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A Year and A Day

By: oggbashan



* * * * *

Copyright Oggbashan October 2005

The author asserts the moral right to be identified as the author of this work.

This is a work of fiction. The events described here are imaginary; the settings and characters are fictitious and are not intended to represent specific places or living persons.

* * * * *

Last Halloween I was returning from a visit to my elderly uncle in London when my life was wrecked by a train crash.

I was trapped in the tangled metalwork for twelve hours until firemen cut me free. Although my cuts were superficial I was not expected to live. My arms, legs, wrists and ankles had been broken. My chest was crushed. My internal organs were displaced. The hours I waited for rescue had damaged my heart.

I swung between life and death for a week before my body apparently decided I should live. Several months later I was discharged from hospital to go home to my wife. My wife Clare gave up work to look after me. We knew it would be a long process before I would be fully fit if I ever would be.

Clare installed me in the granny annexe we had built for her mother, Gwen's, final years. It still had the large hospital bed used for the last months of Gwen's life. We had bought at auction two years ago when the local nursing home closed down after the unexpected death of its matron and owner, Nurse Jones.

We had acquired many lots at that auction. There had been several heavy falls of snow that week and most of the dealers had not tried to force their way through the blocked roads to the viewing or the auction itself. Apart from a few speculative telephone bids the local villagers and I had bought everything for a few pounds. For a year my barn had been nearly full of our purchases from that auction. From time to time I would drag a few items out, clean them up, and put them in as auction lots when the dealers were out in force. It had provided a steady income.

When Clare had been looking after her mother Gwen the old lady had become confused. Clare had to do everything for Gwen and found that her clothes were suffering from the need for frequent hot washes. We had found some of the nursing aides' uniforms in a trunk. They were heavy cotton with tabards covering from neck to the top of the thighs. Clare would wear them to feed Gwen and do all the necessary dirty jobs.

Gwen complained that while I visited her daily, Clare never did. 

"I only see the nurse, never Clare." Gwen had said.

We had other real nurses who visited from time to time. Gwen thought they and Clare were all one nurse despite their variations and build.

At least once a day Clare would change out of her aide's uniform into her normal clothes and 'visit' Gwen, after making sure as the 'nurse' that Gwen was not in need of any messy attention. Gwen was satisfied although sometimes she would still grumble that she saw more of me than her daughter.

I was Gwen's nurse during most of the day while Clare was at work. I wore one of a series of brown carpenter's aprons to protect my clothes. Those aprons were washed daily with the aide's uniforms. Gwen accepted me as her son even while she didn't recognise Clare dressed as a nurse. Old people's minds can be inconsistent.

Now I was installed in Gwen's granny flat, in that old bed. I fretted about my helplessness and our reduced earnings. I wasn't helping my recovery by worrying about our income.

Income? That was our problem since my injuries. As an antique dealer I needed to be out and about, buying, selling, collecting and delivering items. I couldn't. I was as weak as a new-born kitten and as useless. I had accident insurance cover for travel on public transport. That had paid the maximum amount for injury and apart from the bare allowance from the Welfare State that was what Clare and I lived on. Soon the money would run out and unless I could find some method of making money from my bed or wheelchair we would have to sell our home.

If only I wasn't so dependent on Clare. I needed her for everything. She was my nurse, not my wife. During the first few months after my return home she and our friend Helen had provided almost all the nursing I needed. Helen still drove us to the hospital for my weekly physiotherapy.

Three years ago Helen had lost her husband suddenly. She had been out with us for the evening at a local theatre group's pantomime. Her husband Alan had cried off. He had a heavy cold, or influenza as he called it, and hadn't wanted to go. He said he would go to bed early and try to sleep it off.

When we returned Helen invited us in for a coffee. She went to check on Alan and found him dead. The inquest had been a nine-day wonder in the town. Helen had found Alan with his head tightly wrapped inside her voluminous cotton nightdress. There had been some suggestion that he might have been experimenting with autoeroticism. A forensic scientist had disproved that. 

It was demonstrated that Alan could have breathed easily through the single layer that was covering his head. He could have breathed through two layers. He could not have breathed through four layers but, large though Helen's nightdress was, it could not have been wrapped tightly around Alan's head with four layers covering his face.

