tagMind ControlThe Witch Next Door

The Witch Next Door

bydaughterof1917©

Rebecca rolled over in her bed, gently waking from a deep sleep; it was Saturday morning, and way too early for her to be waking up like this. She lifted her head from the pillow, her long red hair cascading down around her face as she did so. Eyes darted over to the clock, taking in the time: 7:15. Definitely way too early to be awake. The young woman of 23 groaned and flopped back down, face first onto her pillow. She always hated it when she woke this early; usually, it meant no getting back to sleep, and an extremely long, tiring day ahead of her. Slowly, Rebecca became aware of a sound... a constant thump thump thump from outside. In her sleep-hazed state, she tried to piece together what could be making such a racket at such an early hour; it was no good, as she was halfway between the real world and the dream world. Groaning, Rebecca rolled onto her back and reached over toward her husband, Ty. Or, at least she would have reached over to him if he had been there. That certainly snapped her from her groggy state. Rebecca sat upright in bed, looking to her left; the sheets were thrown back, and Ty was nowhere to be seen. Odd, as he usually slept in later than she did.

The young woman pushed back her side of the covers and sat up in bed; her feet slipped into her slippers as she stood up, rubbing her bleary eyes and yawning. She took a few steps toward the bathroom, pushing open the door and calling out. "Ty? Are you in here babe?" The only answer was the drip of the faucet, water striking against water. No husband in there. She shuffled out of the bedroom, the thumping still coming from outside, grating on her weary nerves. It sounded like hammering. At this hour? Way too early for a Saturday. Rebecca peeked into the kitchen, thinking that he had, perhaps, started on breakfast. No such luck there, either. Nor the living room, nor the garage. A tingle of worry nagged at the back of her mind, worst-case scenarios plaguing her mind's eye as she walked around the house in search of her husband. Still dressed in her pajamas, pink sleep pants and a baby blue tank top, Rebecca opened the front door, wondering if he were, perhaps, outside.

There was no sign of him in the front yard, but the obnoxious sound of the hammering sure was louder now that she was out in the neighborhood. That, coupled with her AWOL husband, Rebecca's nerves began to fray. With a huff, she closed the front door and walked out to the sidewalk, toward the source of the sound -- the house across the street from hers. She lived in a generally quiet neighborhood, with no through streets, so traffic was never an issue; it was always neighbors only that drove through that part of the neighborhood. As she neared the house, she saw somebody kneeling on the roof, replacing shingles from the look of it. It was a man, already sweaty from the work in the quickly warming morning. But as Rebecca grew closer, she saw that the form was very, very familiar; her eyes traced the shape of his muscly arms, unshaven jaw line, and sweaty black hair. Her husband, Ty.

"TY! What are you doing?!" She called up at him, her temper somewhere between shocked and outraged that her husband had gotten out of bed so early to work on somebody else's house without even telling her. Even though she yelled up to him, there was no response. He wasn't hammering often enough, or loud enough, that he couldn't have heard her completely. "Ty! TY!" She continued; even when he wasn't hammering, he didn't respond. Unbelievable! He was ignoring her?! "Ty, answer me! Don't ignore me!" Her temper was rising. Rebecca was so focused on staring up to the roof of the house that she didn't notice the front door open, or the thin, pale brunette that stepped out of it. The woman was beautiful, though she had such a fair complexion it seemed she never got in the sun; her figure was thin, with very subtle curves. Even through the thin t-shirt she wore, it was obvious that her breasts were small, but exceptionally perky. The woman leaned against the door frame, watching in seeming amusement as Rebecca yelled up to the roof.

"He can't hear you, darling." The woman's voice cut through the noise easily enough, catching Rebecca with enough surprise to make her jump. The young housewife spun to face the woman standing in the doorway, hair arcing out around her in a red blur; her eyes were, momentarily, wide.

"What do you mean he can't hear me? It's not that loud up there." Rebecca replied, testily.

"I mean he can't hear you. Simply enough. I needed some work done on my roof. You must be his little wife, yes? He mentioned you." The woman replied, smirking. "I'll send him back your way when I'm done with him. I promise he won't be too tired."

The words caught Rebecca by surprise, who was left to stand there and gape at what she'd just been told. "You're not going to send him anywhere. He's my husband, lady! He's going to come with me whether or not you want him to. Ty! Ty, come down here!" Rebecca replied before looking back up to the roof, cupping her hands around her mouth so that her husband would have a better chance of hearing her. The dark haired woman standing in the doorway just shook her head and sighed.

"Why don't you just go home and wait like a good girl?" The woman said, wearily. "All you are doing is making a scene."

"Oh, this isn't a scene. I can show you a scene, if you want." Rebecca replied, hotly.

The pale woman smirked in response. "I'm sure you can."

