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The Witch’s Coven by J.D Laydon

From the author of the Mistress Taz series.

Mac starts on-line dating and meets a mysterious lady Wendy, knowing that she’s a Domme and a lover of BDSM. What he doesn’t expect is the witchcraft that dominates the ‘witch’s coven’ of which she is a part. To make matters worse for him, his ex-girlfriend Jen is one of Witch Wendy’s guests, there to seek revenge on Mac for being spurned. At the hands of this mysterious Domme and his ex, Mac experiences an unimagined level of pain, humiliation and the threat of long-term incarceration and subjugation at their hands.

Mac’s experience begins to change as he develops a connection with a nymphomaniac slave belonging to Wendy. He soon realizes that he has his own skills in the supernatural, and uses them with surprising success when his Domme has a dinner for special guests. The success of the night results in the option of a role for Mac in an upcoming ball with a clan of female witches. In the interim, to agree to the event, Mac’s nymphomaniac accomplice demands a night as his Mistress, bringing more largely pleasurable moments of submission and masochistic experiences for Mac. How will this end for him? What dark adventure await? Read the novel and find out!

Femdom, Supernatural, BDSM, feminisation, beatings, heavy bondage, shackles, leather, latex, chastity devices, CBT, dungeon cells and sex toys, and much more.

Artist Credit

Cover Art © Dm_Cherry –



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I had dated Jen for six months, not long after the break up, from my one true love. Jen had been voracious and certainly a distraction from my heart-break. I had actually known her through work, for quite some time before we dated and we had even flirted innocently when I was in my long-term relationship. It never got close to being more than playful pretence.


However, a few months after being single and wanting to try and meet new women, I asked her on a date and she had readily accepted. She told me to come round to her house and had booked a restaurant nearby. When I knocked, she invited me into the ordinary two up two down town-house in Knutsford. She lived outside the centre of town though. I had driven to her house and expected her to come straight out to my car.


“Come in, the taxi will be ten minutes or so. I’ve just opened some wine.”


“Oh, I’ve driven I’ve assumed I will be driving.”


She had turned away almost as if not listening, heading down the hallway. It gave me an opportunity to look at her dress code. She had a burgundy sweater on. A relaxed look, I thought. However, below the waist, she had on a black leather skirt and knee boots. The heel was high and pointed. As she bobbed down the corridor her bottom had a jaunty swing her long black hair swished from side to side. The noise was matched by the sound of nylon rubbing together as she walked. Something in the noise made me look at her skirt. It was tight, but not tight enough for me to know if she was wearing stockings, which is what my ears had livened my senses to wondering. There is just that different noise, that only a connoisseur would appreciate.


I followed through a dark dining room, with an old wood table and rather grand chairs. The room was surprisingly large. The chairs at each end of the table, had arm rests, the four along each side were standard chairs. The one at the head end I finally noticed had more ornate carving than the others. The one at the opposite end was less ornately carved. It made me think of the king and knight on a chess board, with the side chairs, looking like mere pawns by comparison. The walls were of the room were burgundy and gold and the curtains to the back window were drawn even though it was still light outside


The kitchen was at least modestly lit as I followed her in, with a frisson of anxiety.


She picked up one ornate goblet and took a sip, before opening the fridge and pouring some rich yellow wine into a plain wine glass, which she handed to me.


Her eyes were deep brown and bore into me as she passed me the glass.


“I remember you saying you liked Chardonnay. This is South African! They didn’t have a fine Californian at Majestic today.” She smiled, her white teeth shining, between the dark burgundy lipstick. “I might not always treat you so well.”


I had a burning desire to kiss her right there and then. Something stopped me, but I sensed she wanted it too.


“Are you sure you don’t want me to drive before I have some wine?”


“I am absolutely certain! We are getting taxis and you are staying when we get back. I want you to be relaxed, so cheers!” She chinked my glass with her own, before I had a chance to move.


Her assertiveness, had shocked me. It was pretty clear she was expecting us to have sex on our first date, as well as having me stay the whole night.


My nervousness was ramping up. It was something I had never experienced before. A woman, so certain of her own sexuality, that she confidently proclaimed what was going to happen. I formulated my question with care.


“What happens if you hate me after an hour of dinner?”


“I’ve known you for five years Mac, I know I won’t hate you and even when you were taken, I had always hoped we would have dinner one night. You never asked me though, which is good of course. You had your loyalty.”


I had to look away, she still hadn’t taken her eyes off me. The choice of words, made me think of my ex. She had started working her way through the church choir after ten years of us being together and her being totally faithful to my knowledge. Something changed and in the last year I knew she had cheated on me on several occasions. Finally. I quit and left, moving into my own bachelor flat on the third floor of a block, with a decent view over a canal.


“So, have a sip. Tonight, you are mine and I will look after you, I promise.” As I turned back to her, she leaned in and stretched up on her toes and kissed me very gently on my lips. Her dark burgundy lipstick branding my lips, with a line of fire it seemed.