The autopsy revealed that Alan had a weak heart. There had been minor symptoms that were significant with hindsight. They had not been sufficient to raise his doctor's concern until too late. The heavy cold, for that was all it was, might have been a factor. Alan could have died at any time without warning.

The coroner took the view that Alan was seeking comfort from his wife's empty nightdress during her absence and that Alan's heart condition was the sole cause of his death. Helen had to endure some local rumours for a few weeks. Clare and I were able to deny them. Alan had been alive when we left. He had been dead at least an hour before we returned and Helen had been continually in our company.

We had been friends with Helen long before Alan's death. We supported her through the inquest, the funeral, and beyond. She was still our friend. She had helped us to care for Gwen. Even after my need for nursing diminished Helen would take over my care from time to time so that Clare could have a break. As she had done for Gwen, Helen would dress in one of the nurse's uniforms, in a much larger size than Clare's, when I needed attentions that might soil her clothes. Neither needed to change now that I could move more than I had been able to when I came home but they still did. I liked looking at them in nurses' uniforms.

At first Clare or Helen had to feed me, wash me, ease me in and out of my wheelchair and visit several times each night to check on me. Almost every night my weakened muscles would go into spasm and I would thrash uncontrollably. Twice I fell out of bed before Clare found the old bed's sidebars in the barn. Even then I could injure myself by impact with the bars. I had broken my left arm twice. It had been so weakened by the previous fractures that it was brittle.

My spasms had returned in the last few days. Clare found a solution. She had tried wrapping me in a sheet. My struggles unwound it or worse tangled it around my neck threatening to strangle me. We tried a sleeping bag. I slipped down inside it and nearly suffocated. The satisfactory resolution came from one of those auction lots.

Clare had remembered that there were some different uniforms in that trunk or in another one. After a couple of hours of rummaging in the barn she produced the result to me.

"I thought so, Guy," she said. "this might protect you during your spasms."

What she was holding was a different style of dress protection. Instead of the loose tabard, she had found a sleeveless overdress that opened at the sides. While I hitched myself forward in my wheelchair she fed my head through the neck opening. She tucked the material down my back.

"Put your arms by your sides, please Guy?"

I did. There was a zip fastener on each side. She fitted the zip together on my left and pulled it down about a foot. She repeated that on the right.

"Now stand up, please."

I stood. I can stand, not for long, and not without Clare poised to catch me if I start to wobble. I can even take a few paces. That is far more than I could do six months ago. I had set Halloween, two weeks away, the anniversary of the accident as a target for being fully recovered. I wouldn't meet that target. Would I ever recover completely? 

Clare closed both zips to their fullest extent. My arms were held by my sides. I didn't feel bound, just slightly restricted.

"Now try to wriggle that off," Claire asked.

I tried. My efforts raised the hem of the overdress a couple of inches. That was all I could do to free myself.

Claire tried to pull the overdress up over my head. It jammed on my shoulders.

"That's it!" she said triumphantly. "It won't tangle around you, you can't slide down inside it and you can't injure yourself. There are a dozen or so of these in this size so I can wash them frequently. Problem sorted and now I won't need to check on you every couple of hours. I, and you, can have an uninterrupted night's sleep."

She sat me back down in the wheelchair, kissed my forehead and then moved down to my lips. I would have thrown my arms around her. I couldn't. I was mummified into passivity as her lips claimed mine. When she stopped kissing me she held me to her cotton covered breasts rocking me backwards and forwards so that I was alternately blindfolded in her cleavage and then seeing again as I looked up at her face. 

I enjoyed the kissing and cuddling. Before the accident Clare and I had been into mild bedroom bondage as part of our love play. We would take it in turns to be the predator and the victim. I had enjoyed surrendering to Clare, knowing that soon she would be as helpless as I was. Now I was always the helpless one. My dependency seemed endless. Just a few spontaneous kisses had aroused feelings that I thought had been erased from me. I wanted Clare, not just as my carer, but also as my lover, my wife and sometimes my victim. If I continued to improve even the last might become possible.

