest breeze, but just perceptible enough to keep jarring Barbara out of her attempts at concentration. Unable to focus her thoughts for more than a few moments at a time, just long enough to reorient herself on the winding gravel path, they inevitably resumed their tawdry wanderings.

The kiss. It had shocked Barbara, had cut through the dreamy massage, as alarm bells began sounding in her head. Don’t let her touch you like that, her mind screamed, don’t let her fool you; you know how this game works! Of course she did; Barbara had done it herself, countless times, only it was always her administering the sinister kiss, her hands and lips relentlessly seducing some unsuspecting victim into her sexual control. She refused to let the same thing happen to her, much less at the hands of some unhinged recluse. She remembered her anger as she’d spun around to face Magda, only to be greeted by that cool, gray stare, as the woman’s slender hand suddenly grabbed hold of the chorded knot at her waist.

Barbara’s heart had skipped a beat then, the anger in her diffusing almost immediately into mute anxiety. After a long, pregnant moment though, Magda had simply let her go.

But...what if she hadn’t?

Around her ankles, long serpents of mist began to slowly snake their way up Barbara’s long legs. They hugged to her skin, coiling around her in slow, searching undulations as they inched closer and closer to the hem of her short pencil skirt. The haze was so thick about her now that Barbara might not have noticed them even if she’d actively looked, but her mind was somewhere else entirely.

Barbara stopped in mid-stride, breathing heavily. She brushed the hair out of her face with a tremulous hand. Her heart was fluttering, but not from exertion. Her breasts were positively throbbing, and her face felt like it was on fire. Her black pumps slipped from her fingers to fall onto the grass with a muted thud. She pressed her palms against her heavy eyes, the coolness of her touch soothing against her feverish skin. God, how much longer was there to go? She was getting so tired; even the weird creepiness of the mansion was starting to seem appealing if it meant she’d be able to lie down a minute. Her head was spinning, and her tits...!

Almost unbidden, Barbara felt her hands glide down her face, her neck, until they finally came to rest on the massive swells of her breasts. The disheveled blonde shuddered as her hands pressed into the heavy, soft mass, her nipples pressing hotly into the palms of her hands. Just having them held felt like such a tremendous relief, they were getting so sensitive that just walking was driving her crazy. What the hell was wrong with her? She shouldn’t be feeling this way...and yet...

Her aching tits demanded attention, and Barbara was finding it harder and harder to ignore them. Her ginger explorations began to grow bolder, her hands moving as if with a mind of their own. She almost whimpered as they rolled her tits beneath the smooth silk of her blouse, her nipples thrilling at the knowing pressure of her fingers. Barbara moaned, her eyes glazing, as the incessant tingling of her breasts gave way to the heady satisfaction of feeling her breasts massaged. God, it felt amazing.

Is this what it would have been like, her fevered imagination wondered, if she had torn away your robe, and seized your heavy breasts like this? Could you have stopped her?

Would you have wanted to?

“Oh...no...” Barbara groaned, her head rolling back. She didn’t see the way the mist had curled around her fingers, her wrist. Their ghostly touch seemed to be guiding her hands, urging her to touch herself more. Barbara sighed as she squeezed at her own breasts, but in her mind, it was Magda’s hands that played with them now. It was her slender fingers that milked her aching tits, that pulled at her rigid nipples. Pangs of pleasure raced through her body, while below her waist, the slowly encroaching tendrils of mist began to quicken their pace.

They slid up past her knees, twining around her legs, and slipped beneath Barbara’s black skirt. They traced the thin rivulets of tell-tale wetness running down her thighs towards her hot and defenseless pussy. Barbara shivered as goose bumps erupted on her legs beneath the phantom caresses of those devious tentacles. She shifted her legs together unconsciously as the first airy appendage slipped into the dripping folds of her labia, gliding against her swollen nether lips in long, sinuous strokes.

