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Winston's Witch Ch. 01

By: Inosolan



Chapter 1 - Preacher's Passion

{Tell us a story!}

{Yeah -- we want to hear a story while we get ready to go another round!}

{Make it a funny story,'cos Jo gets all weepy and forgets who she's supposed to be doing if you tell sad ones...}

Most people have at least vaguely heard of the infamous Salem Witch Trials. Most people, generally, seem to have a vague impression that several witches were condemned and burnt.

As a matter of fact, almost certainly none of the condemned actually WERE witches (witches have always been pretty scarce on the ground even where they are wanted or even merely tolerated; anyone intelligent enough to master the Seven Magics and the Four Summonings that make up the requirements to be granted even the lowest witching degree, that of BW [Bachelor of Witchcraft, which certifies one a true witch, and here's the door, sorry we don't have any job openings on the faculty here at Trismegistus U, write if you get work, we hear there's a gingerbread house five counties over whose original owner was just roasted in her own oven by two smart-arse kids, good luck, bye! [Slam!]] is fully cognisant of the local vibrations, as it were, and has no trouble knowing exactly when she really ought to be going to visit Aunt Matilda, who's getting on in centuries and has that lovely hut just north of Bad Ass in Lancre in the Ramtops and doesn't get around as well as she used to, with the result that the local villagers arrive at her thatched cottage at quarter eight with torches, ropes, scythes, rakes and other more obscure agricultural implements and find themselves reading (if they can indeed read) a note on the door that says "Gonne to visitt mye Anty. Please milkke cowe everie daie and looke afterr the batts, Luv, Griselda thee Blacke".

{What did you just say?}

{Sorry, the management promises closer control will be kept over sentences in the future.}

{Quit interrupting, Roberta, or we'll never hear the story.}

No, most if not all of the women and men (eleven women, eight men) condemned for witchcraft at Salem in 1692 were innocent, and were, in fact, hanged, and not burnt. Charged, be it noticed, on the basis first of the hysterical ravings of apparently spiteful little girls, and then further tried and condemned on the basis of rather fantastic "evidence" produced, for the most part, by those who were to sit in judgement over them. Thus does humanity -- not really far advanced from his original killer ape days -- deal with those who differ from the pack in some way.

{Those interested in the real-life details of the Salem trials can find a day-to-day chronology of them an photos of the memorial dedicated in their memory in the tricentennial year after the trials online without much trouble, by the way}

{Who are you talking to?}

However, this is not a story about Salem, the Salem witch trials, nor the rather nasty vengeance some real witches have worked there from time to time in killer-ape vengeance frenzies of their own, but rather about the nearby town of Winston, Massachusetts.

You've never heard of Winston, Massachusetts? Not surprising. The townspeople of Winston decided that they wanted to hang some witches, too. Their town, however, differed from Salem in one important and (for them) unfortunate manner -- there really was a witch living there.

Unfortunately for the townspeople and to her own subsequent displeasure and discomfiture, Mistress Nicola Hawkworth had a bit of a cold in the head that left her foresight a bit cloudy and uncomfortable to use, so she had momentarily stopped using it about the time the village elders decided that they needed a witch trial to be thoroughly up to date.

{I must say, if that was all it took to be thoroughly up to date in Massachusetts in those days, it must have been a much more restful time and place to live than, say, Kansas City around the beginning of the Twentieth Century...} 

{Huh?} 

{'Oklahoma!', you dummy!} 

{Huh?} 

{Never mind. [[rolleyes]]}

And, so, when there was a knock on her door one pleasant evening, and she opened it, expecting to find any one of several young (or one or two not-so-young, but still virile) men from the village, come to improve both their evenings, she instead found most of the village with torches, ropes, scythes, etc. in hand; led by the father of the wife of one of her more regular not-so-young but still virile callers.

{In the interests of full disclosure, it is probably necessary to reveal that the not-so-young but still virile caller in question stood a few rows back in the mob, looking sheepish but still half-heartedly brandishing a left-handed Cornish hop-reaper's hook...}

{Wow. That's obscure all right!} 

{Three-to-one it's so obscure 'cos she just made it up.} 

{No bets and get your hand off there till the story's over, you pig!}

{Oink.}

Before she could spew anathema upon them, or even ask if they'd care to come in for tea (she had just worked out the bigger-inside-than-outside spell, and wouldn't mind seeing if she could, indeed, fit the entire population of the town into her small one-room cottage), Rector Titearse seized her and stuffed a gag in her mouth, as two others grabbed her hands and tied them to prevent any gestures. Another tried to catch her cat, on the theory that it must be her familiar and would bring demonic help if not stopped (correct in theory, but the cat wasn't her familiar) and got severely clawed and bitten about the hands, arms, neck, face, scalp and left ear before eighteen pounds of spitting snarling blood-covered black cat burst through the center of the mob like a well-hurled ball through a stand of ninepins.

In the aftermath of the cat's strike, things were a bit confused for a while, and it was only because the reverend and his two helpers held her so tightly that Mistress Nicola didn't escape. Somebody copped a couple of feels in the process, which she normally wouldn't have minded [sometimes she even enjoyed a little bondage though she preferred to be the one tying the knots] but this time she suspected that it was the Reverend Titearse, who was, after all, about fifty and wretched. She had always sympathised with his departed wife.

{Not that the Reverend's wife was dead, you understand, just departed years ago, leaving him with a baby daughter who grew up to just as rigidly anti-fun as he was, which is why HER husband, Goodman Hector Strongpencil, often dropped by Nicola's cottage of a summer evening when he was supposed to be at the tavern.}

"Ha, foul enchantress, we have you!" barked out the Reverend. People talked like that in those days, right out in public, instead of decently out of hearing in the back rooms of game stores.

Without further ado, she was dragged off to town and clapped into the town gaol. There she was confronted by the Reverend, her accuser, who was the Reverend's daughter, Goodwife Prunaprisma Titearse Strongpencil, and (still rather sheepishly and definitely keeping behind the others) Goodman Hector Strongpencil, at whom she couldn't really remain angry, as he was one of her more favored evening visitors.

As they stared at her, she glared back, almost scorching them with the fire of her huge luminous eyes, probably the most striking feature of her incredibly lovely face... 

{"Hey! No fair gilding the lily!}

{Right -- we know just what those'huge luminous eyes' looked like...}

{... and, luv, I'm sorry to say that while 'very pretty' would cover it, or even 'striking', 'incredibly lovely' just isn't in it...}

{Oh, all right..."}

... her glowing eyes. Even knowing she was still gagged with a scold's bridle and so could work no spells, the three shrank away from her.

Of course, as has been said, it's not what you don't know; it's what you do know that ain't so that will hurt you.

In this case, "everybody knew" that a witch could cast no spell or pronounce no curse so long as she was prevented from speaking and from gesturing. That was even true about some witches.

Mistress Nicola, however, could control the actions of others with nothing but the power of her mind. Often, such control was more trouble than it was worth -- a good old fashioned curse or potion was simpler and more certainly effective.

But, if the person were particularly susceptible to her control, she could cause them to perform almost any act. And those whom she so controlled would either believe that they were acting of their own volition, or would simply not realise what they were doing nor remember it afterward.

She knew, from experience that her greatest control was most easily exerted upon those of small intellect or those of a repressed nature; those of little intellect simply were overborne by the power of her will, while the repressed often were denying strong desires within themselves which they found shameful, "shameful" desires upon which she could play. It was obvious, as her mental "touch" moved over the three, that Goodman Strongpencil, while a pleasant fellow, and endowed with a tremendous... muscle... was not overly bright. The Reverend, while intelligent enough, was so twisted and repressed that his psyche felt to her "touch" like a tightly-wound spring. And Goodie Prunaprisma (Titearse) Strongpencil, while even less of bright-glowing intellect than her husband, was indeed her father's daughter -- so bound up in repression she scarcely needed corsets.

Nicola decided that she would play with these three a bit, while she bided her time until her "trial". And then she would deal with the whole town of Winston.

"Oh, Father," Prunaprisma was prattling, "You are so brave and strong to dare to cast this vile enchantress down. Not," she added, less worshipfully, as she cast a scornful glance at her unhappy husband, "at all like some I could mention, who succumb so easily to her foul blandishments!"

"Well, Daughter, I am, after all, a man of the cloth, and the Lord will protect me if I am strong in his ways. This Daughter of Lilith, who so resembles your wanton mother, shall not deceive me nor prevail even for a moment over me as she did!"

Smiling inside her head, Nicola "touched" the Reverend's mind a bit.

"But, Daughter, you have never told me precisely what it was that this creature forced your husband to do under her evil spell or even how that spell was cast; if I am to prosecute her properly, I should know."

Prunaprisma turned a deep shade of red, and stammered, "Oh, F-father, I cannot... cannot bear to speak aloud of such disgusting things!" As she simpered, Nicola "touched" her mind as well.

"Well, perhaps, instead of telling me aloud," the Reverend judiciously said, "you could whisper to me...?"