One scenario we had played frequently. Clare would dress up in one of the nurse's uniforms and bandage me into immobility, gagging me with her nurse's headdress, before raising her dress's hem and riding me to a climax. She would do that even when she had just come from looking after her mother, as long as her uniform was still clean.

The alternate scenario would be me capturing her dressed as a nurse and tying and gagging her before eating her pussy, ripping her bodice apart, licking her breasts, roughly impaling her and pounding on her hard as the bed protested. We enjoyed both versions and sometimes played both in the same night. Now? I was her helpless victim every time and she had to treat me gently. I resented my passive role.

I tried again to free myself from the clinging overdress. My fingers wriggled around to reach the zips. I edged one of the zips up a few inches. Left to myself I might have been able to get those zips unfastened in quarter of an hour or so. Clare stopped me. Her fingers nullified those hard won inches with a quick yank. She stood me up again and released me. As we lowered me back into the wheelchair she said:

"By the way, months ago I found something in the skirt pocket of one of the nurse's uniforms. It's a book written in shorthand. I can't read it. Nor can Helen. I'll bring it so you can have a look. It might amuse you for an hour or so."

The book was small and black. It was full of very precise shorthand written with a dark pencil. I put it aside until I was alone. Then I started to read.

I wish I hadn't read that book. I wish Clare hadn't found it. I wish she had thrown it away before giving it to me. It's too late now.

The book was Nurse Jones' personal and private diary. It wasn't continuous. All entries were timed and dated. Sometimes a day or two was missed; sometimes there was a gap of weeks. The latter pages had several entries a day until the end.

When the diary started a couple of years before Nurse Jones' death she confided her troubles to it. The main one was money. The nursing home had been profitable until the rules on public funding had been dramatically changed. Until then the residents had been mainly of low dependency. They needed hotel style care and some supervision to ensure that they kept themselves washed and cleanly dressed. The nursing element had been minimal. Nurse Jones could cover the nights with a couple of aides. During the day two nurses with four aides coped with everything.

The clientele gradually changed. Public money was no longer supporting low dependency cases. Nurse Jones' home only took in high dependency people. The amounts paid for their care barely met the home's outgoings even while the payments for the remaining low dependency inmates subsidised the others. At the time the diary started the strain on staff was beginning to show. Nurse Jones couldn't afford more staff.

The low dependency clients were gradually ageing and becoming high dependency. The high dependency ones deteriorated, creating more pressure. One case in particular needed twenty-four hour care that couldn't be afforded. Mr Akers was ninety-eight and very frail. He had to be handled very delicately or his brittle bones would break. He appreciated being hugged by the nursing staff. A prolonged hug could calm him more effectively than the tranquillisers he was too weak to take.

The third entry in the diary started with Nurse Jones visiting Mr Akers in the night. He had needed a bedpan. As usual she had held him to her breasts as she raised him from the bedpan. As she let go he collapsed in a heap. He was dead. His last act had been to ejaculate against her uniform. Nurse Jones looked down. His saliva shone on her right breast.

Horrified, she saw what she had done. Over careful to protect Mr Akers, she had pressed him too deeply against her breast and smothered him. At least he had died happy.

Nurse Jones had cleaned him up, emptied the bedpan, and then changed out of her soiled uniform into a clean one. She had put the dirty uniform with the others into the washing machine and, as usual, had set it going on the hottest wash. As the machine started she suddenly knew that all the evidence of her mistake was being washed away. The only trace of her error had been his saliva. That was gone.

Several pages of self-justification followed. The visiting doctor certified Mr Akers' death as cardiac arrest with subsidiary causes of the normal complications of extreme old age. His death was not unexpected. At his funeral his younger relations thanked Nurse Jones for her loving care. He had even left a small bequest to the Nursing Home. Nurse Jones' diary agonised over whether she should accept. She decided that it would arouse suspicions she couldn't answer if she refused.

At that point I became too tired to read. I hadn't read so much shorthand at a time for years. I wheeled myself over to the desk. I put the diary in my secure, combination locked drawer where I kept a book with all my passwords. 

