Chapter 2: The Witch’s Toybox
The tension held for a long moment after the others had shuffled away, a thick silence broken only by the mechanical hum of the pool filter and the distant, muffled sound of the outdoor shower turning on. Cat watched them go, her amber eyes tracking Juan’s stiff retreat, Paul’s stumbling gait, Michael’s slouched compliance. The blue LED lights made their skin look alien, washed out.
Then she turned, and the mask of contemplation slid away, replaced by a lazy, predatory grin. She shifted her weight, pushing Matt back into the depths of the plush chaise and settling herself into his lap. His body was tense, the evidence of Juan’s violation cooling and sticky on his back.
“Mm, you’re a mess,” she murmured, not with disgust, but with possession. She nuzzled into his neck, inhaling the scent of his sweat and his shame. “My mess.”
She kissed him, not with the violent passion of before, but with a slow, exploring tenderness that was somehow more controlling. Her tongue traced his lips until he opened for her. She could feel his heart hammering against her chest. When she pulled back, his eyes were glazed, the love spell wrapping him in its familiar, smothering warmth. But beneath it, like a faint, discordant hum, was that new vibration of self-aware shame.
“They’re so easy,” she breathed against his mouth, her voice a conspiratorial whisper. “Like toys with one setting. But you…” She traced his jawline with a fingertip. “You’re different today. I can feel little thoughts rattling around in there. Trying to get out.”
“No thoughts,” Matt whispered, the words automatic, a plea. “Only you.”
“Liar.” She said it lightly, kissing his chin. “It’s okay. I like it. Makes you more real. More fun to play with.” She settled more fully against him, feeling him harden beneath her even through his distress. “Tell me, pet. Do you love being under my spell? Really?”
“Yes.” The answer was immediate, fervent. “It’s… it’s all I want. To be yours. To be for you.”
“Mmm.” She pretended to consider, her fingers toying with the curls at the nape of his neck. “I could do anything, you know. Anything at all. Would you rather be my footstool? A pretty, living ottoman? Or maybe…” she leaned in, her lips brushing his ear, “should I turn you into something useful? A vibrator that can’t cum unless I let you. A voice-activated toy that only says ‘I love you, Cat’. The possibilities are endless.”
He shuddered, a full-body convulsion that was equal parts terror and arousal. “Whatever you want. Anything.”
She believed him. That was the spell’s doing. But the other feeling, the sharp, personal humiliation from before, was still there, a stubborn knot under the silk. She filed it away, a curiosity to be examined later.
“Paul ruined the moment,” she said abruptly, changing tack. She said it like commenting on the weather. “All that crying. So… pathetic. It lacked vision. I gave him a moment of pure use, and he reacted like a scolded child.” She sighed, a performative sound of disappointment. “It’s boring. So I’m asking you. What should I do with him? Turn him into something better. You decide.”
Matt blinked, his mind clearly struggling under the weight of the question, the responsibility, the implicit test. The love spell pushed him to please her, to give the right answer. But what was the right answer? Something cruel? Something inventive? His eyes, wide and desperate, flickered toward the house where Paul had disappeared.
“I… I don’t know,” he stammered.
“Think,” Cat purred, grinding down softly into his lap. The friction made him gasp. “Use that pretty, rattling brain. What does a crier deserve?”
Matt was silent for a long time. The night insects swelled in chorus. Cat watched the struggle on his face, more fascinating than any obedience. He was trying to see through her eyes, to think like her. The spell made him adore her, but it didn’t teach him her cruelty. That had to be learned.
Finally, he spoke, his voice small but clear. “He was embarrassed. By the… by what happened. By being seen like that.” He took a shaky breath. “So don’t let him be seen.”
Cat raised an eyebrow, intrigued. “Go on.”
“Make him… invisible. But not to you. To everyone else. So he’s always there, but he’s… nothing. A ghost. He can see everything, can hear everything, but no one sees him. No one hears him.” Matt’s words gained a strange, hesitant momentum. “He wanted to hide when Michael… finished. So let him hide forever. Inside his own head.”
