Finally, Melvin's legs lost their strength, and he collapsed to the floor, his muscles turning to jelly. His glasses skirted off his nose and skidded to the floor. The witch stood up, her mouth still full of his seed, and took the blue bottle off the shelf. She spat Melvin's load into the bottle, placed a finger over it and shook it viciously. Her breasts jiggled a little as she did so, and surprising himself, Melvin felt a tiny stirring from his limp penis.
"Shake well," she said, wiping her chin with her sleeve. She held the bottle up to her eyes and regarded it for a moment.
"Perfect," she said and turned to him, "Get on your knees."
Her tone of voice told Melvin that this was an order, not a request, and he pulled himself to his knees before her, head bowed, as if in prayer. The witch slid one strap of her dress over her shoulder and then the second strap over her other shoulder. Her long black dress fell with a quiet rustle, exposing her nakedness.
Her body drew a gasp from Melvin. It was breathtaking. She was no witch; she was a goddess, and she would make him her slave. No mere mortal could hold a man so ultimately in her grasp with such a heavenly body. He was helpless before her.
Snatching some of these thoughts out of Melvin's head like snowflakes on her tongue, the witch smiled. He had quite the imagination. Very cute.