Melvin’s Magic Love Juice Ch. 06

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Author’s Note: As we’re more or less at the halfway point to my little series, I figured this chapter would be a good place for a re-cap if you’re just joining us.

In chapters 1-5, Melvin MacMuffin, a lovable loser, met a strange witch, drank some magical love juice and became irresistible to women. The next day, he got a date with his secret love, Courtney, a waitress at his favorite cafe. He also slept with his boss, a woman he met in the elevator at work and a pizza delivery girl. The next day, Melvin met his evil ex wife, Abigail, at the cafe and was seduced by her favorite niece in the men’s room. Melvin has become more and more exhausted as his luck with women has increased. After lunch, Melvin fainted only to be whisked away by his lawyer, Bridget (the woman from the elevator). Here’s where Chapter Six begins. Everything else, you’ll just have to figure out for yourself!


Melvin swam up a sea of blackness towards his conscious self. The oily darkness peeled away as he reached the surface, his arms reaching for the light above him, but some of black clung to his brain like sludge and kept his thoughts slow and labored. Melvin tried to shake it off.

The first thing he recognized was the vibrating hum of a car engine rattling his teeth. His eyes fluttered open, and he saw that he was strapped into the passenger seat, the seat belt fastened across his chest and digging into the flesh at the bottom of his neck. His head felt heavy, and it took an effort to lift it and turn. He saw that Bridget was driving. Was he in her car? He struggled to remember how he had gotten there.

Bridget Briswell gripped the steering wheel with white knuckles, her eyes squinting to peer past the heavy rain pattering the windshield.

“What’s going on?” Melvin murmured through thick lips.

“Your friend called me, the one you think’s a witch, and she wanted… dammit!” Bridget swerved past a braking truck, the wheels of her car skidding across a patch of standing water and finding road. “She wanted me to take you to her. Said it was an emergency.”

“I don’t understand,” Melvin said in a small voice, more to himself than Bridget. Bits of his last conversation with the witch settled in his mind: “What you need is some sustenance, and this is exactly what I can provide.”

“Me neither,” Bridget said, breaking his train of thought. She turned her head just enough to see Melvin out of the corner of her eye. “How’re you feeling?”

“Much better,” Melvin replied.

Then he promptly passed out, his forehead collapsing into the dashboard with a meaty thump.


Melvin dreamed of Abigail. He’d been in love with her once. She’d meant everything to him, and he dreamed of her as she was in the past. She wore a white summer dress, and both of them sat on a checkered table cloth, paper plates and half-eaten food scattered, a wicker picnic basket nearby emptied of its contents. Her hair had been long then and dark, more black than brown; it flowed around her shoulders in an afternoon breeze.

In reality, they’d never had a picnic so perfect, and Abby had never smiled so brightly, her pearly white teeth gleaming as she uttered a loud laugh, but this was a dream. She’d lived in his mind like this for a long time, intelligent and beautiful and as in love with him as he was with her.

Melvin had only realized too late all of that was a naive dream as well.

In the dream, Abigail placed her hand on his wrist and looked deep into his eyes. Her own were an amber reflecting the golden rays of the sun. It was all too easy to fall in love with a woman with eyes like hers.

“Do you love me?” she said.

“Yes,” Melvin said without hesitation.

“Do you want me?”


“Then give me your testicles,” she said. Melvin’s eyes widened.

“What? Why?”

“If you want sexual pleasure, give me your testicles.”

“What’s the point of sexual pleasure if I have no testicles?” Melvin asked.

“Look, do you want sexual pleasure or not?”

Melvin considered this a moment, looking Abigail over. Was she worth emasculation? He could always get his testicles back, couldn’t he? Her breasts were supple, her stomach flat and smooth, her legs long and luscious. But it was her eyes that made up his mind for him.

“Yes,” he said. He reached into his trousers and unclipped his testicles from the rest of his body as if they were nothing more than a strangely shaped clip-on tie underneath his penis. He held them out to Abigail, and she took them and stuffed them down the front of her shirt, apparently somewhere in her bra.

“Now, can I have sexual pleasure?” Melvin asked. Abby nodded and pulled off his pants. Melvin’s penis was limp and flaccid in the yellow glow of the sun, and as much as Abigail worked at it, Melvin could not get an erection.

“What is wrong with you?” Abigail asked with a look of disgust.

“I… well, maybe if I had my testicles…”

“No, they’re mine now. You’ll have to do without them.”