Another "touch", and Pru, blushing even more hotly, stepped to her father's side and began to whisper in his ear. As she spoke, his eyes grew wider and wider, and fixed first upon the sullen face of the girl in the cell, then, as if despite himself, began to move downward, across her rather lowcut bodice, downward to her broad and shapely hips.

With an almost visible jolt, he brought his attention back to his daughter.

"You say that she 'touched' him and thus enticed him?" he asked. His red-faced daughter nodded. "In what manner did she 'touch' him?" When she cast her eyes downward and didn't speak, he came to a decision.

"I must know what happened. If you will not tell me, Mistress, can you not, for the glory of God and the confoundment of the Devil, show me what the witch did?"

His daughter was in danger of spontaneously bursting into flame, it almost seemed, so hot was her face. She shook her head slightly, and turned away.

Another pair of touches from Nicola, and the Reverend thundered "Woman! In the name of God, I demand that you show me what ritual this witch uses to steal the souls of young men of this community! As God gives me strength, when once I know, I can defeat her!"

"But, Father... it is vile..."

"A true man of God is not turned aside by mere vileness. Show me!"

"But, Father, I would be ashamed to do such a thing to any man, even my Goodman, and you are my own father..."

"Aye, thy own father, and thus one whom you must not think of as a man. Since that is so, you may show me what it was without fear or shame."

"Yes, Father." She stepped close in front of him. "My Goodman told me, after I nagged at him for days, that he was on his way to the tavern, and the witch accosted him on the forest path, stepping up before him, so."

"And?"

"And that she said to him 'Ho, Big Fellow! All alone upon the path? Fear you not wolves or bears?' and he replied "Not at all; I shall slay any such I see.' 'Ah, and what of more tender game?' she asked, stepping so closely -- like this -- that their bodies touched..."

"And?"

"And he said that he said 'Ah, I've me old sporting gun for such tender game.' 'Ah, ' she said, 'but is your sporting gun loaded?' and 'Of course, ' replied he, still thinking she spoke of deer or such."

"And then?"

"And then -- oh it is so vile, how could even an unnatural creature as she do such -- she reached out and grasped his thing and said..."

"'... grasped his "thing"... '? In what manner, madame, did she grasp what 'thing'?"

"His, you know, 'thing'... with her hand..."

"You must show me."

Closing her eyes, and turning her face away, Prunaprisma reached down a shrinking hand to her father's groin, fingers fumbling until she touched his organ which was, though he had not yet himself noticed, half-erect. Her hand jerked away as of its own volition, then almost seemed to reach back a bit.

"Is that how she did it? Exactly as she did it?"

"Well, no. I believe she touched it... ummm... more firmly."

"Show me."

Though Pru's face showed no less humiliation, her hand reached out rather more willingly, and her fingers hesitantly closed upon her father's member.

"Hmmm." the Reverend hummed. "And was that all that she did?"

"Oh, no -- but the rest is so much worse that..."

"Proceed."

"So she took her hand and she... she..."

"She what?"

"She stroked it." Prunaprisma murmured, eyes downcast, watching fascinatedly as her hand stroked gently but firmly along the length of her father's growing member.

"And then she kissed him..." she breathed, leaning forward and kissing her father full on the lips.

"Was... was that all that she did?" enquired the Reverend, seemingly unaware that his daughter's hand, by now solidly grasping his shaft through the material of his breeches, was slowly but firmly pumping up and down upon it.

"Oh, no -- she kissed him again, and she..." leaning forward, stroking her hand smoothly along his shaft, she kissed her father even more strongly, and then, with only slight hesitation, slipped her tongue between his lips, stroking the tip of his with the darting tip of her own.

Without seeming to realise what he was doing, the Reverend's arms closed around his daughter's thickening but still womanly body and pulled her to him. Releasing her grip on his cock, she threw her arms about him, as well. Pressing against each other, they kissed deeply again and again; after a few kisses, her crotch began to grind against his, and one of his hands rose to cup one of her full breasts and fondle it.

After some time, the Reverend drew back from his daughter's kisses, and, still fondling her breast with one hand said, "... and then?"

"And then," Prunaprisma replied, with no hesitation, dropping to her knees in front of him, "she opened his garments..." fumblingly she attempted to open the the waistband of her father's black trousers, until the Reverend became impatient and reached down and did it for her, "... and she reached inside and she grasped his thing again..." The Reverend sucked air between his teeth as her hot hand closed on his thick rod, "... and she pulled it out..." suiting actions to words, she exposed the thick eight inch shaft of her father's cock for anyone watching to see "... and then... and then..."

"'And then' what?" her father snapped.

"She... she kissed it and licked it..."

"Show me!"

Hesitantly, she leaned forward, extending her tongue till its tip could just lap up the shining drop of precum on the tip of her father's cockhead, then gently caressed the tip with her lips... She drew back a bit, then, with a determined expression, she took the head of her father's big cock into her mouth and began to suckle at it, much the way her baby had suckled at her teat.

A loud moan from her father worried her, and she glanced upward, his cock still in her mouth. Looking downward in his turn, the Reverend saw his own daughter, her hair disarrayed, her bodice and stays somehow partly unlaced, showing the globes of her full tits to any eye that chanced to look... and with the head of his own hot cock in her warm wet mouth.

Not thinking at all anymore, wanting only more pleasure, he stroked his hips forward, pushing more of his length past those ovalled lips and into the warm wetness and incredible sucking sensation of her suddenly whorish mouth.

Reaching one hand down, he placed it on the back of her head and used it to urge her forward, though she hardly needed encouragement. The feel of that cock slipping inward past her lips as his hips twitched, the head nudging against the top of her mouth, the taste of more precum leaking from it, had snapped whatever inhibitions she might have had.

Watched with malicious satisfaction by the witch in the cell and with total bemusement by her uncomprehending husband, she began to give her father one of the Great Blowjobs of Western Civilisation.

Moaning on the outstrokes, caressing his shaft with one hand, fondling her own by now totally exposed breasts and erect nipples with the other as she discovered that, at certain angles, her father's cock could slip its entire length into her mouth and down her throat, Prunaprisma continued to pleasure her father, until she suddenly pushed back and said over his frustrated moan "And she did other things, also!"

"'Other things'? Pray, madame, what 'other things'?"

Rising to her feet, maintaining a firm grip on her father's rock-hard cock, Prunaprisma glanced around, then backed up to the gaoler's desk, sitting lightly on its edge.

"First," she said, releasing her hold for the moment, "She lewdly and willfully exposed herself to him." Without hesitation, she pulled the front of her dress downward, fully exposing her heavy, slightly sagging but still womanly breasts to full gaze. "... and she made indecent play to entice him..." as her hands began fondling and lifting her own breasts, holding them out for view, then stroking and plucking at her stiffly-erect nipples.

"And then, she did something so lewd and so indecent that I cannot believe even a witch would sink so low... and that was... this!"

With a sudden decisive gesture, she seized her skirt and pulled the front of it up to her midriff, revealing herself otherwise completely nude below the waist.

There was a moment of complete silence, and then Prunaprisma reached out, took hold of her father's cock, and pulled him gently to her until its rounded head rested against the wet puffy lips of her sex.

They stood like that for a moment, until, with a sound of impatience, she lifted her legs, threw them over his hips, and, seizing his waist, pulled him forward until his entire length slipped into her hot belly.

Again they stood for a moment, but then he began moving slightly and she responded with hip motions of her own; both of them pumping faster and faster until almost his entire length was sawing in and out of her tight clasping cunt as she guided his stroke with hands and with legs locked around his waist.

The moralising Reverend was fucking his own repressed goody-goody of a daughter in a public place! It was incredibly stimulating to watch, and, somehow Goodman Strongpencil found himself fascinated by the sight of his father's ass pumping away between his own daughter's knees. It was as if he was staring through some sort of magnifying lens; he could clearly see the puckered brown spot of the Reverend's anus.


Winston's Witch Ch. 01



As if one entranced (and he was; Nicola figured he needed a lesson to remind him that "kiss and tell" is a Bad Thing), he stepped forward, reaching down under the Reverend's crotch, he began to rub both the Reverend's cock as it emerged glistening from his own wife's body, and to rub her cunt as well. Soon he had accumulated a fair amount of their sexual slime, which he, unbuttoning his trousers, proceeded to rub on his own rock-hard shaft. He took one more step forward, placed his hands on the Reverend's bony hips, and with one thrust, buried the full length of his thick cock in the ecclesiastical asshole. The Reverend's eyes popped open, and he, in turn, gave an extra-hard thrust into his daughter's greedy cunt.

Soon the three established a rhythm that had Strongpencil withdrawing as the Reverend shoved forward, hot cock making lewd squishing sounds as it crammed her hot twat, then slurping noises as it pulled back; as the Reverend's hips moved backward with his withdrawal, Strongpencil shoved forward, cramming every inch of his thick, hot shaft up his father's tight anus again.

Minute followed minute filled only with the moaning sounds of the three obscenely entangled forms and the sloppy noises of pistoning cocks in tight holes.