Putting the diary away I had displaced a long white envelope so that the drawer wouldn't shut. I picked the envelope up. There was some stiff paper inside. I pulled it out. It was a joint accident policy I had forgotten. It didn't pay out for injury, only for death. I wasn't dead. I looked through it carefully to see if there was any provision for temporary disablement. There wasn't. The death clause provided for payment if Clare or I died within a year and a day of an accident on public transport. If I was still alive on 1st November there would be no claim. I had no intention of dying in the next couple of weeks so I put the policy back into the envelope and under Nurse Jones' diary.

I locked the drawer, logged on to my computer and checked the progress of my sales on ebay. Those sales represented our only real income other than from the state and the eroding capital from the accident insurance. I had another message from that annoying person who wanted nursing associated items but NOT the uniforms I had. I was annoyed that a high bidder had withdrawn. I composed a stinging adverse feedback but didn't send it. Nurse Jones' diary was still at the front of my mind.

I searched the on-line archives of our local paper. A picture of Nurse Jones at a community event appeared on my screen. I copied it to a file and printed it. She had been a magnificently Rubenesque woman. I could imagine how easy it had been to smother Mr Akers accidentally against those large breasts. Her build reminded me Helen, who was still my most frequent non-family visitor. 

Now I had seen a picture of Nurse Jones, I saw the resemblance. The head was very different. Nurse Jones wore an unusual medieval style headdress. When Helen dressed as a nurse she remained bareheaded. From the neck downward they could have been twins. When Helen held me against her breasts - I could have been held by Nurse Jones. Perhaps Helen wore one of Nurse Jones' old uniforms? That was an uncomfortable thought.

That night I went to bed early. I was tired from transcribing my impressions of Nurse Jones' diary into a Word document. Even the simplest things wore me out. Once I was in bed Clare confined me in that clinging overdress, shutting the zips to their fullest extent. Before tucking the bedclothes in she produced an office stapler. I didn't have one near my desk because my weakened hands couldn't operate it. I used large paperclips instead.

Click! Click! Clare stapled each zip just above the sliders. My hands and fingers were inside the overdress. If I could wriggle my fingers beyond its hem I still wouldn't be able to move the zip sliders past those staples.

"Don't worry, Guy," Clare said. "If you want me, just call. The intercom is on."

It was. It was an adaptation of a baby alarm. Any noise I made was picked up and transmitted to remote speakers in the living room or the bedroom I had shared with Clare. I couldn't hear her. She could hear me.

Clare tucked the bedclothes tightly around me before leaning over and kissing me. She raised the bars at the side of the bed.

"This evening Helen is dropping in. I might bring her in when I come to check on you. OK?"

I nodded. Helen knew me almost as well as Clare. She had seen me at my weakest and had done everything for me.

I was asleep in minutes. I was vaguely aware when Clare and Helen looked in. They both kissed me on the forehead.

That night I had a nightmare. I seemed to sense someone in the darkness of my room. I was Mr Akers, frail and weak, at the mercy of Nurse Jones. I was aroused by her presence, her perfume, her soft flesh cuddling me and yet aware of the threat she posed to my existence. Her cotton covered breasts loomed over me several times. Her strong arms lifted me until my face was buried between those breasts. I feebly struggled to breathe as her cleavage engulfed me. Time after time I was at the point of suffocation yet enjoying the sensation despite the overtone of menace. The next time could be my last breath in this world. The faint perfume from the heavy cotton was unfamiliar, certainly not anything I associated with Clare or Helen.

The nightmare was so real that I was thrashing about in the bed trying to escape from Nurse Jones' enfolding arms. Clare had imprisoned me so effectively that my strongest efforts were defeated. I lay there fascinated as the breasts lowered themselves again and again to smother me. I couldn't see the face wrapped in that white headdress. Was there a face? In the nightmare I lost consciousness under the breasts as I ran out of breath.

I woke up suddenly to find myself hugged against real breasts. These were Clare's breasts and no threat to me. They were wonderful, shapely, firm and proportionate to her build. I loved them even if by some people's standards they were on the small side of medium. Smothering me with them would be difficult if not impossible. Clare's familiar perfume wafted around me.


