I managed to meet my goal of writing three stories for my September Kinky Scribble Challenge!

This scribble took two hours to write over the course of four writing sprints with my partner pseudo_size. Thank you so much for all your support this month, pseudo! I appreciate you more than words can say.

I gave it one round of edits tonight. I suspect it could use more, but that’s not the point of a scribble, so I’m letting it go. That in itself is a damn victory!

A kinky scribble is a flash fiction exercise I developed to help me level up as a writer, to create stories and let them go. I envy artists who can scribble a sketch and share it unfinished into the wild for people to enjoy. This is my answer to that for writers. Feel free to join in yourself, and share with #KinkyScribble so others can find it. If you want to take the September challenge, use #SeptKinkyScribble.

 

Artwork

The photo I used in the banner is by Raymond Perez on Unsplash.

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Money is tight right now. I have multiple works of fiction in progress, ranging from wholesome to kinky as fuck. I’d like to continue releasing them here for free.

If you enjoy this story and want to see/hear more like it, the best way to do that is to support me financially. The few donations I get usually go right into commissioning art and paying beta readers. (The second best way is to boost the signal on my stories and encourage your friends to support me, too.) Thanks, y’all!

 

Story synopsis

You get more than you bargain for on a date with a witch who makes a truly magical hard cider.

 

Story content

Tagging is the only way I know for people online to be able to opt in or out of a sexual experience with fully informed consent. I welcome help in tagging—please let me know when I have missed anything important.

Tags for this story include:

Content tags: F/x – shrinking, gender neutral POV character, alcohol, potion, dubcon, noncon, mind control, objectification, worship, insertion

 

Read the story

TEXT VERSION: Read the text version of the story behind the cut.

AUDIO VERSION: I might record audio for this story. If I get enough requests, I will move it up on my priority list.

 

Swiping Right on a Witch

1293 words

By Elle Largesse

Copyright 2023, all rights reserved. Do not reproduce my work or use it in any way without my permission.

 

 

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You knew she was a witch when you swiped right, but you didn’t expect her to be quite so… witchy.

“You want to go where for a first date?”

“An autumn harvest festival. For the Equinox. This is my favorite season. I’ll treat you to some homemade hard cider…”

Well, how weird could it be, if there was free alcohol? You searched your closet for something flannel and wore the jeans your ex said made your ass look good. You could barely tear your eyes away from her profile long enough to make the drive.

“You look fucking gorgeous,” you said, with no exaggeration. Against the backdrop of the golden afternoon light, her black form-fitting dress hugged her curves in an incredibly sensual silhouette. Even her floppy hat worked for her, though on anyone else you would’ve called them bougie.

You frowned at the empty landscape of dried wildflowers and tall grass waving in the breeze. There were no tables with sketchy Tarot readers, no kegs of anything, and not a single soul in sight. Just a black cloth spread at her feet like a picnic blanket. “Where’s the festival?”

She lifted an unmarked green glass wine bottle and gestured vaguely beyond a line of trees. “I like to do a little, ah. Pre-gaming, I think you’d call it? In private.”

“Ohh, so you don’t like sharing,” you said, coming closer and reaching for the bottle.

“It’s like you can read my mind.” Her blue nails glinted like dragon claws as she passed it easily to you. “Here. I don’t mind your lips on my bottle.”

You gave her what you hoped was your sexiest grin. The cork came out easily, and the brew inside tasted like pure October, distilled into spices and tangy warm tingles. You shiver. “I admire your skills. Are you a kitchen witch or something? This is impressive.”

Her smile widened and she twirled one of her big brown curls. She stepped closer. “I’m a sex witch, love. A very kinky sex witch with dubious morals and a wickedly good imagination.” She retrieved the bottle from you, and something about her movement distracted you. There was power to it. Something disorienting. “And I have to say, I admire your trusting nature. It’s… impressive.”

The world fell up.

Flannel fabric appeared out of nowhere, as if someone had thrown a blanket at you. Your jeans felt strange. And your shoes.