Then Prunaprisma threw back her head and wailed loudly, her hips bucking on the desktop and her cunt's muscles greedily clamping on her father's cock, milking every drop of semen from it as her orgasm triggered his.

The Reverend gave two more pumps of his hips, jamming his long cock up inside her cunt as far as he could before his cum rifled up its length and into his daughter's hungry pussy.

And Strongpencil simply grabbed his father's hips tightly, crammed every bit of his big cock up the Reverend's back hole and filled him with copious amounts of hot white cum.

the three collapsed in a sort of pile on the desk, all gasping for breath. Gradually, the two cocks softened and slipped from their hot tight nests.

Gradually all three again became aware of their surroundings.

And then Nicola released the controls she had maintained on their minds.

As all three leaped apart as if the bodies they touched were suddenly red hot and began fumbling frantically to tuck various parts of their bodies back under cover and to close up their clothing.

"... and you three think that you shall be witnesses to iniquity on my part?" demanded the girl in the cell, and then collapsed upon the rude bunk behind her and began laughing sardonically. "Get out of here, that I may sleep, and pray to whatever God you think might listen to you after that display that I say nothing to those in authority."

Bewildered, the three slipped one by one out the office door, hoping that no-one was around outside to see them leaving; it seemed to each that he or she must be draped with banners proclaiming them sodomists, abominators and incestuous fornicators.

And, in the gaol, Nicola still laughed, as her foresight showed her how she would amuse herself on the morrow.



Winston's Witch Ch. 02



Despite the fact that she was in gaol, Mistress Nicola slept tolerably well, until about eight of the clock the next morning, when Bertram Thicknoll, the Chief Gaoler, awakened her and informed her that there was food here if she deigned to partake.

Actually, in interests of perfect accuracy, Bertram rattled the bars and announced "Got summat fer brekfus' here if so be ye want some, Mistress." Not one of life's mental prodigies, was Bertram, but a kind enough fellow withal, given the nature of his job and possible future of many of his clients. Bertram had early on in his years as gaoler realised that prisoners treated fairly and kept as happy as possible were less likely to do naughty things like attempting escape or hanging themselves in their cells, and that this, in turn reduced the amount of paperwork he had to fill out to account for missing or dead prisoners.

For instance: Bertram made sure that his prisoners ate at least as well as he did himself, often enough serving them whatever he was having himself for that meal, which was the case this morning. Accordingly, Nicola found herself tucking in to a bowl of hot corn mush, fried bacon and mushrooms, and a boiled egg.

Taking back her plate, she smiled through the bars at Bertram, another of her occasional evening visitors, and thanked him kindly for his consideration. As she did, her fingers somehow seemed to accidentally stroke his thick wrist and the back of his large hairy hand, just as the tip of her tiny pink tongue darted out and moistened her red lips.

{Tiny pink tongue, my...! Who was it I'd swear was tickling my cervix yesterday with the tip of her 'tiny pink'...} 

{Fwop! "Respect your elders, young woman! And if respect won't keep you quiet, I have three more pillows handy...}

"Oh, thank you Goodman Gaoler," she said. "I appreciate your consideration, but, you know, the meal is incomplete."

"Oh? Is there owt else I might get ye, Mistress? Some salt, mayhap, or a bit o' vinegar?"

"Oh, no... i was just recalling my old Granny Esmeralda; very often she made us breakfasts like this, when my sisters and I were at her cabin.

"No, it's just that Granny..." her hand continued to stroke his hairy wrist, gradually slipping further and further up his arm at each stroke. "Well... Granny always added something a bit special to our corn mush."

"Special?" he echoed, stepping a bit closer, so that her fingers could brush across his chest.

"Oh, aye. Special... Different kinds, sometimes blueberry preserves, sometimes honey fresh from the comb..."

Her sharp nails were playing with the coarse, curly hair that showed in the v-neck of his shirt.

"Uhmmmm... really?" he stammered, with some difficulty managing to prevent his eyes from crossing in sheer sensual pleasure.

"Oh, yes." Her hand had somehow slipped down from his chest, tackled its way down his belly, and somehow, inevitably seemingly, had come to rest, cupping the suddenly rather-too-tight crotch of his trousers. Fondling the growing bulge she found there, Nicola smiled up at him and said "Oh, my. I would so appreciate it if you could halp me with some thick cream sauce for my mush."

Urging him forward with gentle tugs on the long thick handle she now held, she brought him right up to the bars, so that his hips and chest pressed against them.

Still stroking what she held in her warm soft hand, rather like a rider meeting a rather nervous horse for the first time, who gently strokes the steed's neck in a manner that reassures the horse and, at the same time, gives a sort of physical gratification of touch to both horse and rider.

Looking upward from under halfclosed lids, her gaze caught and held his eyes as her other hand fumbled with his belt and then with the lacings of his breeches. Still he stood, unmoving, eyes fixed upon hers.

She let his open breeches drop away, catching his massive length and girth with both or her own small, warm hands, urging him to press just a bit more tightly against the bars of the cell.

Slowly, teasingly, she stroked his length with both hands, loosening and tightening her gasp, making him stand even more massive and rigid in her grasp.

Holding him still with one hand, she touched one finger to the very tip of his huge organ, picking up the single drop of precum that trembled there, lifting it to her own red lips. Her tongue darted out, licking it from her fingertip.

"Mmm," she murmured, licking her lips clean, catlike. "I believe that the cream is almost ready to serve."

Reaching up with the other hand, she unlaced her own bodice, exposing her fine, firm breasts, standing chaste but exciting, tipped with fine nipples like pink... 

{Fwop!} 

{Hey!} 

{I've got pillows, too, you know, and this is not an exercise in auto-eroticism, so let go of yourself with both hands and finish the story...}

{Oh, all right -- no respect, I tell you, I get no respect around here...} 

{Don't look at me for support; I have to live in a file cabinet when I'm not here. A dark one.}

{Oh, very well. Where was I...?}

... her quite acceptably nice tits, taking his hand and lifting it up to caress one of them.

"Oh, yes, good sir. Stroke it just so, if you please, for it pleasures me greatly. And excites you, as well, it would appear."

The hand that clutched his member continued stroking its length, the other reached upward to press against the back of his neck, pressing his head downward until his lips found a nipple. Evidently {no matter what SOME might say} the nipple so presented to him was quite satisfactory, as he began to suckle at it enthusiastically, while his hand stroked, cupped and lifted the other, fingertips flicking at the stiffened nub at its end.

More and more rapidly her hand caressed his dick, more and more firmly she grasped at it.

His hips began bucking back and forth against the bars, matching the motions of her small warm hand.

He moaned past a mouthful of her breast, his tongue still busy at its firm bud.

She felt a single warm drop on her wrist, and momentarily clutched tightly near the base of his cock, temporarily blocking what she knew was about to happen, then reached down with her other hand and seized the bowl of mush, lifting it up as she released her tight clasp, and, with one final stroke from base to tip, released the full stream of his hot white cum.

It gushed into the bowl, splashing up the side and across the yellowish surface of the mush. Several more streams flew form his balls up his length and into the bowl, as the gaoler continued to gush, experiencing the most intense and draining orgasm of his entire life.

Finally, he was done, and he began to soften in her grasp.

"Oh, thank you, Master Gaoler," she exclaimed, setting the bowl aside. "I always do love a good bit of cream to my mush."

Still holding his near-flaccid dick in her gentle hand, she dropped briefly to one knee and kissed its sticky head gently but warmly, eliciting a bit of a stir from even one as exhausted as her current victim.

"Run along now and rest a bit, Master Gaoler, and mayhap we two shall find some other way to pass the time pleasantly, later; right now, I believe I shall eat my mush."



Winston's Witch Ch. 03



(New characters, new complications. Nikki - oops, "Nicola" - is a bit more than she's appeared to be so far, apparently.

(The "Widow"'s experiences were far too common at the time, and only a bit less so now. Having had more than one friend in The Life, i can attest that all too many "clients" would be quite willing to prosecute/persecute a whore if they met her outside of a bedroom; most of them would deny her three times before the cock came...)

That evening the gaoler showed in more of Nicola's accusers, the Widow Driven Snow Blanchett and her eighteen year old daughter, Diana. (It was, you may recall, a tradition among the Pilgrims and other religious types in that part of the country to give their children names -- allegorical or otherwise -- that would hopefully influence them in their future lives.) 

"Do you intend to leave me alone with these two, Master Gaoler? I know not about Mistress Chastity, but I am quite certain that Widow Drifted Snow here would do me a mischief if given the chance..." his prisoner said to that official, ignoring the sniff the Widow Blanchett gave at the mocking twisting of her name.

"No, mum, I doesn't. After las' night, I be required to be present for any interviews you has wi' any o' town folk. I'll jus' take me chair over in this corner and sit; if any o' ye needs owt, just call." Not one of nature's mental giants, but a good fellow withal, and with great endurance. I mean, with the ability to endure much patiently.