She stared over at Rebecca, her eyes piercing deeply into those of the red haired housewife; the gaze that she got from this woman made a chill run up Rebecca's spine, and caused a strange pressure in the back of her head. But as soon as it came on, it went away, leaving Rebecca more than slightly confused.

"What in the hell do you mean by that?" Rebecca asked, putting her hands on her hips and hooking her thumbs in the waist band of her pink pajama bottoms. The pale women just looked amused, which caused Rebecca's temper to flare even more.

"Nothing, nothing." The brunette assured, condescendingly. "Go on, huff and puff for all the good it will do you."

Rebecca frowned and, with her thumbs, pushed her pajama pants downward; they fell smoothly to her ankles, where she stepped out of them and kicked them to the side. This left the pretty young woman standing on the sidewalk in her tank top and a pair of thin, white panties. She didn't even seem to be aware that she'd done it.

"Look, lady," Rebecca said, reaching up to the neckline of her tank top; she pulled the material down while lifting up her modest breasts, so that they spilled out of her top and bounced slightly before her. Her nipples quickly hardened in the morning air. With her breasts now free, Rebecca began to shake her torso slightly from side to side, to make sure her tits were wiggling in front of her. She still wasn't aware of what she was doing. "I don't know who you think you are, but you can't talk to me that way. And you sure as hell can't boss my husband around like he's your slave."

This made the pale brunette smirk even more. She looked down to the swaying breasts of the red haired girl, watching their subtle motions from side to side, growing more excited as Rebecca fell further under her control. It took some will of her own, but she looked up from the moving tits and back into Rebecca's eyes. "I can't boss your husband around? Yes I can." The words, when spoken, carried the weight of the woman's words; they bore into the mind of the poor wife, settling deep in there and becoming truth.

"Okay, well maybe you can boss him around like a slave," Rebecca admitted. She stopped swaying, only so that she could sit down on the sidewalk and spread her legs; her hand snaked between her open thighs to rub at her covered pussy. "But you can't talk to me that way."

"Or you'll show me a scene."

"Damn right," Rebecca replied, moaning as she pressed the cotton of her panties against her moist pussy. A damp spot began to show, growing larger and larger the more she rubbed. She seemed to lose herself to the masturbation, forgetting that the pale woman was nearby at all. Her eyes closed and her fingers worked quickly; she pressed against her swollen clit, through the fabric, and ran a finger into her covered slit.

"Are you showing me a scene yet?" The woman taunted, which snapped Rebecca out of her daze.

"Oh, you'll... ung... you'll know when... I show you a scene..."

"Tell me your name," The woman commanded, while staring across the short distance to Rebecca.

"Rebecca Whitfield," The woman replied automatically, not thinking anything odd about anything going on. The brunette frowned slightly.

"You don't strike me as a Rebecca... I think, for you, something more appropriate would be ... Becky. But Whitfield sounds too sophisticated for you. Wouldn't, oh... Cummings be so much better?" She spoke, and the words settled into Becky's mind, rewriting what she knew of her own identity. "Becky Cummings. Isn't that better?"

"Uh huh," Becky gasped; she shuddered as an orgasm struck her, her pussy clenching before it released a flood of her own juices, soaking her panties and her own thighs. She was left panting, and smirking up at the brunette in the doorway, like she had just accomplished something. Her nimble hands quickly pried off her soaked panties and lifted them to her mouth, putting the wet fabric between her lips so she could suck on her own juices.

"And that's your husband up there?" The brunette asked, not phased in the least by Becky's actions. The red head nodded in response.

"No he's not. You've never met that man in your life," The woman replied, smirking. Once again, Becky's mind began to rewrite what she knew. Meeting Ty in college, going to football games and cuddling close to him for warmth, their wedding, their honeymoon, their life together... all erased, gone forever. She was left blinking.

"What... am I doing here...?" Becky asked, words muffled from the panties stuffed in her mouth. Her entire purpose for coming over here to argue with this woman had been erased, leaving her confused.

"You're my live-in servant, of course. You came out here because you said you wanted to show me a scene. And it looks like you did. Though I don't know why you're all dressed up like that. You know you're not allowed to wear cloths here, you stupid slut."

The words hit Becky like a ton of bricks. Her intelligence dropped dramatically, her libido increased a hundred-fold... and her free will quickly crumbled, to fit her new position. Becky blushed furiously. "I'm sorry, ma'am. I didn't know what I was thinking..." Becky quickly got out of her tank top, the only thing she was left wearing. The panties stayed in her mouth.

"Now that you've showed me your scene, why don't you get back inside and start work on my breakfast. Then, when I'm done eating, we can go to the bedroom, and I'll give you something to eat too."

"Oh, yes ma'am!" Becky quickly got to her feet to comply, hurrying into the house. The brunette smirked as she hurried past her, watching her new servant's lovely tits bouncing wildly as she went, before she, too, stepped into the house and closed the door behind her.

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