More joined in, grazing across the swell of her mons, licking against her weeping pussy, and encircling the prominently-swollen bud of her clitoris. Barbara barely realized any of it, so fleeting was the sensation of their touch, but her body reacted powerfully. The wispy tendrils wove a tantalizing spell between her legs, coaxing her bare pussy to blossom beneath their ethereal touch. Insidiously, they stoked the fires of her arousal, driving her desire to new heights, until the ache in her pussy made her thighs tremble and her knees shake.

Barbara clutched at her desperately quaking breasts, moaning uncontrollably as the strength drained out her legs, and she crumpled to her knees on the soft grass, dazed. Her pussy was throbbing. She could feel the wetness soaking her thighs. She couldn’t understand what was happening to her, or why she seemed wholly incapable of stopping her roving hands from delightfully mauling her purring tits. Her legs felt like jelly. Her heart raced. She couldn’t remember the last time she’d felt so turned on. What the hell was happening?

You have to stop, her mind begged. You have to get up! Something’s not right! Get UP!

But the mist manipulating her hands refused to let her stop. Their silent urging kept one hand busy playing with one swollen tit, while the other began to slip down, stroking over her tensing belly, over her rocking hips, and towards the hem of her skirt as it rode high on her slick thighs. With agonizing slowness, her fingers traced up along the hot skin of her inner leg before slipping beneath the hem of her skirt. She marveled at the wetness she felt already coating her thighs; she was completely soaked.

Her fingers stopped expectantly, quivering just inches away from her throbbing clit. Stop Barbara, you have to stop, a small, dwindling voice kept begging...

“I just...I can’t stop...” she whimpered, her eyes sinking shut, “Just a little, I just need a...little...oooh!”

She gasped. Her fingers slipped into the slick folds of her pussy with practiced familiarity. She moaned as they danced along her labia, tracing a seductive, wet rhythm that made her hips rock uncontrollably. It was her hand between her legs, touching her just the way she liked to be touched, and yet at the same time it didn’t feel like her hand at all; it felt detached, possessed, like a puppet dancing to invisible strings.

It’s Magda’s hand, that shrinking voice in her mind realized, not yours; she’s the one touching you. Making you ache. Making you squirm. You can’t give in, you...can’t...!

But then her fingers closed in on her clit, pressing against it with exacting pressure, and blossoms of pleasure exploded behind her closed eyelids. The pleading resistance was drowned out by a long, helpless moan as Barbara thrust her hips into her curling hand, while her fingers seized her taut nipple in a sharp, vice-like grip. The pain was delicious contrast to the waves of pleasure crashing between her legs. It heightened it, sent her soaring. She arched her back, her face turning up at the dark, fog-shrouded sky, as the pleasure climbed irresistibly.

I’m going to come, she thought in reluctant, blissful misery. Right here, right on the grass, I can’t stop. It feels too good, it’s coming, it’s...!

Just then, Barbara felt something brush against her face. Her wet, emerald eyes blinked in confusion...and she felt it again, tracing along her cheek, licking across her parted lips. A sudden movement in the fog startled her, but she was sure she saw—there! Her eyes opened wide in shock as she saw the sinuous wavering of a thick fog tendril as it tried to vanish back into the mist, just a second too late. With a start Barbara looked down at her body...and screamed.

The tendrils roamed over her openly. They wrapped around her arms, her neck, her chest. They encircled her heaving breasts through her blouse, her slim waist; they coiled around her legs in undulating, serpentine motions.

“W-what the HELL!?” Barbara cried, the seductive spell broken. She wrenched herself to her feet, staggering, brushing at the seizing wisps of fog that clung to her thrashing limbs. They quivered and dissolved as she struck them, but reformed almost as fast as she could bat them aside. Barbara backpedaled, twisting away from their grasping embrace. Almost in a panic, she followed the lengths of the grasping tendrils as they led away from her, into the mist, where they seemed to be conjoined in a great, roiling mass of animated fog. Even as she stared in utter disbelief, more tendrils snaked out of the nebulous cloud, reaching towards her hungrily. Barbara screamed. She spun, and forced her leaden limbs into desperate motion.

She ran.