Widow Blanchett stepped up to the bars, and snapped "Witch! Why do you trouble my daughter's dreams with your vile sendings?"

"I? Sendings to your daughter? I recall no such -- I've no reason to have done such, either. I mean, no-one has approached me with a request to do evil to you or your daughter.

"I must admit, though, that in your case, Snow, I would make an exception..."

"How dare you..."

"How dare I? Heh. Snow, I know your story before you drifted into Winston. I know the source of the 'inheritance' that you used to start up your store. Should I tell the townfolk?"

"You wouldn't..."

"Why not, Snow? I certainly have little if any to lose if it come to cutting up of characters. You, on the other hand, are in some danger. Some considerable danger. Someday, a great writer will remark '...the Colonel's lady and Judy O'Grady Are sisters under the skin...' but it will be years after even his time, if ever, before a woman whose fortune was made by... backbreaking labor... as yours was will be accepted into society if it's officially brought to people's attention..."

The Widow Blanchett's face was as white as her namesake. Her daughter glanced curiously back and forth between the two older women, trying to figure out just how the imprisoned witch had brought her mother to such terror without actually saying anything straight out.

Not that it mattered to her. She had been having Dreams that featured the witch, of late. Quite... Interesting... Dreams, though she was careful to not describe them too thoroughly to her mother or to the Reverend Titearse since the memorable switchings she had gotten for simply beginning to tell them the much less clear dreams she had had about the Squire's son.

"So, Mistress Diana," the witch was asking her, in a tone that seemed to cause a twitch in her insides at the same time that it somehow made an irony of her name. "Your mother says you've been having dreams from me?"

"Ummm... no, Mistress Nicola," she stammered, looking from the corner of her eye at her mother, who was still regarding the woman in the cell with shock and some fear. "More, errrr, about you..." she broke off in confusion, cheeks a bright read that spread down her neck, and, Nicola suspected, probably continued right fetchingly across the upper slopes of her small but upstanding teenaged boobies.

"Hmmm." the witch said, laying her hand on the door of her cell, which swung silently open at her touch, despite the large lock that was supposed to keep it closed.

Seeing this the gaoler started to heave himself to his feet with a "Here, now...". She raised one small hand and said "No worry, Master Gaoler; even if I can open the door, where or how would I go anywhere with such a stout guardian as yourself watching me and standing betwixt me and the door?"

Considering that, he nodded and subsided upon his chair.

"Step inside, Mistress Diana, and we will talk," she said. "No -- I don't think you will go anywhere or say anything for a while," she said, with a quick gesture of her hand toward Widow Blanchett, who had begun to turn as if to either follow her daughter and stop her or to flee the gaol and bring help. "You go over and sit comfortably on the gaoler's knee for a while. You don't mind, do you, Master Gaoler?"

"Why no, not at all, missie, bless your heart. There's but the one chair here, and I've a strong knee that will easily support the Widow while you and her daughter talk in your cell..."

At that, Widow Blanchett stepped quietly to him and sat daintily upon his knee, teetering a bit in place.

"For Heaven's sake, woman -- lean back a bit; he's got his arm stretched out and 'twill do you as a chairback."

Reluctantly, the Widow leaned back a bit till her shoulders felt the support of the gaoler's massive right arm as it came down to the arm of the bench. Shifting a bit for more comfort, her hip came naturally to rest against his huge hand, but neither seemed to notice, so intent were they on the witch and the maiden in the cell.

"My, my, Diana," the witch murmured, with that same sardonic tone to her name that made her twitch and seemed to cause a warm feeling to start somewhere in her belly. "You've grown quite a bit since you mother took you and left the town where you folks lived last. Ah, but you were only four or five, then, and so you wouldn't recall." Her eyes seemed to take on a distant focus, and she continued, "She needed help in getting away unseen, didn't you, Snow?"

Involuntarily, Diana's eyes followed Nicola's as they turned to where her mother reclined on the gaoler's knee. Her mother's face had gone even whiter than before, save for patches of red on each cheekbone.

"So you staggered along in the snow, afraid you and little Diana were going to die out there, and you prayed to Anyone who would listen..."

=================================

The woman who would call herself the Widow Driven Snow Blanchett in the future in Winston tripped again on a root or branch buried under the snow, and fell to one knee, almost dropping her precious bundle. She was lost, and there were said to be wolves in these woods, but that was the least of her worries -- her daughter had become still in her arms, no longer querulously struggling and crying out for her crib and her favourite dollie. Now she was quiet, her eyes half-closed, and her skin had a frightening white transparency. So frightened by this was her mother that, if she thought that someone would take the child and care properly for her, she would willingly have turned about and returned to the place she had fled and given herself up to the scourge and the branding iron the strict Church Elders had proclaimed must be the fate of women such as she... but she knew that, as likely as not, little Diana would be cast aside to the almshouse and, when she was but a year or two older, put to work that would quickly break her sunny spirit and take her to an early grave.

And why?

Because of what she was, she who had borne the child.

"Bawd's daughter", the child would be, and her spirit would be broken on purpose, that she never follow the trade of her sinful mother.

Not that she had wanted to be that; not that she had wanted the men furtively coming to her door on the little hidden lane outside of the town. Not that she had wanted the sick way so many of them looked at her, as if she were less than human, nor the way some had treated her, lashing out at her if they were unable to function... 

No, she had wanted to live happily with her husband and her daughter and see her daughter grow up and to grow old with her man and to eventually sleep by his side in the town cemetery. But the smallpox had not spared him. She and the babe hadn't been touched, but he had suffered and died.

And she was a woman alone, with no man to support or protect her, and no way to make a living for herself and the child. Her husband had been a woodcutter, and certainly she could not follow him in that trade. Had he been a farmer, she might have been able to keep a small plot going, to feed herself and her child and to trade a bit to others for what she could not grow herself. But their cabin lay not among cleared and broken farm land, but in the wood.

So she worried.

But she was a pretty woman, and a widow, who continued to live alone and gave no outward sign that she was worried, and some people drew the wrong conclusions.

And so, one day, one of the other women's drunken husband came to her, and said he could help her to buy some food, if only she would do a little something for him. Being not particularly sophisticated, she had not really understood what he meant, and he, in turn, being not very bright, had mistaken her incomprehension for coyness... with the result that she found herself thrown down upon the bed she had shared with her husband, sketchily disrobed, and fucked with enthusiasm if not skill or subtlety.

When he finished, as he was dressing, he had tossed her some coins with a mixture of disgust, contempt and superiority, saying "Here ye be, slut -- not a bad ride at all. I'll be back, and I'll tell me friends ye're willing." and left before she could say anything.

For shame that someone might think that she had somehow led him on, she never mentioned it to anyone else, believing that if she simply went on as always, nothing more would come of it. After a struggle with herself, she kept the money he had tossed her, and used it to buy staple foods. And she tried to think no more of it.

Until the night when the same man, drunk again, came with one of his equally loutish friends, and they thrust their way into her home and had at her. Knowing this time what they had in mind, she protested from the start, but they were more amused and stimulated by her futile resistance than they were dissuaded, and she was again fucked by both of them. As they left, they promised to return, and claimed that, even if she did try to bring charges against them this time, her failure to do so the first time would look as if she had been willing, and that she was, indeed, a whore.

But they did leave some money again; a bit more than the previous time.

So she bought things that she needed. She never spoke of the events, but there was gossip among the less-respectable men of the community, and then among the more-respectable men, and then someone mentioned something to his wife, and soon she was the town whore in name, if not in fact, and other men -- some of them nominally well-respected town elders - began to appear at her door in the hours of darkness, assuming that they would be accommodated. If she tried to resist, she was threatened with public censure and punishment. But, if she acquiesced, no official notice would be taken, and she would be allowed to live on in her little house... and she would be paid at least a little.

It did not take long before she began to think of herself as a whore, albeit an unwilling one, and to despise herself for being such a poor thing and for being so ready to conspire at immorality to get a little peace and a little money. She became more skilled in the arts of pleasing men -- and of avoiding violence when some man, unable to perform, blamed her for his lack... but the more she knew of how to bring them pleasure, the more she despised them. And if she despised the men who came to her cabin to use her body but would not meet her eyes on the street, she felt nothing but hatred for the "good" women who knew her plight and whispered among themselves that she was a slut and a whore and that she led their men astray. Especially she hated the women who, she knew, refused to fulfill what they considered their husband's "perverted" ideas, causing the men to bring those desires to her.

But the money fed her and her child, and she knew herbs that would prevent pregnancy, and she did not catch any whore's diseases, so she kept on surviving in that way... until one of the town's women denounced her publicly. Certainly, everyone in town, just about, knew what was going on (or thought they did) and many believed that her new profession was of her own choosing, but, until an official charge was lodged, everyone looked the other way.

Goodwife Prudence Bourke was a humorless, pinched-faced "good" woman, who had not willingly opened her legs to her husband since the birth of their second child, who found the concept of any type of sexual activity for any reason except the conception of children revolting. After a particularly unsatisfying session of pumping at her dry and unresponsive loins, her husband had unwisely said "Ye're useless, woman. I'm gone to whore's cabin for summat better than yon, even if I do have to pay for't."