Cat stared at him. The idea was subtle. It was psychological. It was, in its own way, beautifully vicious. It wasn’t a flashy transformation into an object; it was a life sentence of isolation. Exactly the kind of punishment that suited the crime of patheticness.
A slow smile spread across her face. It wasn’t the smile she usually gave him. This one was genuine, appreciative, and utterly chilling.
“Matt,” she said, her voice soft with something akin to pride. “That is a fantastic idea.”
The praise washed over him, and for a second, the shame and confusion were drowned out by the golden glow of her approval. He melted into the chaise, a soft sigh escaping him.
But as Cat laid her head on his shoulder, looking out at the shimmering, empty pool, her mind was already working. The idea was good. But more than that, the source was interesting. That suggestion hadn’t come from the love spell. It had come from him. From the crack. From the part of him that had felt that sharp, personal shame and recognized it in Paul’s tears. He hadn’t suggested turning Paul into a rug or a lamp. He’d suggested a prison of perception.
He had, in his own way, shown empathy. And then he’d weaponized it.
Cat closed her eyes, the hum of her magic a satisfied thrum in her veins. The game hadn’t just changed. It had gotten a new player. And she was starting to think she might not be the one making all the rules anymore.
And she was starting to think she might not be the one making all the rules anymore.
The thought was a cold stone in her gut. She sat up, disentangling herself from Matt’s clingy warmth. His suggestion hung in the air between them, clever and cruel. It deserved a reward, but it also required a correction. She couldn’t have him thinking it was his power.
“Paul!” Her voice cut through the night, a sharp command that echoed off the water.
A minute passed. Then the sliding glass door opened with a soft hiss. Paul emerged, scrubbed raw and wrapped in a thin towel. He shuffled forward, his eyes fixed on the decking, the memory of his public degradation fresh on his skin. He stopped a few feet from her chaise, trembling.
“Look at me,” Cat said.
He did. His eyes were red-rimmed and hollow, filled with a desperate, spell-forged love that was already crumbling under the weight of his shame. It was a delicious contradiction.
“Matt thinks you ruined the moment with your crying,” she announced, flicking a dismissive hand toward Matt, who flinched at being named. “He suggested a punishment. A good one.” She let that hang, watching Paul’s face contort. “You wanted to disappear? Okay.”
She raised her hand, fingers splayed. A low, resonant hum began in the air, a sound that vibrated in the teeth. The blue pool lights seemed to dim.
“Please, Cat, no,” Paul whispered, his voice breaking. “I’m sorry. I love you so much. It was just… it was a lot, I was surprised, I…”
“You love me?” Cat laughed, a bright, sparkling sound that held no warmth. “Of course you do, sweetie. I made sure of that.” The hum grew louder, the space around Paul beginning to warp, the light bending away from his form. “The thing is, you’re too hot to just turn into a chair or something. What a waste of a good ass.”
Tears streamed down his face now. “Please, I’ll do anything. Don’t make me go. I need to see you. I need to be near you.”
“Oh, you’ll be near,” she said, her voice dropping to a conspiratorial purr. The hum peaked, becoming a pressure in the ears. “You’ll be right here. You just won’t… be.”
She clenched her fist.
Paul gasped. A visible ripple passed over him, not erasing him, but unmaking his presence. His form shimmered like a heat haze, then solidified again. To anyone else, he would be empty air. To Cat, he remained, perfectly clear, frozen in a posture of pleading.
“There,” she sighed, tilting her head. “Better already.”
He sobbed, the sound horrifyingly loud to her ears, but she knew Matt heard nothing. Paul looked down at his own hands, then at Matt, who was staring right through him with a confused, fearful expression.
“He can’t see you,” Cat explained cheerfully. “No one can. Ever again. You’re my secret now.” She leaned back, enjoying the sheer panic dawning in his invisible eyes. “You’re gonna watch everything, Paul. Every little thing I do with them. And you’ll never be seen, touched, or heard again. Forever is a long time to think about crying over a little cum.”