“But gaziantep escortlar I can’t function sexually,” Melvin tried to explain.

Abigail shrugged, “Not my fault.” She continued to flog away at Melvin’s penis like a woman possessed but had no success. She stuck it in her mouth and gave it some desperate sucks. Melvin’s penis still did not respond.

“I’m sorry. I can’t. I can’t get it up.”

“Impotent loser,” Abigail said, flinging Melvin’s soft penis out of her hands, and she stood up. She smoothed the wrinkles out of dress with her hands and then looked at Melvin.

“See ya, sucker!” she yelled and took off, Melvin’s testicles still stuffed down the front of her shirt.


Richie Golding sat at his desk, attempting to concentrate on his work. His fingers sat on the keyboard, immobile and useless, and he stared at the computer monitor with a blank look. Lunch had been an exercise into the surreal, and he still wasn’t sure if he understood what was going on with Melvin. How’d he get mixed up with Brenda Briswell’s twin sister, and why did she stick him in her car and take off? Where was she taking him? Perhaps these questions and more could be answered during Richie’s date tonight with Brenda.

The whole situation gave him a bad feeling.

Then Richie saw Abigail, Melvin’s ex wife, and his bad feeling got worse. She slipped out of the elevator and worked her way towards Melvin’s office, her hips swaying and her ass working in her tight blue jeans, garnering a few admiring looks from men on the floor. Richie knew that Melvin thankfully wasn’t in his office and figured he’d better find out what Abigail was doing there. Richie had a good idea. Abigail wasn’t the kind of woman who accepted rejection and went on her merry way; she was going to attempt for the second time that day to get Melvin to fuck her. Good thing Melvin had been spirited it off by Brenda’s sister.

Richie peered to his right and left and didn’t see anyone looking. He stood up from his desk and walking as quickly as he could without risking unwanted attention, he followed Abigail into Melvin’s office. He closed the door behind him with a click of the lock, and startled, Abigail swung around to face him.

“Where’s Mel?” she asked, swishing her short brown hair to one side with a toss of her neck. Abigail seemed to have already forgotten she’d just gotten Richie off less than an hour ago; they were back in acquaintance mode.

“In church, thanking God he’s not married to you anymore,” Richie replied with a large grin. Advantage Golding, he thought. He leaned back against the door and crossed his arms over his chest. Abigail was on his turf now, and his beer buzz from lunch had mostly worn off.

“And what are YOU doing here?” he said, raising his eyebrows.

“I wanted to apologize to Melvin. I’m not a total bitch, you know.”

“Sure, whatever. Well, as you have eyes and as I assume you can use them to see, you can see for yourself that Melvin isn’t here at the moment. He wasn’t feeling well actually, and a hot blonde took him away to kiss everything that hurt and make him feel better. You’re a little too late,” Richie said, flashing Abigail his most smug look. Her face soured. She was the kind of woman who could go from heavenly beautiful to hellishly ugly in a split second.

“Don’t fuck with me, Richard. We can be friends or enemies, and you sure as shit don’t want Abigail Sanderson as your enemy,” she spat at him like a snake spewing venom. Richie pretended to wipe her saliva off his face.

“Sanderson, eh? I wonder how long that one’ll last,” he retorted and snorted a cynical laugh. Abigail frowned at him and placed her hands on her hips. The comment cut a bit because she often asked herself the same question.

“Listen, Golding. Just tell me where Melvin is, ok?”

“Hmm. Maybe we can work something out,” Richie said. Abigail looked at him suspiciously. She bit her lip.

“What do you mean?” she said after a moment.

“Maybe if you get on your knees, crawl over here and suck my cock, I’ll THINK about telling you where Melvin is,” Richie said and unzipped his pants. He then put his hands behind his head, leaned back against the door and shrugged.

“The ball’s in your court,” he said, his fly hanging open. Abigail’s face narrowed, but she already had made up her mind what she would do. She always knew that Richie was a bit of a weasel, that he’d turn on anyone to get his “wicky sticky”, and she was turned on by his scummy attempt to get her to suck his dick. Plus, she loved to be treated like a whore; it had something to do with the Puritanical way she’d been brought up, thoughts of sex forbidden until she’d escaped from home to a wild life at college.

“How do I know you’ll tell me where he is if I do?” she said.