Humiliated by this slight, Prudence went to the Magistrate, and filed a formal complaint that the widow who lived on the verge of the wood was a whore and was leading the men of the village into debauchery and immoral ways. The Magistrate, who visited her cabin two or three times a month, expressed shock at the thought that such a Scarlet Woman could ply her trade so unknown to the populace.

Summoning a pair of beadles, both of whom occasionally strolled out into the woods in search of adventure, the Magistrate organised a raid on her cabin and her arrest and punishment for plying her immoral trade in their fine, upstanding Christian village. 

But one of the younger men who sometimes visited her heard about the plan, and managed to warn her. Stopping only to grab a few supplies and her baby, she fled into the woods, just as it began to snow.

At first, she had been glad of the snow, which covered her tracks, but she began to realise that this was going to be a heavy fall, and that she might well die in this storm.

Now, some time later, she was sure of it. She had fallen again, clutching her precious bundle to her, and felt as if she could not rise again. For the moment, she was content to lie there, huddled around her child, hoping that her body's warmth would suffice to preserve the child till someone might find them and rescue her babe, at least.

Suddenly, so out of place in the circumstance, a quiet voice spoke to her. "Would you save the life of your child, woman?" it asked.

"Yes! Of course! I would do anything!"

"'Anything?' Think before you promise so much to one who might not intend well..." She seemed to hear the voice inside her own head, rather than with her ears.

"Who are you? Where are you?"

"You might call me a messenger. I come from one of great power, who has watched you, and felt your troubles, and wishes to aid you."

"Aid me?"

"Yes. My Mistress -- you might as well call her my Goddess -- watches over women, as much as She may, in this age when most of the old Gods and Goddesses are denied. She would help you in your suffering, save you and your child, and bring you to a safe place of refuge. Ah, but where are my manners? You are wet and cold!"

Suddenly, though the snow still swirled heavily in the dark clearing in the woods, it was not falling upon her, nor around her closely; and she felt a slow return of warmth to her hands and feet and her wet clothes and shoes were dry and comfortable. She clutched her baby more closely to her, and looked around, for a sight of the Person who was speaking to her. But she was alone.

"Where are you? Show yourself, please..." she managed to stammer.

"If you wish it -- but this is not truly Myself; while I am a messenger, I am also an actual aspect of my Goddess."

A faint glow appeared before her, and began to expand and grow brighter. As it stretched and began to assume an almost human form, it became so bright that she was forced first to look away, and then even to shade her eyes with a hand... And then, with an almost musical tone, the light winked out, and a normal, cheerful voice said "Turn to me, and see me, my dear!"

Turning, she was shocked and awed by the Person she confronted. At least seven feet in height, She had long, curling, wavy auburn hair that fell past Her waist. Her eyes were green -- a true green, almost a grass-green, and Her cheeks were dusted with freckles. She had a cheerful expression -- mischievous, the widow would have said if they had met under other circumstances.

Her shoulders and hips were broad, Her legs long and strong, and Her bosom was high and full. And obviously naturally well-formed without artifice; She wore not a stitch of clothing.

She burst out with a rippling, bubbling laugh that went well with the mischievous gleam in Her eye.

"I find that clothing so often obscures or masks intentions and meanings," She cheerfully said. "And, beside, I like to startle those I would claim as My own and see their reactions."

She stepped forward, reaching out and placing one long slender hand on the widow's shoulder.

"I can save your life; more importantly, I can save the life of your daughter." She was suddenly deadly serious; the widow didn't doubt that for a moment. "There is a price; not, I think, an onerous one -- from this day forth, if I save you, you are sealed to Me and not to the died-and-risen God to whom your parents gave you in baptism."

"But, if I worship one who is not the One True God, will I not be condemned to Hellfire?"

"No, not at all... If you remained sealed to Him, and somehow survived this night, and did evil in your future life, then, yes, you would do well to fear His Hell. But His Hell is only for those who are tied to Him; in His scheme of things, you and your child were to die tonight. At such times, I can step in, with some small part of My ancient power, and I can offer you life; a new life, that begins here and now -- one in which you are Mine and serve Me."

"Serve You? What evils might You ask of me?"

"No evils, no ill-doing, no harm to any. You would live in your world -- you need not even worship Me -- in fact, you may continue to attend the worship of your died-and-risen God so that those around you will not suspect. He's actually not nearly so stuffy as your preachers make him out, you know -- He likes a good joke as well as any..."

"So, how will I serve You?"

"You need not worry about that; the only service I ask is that your daughter also be sealed to My service, that she may serve as My champion in your patriarchal Man's World, when she is grown. And, before you ask, she will be asked to do no evil, either." 

"Then I accept."

"Then come to Me," said the Messenger, opening her arms widely.

Somehow, the dark snowy woods around them had vanished; they stood now in the middle of a flowery meadow that extended as far as the eye could see, under warm, even sunshine. Not a cloud marred the deep blue sky; a faint, warm breeze blew pleasantly, bringing the scents of thousands of flowers. Bees buzzed dreamily and birds called from time to time.

She was so dazzled that she was about to step to the Messenger, but she suddenly realised... "My baby? Where is my child?"

"She is well; another Messenger watches her and will tend to her slightest need. Now come to me, and we will seal your bargain with the Goddess."

Almost as in a daze, she stepped forward to the Messenger; she was startled but somehow not concerned to find herself suddenly as nude as the Messenger. It seemed natural in this place, some primordial place outside the world. Likewise, it seemed natural to accept the embrace of another woman, and to embrace Her in return.




Winston's Witch Ch. 03



Fingers upon her chin tilted her face upward until she gazed into the Messenger's green eyes. "One last time I say it," She said to her. "Even now, you may elect to not accept what the Goddess offers..."

"And what does the Goddess offer, besides bare survival?" she asked.

"This," and the Messenger bent Her head and kissed her full upon the lips; not a sisterly peck, but a warm, lingering kiss easily as passionate as any she recalled from her husband. "And this..." and she felt a hand caressing one of her breasts, fingers tweaking at the nipple that began to stir at the treatment. "And this..." and a hand stroked her hip gently, then down along the outside of her thigh to her knee; then sharp but gentle nails tickled their way back up from the inside of her knee almost to the top of her thigh, and fingers played gently in the curly hair there, tweaking at it and causing her to give a startled gasp.

And now another kiss, as a warm tongue pressed gently against her lip, seeking entry, and the hand at her breast became more firm in its caresses, pinching at the now fully-erect nipples. Then the Messenger broke the kiss, and lowered Her lips to the widow's breasts, suckling and tonguing the two nipples in turn, as Her fingers slipped through the curls of hair they had found and tickled along the outer lips of the widow's sex. She moaned aloud, instinctively turning her hips to make access easier.

Somehow, they were no longer standing, but stretched at length on the warm soft grass. Again the Messenger kissed her, and this time her lips tentatively opened to the insistent tongue, which gently touched her teeth, then slipped beyond to touch her own. Holding each other, lips pressed to lips, for a while their tongues touched and stroked at each other... and then it was the widow's turn, wondering at herself, at her strange desire and at her daring, who lowered her lips to the lush breasts that were offered, and gently kissed at first one, then the other of the firm nipples, and it was the Messenger's turn to give a small cry of pleasure.

Again those fingers plucked at her lips, and then one, just its tip, slipped between them and began to teasingly stroke along their inner edges, teasing at the inner lips that were beginning to react. She moaned into the breast at which she was suckling, and her hips began to move slightly in rhythm to the stroking finger's movement.

Somehow one of her own hands was at the other's side, stroking Her long leg from hip to knee, as She again pressed Her tongue between willing lips and they kissed long and deeply. Their hard nipples brushed against each other, and the Messenger's finger slipped suddenly, without warning, fully into her slit, finding the way wet and hot. Breaking the kiss, she threw back her head and moaned aloud, her hips grinding and rising to press her mound more firmly against the stroking hand. As she tentatively reached out to stroke the inner thigh of the other, the Messenger added another finger to the one already stirring her depths, plunging the two into her hungry cunt even more deeply.

Even as she moaned and her hips bucked in passion, she felt the warmth and moisture of the other's sex at her fingertips, and, daringly, pressed forward as one and then another of her fingers slipped inside the other's open and ready cunt.

"Oh, yes, little one..." the Messenger breathed into her ear. "You can certainly pleasure me greatly... but first you must learn the pleasure that your body can bring you..."

Kissing her one more time on the lips, the Messenger again turned Her face downward; placing one gentle kiss on the widow's chin, She then again kissed, gently teased with Her teeth and suckled at the now achingly-sensitive nipples. The moaning widow writhed from side to side at the sheer pleasure, expecting another kiss when She finished with her nipples. She was shocked when, instead, those hot and maddening lips and tongue moved downward, nibbling along the underside of her breasts, caressing the fold where they met her chest, and then down, circling her belly and lingering maddeningly at her navel, as the two fingers pumping her gash plunged to their full length within her, stroking at the gripping inner walls of her hungry cunt.

