Dark Magic
Copyright© 2025 by psych
Chapter 1
Incest Sex Story: Chapter 1 - John orders voodoo doll from dark web and uses it on his sister.
Caution: This Incest Sex Story contains strong sexual content, including mt/Fa Reluctant Heterosexual Magic Incest Brother Sister
A squeak of the floorboard in the hallway woke John up. It was the distinct, high-pitched whine of the third plank from the bathroom—the one that bowed under the slightest weight and always gave Elizabeth away. John sat up in bed, his heart hammering a confused rhythm against his ribs. The book he was reading before going to sleep about witches and demons didn’t help. The air in the room was thick and still, with slight rain outside the house. He rubbed the sleep from his eyes and listened. The dump of a house was settling, making its usual tired noises: the rattle of the refrigerator compressor kicking on in the kitchen and the wind whistling through the gap where the window frame had rotted away from the siding. It’s like they are living in a third world nightmare, not in the United States of America.
But then came the sound that didn’t belong.
It was a low, guttural purr. An engine. Not the sputtering cough of their neighbor’s rusted pickup, but the smooth, deep idle of something finely tuned.
John kicked off his thin, pilled blanket and put his feet on the cold, bare plywood where the carpet had worn all the way through. He crept to the window. There were no blinds—just a faded navy blue bedsheet tacked to the top of the frame to block out the streetlights.
He pulled the edge of the sheet back just an inch.
It was a silver sports car, low to the ground, with rims that shone brighter than anything inside John’s house. The engine hummed with a quiet power.
Behind the wheel sat Jeff, no, asshole. He could recognize that asshat under any light. All the years getting humiliated to get his sister’s attention seemed to have worked out for him. It might sound weird, why would humiliating her brother work out? Elizabeth was tiptoeing across the overgrown patch of weeds. She was clutching her shoes in one hand to keep her heels from sinking into the dirt. She looked different—she had pulled her hair back tight and was wearing a dress John had never seen before, something shimmering and thin.
She looked back at the house just once. Her eyes scanned just to be sure she was going spot-free without a witness. John ducked back; he finally got her back for all the shit he had been through.
He heard the car go away into the distance.
Elizabeth kissed Jeff like he was the last bus out of town. She had her fingers tangled in the collar of his jacket, pulling him down to her, pressing hard enough to bruise. It wasn’t soft, and it wasn’t sweet. It tasted like desperate hope and cheap menthols.
They were standing in the corner of a living room; the house was packed, the air thick from too many bodies crammed into a space with no ventilation. The bass from the speakers rattled the single-pane windows in their frames.
Elizabeth pulled back just enough to breathe, taking a swig from the plastic cup Jeff handed her. The vodka was warm and burned on the way down, but she didn’t care. She leaned her head back against the wall, feeling the cool, bumpy texture of the painted-over wallpaper against her scalp.