Diaries of an Ooze Witch (Entry 3.4) (Patreon)

(Explicit)

3.4

I dreamt of her again.

The raven haired woman upon that hillside visited me in my dreams again. She wore her comely form in this one, no sign of her swollen tits, just the regular and pleasing kind. In the dream, she beckons me through city streets, bidding me to follow her. Unable to resist, I give chase, listening for the clicking of her heels against the cobblestone streets. I call to her, but she is unresponsive, only leading me further through the cityscape. I am at once frustrated and intrigued by her inattentiveness. There is a bewitching aura about her that causes me to take leave of my senses and pursue her.

I track her to a small house in the center of the city. The door at the front is left ajar, an invitation inside. Stepping through, I find myself in the parlor of the domicile, a fire crackling in the hearth as the room appears well lit and opulent. Upon an ivory white couch with golden trim, she lies sprawled out, her features the very picture of gorgeous. I go toward her as she curls a finger, beckoning me forward. My body moves on its own, entranced by her wiles and scooping her up in my arms. I cherish the scent emanating from her flesh, a musky sweetness that is at once primal and feminine. It invades my nostrils and I drink of it deeply, running my hands through her thick, lustrous locks. I pull her head forward into a kiss, tasting a sickly sweet and salty flavor on her lips. She can only smolder back at me with that sassy and taunting gaze. It vexes me as she glowers with a superiority born of womanly conceit. There is a pride that incenses me, making my senses leave me as her gaze manages to look down upon me even when I tower over her.

Furious, I flip her over and tear off her garments. The gasp of surprise only spurs me forward as my hand grows hot with righteous anger. A slap rings out as my palm connects with her backside, causing her sumptuous behind to quiver beneath my touch. A moan squeezes out of her throat before resting upon her lips, pausing long enough for her to savor it, to claim it as her own. The woman looks back at me, that same infuriating gaze that drives reason from my mind and stirs me to action. She wants to be punished, to be made to feel the wicked touch of my fury. She wants to feel that hotness upon her backside so she can bring forth more moans from deep within her loins. This was no woman, not any normal one by any measure. She was a succubus, a veritable whore, one who demanded that I bequeath justice that one of her kind so thoroughly deserves.

And so I deliver it.

My hand flies to her ripe bottom again and again, the thunderous slaps resound through the air and she moans whorishly with greater vigor and conviction. Already, I can see her thighs slick with her fluids, staining the couch with her unmistakable musk. Again, my hand slaps her fleshy rump, drawing another moan and a squirt from her loins. This arousal was dangerous, one born from a masochistic desire to be punished. By all means, I should have stopped. I should have left that house and retained my noble dignity. But as I remained, my hand held high and my eyes resting upon her behind, bared to the world, I disregarded any instinct that refused the vengeance I desired to visit upon her. My hand continued to fall upon those cheeks, beating them until red. With every slap bringing more of the whore out of her, the woman continued to spill her juices from her loins, drenching the couch and her thighs with more of her inner foulness.

It was then that I saw her body shift. Flesh rippled out of her backside as her waist imploded upon itself. She turned her head to me and puckered freshly plumped lips with an intent to cause mischief. Her tits swelled to egregious size, growing into the couch despite being on her fully extended arms. Her body had once more grown to a prodigious size, the embodiment of her lust and wickedness. But as my fingers sunk into her bulbous ass, my yearning grew unbearable. I had to have her… No, I had to punish her. As my rod grew stiff with indignation, I knew what course I had to take.

Lunging forward, my shaft slid into her with ease. A garbled gasp escaped this licentious woman’s mouth, shocked by my forwardness but not my virility. Pushing forward again, I felt my lap make contact with her backside, causing flesh to ripple and bounce. I pulled back slightly before thrusting into her once more, this time leaving with a moan so loud it would cause dragons to blush.

My rhythm soon becomes second nature to me. With each thrust, I drive her further into frenzy and closer to teaching her the lesson she needs to learn. Another pump, another scream of ecstasy. Her decadent body glistens with sweat, still holding that sickly sweet musk, wiping all reason from my mind and turning me into a beast for her. I can no longer detach myself from her as she could escape my ministration. Stuck in eternity as we can only escape through our consummation.

Submitting to my baser instincts, I make one last cry before exploding into her, forcing a maddened bellow from deep within her soul as her vagina spurted upon the couch, filled with my seed. Our strength spent, I flopped on top of her, my shaft still nestled within her. I could feel myself sink int her, slowly subsuming myself with her flesh. No longer with the ability to move, I tacitly accept my end, finding peace in death. Slowly, as my consciousness fades from my mind and the flesh swallows me whole, I feel a sense of quiet resignation, and warmth that envelopes me more wholly than the mother’s womb.

A blissful oblivion.

I awaken not long after, my sheets drenched in sweat and a stickiness along my thighs. At once, I am mortified and embarrassed by my actions. I wipe my brow and pull off the covers, balling them up into one mass and tossing them into a corner of the room. Why had I dreamt of her again? The touch of her lips, the fullness of her breasts, it all came back in crystalline clarity. This woman had made such an imprint upon me that even her scent refuses to leave my mind. She is at once intoxicating and torturous, stretching the limits of my sanity until it is close to bursting. I fear that I am becoming obsessed, and at once I am reminded of my Brother and his mania. I shudder to think that I might end up like him, so completely lost in my own madness, a twisted mass of flesh and irrationality.

I find the bath and pour out some water to splash my face with. Gazing in the moonlit mirror, I search my features for any signs of madness. While slightly manic, I saw nothing that put me on the same level as the husk my Brother had become. Satisfied, I scrubbed my face with a towel before using the same one to clean off the stickiness between my thighs. With my body cleansed, I sat on the edge of my naked bed and pondered what to do next.

I sat in silence for the next few hours.