She felt hot breath on her mound through the hair, and felt lips and tongue teasing at the curls.

Without warning, the maddening fingers slipped from her hot hole; she began to moan an incoherent protest that became a grunt of surprise and a loud, wailing moan of sheer passion as that hot, wet tongue slipped without warning between her hungry cunt's lips and caressed them from end to end, slipping deeply inside her, then withdrawing till it barely tickled the outer lips, then again penetrating into her depths. It was such a wonderful feeling; the heat in her belly began to clench and draw together... She felt as if she were about to spend, and she felt as if it would be the most intense sensation she had ever felt.

She had enjoyed the marriage act with her husband well enough, getting her own pleasure most times before he was done, so she knew some of what her body was capable in pleasure, but she had never before experienced this much pleasure... And she had not reached her release yet!

Although the Messenger's hands caressed and guided her hips, she really needed no urging to raise her needy cunt to those lips, to that incredible tongue; she pressed herself to the Messenger's lips, hoping to draw just a bit more of Her tongue inside her hot hole. But She still mostly teased at the widow's outer and inner lips without truly dipping deeper, working to bring her to her first orgasm. As her hips bucked faster and harder against the hot mouth that felt so good, she felt passion building ever more and more strongly within her belly... 

And just as her passion was about to break and flood her, just as she began the the most powerful orgasm she had ever experienced, one of those fingers that was still well-lubricated with her cunt juices and oils pressed urgently against her anus, then slipped inside, stroking in rhythm with that maddening tongue's strokes on her cunt.

With a wail, her eyes rolling up till only the whites showed, she began to cum. Her anus clutched at the invading finger, her cunt muscles began to spasm and her hips bucked frantically against the Messenger's tongue and lips, as more and more liquid dripped from her convulsing cunt.

And, just at the height of her orgasm, when she was so far gone in pleasure that it seemed she might never again do anything but seek such pleasure again, the Messenger's tongue touched her clitoris for the first time.

The wail became a scream of pleasure so intense it was almost pain, and her entire body arched till only head and heels touched the ground, rising up, curved like a drawn bow, mindlessly seeking more and more of that gratification until, finally, she gave one last gasp and moan, her hips twitched and bucked several more times and, exhausted, she collapsed to the ground.

For a time, so far as Time had any meaning in that Place, they lay, side by side. The widow was slowly drifting back to normal consciousness, and the Messenger, her head pillowed against one hip and thigh, was idly using the widow's own juices and oils to make patterns on her inner thighs with a fingertip.

Judging that the time was right, She raised Her head from the widow's thigh and, pausing to nibble gently at a still-erect nipple, looked her in the eye.

"Enjoy yourself, little one?" She asked with a lewd grin.

"I believe so," replied the widow.

"Excellent. Soon, when you have rested a bit, we shall pleasure each other equally; rather than one to give and the other to get, both shall give and get just the same..."

==========================

"... and you wanted it, didn't you, Snow?" the witch asked.

"How do you know these things?" the widow demanded.

"What, did you think you were the only one She's touched in this world?" asked the witch. "See?"

She pulled at her bodice; opening, it revealed one firm breast. There, by the nipple, was what might have been a birthmark, in more or less the shape of a pair of lips, as if the pale flesh had just been kissed, and blushed where lips had touched.

"You were supposed to come to me, and I was to instruct you and your daughter. But you had second thoughts. You went to the preacher, and you told him something of what had happened (leaving out your previous state and exactly how you were sworn to the Goddess's service... ). And that old hypocrite, who doesn't even really believe in his own God, had you pray and pray on your knees as he mortified your flesh 'to drive the Devil out', didn't he?"

The widow's silence was her answer.

"But now your daughter's dreams turn toward the Goddess, and you fear that she is going to collect her due. And so you come to me, here in the gaol.

"And why should I help you?"



Winston's Witch Ch. 04



(There will likely be a delay before i post any more; i've come to the end of what i had done already, and i need to make time to write more.

(I promise that i do already know what becomes of Nicola and Diana, and of the town of Winston, Massachusetts. I just haven't written it down yet. Hang in there, just like Nicola and her friends, it's coming.) 

=============================

"There is really no reason that you should help me, Mistress Hawkworth. But I beg you have pity on my daughter, either free her from the Goddess, or bring her truly to Her service, so that she and i can be free of the tormenting dreams that prey on us."

"'Tormenting dreams', quotha? How, 'tormenting'?"

"Ummm -- dreams of men and... and... of women... and of... other... things..."

"Ah! That kind of torment -- and you wake in the night to wet bedclothes and a need that cannot be satisfied, not matter how you try...?"

"Yes," muttered Snow, head bowed, blushing hotly.

"MmmmHmmm. What is Diana's age, exactly?"

"Eighteen -- as well you know."

"Oh, aye -- that's right. eighteen is just a little early for this, but since I'll be leaving here soon enough, now will do fine. Step a bit nearer to me, Diana."

Not knowing why she did so, or what she expected, the girl did so. The witch reached out, taking her chin with a firm but gentle hand, and lifted her face to the light, turning her head this way and that, studying her features in detail. Apparently she was pleased with what she saw there.

Taking a half-step nearer the girl, she lifted her chin again, and bowed her own head, bringing her lips gently but firmly to those of the startled child. Though the shock of the kiss almost completely distracted the girl's attention, yet she was aware of a warmth somewhere in her body that seemed to rise a bit in response to the witch's lips on hers.

She knew that she ought to draw back, that this was unnatural, and, half-heartedly, she attempted to do so.

But, somehow that gentle hand had left her chin, stroking soothingly across her soft cheek, and now pressed softly but strongly at the nape of her neck, pressing her forward into the older woman's kiss. A kiss that suddenly seemed more intense, as she felt the lips that touched hers open a bit, and the tip of a hot, wet tongue tracing along the line of her own closed lips.

Somehow, it seemed as if her own lips, her own mouth, knew what to do next -- tilting her head a bit to the side to allow the other woman a better angle of contact, she allowed her own lips to part, just a bit, allowing the tip of that hot, questing tongue to slip between them, to tap at her teeth, to demand further access. And, as she surrendered herself entirely to that hot, impatient, conquering tongue, she felt another hand at her hip, pulling her body toward the taller woman's, feeling with a strange thrill for which she had no name the sensations as their breasts pressed together, each yielding a bit under the contact. And that strange warmth within her suddenly seemed to increase as she realised that, through the thin cloth of the witch's gaol garb and the somewhat stouter but soft material of her own bodice, she could feel the hard little pebble-like bumps of the other woman's nipples pressing against hers... and knew that her own nipples were rising and hardening and that surely the other could feel hers as well.

Her mother and the gaoler, who had not been given permission to do otherwise, watched. Watched as the older woman kissed the younger again and again, some of the kisses upon her lips, some upon her slender white throat. Watched as the witch's hand stroked the girl's hips and her lower cheeks, gently fondling and massaging the firm young flesh.

Watched as Mistress Nicola stepped back from Diana, eliciting a small moan of protest from her obviously-willing partner.

"Oh, yes, my dear; time and past time that you were instructed in the arts of womanhood, so that your service as the Goddess's Champion in Man's World might begin..."

Turning to the two involuntary witnesses to her apparent seduction of the girl before her, she looked at them, and then spoke.

"All right, Snow, you can get up from his knee. Master Gaoler, I'd appreciate it if you would remain seated there, keeping an eye on me, of course."

"Right you are, Miss," the gaoler cheerfully said, reluctantly helping Snow to rise from his knee -- she might be in her thirties, but she was still a fine figure of womanhood, and the feeling of her soft weight on his knee as his hand unconsciously stroked her smoothly curved hip had been quite refreshing.

"Oh, yes -- Master Gaoler, it might be best if you were to remove your trousers now; there may not be time later." "Yes, Mistress, of course..." he said, fumbling with buttons.

"What... what are you going to do to my daughter?" the older woman asked. "Are you going to harm her?"

"Harm? My dear woman -- remember again the night that you were sealed to the Goddess and ask yourself if you came to harm?"

At that, she paused, and her mind cast back, seemingly of its own accord (actually with a bit of urging from the witch) and she remembered that cold night in the snowy wood -- how, in a glade suddenly not snowy or cold at all, she had been confronted by the Being Who represented Herself as merely a Messenger of the Goddess she was henceforth to serve. The Messenger was magnificent -- at least seven feet in height, She had long, curling, wavy auburn hair that fell past Her waist. Her eyes were green -- a true green, almost a grass-green, and Her cheeks were dusted with freckles.

She had a cheerful expression -- mischievous, the widow would have said if they had met under other circumstances.

Her shoulders and hips were broad, Her legs long and strong, and Her bosom was high and full. And obviously naturally well-formed without artifice; She wore not a stitch of clothing.

And she had brought the woman who now called herself Driven Snow Blanchett to heights of pleasure she had never previously known... 