He fell to his knees, his silent wails wrenching his shoulders. He begged without sound, mouthing the words please, I love you, I’m sorry over and over.
Cat watched, her initial amusement curdling into something sharper. His despair was perfect, but it was a closed loop. She wanted it to be active. She wanted to use it.
“You love me so much?” she asked, her tone sugary. “Prove it. Right now.”
Paul stared, uncomprehending, snot and tears on his face.
She pointed a lazy finger at him, then traced a slow circle in the air over his lap. “Touch yourself,” she said, her voice cold and flat. “Let’s see that famous love. Do it. For me.”
His horror was absolute. He shook his head, a frantic back-and-forth motion.
Cat’s eyes hardened. The air around him tightened, a magical vise of compulsion. It wasn’t the gentle, insidious love spell. This was raw force.
A broken, silent scream tore from Paul’s throat as his hands moved against his will. He fumbled with the towel, his movements jerky and alien. He was crying in earnest now, his body racked with sobs even as his hand worked. The utter violation of it, the profound spiritual demolition, was more intimate than anything she’d done before.
Cat laughed, a real, joyful sound. She crossed her legs, getting comfortable. “Yeah, that’s it. Look at me. Only at me.”
His eyes, wide with a terror that had finally burned through the last of the love spell, locked onto hers. He was trapped in a paradox of absolute obedience and soul-deep revulsion. She owned every twitch, every tear, every shudder of his form.
She glanced at Matt. He was pale, hunched in on himself, watching her watch nothing. He saw her pleasure, her focused attention on empty space, and he understood something terrible was happening. He just couldn’t see what.
That was the point. The power was hers again. Isolated. Unshared.
But as Paul’s silent, forced climax approached, a sickening tremor of effort and agony, Cat felt no thrill. Only a distant, clinical interest. The crack in Matt’s spell had shown her a new game. This, with Paul, was just the old one. A blunt instrument. She’d proven her dominance, but to what end? The victory felt hollow, performed for an audience of one who was too broken to truly appreciate it.
Paul finished, slumping forward onto the cool tiles, his body convulsing with silent, dry heaves. Cat snapped her fingers.
“Enough,” she muttered.
The compulsion released. Paul lay still, a hollowed-out shell. She left him there, invisible and broken on the deck. She turned to Matt, whose face was a mask of confused fear.
“Go inside,” she said, her voice devoid of its earlier playfulness. “Shower. Don’t speak to anyone.”
He scrambled up, eager to escape the wrongness in the air, and fled.
Alone—truly alone, for the first time all night—Cat let out a long, slow breath. The hum of magic subsided, leaving only the night sounds. She looked at the spot where Paul wept soundlessly. She looked toward the house where Matt cowered. She had never felt more powerful, or more strangely, perilously bored. The cracks weren't just in them. They were in the foundation of everything she'd built. And she was the only one who could see them all.
The hollow feeling lingered, a thin ash taste in the back of her throat. Power had been a warm, glowing sun inside her for so long. Now it felt like a cold, polished stone. She glanced at the spot where Paul wept silently, a ghost only she could see. His suffering was perfect, but it was a closed circuit. It gave her nothing back but the quiet hum of his despair.
She needed a different vibration. Something to shake the strange boredom loose.
“Matt,” she called, her voice cutting through the low buzz of the cicadas. “Back outside. Now.”
He appeared at the sliding door almost instantly, hair damp from a hurried shower, eyes wide. He’d changed into soft gray sweatpants and nothing else. The sight of his lean frame, so eager and pliant, usually sparked something. Tonight, it just looked like… fabric.
“Sit,” she commanded, nodding to the tile by her chaise.
He knelt, the position automatic. His eyes sought hers, desperate for a clue, for a fragment of the earlier praise. She ran a bare foot along his shoulder, the contact making him shiver.
“Tell me what you love about me,” she said. Her tone was idle, but her eyes were sharp. “Be specific. No ‘everything’ or ‘your smile.’ Dig.”