“The implication is, I’m staying the night and we are sleeping together?” It was a statement, but a question rolled in to one.


Her response surprised me.


“I have a pulse. A man I have craved for years asked me to dinner.” Her eyes twinkled and she smiled. She moved in and wrapped her hands, one still holding her glass, around the back of my waist and she pulled me gently into her. “I’m having him tonight!”


She rubbed her leather skirt hard against my groin form one side then slid it across. My erection had been struggling to gain some freedom inside my boxers, but the response was evident even from my position, even before her breasts pushed into my chest. They were full and pushed high, in whatever she was wearing under her sweater.


I put my own glass on the counter, without needing to move position and went to return the clutch, aiming for her buttocks.


“Ah!” She admonished very quickly. “I didn’t say you could touch me ……. yet!”


I stopped centimetres from her leather covered buttocks. Amazingly I thought I could feel heat or electricity coming through that small gap.


“Good boy!” She rubbed her crotch harder against mine, giving me a reward for my ability to resist temptation and to follow her command, it seemed.


She reached up and kissed me again. This time harder and longer, her tongue darting into my mouth and exploring. When I went to return, the probing, she pulled back.


“Tut, tut.” She mocked. “You made me cut that moment short.”


Her eyes twinkled and she continued to rub herself against me. The message was clear. She was deciding the pace of any contact. I desperately wanted her kiss back. The smooth wetness of her tongue had ignited a craving that filled parts of me well beyond my lips.


“You can touch my buttocks now, as long as it is gentle. As a reward, that is!”


I followed her instructions, using the pad of my thumbs, rather than gripping her as I had wanted to. I stroked very gently across the most prominent curve on each side and explored out to the sides, still with the pads only. I found what I was hoping to. Sensing the change of pressure, that a suspender band would induce.


As I did her eyebrows arched and the eyes smiled even more vigorously. My erection twitched and it was clear she could tell.


“You better not cum in your over-excited state.” She laughed. “At least not until I give you permission, which will be much, much later, I warn you.”


Just then her phone pinged. It was on the counter close to my wine. She glanced at it.


“Taxi is outside. Down in one, such a waste of good wine otherwise as it was perfectly chilled!” I pulled back and did, as instructed. She was right, it was far too good to glug like that.


She opened her handbag and opened a clasp mirror, checking her lipstick and adding a fresh coat. I went to get some kitchen roll to clean my own lips, which I was sure were smeared in burgundy.


“Don’t you dare!”


She didn’t wait for my response but headed to the door. The taxi driver eyed me throughout the journey, in his mirror, with what I took to be jealousy more than ridicule.


Jen had a way of making everyone feel her sexuality it became clear and the driver was no exception.


So began my first experience with a dominant woman. The submission was confirmed when half way through dinner on her return from the toilet she dropped some black lace pants in my lap. “Your turn to go to the bathroom. Your boxers back to me please.”


I did as instructed, spending the rest of the night until morning wearing them. Even when she finally rode my cock, after hours of toying with me, the lace thong still rubbed my bottom. The top of the front the lace was by then buried into my scrotum as she fucked me harder than I had ever been fucked before, whilst she screamed out her own pleasure, clawing at my neck and imploring me to hold off my own orgasm, until it was impossible.


Long before that moment, she had tied me in the knight’s chair, once I was naked apart from the knickers. Once tied she left me for a while and went upstairs, to get toys. She came back down in a black lace kimono, covering her stockinged legs. The suspender belt was deep and PVC with six straps on each side. She had shed her bra. Her breasts even beneath the lace were voluptuous and maybe not as high as when she was clothed, but her thimble shaped nipples still pointed, slightly upwards, despite her forty plus years. The only blemish on her perfect body was a small tattoo on her left shoulder of a bird of prey and a scar, that I knew could have been from a caesarean or hysterectomy.


She sat in her throne like chair, one leg on the table and masturbated with a plug-in wand, watching my reaction as she reached her first orgasm. She then placed pegs on my nipples and returned to her Queen’s chair as I decided it was better described. A wooden throne even. She masturbated a second time, whilst the pegs left me in pain, frustrated by the inability to move..


After another release she drank some wine and asked me if I wanted some. When I responded in the affirmative, she told me off and said, I should know by now to call her ‘Mistress’, if I wanted my rewards.


“Yes mistress, sorry mistress!” I had replied eager to please her. The words spoken for the first time, rolled off my tongue. I didn’t know then how many times I would utter them over the next six months.


My reward was not chilled chardonnay, but an even sweeter nectar a she straddled my face, squatting on me, her feet on the seat either side of my hips, but inside my bound arms. She thrust her pelvis forward holding on to a strategically placed hook on the ceiling, which I hadn’t noticed. I nearly drowned such was her wetness, that kept coming and coming as my tongue probed every crevice, that she allowed me access to.


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