“If you’re good, you don’t have anything to worry about,” Richie said. His cock was as hard as a rock in his pants. Abigail was smokin’ hot with a body that just didn’t quit (thanks to the enhancing surgeries Richie assumed she’d had), and he liked the idea of using Abigail in this way. He found it fitting to take this kind of advantage of a woman like her, a woman who used her sex as a solution to any problem that crossed her path.

“Good? I’m the best you’ll ever have,” Abigail said and bent to her hands and knees.

Licking her lips, she moved like cat, crawling stealthily towards Richie. Some of her hair hung over her eyes, obscuring part of her face, making her look like some veiled and mysterious Egyptian princess. Richie thought the sight of her coming towards him was incredibly sexy. Hot lust warmed his guts; he was about to take the fantasies he’d had while Abigail had teased him during lunch and make them reality.

She moved her hands up Richie’s legs and rubbed his erection through the fabric of his pants. Richie sighed in anxious pleasure. Abigail continued to tease him through his pants, moving up to level her breasts to his crotch and rubbing them against him through her sweater and his pants. Richie ran a hand into her short hair and fisted it.

“C’mon bitch, and suck me,” he breathed. Abigail pushed him hard against the door with her hands. Fire roared in her brown eyes.

“Beg me for it,” she said harshly.

“Please, goddammit, please, suck me,” Richie whispered. He either didn’t realize or didn’t care that he had just allowed Abigail to dictate what was going on when Richie was supposedly in control. Abby smiled.

She reached into Richie’s pants and pulled out his stiff cock. It was surprisingly thick in her hands and uncircumcised. She stroked its pink flesh, pulling back the foreskin, and considered it a moment before taking it in her mouth.

Richie peered down at Abby as she slipped him into her. Her lips wrapped his pole and slid down to the root of his cock, her nose mushing into his stomach. She bobbed her head, stroking him with her mouth, her tongue gliding up and down his shaft. All Richie could see was the top of her head, her hair swishing back and forth as she blew him.

She moaned softly, more for his benefit than hers. Richie loved to watch women suck his dick, and Abigail was a total babe. Not to mention, she knew exactly what she was doing. The fact that she was Melvin’s ex wife, a woman Richie typically considered off limits, and that he was merely using her for his own physical satisfaction only made the situation hotter in his mind.

Abigail wrapped his cock with one hand and stroked him into her mouth, sticking out her tongue and slapping the end of his cock with it. She twisted her knuckles as if she was turning a door knob, causing a sensation that Richie had never felt before. Just when he thought he was going to cum, Abigail stopped with the motion, lifted his penis, and licked the underside of it like a lollipop.

“Oh shit, that’s good,” Richie grunted. Abby moved her mouth to his balls and took one in her mouth, sucking gently. Richie bit his tongue to keep from moaning too loud. His knees began to tremble. Abby popped his testicle out of her mouth.

“Want to fuck me?” she asked.

“Yes, oh yes,” Richie gasped.

In the next instant, Richie and Abigail were fumbling with their clothes. Richie unbuttoned his shirt, his eyes glued to Abigail pulling her sweater over her head, revealing her enormous round tits. He tossed his shirt to the floor and went to work at his pants, watching as Abigail stripped off her tight jeans. She wasn’t wearing any underwear, and Richie saw that her pussy was shaved. His cock sprung up as Richie pushed his jockeys off around his ankles.

Abigail cleared the papers and folders from Melvin’s desk with a swipe of her hands and laid down on the desk, spreading her legs wide to give Richie access. Richie stumbled over and managed himself between Abigail’s legs. He’d been attracted to Abigail for a long time, but he never thought he’d get the chance to fuck her. How to turn fantasy into reality and not ruin the glamor it had in his mind? Richie wiped some sweat from his brow and wrapped his arms around Abigail’s legs, his hands gripping the underside of her thighs.

Taking his time, he slowly slid his cock into Abby’s slick pussy.

He gnashed his teeth, feeling his cock become sheathed in her juices. He pumped into her, gaining speed, reaching a comfortable rhythm that he felt was neither too fast nor too slow. He pivoted his hips and ground into her as he thrust, a little something that he liked to call the Golding Twist. Richie knew that it was magic.

Abigail looked up at the ceiling as Richie pumped her, wondering how long it would take him to cum. He’d already lasted longer than Melvin used to, but that was by no means an achievement on any level. When was the last time that she’d had an actual orgasm? She couldn’t remember, but this didn’t keep her from trying. She enjoyed sex but could never quite reach that peak; it was the tip of Mount Everest that always eluded her. When she’d seen Melvin that day at lunch, she had the strangest feeling that Melvin could take her there.

