Chapter 1: The Fallen Witch's Temptation
Dorothy stood in the twisted wreckage of the house that had plummeted from the sky, her boots crunching against splintered wood and shattered glass in the eerie silence of Munchkinland. The air was thick with the scent of magic and decay, and beneath the rubble lay the lifeless form of the Wicked Witch of the East, her striped stockings peeking out like a cruel tease. Dorothy’s sharp blue eyes glinted with a perverse curiosity, her lips curling into a wicked smirk. She adjusted the bulge in her gingham dress, her secret throbbing with a dark, insatiable hunger.
'Well, damn,' she muttered to herself, her voice dripping with a sly, Midwestern drawl. 'Ain’t every day you drop a house on a witch and get to play coroner. Let’s see what kinda magic you’ve got left in ya, sweetheart.'
She knelt beside the corpse, her hands trembling not with fear, but with a twisted thrill. The witch’s skin was cold, almost porcelain under the dust, and Dorothy’s fingers traced the edge of those infamous stockings with a predator’s precision. 'Bet you were a real bitch in life,' she chuckled, her tone biting. 'But death’s got a way of makin’ everyone a little more… accommodating.'
Her cock twitched under the fabric of her dress, hard and unapologetic, as she leaned closer, her breath hot against the still air. She wasn’t some wide-eyed farm girl anymore; Oz had awakened something primal in her, a need to dominate, to take. 'You ain’t gonna hex me now, are ya?' she taunted, her voice low and mocking. 'No, darlin’, you’re just gonna lie there and let me have my fun.'
Dorothy’s hands moved with purpose, hiking up her dress to free herself, her arousal evident and unashamed. She straddled the witch’s lifeless form, her knees pressing into the debris, her mind racing with filthy thoughts. 'Bet your pussy’s still got some wicked in it,' she growled, her words sharp as a blade. 'Let’s see if I can wake the dead.'
Her pulse hammered as she positioned herself, the heat of her own body a stark contrast to the cold beneath her. She was horny as hell, her skin already sweating with anticipation, her breath coming in short, eager pants. The thought of desecrating this once-powerful witch sent a shiver of raw, dripping desire through her. She wasn’t just wet with excitement—she was damn near feral.
As she leaned in, ready to claim her perverse prize, the ground beneath her trembled, a faint whisper of magic stirring in the air. Dorothy froze, her smirk widening. 'Oh, you’ve still got some fight in ya, huh?' she purred, her voice a challenge. 'Good. I like it rough.'
Her hand gripped herself, guiding her cock with a fierce determination, the tension building to a fever pitch as she prepared to thrust into the forbidden. The world of Oz was about to get a whole lot wickeder.
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