There in the Messenger's arms, she had felt more and more alive; she had soared higher and higher, craving release but fearing that once it came she might never know this pleasure again.

Stimulated by the Messenger's oral ministrations to her womanhood, driven higher and higher by the two fingers that slipped maddeningly in and out of her hot wet opening, she knew that she was... almost... there... And then the Messenger slipped another finger into her other opening.

With a wail, her eyes rolling up till only the whites showed, she began to cum. Her anus clutched at the invading finger, her internal muscles began to spasm and her hips bucked frantically against the Messenger's tongue and lips, as her convulsing cunt wept for joy.

And, just at the height of her orgasm, when she was so far gone in pleasure that it seemed she might never again do anything but seek such pleasure again, the Messenger's tongue touched her clitoris for the first time.

The wail became a scream of pleasure so intense it was almost pain, and her entire body arched till only head and heels touched the ground, rising up, curved like a drawn bow, mindlessly seeking more and more of that gratification until, finally, she gave one last gasp and moan, her hips twitched and bucked several more times and, exhausted, she collapsed to the ground.

"Oh, aye - I remember," she said, returning to the present. "Ruined me for any man I've met since."

"Ah -- but if you'd been true to your vows to Her, the Goddess would have seen to it that you met a man who could bring you pleasure like that... but you didn't. No -- you went back the the loveless Church of your died and risen God -- a Church that He seldom deigns to visit, since it has twisted and perverted His teachings.

"Well, that's all water over the dam -- or jism not over your bedsheets -- and we're going to set things right here."

She looked around her.

"Well, it's not ideal -- there's a grove near my cottage that would be perfect -- but we have everything we actually need here. Diana -- " she turned back to the girl, who was suddenly surprised to find that she still held the witch's hand " -- do not be afraid of anything; neither your mother, nor the Gaoler, nor even I, whatever some might say, will harm you this night. You have a heritage and a calling beyond that of almost any other woman; a wondrous destiny that will make your name a synonym for courage and heroism beyond that of almost any mortal man.

"Understand, after tonight, you will no longer be as you are -- you will be much more. And, in fact, you may not even be -- strictly speaking -- human, but what you will be will be a symbol of good and justice to all.

"This is in accordance with a promise that your mother made in your name, when you were four. And, while you are the perfect one to be the vessel of the Goddess's justice in Man's World, She offers you the chance to make the decision for yourself; to turn aside from this without penalty or pain, or to accept Her Gift and become what you may be.

"Understand, though you will be strong and wonderful in your power, still there may be those who could prevail over you. You will almost certainly know times of suffering and despair, times when you may doubt that the Goddess truly chose you, times when you may feel as if you will die -- and, perhaps, you may well die, fighting something too great for even the powers the Goddess grants to prevail.

"But you will be the Goddess's Own Champion. You will be powerful beyond most men's imagining. You will wield great strength in the battle against Evil. And, in the end, if you fall, you will be with the Goddess forever more."

All three adults' eyes were upon the girl. And she knew that she had to Choose. Choose then and there, and her choice had to be the right one.

She stood, trembling, before them, a slender girl of eighteen, her blue eyes wide. One would hardly have anticipated a less likely choice to be Goddess's Champion -- though she showed promise of eventually equaling the beauty her mother had had in her twenties, now she was at that stage of adolescence that almost all girls seem to go through, her arms and legs suddenly too long, her body changing shape in strange and almost frightening ways. She felt sudden surges of nameless emotions and passions, her mind wandered and she forgot things... and she was ashamed to ask for guidance, because all of this seemed, somehow, caught up with those parts of her body that she knew were the shameful and secret parts... 

Sometimes, at night, she would touch herself, gently, under her blankets, teasing her own nipples until they stood hard and hot like two little pebbles, aching in a way that was pleasurable and almost painful at the same time.

And, sometimes, even more daring, she would reach downward and touch and fondle herself in the place where hair now grew where none had been before... And, shameful as she knew it was, that was the best yet.

And she remembered the feeling of the witch's hot nipples pressing against hers through no more than two layers of thin cloth. And she longed for that again, and perhaps more; yearned for the older woman's kiss again, for the feel of her gentle but insistent hand, stroking her, bringing feelings that she had not imagined possible before in her young life... 

And she let herself dwell upon the thought that, if what Nicola said was the truth, she would become a Goddess's Champion, something she could not really comprehend or accept, but it was something that sounded as if someone had to do the job and that she was the "someone".

And she looked up, first at her mother and then at the witch, and she said "I accept. I will become what the Goddess wishes to make of me."

"Well done, little one," Nicola said, taking her fully in her arms and kissing her again, full upon the lips and with such a passion that the girl thought she would faint from it. "And, now, we begin the celebration."

"In some of her avatars, the Goddess requires a Maiden, a Mother and a Crone to manifest. Luckily, we are not dealing with one of those, since you, while a bit older than I, are hardly a crone, and I fail to qualify as either maiden or mother... Diana is certainly a Maiden -- right, dear?" (she swept on before Diana could quite answer that one) "But, as she is the one to be consecrated in this ceremony, she could hardly play a Server's part.

"Fortunately, this avatar is represented by a Witch, a Woman... and a Hunter; in this avatar she has a male component. The powers that will be granted to Diana will be rooted in those three aspects.

"I, obviously, am the Witch. You, as obviously, are the Woman, and..." They all turned to face the Master Gaoler. As their gazes fell upon him, he arose from his bench and stepped toward them; and as he did a change swept over him.

His face seemed to alter -- narrowing and changing until, somehow, it seemed not quite human. His ears seemed to rise now to small but visible points at the top; his cheekbones were more prominent, in a face narrower and longer than had been a moment before. Green his eyes became, and his hair seemed to grow longer and curlier on his head and about his face, and to increase over his already-hairy body. When he smiled, it seemed as if perhaps even his teeth had grown to points.

Slenderer overall, he seemed, but with solid muscle under all and long slender hands and feet.

But it was none of this that the three women's gazes fastened upon; all three, with varying degrees of surprise, shock and embarrassment, found their eyes fixed upon the shaft that rose from his crotch, and on the massive balls that hung below.

At least ten inches long, and thicker than some babies' arms, it rose proudly upward and outward, its shiny purple head already adorned by a driblet of precum. One of his hands rose, almost as if of its own volition, and lazily stroked the obviously steel-hard shaft.

Stepping forward, he took Diana's mother by the arm, and led her across the gaol cell to the prisoner's bed. Diana and Nicola silently watched the couple as they passed by them; the older woman moved as if entranced, making no effort to resist.

He sat down upon the bed. She stood there, still as if entranced, then slowly her hands rose to the laces of her bodice. Swaying slightly, as if to unheard music, she slowly untied them, then removed the garment and the stays she wore under it. Still as if acting under another's will, she unbuttoned her full skirt and let it fall to the floor, standing there clad only in her underdrawers, shoes and stockings. Though in her thirties, she was, indeed, still a fine figure of a woman, with large breasts still firm though showing a bit of droop with age; large, suckable nipples set on deep brown aureoles crowned them gloriously.

Hooking her thumbs in the waistband of her drawers, she unhurriedly slid them down her long legs, stepping out of them, and stood there in her shoes and white cotton stockings, exposed to three sets of eyes. Though her red hair was greying, the tuft between her legs was as red as it had been when she bore her daughter, eighteen years before.

She stood quietly in front of the satyr-like Faerie creature the gaoler had become, allowing him to gaze his fill at her body. Though it hardly seemed possible, his huge cock became even larger as he stared, now a full twelve inches in length.

Diana stood, staring at her nude mother and at the creature she was apparently to pleasure. She wasn't really aware that Nicola had stepped behind her and was also watching, over her shoulder.

Snow gracefully dropped to her knees before the Hunter, leaned forward, and took his huge cock in her hand. Slowly and gently, she stroked her hand up and down along the huge shaft, as the Hunter smiled in pleasure, showing his pointed teeth. Gently, as if not to startle prey, he reached forward and placed his hands on her shoulders, stroking them, and then reaching downward to fondle her large breasts, gently tugging and teasing the nipples until they stood up stiff and proud. then he returned his hands to her shoulders, and urged her to bend forward... 

As her mother's head moved closer and closer to the Hunter's crotch, her mouth opening to admit the enormous organ before her, Diana became aware that Nicola's hands were gently moving over her own body. The eighteen year old gasped as one of the older woman's hands gently cupped and lifted her apple-sized and apple-firm breast, her thumb stroking over the nipple through the thin cloth of her blouse. As her nipple responded, rising proudly against the caressing digit, jolts of pure pleasure shot through her -- pleasure like none she had felt before. Again she felt that warm stirring in her belly, that pleasurable sensation she didn't really understand.

With a sigh, she leaned back against the witch, who by now was cupping both of the teenager's pert tits, caressing and molding them as the girl more and more relaxed under the influence of the pleasure she was feeling. Releasing the teenaged breasts briefly, ignoring Diana's mewling gasp of unhappiness, she gently tugged at the laces holding the teenager's blouse closed. As they came untied, the blouse sagged open, and fall down to her elbows, leaving her breasts on full display, nipples erect and hard.