Matt swallowed, his mind clearly scrabbling for an answer that would please. “I love… I love the sound of your laugh. It’s like you’ve just remembered a secret no one else knows.” He paused, daring a glance up. “And the way you touch me, even when it’s… firm. It feels like being seen. Like I matter.”
Cat listened, her expression unreadable. They were good answers. Poignant, even. Were they his, or were they what the spell thought she wanted to hear? The doubt was a new, itchy sensation.
She needed a more direct stimulus.
With a languid gesture, she summoned it from the house. The object flew through the open door, a sleek, matte black vibrator that landed softly in her palm. It was warm, as if it had been sitting in the sun. She saw Matt’s eyes flick to it, a question forming and dying in his gaze.
“Tell me more,” she purred, switching it on.
A low, insistent hum filled the space between them. It was a curiously organic sound, not purely mechanical. There was a pulse to it, a rhythm that almost mimicked a heartbeat. Matt flinched, momentarily, at the sudden noise.
“I love your confidence,” he rushed on, his words tumbling over the vibrating drone. “The way you know exactly what you want. It makes me feel safe. Like I don’t have to think, I just have to… be. For you.”
Cat said nothing. She shifted on the chaise, sliding the humming device under the waistband of her silk shorts. Her head lolled back slightly, but her amber eyes stayed locked on Matt’s face, analyzing every micro-expression. The pleasure was a mild, distracting warmth. The real focus was him, and the object in her hand.
“Keep talking,” she breathed, her voice a little tighter.
The vibrator’s pitch changed subtly, escalating in a wave pattern that felt oddly familiar, almost willful. Matt was babbling now about the scent of her hair, the sharp cleverness in her eyes, the devastating weight of her attention. His words were a flood of programmed devotion.
But Cat was only half-listening. She was concentrating on the texture of the vibrations. They shuddered up through her bones. There was a resistance in the pattern, a stutter in the cycles that felt less like a machine glitch and more like a… a clenching.
Anthony.
She’d almost forgotten his name. It had been months. He’d criticized her, called her power a crutch for a hollow heart. So she’d hollowed him out instead, trapping his conscious mind inside this useful, buzzing form. A permanent punishment. A toy with a soul.
The vibrations intensified suddenly, a sharp, almost angry peak. Cat gasped, her back arching off the chaise. It was good, viciously good, but it was tainted. She could feel him in there, raging against the sensation, fighting the very pleasure he was forced to provide. It was a feedback loop of hate and utility.
Matt saw her reaction, her brief loss of control. A spark of something flared in his eyes—not desire, but a dawning, horrified comprehension. He stared at the black shape in her hand, its hum now filling the world.
“Is that…?” he whispered, the words choked.
Cat came down from the peak, the aftershocks mixing with a cold sweat. She held the vibrator up, letting Matt see it properly. It pulsed in her grip, the light at its base flashing a slow, rhythmic red.
“This,” she said, her voice recovering its cool edge, “is Anthony. He had opinions. Now he has settings.” She brought it close to his face. The hum was a tangible force. “Wave hello, Matt.”
Matt recoiled, his face pale. The love in his eyes warred with a pure, animal fear. He was looking at a fate. He was looking at Paul’s invisible torment given form. He was looking at the final, logical end of Cat’s whimsy.
The spell inside him strained. The crack she’d felt earlier widened into a chasm.
The adoration didn't break, but it fractured, and through the fissure poured a raw, undisguised terror. He loved her. And he was utterly, mortally afraid of her. The two emotions sat side-by-side in his gaze, inseparable and paralyzing.
Cat saw it. She finally felt the spark she’d been missing. Not just power over a body, but power over a soul witnessing its own potential obliteration. It wasn’t warmth. It was a crisp, clean lightning strike.
She smiled, a real smile that touched her eyes.
“Don’t worry, pet,” she whispered, lowering the still-vibrating device. Anthony’s rage pulsed against her thigh. “You’re still much more fun like this.”