The Coven: Abducted

The mansion loomed on the city’s edge, a sleek fortress of glass and stone, its modern angles hiding centuries of secrets.

Known to locals as the Blackthorn Estate, it was home to the Coven - a quartet of immortal witches who’d defied time since the 17th century.

Their eternal youth wasn’t a gift of nature but a dark art, perfected through a ritual that demanded the semen of men bearing a rare phenotype, a genetic quirk as elusive as a comet.

These men were their elixir, their essence distilled into immortality.

For decades, the witches had hunted, seduced, and drained their prey, leaving no trace.

Now, their sights were set on Mason Carter, a 23-year-old biology student at Westbridge University, unaware his blood carried the key to their endless lives.

Mason was ordinary by design; lean, tousled brown hair, green eyes that caught the light, a quiet charm that drew smiles but not suspicion.

His days were spent in lecture halls, his nights in a cramped dorm, oblivious to the eyes tracking him since his DNA surfaced in a university health study.

The Coven had found him, their first viable mark in years, and tonight, they would claim him.

Seraphina, the Coven’s leader, orchestrated the plan from the mansion’s candlelit library.

At 28 in appearance but centuries old, her hourglass figure - full breasts, cinched waist, raven-black hair cascading in waves - exuded authority.

Her voice, low and commanding, carried a sinister edge, her violet eyes glinting with impatience. “He’s perfect,” she said, studying Mason’s photo on a tablet. “We move tonight. No mistakes.”

Lila, the youngest appearing at 19 but already a hundred years old, perched on a velvet chaise, her petite frame - small breasts, narrow hips, blonde pixie cut - radiating innocence.

Her blue eyes widened, her submissive nature masking a quiet thrill for the hunt. “Will he be scared?” she asked, biting her lip, her soft voice trembling with curiosity.

“Does it matter?” snapped Vivienne, 35, the oldest looking of the group, her curvy body - plump ass, generous cleavage, auburn curls - draped in silk.

Her green eyes were cold, her uninterested demeanor a shield for her ruthless precision. “He’s a means to an end. We take what we need.”

Cassandra, 22 in appearance, leaned against a bookshelf, her athletic build - toned legs, firm breasts, chestnut hair in a high ponytail - vibrating with defiance.

Her hazel eyes sparked with mischief, her bratty personality itching for chaos. “I say we have fun with him first,” she purred, smirking. “He’s cute. Why rush?”

Seraphina’s glare silenced her. “Focus. We abduct, we bind, we extract. Pleasure comes later.”

Her fingers traced a crystal vial, its faint glow hinting at their last harvest, nearly depleted. Mason was their survival, and the Coven would not falter.

---

Mason trudged through Westbridge’s campus, the autumn night crisp, streetlights casting long shadows.

His backpack sagged, heavy with textbooks, his earbuds blasting indie rock as he cut through a wooded path to his dorm.

He didn’t notice the sleek black van idling nearby, its tinted windows hiding four sets of eyes.

Lila’s heart raced as she watched from the passenger seat, her delicate hands twisting her skirt. “He’s so… normal,” she whispered, her innocent facade cracking with anticipation. “Can I talk to him first?”

Vivienne, behind the wheel, snorted. “No. You’ll fumble it.” She adjusted her rearview mirror, her disinterest masking her focus as she tracked Mason’s steps.

Cassandra, in the back, rolled her eyes, her leather jacket creaking. “Let’s just grab him. I’m bored.” She cracked her knuckles, her energy barely contained.

Seraphina, beside her, clutched a charmed amulet, its runes pulsing faintly. “Patience,” she hissed, her voice sharp. “The spell needs precision. Move on my signal.”

Mason paused, fishing his phone from his pocket to check a text.

The path was empty, the campus quiet.

Seraphina raised the amulet, whispering an incantation, its glow flaring.

A mist curled from the ground, silent and swift, wrapping Mason’s ankles.

He froze, eyes widening as his body locked, his phone slipping to the grass.

“What the - ” His voice cut off, muffled by the spell, his limbs heavy as stone.

The van’s door slid open, and Cassandra leapt out, her athletic frame moving with grace as she caught him before he crashed to the concrete below.

She hauled Mason’s rigid body into the van, his green eyes darting in panic, unable to resist.

Lila gasped, her hands over her mouth. “He’s awake! He’s scared!”

“Good,” Vivienne said, starting the engine, her tone flat. “Fear makes them pliable.”

Seraphina leaned over Mason, her violet eyes locking onto his, her raven hair brushing his cheek. “Don’t fight, darling,” she purred, her tone laced with menace.

“You’re ours now.” She pressed the amulet to his chest, deepening the spell, his consciousness fading as the van sped toward Blackthorn Estate.

---

The mansion’s iron gates parted, the van gliding into a hidden garage.

The witches carried Mason, still bound by magic, through marble corridors lit by flickering sconces, their heels echoing.

The air hummed with power, ancient wards pulsing in the walls, sealing their sanctuary from the world.

They descended to a ritual chamber, its obsidian floor etched with runes, a velvet-draped altar at its center.

Mason was laid upon it, his body slack but aware, the spell loosening just enough for him to blink, to breathe.

The witches circled him, their silhouettes stark against the candlelight, each a vision of seduction and danger.

Lila knelt beside him, her blonde hair glowing, her small hands hovering over his chest.

 “You’re safe,” she lied, her submissive voice soft, her blue eyes wide with false comfort. “We won’t hurt you… much.”

Cassandra laughed, tossing her ponytail. “Speak for yourself, little mouse. I want a taste.”

Her hazel eyes gleamed, her bratty smirk promising trouble.

Vivienne stood back, arms crossed, her auburn curls framing her aloof expression. “Get on with it,” she said, her voice commanding a quiet threat. “The ritual awaits.”

Seraphina loomed over Mason, her hourglass figure commanding the room, her violet eyes burning.

“Welcome to the Coven, Mason,” she said, her voice a sultry blade. “Your life, your essence, belongs to us. Resist, and it’ll hurt. Yield, and you might enjoy it.” Her fingers grazed his jaw, a spark of magic tingling his skin, his body stirring despite his fear.

Mason’s voice rasped, faint but defiant. “What… what are you?”

Seraphina’s smile was wicked. “We are eternal, darling. And you’re our key to eternity.” The Coven closed in, their intent clear, the ritual only beginning.

“My…my blood? You want my blood?” Mason’s eyes widened with horror.

“No sweet dear,” said Vivienne, “We want something much more powerful than your blood.”

The ritual chamber pulsed with ancient magic, its obsidian floor etched with glowing runes, candlelight flickering across the Coven’s silhouettes.

Mason Carter lay on the velvet altar, his lean body taut, brown hair damp with sweat, green eyes wide with fear and defiance.

The witches’ spell held him, limbs heavy but senses sharp, his chest rising with shallow breaths.

Seraphina’s gaze flicked to Cassandra, a silent command. Begin the extraction.

Cassandra grinned, her athletic frame - toned legs, firm breasts - moving with predatory grace as she climbed onto the altar, straddling Mason’s thighs.

Her leather skirt rode up, revealing smooth skin, her black lace panties a tease against his jeans. “Time to play, pretty boy,” she taunted, her voice a sultry growl, centuries of experience in every syllable. Her hazel eyes locked onto his, her smirk promising chaos.

Mason’s voice rasped, strained by the spell. “You can’t… I won’t let you.” His defiance wavered, his cock twitching under her weight, betraying him.