Immediately, Nicola's hands were back at their pleasant task, but this time the direct friction of skin on skin as she palmed the beautiful small tits was almost more than Diana could bear. With a soft wail, she slumped forward against the witch's hands, letting the older girl support part of her weight as she squeezed the hard nipples between her fingers.

Smiling, Nicola bent her head forward, and, still fondling Diana's breast with one hand, nuzzled and kissed at the back of the younger girl's neck, the free hand slipping downward, tickling the girl's skin, to her navel, where she paused, hand flat on the soft skin, and gently stroked the girl's belly for a moment, before turning her 'round so that they stood facing each other.

Holding Diana's hand with one of her own, the older girl reached up and unbuttoned the jail gown she wore, letting it slip from her shoulders and fall down to puddle at her feet. Underneath it, she wore nothing, and Diana caught her breath at the slim sunbrowned beauty of her body. Drawing the teen to her, she held her close, and their breasts touched again, with no fabric between them, erect nipples rubbing scratchily against erect nipples. She bent and her lips captured Diana's again; they kissed, deeply, tongues flickering, and then Nicola broke the kiss, and, standing in front of Diana with her hands on the girl's hips, bent and captured one of the pink nipples with her lips and gently nipped and suckled at it; first one, then the other.

Diana was so caught up in the pleasure that the witch's lips were bringing to her nipples that she didn't notice at first as the older girl's hands began to ease her blouse the rest of the way off. By the time she did, it was gone, and Nicola was unbuttoning her waistband, so that she could slip her skirt downward over her hips. It didn't seem important.

They kissed deeply again, and this time Diana was the aggressor, as her hands lifted to Nicola's larger breasts, copying the caresses she had only just learnt and returning the pleasure she had felt.

Then the witch's hand moved downward, stroking against her smooth tummy, down below her waist, to that place that seemed so important and so mysterious, where hair had only recently sprouted. At the touch of gentle fingers at her mound, the girl caught her breath; the warmth she felt in her belly now seemed to have a focus and a source, there, between her legs.

And then one finger slid, cautiously but firmly, between her virginal lower lips.




Winston's Witch Ch. 04



With a gasp of shock and pleasure, her knees almost buckled, as the questing finger traced along the outer lips and came, at last, to the nub at the top. As the witch softly stroked her clitoris, the girl could hardly believe the pleasure that she felt. She had, of course, discovered that she could pleasure herself with a touch there, but the sensation of another's touch there, where no-one but she had ever touched before, was different, more intense; especially because the older woman was an expert at the art of manual stimulation.

"Oh oh oh my..." she gasped out, as Nicola began teasing her bud between two fingers, drawing it out from its hood so that she could touch it the more easily.

Continuing to tickle the erect clitoris, the witch bent her head, nibbling and suckling at the hard nipples before her, then raised her lips to Diana's and kissed her again, even more deeply and lingeringly than before. And, as she did, one finger slid into the girl's hot, moist opening, stroking in and out of the virgin pussy that had never before been penetrated by anything. As the finger slipped upward, spreading her inner channel to allow its passage, the girl moaned her pleasure into the mouth covering hers; her knees weakened, and might have collapsed entirely if Nicola had not held her upright with one strong arm around her waist.

Breaking the kiss, Nicola said "You're mine, now. And I have so much to teach you..." As if entranced, the girl stood, waiting for the older woman's next actions, still moaning softly and moving her hips as the witch's finger, now joined by another, stroked in and out of her hot, wet pussy.

With reluctance, the witch took her hand away from the girl's mound. Diana incoherently moaned a protest as the wonderful sensations stopped, but Nicola silenced her with another deep kiss. "Gently, gently, little one," she said. "There is so much more, but not while you are standing here... Come with me." And she led the wide-eyed girl to the bench by the doorway.

She pressed her hand downward on Diana's shoulder, and the girl sat down on the bench.

"And now, I shall kneel before you, and worship you as you were in truth my Goddess," Nicola murmured, falling to her knees on the hard stone floor before the seated girl. Pressing gently at the girl's knees, she spread her legs wide and leaned in between them.

The first flick of the older woman's tongue at her clitoris had Diana almost jumping off the bench, she reacted so strongly. Nicola's hands at her hips held her in place and gentled her like a rider with a skittish horse, and, as the witch's lips and tongue continued their work, she relaxed, slumping backward against the wall, lost in the new sensations.

Meanwhile, in the cell, the girl's mother had, indeed, taken the head of the Hunter's huge cock into her mouth. Although there was no chance that she could ever manage to get all of it down her throat, she was doing her best. As her lips slipped up and down over the hard shaft, her tongue caressed the head and its rim. The fingers of one hand tickled his massive balls, adding to the sensation. Her other hand, meanwhile, was at her own crotch, fingers plunging in and out of her hot wet pussy as she pleasured herself nearly as much as she did the Being before her.

After a few moments of this, the Hunter gently pushed her head away from his crotch. She looked up at him questioningly. He gestured, and then rolled over onto the bunk, lying on his back, huge cock jutting above him like some obscene May Pole. She stared at it. He gestured again, miming that she should join him and sit above him.

She shook her head, eyes wide. "I cannot. It would... would..."

But even as she spoke, she was moving, caught up in the dance of the Ritual they all performed here. She rose, then knelt on the bed at his side, one hand grasping and stroking the monster cock; then, before she could lose her resolution, she swung a leg over him, straddling him on her knees, holding the huge thing's head at her cunt lips.

She stroked its tip along her gaping lips, stimulating herself as if with a dildo and at the same time adding more lubrication to the huge thing she was about to impale herself upon. Setting the head between her outer lips, she poised there for just a moment, then lowered herself as quickly and smoothly as she could, all the way down, until all twelve inches had slipped inside her belly.

It was incredible. He was so thick that her cunt walls were stretched tightly around his shaft, more stretched than ever she had been by any man before. She could feel his length up inside her belly, his cockhead pushing at the entrance to her womb. For just a few moments, she simply sat there, impaled, her head hanging, as she grew used to the incredible fullness and stretching that she felt.

Then she moved her hips a bit, cautiously.

The result was incredible. The huge thing moved inside her, triggering sensations unlike any she had ever felt -- it was as if a lightning bolt, one of pure pleasure, had blasted from his crotch into her cunt. Almost, she fainted.

Again, she froze in place, waiting for that first incredible stroke of pleasure to pass; then she began, slowly, hardly shifting at all, to move her hips over him. With every movement of her hips, the huge cock inside her shifted; it felt as if it stirred her insides almost like a spoon stirring cookie dough.

As she became more and more used to the sensations, she moved faster, harder and further with every stroke. Once she was moving freely and had obviously taken it all with no harm, the Hunter began to move his hips, as well. At first he simply pushed up to meet her downstrokes, and moved downward as she moved upward, but soon he began to roll and twist his hips against her crotch, causing his cock to twist and turn inside her cunt in a way that was unlike anything she had ever felt before.

She came. With a wail, she threw her head backward, gasped for breath, and her inner muscles began clasping frantically at the huge invader, trying to milk it of its seed. But he did not cum.

She began pumping with renewed vigour over him, raising herself to one shattering orgasm after another, each leaving her a bit weaker, until, finally, she collapsed on top of his hairy chest, still joined but unable to continue riding him.

With a deft twist, he rolled their sweating bodies, still joined, over, and rose above the almost-comatose woman. Now that he was on top and in control, he began a hard, almost brutal stroke that pounded almost the entirety of his huge cock in and out of her distended pussy.

She gasped and lay beneath him, almost unconscious, her head lolling from side to side as what was almost one long, continuous orgasm roared through her.

Suddenly he threw back his head, roared aloud, gave three shattering strokes the full length of his monster cock into her battered cunt, jamming it as far as it could fit as he began to cum. White jism rifled from the huge thing, filling her cunt to overflowing, leaking out and trickling down her ass cheeks in combination with her own juices.

It was too much for the woman; with one incredible soprano wail, she came one final, shattering, earthshaking time, her entire body thrashing as if in the throes of epilepsy... and then fainted dead away.

They lay like that, the unconscious woman's arms and legs lolling, splayed every which way, the Faerie Hunter with his huge cock still buried to the hilt in her cunt as the last drops of his jism trickled down her ass to stain the ticking on the bunk.

Then he carefully withdrew his still-erect monster from her cunt, leaving it gaping, stretched open with huge amounts of semen oozing out, and looked around.

There, outside the cell, Nicola knelt between Diana's slender young legs, her talented tongue deeply reaching into the girl's cunt, alternating with tickling and licking at her clitoris and stimulating the outer and inner lips... 

The girl had already cum a number of times, and was almost as drained as her mother... but not quite. As she looked up and saw the huge cock, obscenely glistening with her own mother's cunt juices, and saw its size, she smiled, because she wanted to try it herself.