“So fast! Oh, you are very into me, aren’t you?” Her voice sounded strange, both more resonant and yet further away, and confusion made you look around to the tall grass. The landscape had changed, with strange trees. Was that black space ahead the festival? And some kind of… weird art sculpture of two big black abstract shapes? Were those meant to be witches’ boots?

“Where are you?” She didn’t actually disappear, did she?

“You might pretend you’re too cool for all this witchy shit, but deep down, you’re into me.” The sculptures in front of you moved, levitating and sinking back down with magical ease. Your stomach dropped out of you as you registered that the sculptures weren’t art at all, but continued upward as legs—enormous? Oh God. Enormous legs—a real person wearing real boots, and beautiful shapely legs stretching up and up… to a thigh-high slit in a sexy black dress.

The world reconfigured itself.

You gaped up at her, now standing eleventy billion feet tall and looming over you so completely that her breasts partly obscured your view of her face.

She seemed to grow even larger, but your brain caught up enough to understand she was simply moving closer. Bending at the hip. Her monumental cleavage arrived in your view first and, like a dumbass thinking with your pants, you nearly swooned.

Her big, beautiful smirk took higher priority. Making eye contact with a woman of her size was a thrill unlike any you could remember experiencing. Part of you actually thought, thank God I swiped right.

She reached for you. Slender fingers the size of tree trunks, tipped with those iridescent blue claws, caressed around you. They cinched along your waist and lifted you effortlessly from what you now realized were the heap of your clothes. How could any of those have fit someone as tiny as you? It felt as if they belonged to another person. Or as if you belonged to a new life as she raised you through a rush of air to examine you closely.

Beautiful. So beautiful. Especially when she smiled at you like that, as if you’d given her a compliment just by admiring her. “Deep down, you are really genuinely into me, aren’t you?”

You nodded numbly for her. Or, not numb… you were simply too full of awe and lust and something like gratitude, to make sense of it.

She carried you to the black fabric you now understood was the picnic blanket. Like an avalanche, she settled herself there. You watched as she lifted her dress and spread her thighs to reveal black lace panties so big they could have fit over a two-story house.

You couldn’t believe how much you wanted to go to her. To explore her. To pull back the curtain.

You tried to climb down from her hand, and she laughed, catching you easily by one arm. “I love it when the magic takes you this hard.”

“Please!” you called up to her. “Please let me—”

“Let you what?” She took your arm and hand firmly between thumb and forefinger, and lifted you experimentally. Exhilaration lifted you through the strain, and you felt as if you were flying. “Use your words, toy.”

You warmed at those words. That ownership. This impossibly beautiful woman wanted to toy with you. She wanted you to be hers. It felt like she was swiping right on you in the most fundamental way possible. Choosing you.

“Please let me pleasure you.” The words tumbled from your mouth with a certainty you had never possessed before. But you could do that, when you became a possession. Everything else fell away. Everything became so clear, so simple. No more exes or trying to be cool or trying to hold out hope for the answer to life to come someday in an app that rarely told the whole truth about someone.

You knew more truth here with her, than you could ever know again.

She spread her gargantuan thighs. She smirked as she lowered you.

You smiled at her with relief. You took hold of the lace and pulled it to the side.

Her vulva was massive, framed by soft brown curls. The lips were long, red-pink, like the petals of some rare iris spilling forward to welcome you, to draw you inward. The scent of her made you moan.

You didn’t hesitate, but pushed an arm inside. So warm, after the cool autumn air on your bare skin. You lifted a foot and pushed a leg within. It felt like slipping into the comfort of a warm bath, or an otherworldly portal to a dimension of hot, wet, bliss. You pushed inside.

Inside, inside, the walls of her pulsed with arousal, and you knew your lust could only hope to match hers. Inside began to move.

You moaned, only to know that the immense distant resonance was her moan, drowning you out. It made you louder, not in competition, but in celebration. Louder.

You writhed for her, and the walls of her throbbed like heavy drumbeats of desire. Weight from all around compressed you, held you, until you knew safety and pleasure and the truest intimacy you could imagine. A distant cry of ecstasy echoed around you, and you joined it. Pleasure taking you together.

The world became her.

 

 

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