A Year and A Day: The Beginning



Raina crept through the forest, following the drumbeat and the scent of the flame. Her nipples hardened beneath her black robe in the cool autumn air. She came here by light of day after Ostara and found the circle with the stone altar in the center still radiating its magic. She had crept through the forest after dark and found them in their Beltane rites. She watched from afar at the solstice, Lammas, and the equinox. She knew she would probably not be able to cross the clearing to clearly see what they were doing without being seen herself. She was moderately afraid of what might happen when they found her, but tonight she was here to be found. Tonight, Samhain, was the time to make her move.

She needed to work with a group, a coven, to strengthen her gifts. She had been amazed to find a practicing coven in this pious and proper community, but she knew that her spell to find a coven had worked when she found the circle the day after casting it. Now she had to figure out how to approach them to join their circle.

As she drew closer, the light of the fire illuminated the circle surrounded by standing stones. New sounds punctuated the drum beat. Snap. Moan. Snap. Gasp. As she sat on the ground behind the closest stone, she forced herself to slow her breathing. What she saw took her breath away. 

A beautiful specimen of a man stood on his toes beneath the only tree left standing in this hidden part of the forest. His arms were tied above his head, securing him to a low-lying branch of an ancient oak. A spreader bar forced his legs wide. A fetish of feathers and crystals hung from a chain connected to his nipples with alligator clamps. His firm buttocks were crisscrossed with red welts. As she watched, a beautiful pale, auburn-haired witch with long scarlet nails turned him to face the gathered coven and laid the flogger across his penis none too gently.

Until that moment, she did not realize that the term "dropping one's jaw" was an actual physical response. Goddess, he was beautiful. Despite the punishment, or perhaps because of it, his penis was tumescent, attempting to rise against the weight of the crystal pendulum that hung from the ridge of his engorged, purple crown. A leather strip split his balls in a circle-of-eight then coiled around the base of his cock. As she watched, another stoke was laid, and her breath caught in her throat. His penis swung from the force of the blow. She could only imagine the sting of the flogger, and would never had imagined it used in that way.

She gasped as a pair of large, black hands squeezed her breasts, finding and pulling her nipples roughly. The hands slid across her breasts to grab her upper arms, pulling them behind her and lifting her to her feet. A woman in a feather mask appeared in front of her, and placed a finger over her lips, commanding her silence. Long black nails that matched long black hair slid down her throat and opened her robe. "We practice skyclad." Stepping out of the robe, she shivered in the chill night air. The masked woman found her nipples, pinched them between her long nails, and pulled them to a point just beyond pleasure, into the realm of pain.

The strong arms behind her pushed her chest forward. A thigh was shoved between her legs, forcing them apart. A hand ran down her abdomen and between her legs. The witch grinned wickedly as she found wetness, and an evil grin appeared as she found a clit ring. "Please don't pull my piercing." The hand behind her back covered her mouth, and he growled "Do not speak unless you are spoken to."

"Who are you and why do you invade our circle," the witch asked.

"I am Raina. I seek to join your circle." The hand fondled her clit, sliding in wetness produced by watching the flogging.

"What do you know of our circle?"

"That your magic is strong. Its energy resonates long after you close the circle."

"Do you know the source of our power?"

"I think I am beginning to see it."

"Say it."

"You harness the power of pain, the heat of desire, the electricity of lust."

"Very perceptive. We dedicate our rituals to the gods and goddesses, who take pleasure in our pleasure...and our pain. Perhaps you will join us. What are your limits?"

"I come in perfect love and perfect trust. . . and perfect health."

"Then cum you shall," she laughed, "as shall we all. I am Raven, High Priestess of the Coven of the Ancient Oak. Come warm yourself at the fire. It is fitting that your initiation begins at our Samhain circle, the beginning of the new year."

The strong hands prodded her forward. Raven cut an opening in the circle with her athame, and Raina was roughly pushed through it. She tripped, ending up on her knees. Strong arms held her there.

"How very prescient of you, to assume the position without being asked! Perhaps you are one of us. We shall soon see."

Raina found herself at eye level with Raven's womb, her bush trimmed to a small V pointing to her clit. Her inner lips peeked out from her puffy outer lips, dewy with her arousal. The strong arms bound her arms with leather thongs. Her head was pushed forward.

She bent all the way forward and kissed Raven's feet, beginning with the right. "Blessed be thy feet, that have brought thee in these ways." Her lips moved to Raven's knees. "Blessed be thy knees, that shall kneel at the sacred altar."