Barbara plunged through the thick fog in a reckless dash. She couldn’t see but a few feet in front of her, wouldn’t be able to avoid a sudden hole or tree branch, and a fall would certainly break a wrist, an ankle, a leg...but she didn’t care. Her mind recoiled at the utter impossibility of what she saw, terror lancing through her like shards of molten glass. She ran. She dared not look behind, certain that the writhing, insane mist-thing would be right behind her. She ran faster.

Her lungs burned, her legs felt like they were moving through quicksand, but still she pushed forward. Just when she was certain she would give out, would fall, she saw something in the mist. A flicker of light appeared in the distance as she rounded a bend in the road, and her heart surged with blind hope. She raced towards it, and with every step, the hulking, decrepit mass of Crowley Manor slowly swam into view. The torch sputtered in its sconce beside the wide doorway, but even its feeble light was enough to spur Barbara on. She mounted the steps to the door two at a time, practically slamming herself against the heavy oak before striking furiously at the heavy iron knocker.

“Open the door!” she screamed, “For the love of god open the—”

The massive frame groaned in protest as a latch was thrown on the inside, and suddenly the door swung inwards. Barbara threw herself into the opening, slammed the door shut behind her.

She collapsed to the ground, shaking, swallowing loud gasps of air into her burning chest.

“Barbara? Barbara what in the world...?”

She looked up, blinking away the panicked tears that had welled in her eyes, and saw Magda standing over her. The woman’s face was creased with concern as she bent down to steady Barbara’s trembling shoulders. The words began spilling out of Barbara’s mouth before she could stop them.

“Something—something in the fog. Car broke, tried to walk back...Oh god, something was there! Something—!” she stammered, tripping over her words. Her heart hammered. “I...I can still feel it...touching me...oh god...!”

“What? What are you talking...oh dear, hush, it’s alright now. It’s alright...” Magda soothed, circling her arms around Barbara’s sobbing shoulders and pulling her close. The simple comfort of the embrace overwhelmed Barbara’s inherent suspicion towards the strange older woman, and with a grateful sob she allowed herself to be pulled to her feet. She rested her head against Magda’s shoulder, wilting. She couldn’t stop from shivering.

“It was just the fog, dear,” Magda whispered, stroking her fingers through the thick waves of Barbara’s hair. “It can play tricks. The moors are a terrible place at night. It’s alright now. You’re safe...”

“No, no, you don’t understand!” Barbara pleaded weakly. She turned her face to look up into Magda’s cool, gray eyes, her red lips trembling. “I saw it, I know I did! I’m not making this up, I—mmph?!”

Her stammer was cut short as Magda suddenly pulled the distraught blonde towards her, silencing her with a hard, commanding kiss.

Barbara’s eyes shot open in shock, and she made to struggle, but Magda’s arms held her fast. She moaned in protest, her arms flailing uselessly, but Magda would not relent. She gripped Barbara firmly by her thick blonde tresses, while her other arm slipped around Barbara’s slim waist to pull her even closer. The soft, insistent pressure of Magda’s lips sliding against her own was so confident, so intimate, that despite her shock Barbara felt the fearful panic in her chest slowly drain away, and with it went the little strength she had left. She sagged in the older woman’s arms, her struggles fading. As Magda’s dominating kiss did its wicked work, Barbara’s eyes fluttered heavily, and slowly, irresistibly, sank shut.

With practiced finesse Magda’s lips dueled with her own, until their will-sapping pressure slowly coaxed hers to open, to part. When Barbara felt the velvet thrill of Magda’s tongue as it forced its way into her mouth, she groaned, and yielded completely.

She hung limply in Magda’s embrace, her heart throbbing, as her overtaxed body suddenly surged anew with the hot, smoldering arousal that had assaulted her in the grasp of the fog. Her nipples swelled to rigid attention, and her breasts tightened as they pressed enticingly against Magda’s own. Beneath her skirt, her pussy ached with unsatisfied need. Her clitoris throbbed. Magda’s tongue totally dominated her own as they writhed together like amorous snakes.

When the kiss finally broke, Barbara was panting. She struggled to open her eyes, and found herself staring as Magda’s deeply ruddy lips curled into a smile.