But what had changed about him? What made her think that the most incapable man on Earth at lovemaking would be the one to bring her to the one place of pleasure that always seemed to slip through her fingers?

She closed her eyes, feeling Richie’s thickness invade her, retreat and then plunge deeper. It was not an unpleasant situation; it was actually very nice. But as much as she tried to concentrate on the feeling of the sharp jolts of pleasure running up her body as he fucked her, the more she knew she would not be able to cum.

“Yeah, that’s it, baby,” she breathed to encourage Richie that he wasn’t failing at satisfying her. She wished that he was Melvin. Funny how so many things could change in such a short period of time. And what was with all that business at lunch between Melvin and Tina? Tina had been tossing looks at him like an adolescent with a crush. And what about when they were both gone for several minutes, what could…

“Ohhhh, fuck!” Richie moaned, and he pulled out his cock just in time to spray Abigail’s legs and stomach with a spew of cum. He assumed that he had brought Abigail to levels of pleasure never reached before with the Golding Twist, and now it was her turn to return to the favor. He lathered her thighs in a white coat of stickiness.

Finally, Richie collapsed on top of her, placing his head against one firm breast like a fleshy pillow. Abigail raised her hands and stroked his hair as Richie took in several deep breaths and blew them through his lips.

“Ready to tell me where Melvin is?” Abigail said.

“I’ll tell you what I know,” Richie replied and opened his mouth to begin.


A hand shook Melvin awake. He murmured something softly, nothing but a few words of gibberish and opened his eyes. He peeled his lids back slowly, afraid that glare of sunlight would blind him, but it was dark outside the car windows. The rain still came down hard. Bridget placed her palm against his forehead and then moved to his cheek, checking for a fever.

“You feel ok?” she asked. Melvin nodded in reply.

“Much better,” he said, and Bridget waited for him to faint again. This time he didn’t. Bridget smiled.

“Then let’s go visit your witch,” she said.

They jetted out the car’s doors, whisked through the sheets of rain and pushed their way into the witch’s shop. Melvin didn’t bother to ask how Bridget had gotten directions there or how the witch had discovered her number. After the revelation of the love juice, everything else was a moot point to him.

The shop was dim, the only light coming from a few tall metal lamps. The shades were pulled down, making the darkness outside darker. Melvin turned to check if the jar of eyeballs he’d seen on his first visit was still there. It sat where he remembered it; only it seemed to be less full. Melvin wondered if the witch had sold them or used them for some strange potion, maybe even another batch of her magical love juice. A chill shivered up his spine. The eyes left in the jar turned in unison to stare at him.

“Classy digs,” Bridget said. Melvin turned to see her at a shelf on the opposite side of the store, a large jar held in her hands. The head of a large snake floated inside of it, the snake’s fangs bared as if it had murder on its mind during its decapitation. Bridget put the jar back on the shelf and picked up an ancient looking book. She blew some dust off, opened the flesh-colored leather cover and thumbed through the pages.

“What is this? Arabic?” she said, her brow knitting in concentration.

“Yep, Arabic. It’s the Necronomicon, the Book of the Dead. There’s some fabulous recipes in the back,” the witch’s voice rose from nowhere at the back of the store. Melvin turned. She stood in a spot where Melvin was sure she hadn’t been a second before, but she was a witch. Acting mysterious and popping out of thin air was probably her kind of thing. Her hair was in a long ponytail, flipped over one shoulder, and she wore a black t-shirt with the words “2 Hot 2 Handle” written in white letters across her chest and a pair of torn jean shorts. It was a far cry from the shimmering black dress she had on the last time Melvin had seen her. The witch must have either read his mind or guessed his thoughts from the expression on his face.

“It’s casual Friday,” she said, catching his eye with a shrug and motioning towards her attire.

“But it’s only Wednesday,” Bridget said. She put the ancient tome back on the shelf and wiped off her hands on her long brown jacket. The witch smiled, her sharp teeth gleaming.

“Maybe in YOUR reality,” she said. She emphasized the word “reality” by placing her hands in the air and turning her fingers into sarcastic quotation marks. She turned towards Melvin.

“How’re you feeling, Mel baby?” she asked. Melvin straightened his glasses and rubbed the back of his neck with one hand. The longer that Melvin looked at the witch, the more he felt himself falling under her spell. What was it about her? Was it just her breathtaking beauty or was it some magic she was working?

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