She wished that she could use her hands to open Raven's lips. Instead she ran her tongue up and down the moist slit seeking entrance. "Blessed be thy womb, without which we would not be." She found the hard nub of her clit, and focused her attentions there, amused to find a captured bead clit ring just like her own. She looked up for approval. Raven's head was thrown back. Her hands grasped Raina's head, forcing her deeper into her center. Raina surround her clit with her lips and suckled it while thrashing it with her tongue. Raven opened her legs, allowing better access to her mysteries. The tongue probed until it found her channel. Raina buried her face into her, filling her senses with her essence, probing for her core. 

Raina reached for Raven's nipples, but she pulled away, addressing the coven who had drawn close to watch. Raina counted 8 breasts and 8 thoroughly aroused penises, including the poor man who remained suspended from the tree. His magnificent specimen had overcome the weight of the crystals and now stood at full attention. She wondered what crime he committed to earn such harsh treatment. "He is undergoing his final initiation rites, to become a full-fledged member of the coven. For the past year and a day, he has faithfully served us at our sabbats, giving every member an orgasm before being rewarded with his own—or not. After his scourging, he will seal his bond with each of his fellow coveners, then take his pleasure with a new initiate.

"That would be me."

"Only if you consent. We do not force ourselves upon anyone. But those who wish to join us must be open to all avenues of pleasure. Yes, everyone has their preferences, but the thing that binds us together and magnifies our power is that we are all willing to do whatever is required to give another pleasure, to satisfy the whims and awful urges of the gods. The only thing we have in common is that we all like to give, and receive, a certain amount of pain and a certain amount of pleasure." She turned to the ancient oak. "Let us return our attention to poor Flame. He is still due 10 strokes in this position, I believe. Please carry on, Crystal."

Raina remained on her knees and watched as the flogger laid more strokes across his cock and balls, including several aimed directly at the distended crown. The priestess then commanded that Flame be removed from the tree and bent over the stone altar at the center of the circle. Two men from the gathered coven stepped forward and untied the cords binding his arms. He moaned as his arms were stretched across the altar. As they dragged him forward across the altar, Crystal positioned his cock at the edge of the fur-covered stone slab, forcing his erection to point toward the ground. Two of the women detached the spreader bar from his ankles, but only so they could pull his legs wider. Crystal ran her hand across his firm bottom, enjoying the warmth and the ridges of the welts. She slid her hand down, squeezing his balls before caressing his cock. She smiled as her hand came away wet. 

A man stepped forward. "I am Everest, High Priest of the coven of the Ancient Oak. You will shortly complete your initiation rites. Do you, Flame, remain firm in your devotion to the Lady and the Lord? Will you hold the lives of your fellow coveners more precious than your own? Do you freely enter into this sacred covenant witnessed by the gods and goddesses, the sun and the moon, earth and wind, fire and water?"

Restrained thus, Flame could respond only to Everest's cock as it was aimed directly at his face. "I do, my lord." 

With those words, the flogger was again brought to bear. The women who held his legs reached to open him. Swinging in fast arcs, the flogger was applied directly to the most private area between his cheeks, then continued over his balls and down his cock deosil, then back up moving widdershins to catch the very tip. His gasp was stifled as his mouth was filled with Everest's erection. 

Holding Flame's head to prevent his escape, Everest began pumping his mouth to the beat of the flogger. The assembled coven watched and chanted, speeding the tempo. Raina noticed that several of the men were masturbating as the beat became more frenzied. The black man moved behind Raven, and lifted her onto the largest cock Raina had ever seen. She wondered if she should continue licking Raven's clit, but could not take her eyes off the scene before her. 

Everest threw back his head and came with a might cry. Keeping with tradition, the first stream of pearly fluid caught Flame across the face, then he forced himself back into Flame's mouth and shuddered as he emptied himself. Flame held his lips firmly around the softening phallus, knowing that he must not spill a drop. Raina saw a trickle of cum slide down Raven's thigh as she was filled. As Everest's penis slipped from Flame's lips, Stone's penis slipped from Raven's. Flame swallowed as Crystal applied a final stroke directly on anus. 