“There now,” the older woman whispered, “That calmed you down, didn’t it?”

“W-what...? I—I don’t know...the room’s...spinning...” Barbara groaned, her eyes hooded, glassy. When Magda’s hands traced down the supple curve of her back to sink possessively into the soft globes of her ass, Barbara moaned...but did not resist. “Ooh, wait...what are you...?”

Magda’s gray eyes glimmered hypnotically. “I’m merely trying to comfort you, dear, the best way I know how...come, let me kiss you again...”

“N-no, wait, I—mmmmf,” Barbara whimpered, as Magda’s lips captured hers again. This time, Barbara’s mouth parted immediately under the irresistible pressure of Magda’s lips to allow that long, serpentine tongue to slide erotically back into her eager throat. The dazed blonde moaned around the impossibly thick member as it plundered her mouth in slow, deep strokes, filling her mouth as if it were a long, hot cock. Without thinking, Barbara instinctively began to suck at the meaty appendage dancing with her tongue. Her arousal jumped to dizzying heights, wetness spilling from her overheated pussy to run in shining rivulets down the inside of her thighs.

For the second time that night, Barbara felt an orgasm welling up inside her. She was rapidly approaching the edge and Magda had only kissed her. But that tongue, oh god that tongue...! What would it feel like...down there...?

But just as Barbara reached the precipice of her ecstasy, Magda wrenched herself away from the blonde’s hot, pouting lips, her own breathing heavy and labored. Barbara groaned in disappointment, chasing after the retreating tongue to try and draw it back in, but she wasn’t nearly fast enough. Her impending release immediately began to ebb, until her throbbing clit and dripping pussy merely smoldered in unsatisfied need.

“So sweet...! Dear gods, you are delectable...!” Magda marveled breathlessly. Releasing Barbara from her dominating embrace was a significant struggle, but reluctantly, the black-clad woman did. She held onto the staggering blonde’s trembling hands as much to steady her as it was to satisfy her own terrible need to keep touching her.

Magda’s gray eyes shone hungrily as she stared into Barbara’s glazed, half-lidded eyes. She’s weak, vulnerable. It would be so easy to...but no, she mustn’t. Not yet. Soon, the time would come...but for now she needed to wait...

“Come with me, Barbara,” Magda said, her tone low and compelling. Immediately, her voice took hold of Barbara’s battered will, enveloping it in warm, seductive drowsiness. The busty blonde swayed on her feet, instantly succumbing to the witch’s sonorous words and falling into a deep, heady trance.

Wordlessly, she allowed Magda to lead her up the wide staircase, back to the dark canopied bed where she awoke just hours before. Standing behind her entranced victim, Magda reached around to undo the buttons of her silk blouse, and the silver zipper of her black skirt. The clothing fell aside uselessly, and once more, Magda had to suppress the almost overwhelming urge to ravage the dazzling beauty standing helpless before her.

Wait, she hissed, you must wait. Already, she falls deeper and deeper under your spell. You need only wait...and she will be yours forever.

Magda guided Barbara to lie back onto the cool sheets, her ravenous eyes lingering on the blonde’s turgid nipples, her sopping cunt. She groaned miserably.

“Soon, my sweet. Soon, you will be all mine,” she whispered, breathing the words into Barbara’s sensitive ear. “But for now, sleep deeply. Forget the terrors of this night, and dream only of your desire. Let it consume your dreams, even as it shall soon consume your every waking thought...”

She allowed herself one indulgence. She let her hand slip between Barbara’s parted legs, and slid one, then two slender fingers into the sopping wetness of her womanhood. Barbara moaned softly, her eyelids fluttering as Magda worked those long fingers in and out of her tightening pussy, coating them in her juice. Magda pulled her hand away, and eagerly sucked her fingers into her hot, wet mouth.

She purred as the taste of Barbara’s sex flooded her mouth, her gray eyes rolling back. Oh how she would savor this.

She chuckled evilly down at the entranced blonde. “Sleep for me, darling...and dream...”