When you call her a witch, nobody really takes you seriously. Not you human friends, not your pack members. Little they know that you could hardly be more literal. You are a werewolf. She caught you during the full moon. She smelled like musk and magic. You didn't scent the danger hidden under the wilderness. Maybe that's why you trusted her even in your feral form. Now it's been two years and you are still under her spell.

She keeps you as a pet, for fun, companionship and milk. Chained, even when you are not physically attached to the wall of the basement. You can fill the lace of her spell tight around your cock. You can't climax without her permission and the magic keep your balls full and heavy. She needs your sperm for her weird spells, but you also know she enjoys you needy.

She even got you to suck dick, her bony fingers mindlessly petting your hair as she pushed your face in another male's crotch. You are hers and she takes no qualms in reminding you.