Crystal exchanged the flogger for a brass flagon of healing oil that had been warming by the fire. Holding it two feet above him, she poured a thin stream of oil down his cleavage until he was thoroughly coated. She massaged his tender cheeks, and couldn't resist probing him with a slippery finger. "I consecrate thee with oil."

The oil was exchanged for a carafe of cold ruby red wine. She drizzled it over the oil, and again massaged his tender parts. "I consecrate thee with wine." She applied her tongue to his cleavage and followed it down across his anus, between his balls, and down his shaft. She sealed her lips around the tip and fluttered her tongue around and into his tiny opening. "I consecrate thee with my lips."

Raven approached. "You have but one more task to complete your trial, well, ten small tasks to be more precise. Then you shall receive your reward." She made a gesture, and the arms that held him turned him onto his back. She climbed upon the altar and kneeled, straddling his face. She stretched out over his body to stroke his erection as she lowered herself to his mouth. "Clean me well and make me cum," she commanded.

Flame's mouth was filled with the taste of cum. The pungent flavor of man cum and the tart flavor of pussy mingled in his mouth. Although decidedly heterosexual, he had grown used to the expectations of the coven, now his coven, and had come to appreciate a hard cock as well as a wet cunt over the course of the past year and a day. The gods and goddesses had blessed him well for his service.

He set about his mission with pleasure. His long tongue snaked inside her to find every drop of cum, and he knew that Stone had fucked by the stretch of her usually snug opening. He focused his attention on her hard clit. Her hips were thrusting, and he knew she was close. As she thrust forward, he took advantage of her position and tilted his head back to find her rosebud. As he probed, she clamped down hard on him and called out a spell to seal the bond. "Drink ye now from the cauldron of knowledge, peace, and life." He licked her more tenderly with the flat of his tongue until she pulled herself away from him.

"You are indeed a worthy member of our group. Now you must seal your connection to rest of us with your tongue. Ladies first." The women approached and straddled his face one at a time, then the men did the same. The evening's activities had brought everyone to fever pitch, and it took only a few strokes of his tongue to be rewarded with a faceful of cum and a blessing. Most really only needed permission to cum. Control of orgasm is the essence of sex magic, as the spell must be spoken at the height of pleasure. 

Stone went last, and took his time taking his pleasure, fucking Flame's mouth with gusto even though he had filled Raven' cunt only a short time ago. Flame recalled Stone's similar enthusiasm during his deflowering a year ago. Stone prided himself on his self-denial. He was celibate except with the coven, so his balls were always full and he did a month's worth of fucking at each gathering. Stone filled Flame's mouth saying "May your balls turn to stone and your cock stay forever limp if you ever betray the coven, dude. Now swallow." 

Raven returned to the altar and helped Flame to his feet. This was her favorite part of this yearly tradition. She kissed him deeply, reveling in the essence of the entire coven, as she removed the nipple clamps without warning. "Hear ye, Lady of Life and Lord of Death! Hear ye, Guardians of the Watchtowers! In this place, by our hands, mouths and will Flame has been duly pledged and anointed a witch and Priest of the First Degree!" As she spoke, she untied the cords binding and weighting his cock and balls, and he waited for the rush of pain that he knew would come. "All those gathered kneel in the circle and welcome our new priest." She presented him to each member in turn, and each covener pleasured him with their mouth, teasing him mercilessly as he was forbidden to cum. By tradition, he would be personal slave for a year to the person who made him cum without permission. Finally he stood in front of Raina.

As soon as she took him into her mouth, he knew that training her in the ways of the coven would be a pleasure indeed. Almost as large as Stone, many of the women did not attempt to accommodate him, but teased him with their tongues. Raina was clearly experienced. However, he wanted to sample all of her charms before the coven gathered to watch him cum. He touched her pussy and found her fully aroused. Reluctantly, he withdrew from her mouth. "Flame has proven most worthy, and may now take his pleasure."

"Put your head and chest on the ground and raise your ass high," he commanded Raina, giving her ass a firm swat. "Higher", he repeated, swatting the other side. He was surprised how much he enjoyed spanking her lovely behind, and decided to give her a formal introduction to what to expect for the next year and a day. Standing to the side, he began spanking her in earnest, albeit gently. "Spread your legs," he ordered as he increased the intensity. His eyes cast about for the ruler, and grinned when Raven laid it in his hand. That woman reads minds.

Raina gave a yip with the first stroke of the ruler, but instinctively knew that making noise would only make things worse. She had a lover in college who liked to spank, but he had never used anything more than a bare hand. The ruler was a whole new experience. 

He counted off 20 strokes across her fine ass, constantly varying the pattern and rhythm, but progressively increasing the intensity. Her shapely globes began to take on a pink hue. She attempted to twist away, so he brought the ruler up from between her legs, landing directly on her nether lips. "Oh!' she shrieked, more out of surprise than pain. He grinned, remembering his introduction to genital whipping. The trick was to build slowly. He wished he could land a few on her nipples, but that would have to wait for another sabbat. He increased the pace and the intensity as he laid 20 strokes to her lips.

For her part, Raina was amazed that she was actually enjoying having her pussy spanked and wondered why nobody had told her about this before. 

Raven again stood ready with the next implement of torture. The paddle of ancient oak was 18 inches long, 3 inches wide, and 1/2 inch thick. It was drilled with small holes to reduce wind resistance, and was sanded to a smooth, shiny surface. He knew from experience that it packed a wallop.

The air whistled as he landed it on her shapely bottom with a sharp crack, and she reached behind to protect herself. He rubbed the paddle on her clit and threatened "I'll spank you here if you do that again. Ten more."

She writhed through the paddle strokes, but could not stop herself from whimpering with each blow Her ass was on fire, and was turning a deep cherry red. 

He reached his hand out again, and Raven supplied the small "beginner's" flogger. "50," he announced as he began crisscrossing her ass, making an "X" centered on her asshole. "Open your cheeks," he commanded. When she did not immediately comply, he accepted the coven's paddle from Raven and laid two very hard swats across the base of each cheek and repeated his command. This time she obeyed promptly. "20" he announced. The sting was not as bad as the humiliation of exposing herself. "Spread your lips, but keep your fingers out of the way. I'm going to give you 20 on your clit, then I'm going to fuck you."

Fearing the paddle, she opened her lips. The sensation was incredible. Expecting pain, she felt only arousal. She didn't want the flogging to end.

He reached his hand out and Raven filled it with the flat leather braid that he knew she knew he would want. He quickly administered ten more, increasing the sting with each blow. She moaned with each stroke because these were starting to hurt, but she had never felt so aroused. On the 10th stroke, he threw the leather away and suddenly he was inside her. He grasped her hips and began thrusting, giving her no time to get used to his size. He wanted to lick her, but that too would have to wait. His need to cum was becoming desperate and he wasn't done with her yet.

He rubbed her clit to gather her moisture, and she responded by gripping him tighter. Then he reached behind her to lubricate her anus with her fluids.

"No, please. I've never done that. I'm not ready for that."

"You'll just have to get ready little witch. By the end of a year and a day, I can promise you that every man and woman here will have invaded your tiny rosebud. Many times." 

He wanted her to want it. He withdrew from her cunt and bent down to prepare her. He licked her slit, finding her wide open where his penis had been. He grasped her lips to pull her clit to his tongue, then he spread her and slid all the way back until he found her tiny bud. His tongue probed.

"Oh my goddess," she gasped. She had not felt such an incredible sensation since discovering oral sex.

His only reply was to flutter his tongue then probe again. Flutter. Probe. Flutter. Probe. A drop of cum dribbled from his cock as she opened, and he knew he had to finish soon. Raven appeared with a bottle of oil that had been warming by the fire. It was a potion of herbal extracts that helped ease the passage and intensify the desire. She poured it over Raina's ass and vulva until it puddled beneath her. With three fingers of his left hand rubbing her clit, Flame began stretching her with his index finger, teasing her tense hole with the pad of his finger before easing slowly inside her. "Relax for me Raina," he whispered as he began to gently fuck her ass with his finger. As the grip on his finger ebbed, he inserted another. When she began to thrust her hips to the rhythm of his fingers, he knew she was ready. He knew he was, too.