A Witches Sabbath

Whitchfinder Sergeant 2nd class Phineas Nemehia Johnson took a firmer hold of Eleanor's hair, pulling her along as he marched through the woods. She screamed in pain, stumbling over roots and stones, the path invisible in the dark of the night.

Phineas suddenly spun around, letting go of her hair to draw his cutlass and lay the curved blade against her throat.

"You be quiet," he hissed in her ear, pulling her close, his breath hot and garlicky. "Now where are they, tell me or I'll cut off your ear!"

"There is no one in these woods! I swear!" Eleanor pleaded, her voice cracking with fear. "Look around! Who would be in these woods at night?"

"Witches! Witches like you!" He snarled. "Are you telling me that on this All Hallow's Eve there are none of your demonic kind practicing their... libidinous, sacrilegious..." He trailed off, his mind taken by the images of naked dancing witches, and their sire, Satan himself, enthroned in flames.

"I am no witch!" Eleanor cried. Phineas shoved her to her knees. He brought his blade up, ready to strike.

"You lie! You bear every mark of witchcraft, every sign.. your red hair, your beauty, your... bosom, you were crafted by the devil himself to tempt men towards sin and lustful thoughts!"

Eleanor looked up at Phineas, hands clenched in prayer. He stood above her, the image of wrath and retribution, all clad in black and rough weave. And yet she had known him since he was a boy, a gentle soul then. They had kissed, once, and his hand had briefly strayed over her breast and felt the softness of it, the thickening nipple under his palm. He had breathed in the scent of her hair and moaned softly.

But that was years ago, before he married Agnes, before her death from a fever. Now he stood, full of anger and hate, ready to strike. He had grabbed her earlier that night, as she was closing the shutters of her little house. She had tried to fight but that blade had snickered out and laid upon her neck. He had demanded she showed him where the other witches were, where they cavorted in their satanic play.

"There is no one! You call me a liar, but look yourself! Do you see a light, a fire, anything? I see only the dark of the woods!" Eleanor pleaded.

Why this sudden turn of anger towards her she didn't know. He had been roaming the hills for the last few months, and the villagers had considered him half-mad with grief when his wife died. That Witchfinder General had come through the village a few weeks past, sniffing around the women. Phineas had taken to the horrid man, following him like a puppy. All his grief had turned sour, turned to land upon her head.

Phineas lowered the lantern he held in his left hand, holding it behind him to better see into the dark. There was nothing, just the dark and skeletal shapes of the trees, their leaves down already, sending their naked branches up towards a half moon. Phineas raised his lantern again, casting the tiny bowl of light onto the kneeling Eleanor. She was pleading still, her hands clasped in prayer, looking up at him with tear-stained eyes, her red hair a chaotic halo around her freckled face. The praying arms pushed her breasts, ample, creamy-skinned, closer together, increasing their voluptuousness. Phineas turned away, scanning the darkness.

"They must be here.." He muttered. He sheathed his sword and grabbed Eleanor by the am, pulling her up and forward, marching on through the dark forest. Another dozen minutes passed in hushed silence, Phineas almost growling as he scanned the darkness ahead. Eleanor biting her lip to stay quiet, his hand rough on her arm.

Finally he stopped.

"There," he said, pointing, a gleeful smile on his lips. In the distance was a pinprick of light in the dark night. He shoved Eleanor forward, towards the light.

It was soon clear that it was a small farmhouse set on the edge of the forest, facing rolling hills sleeping under the moon. Phineas grabbed Eleanor tighter and closer. He shuttered the lantern and stepped towards the farmhouse and its one lit window. Taking slow silent steps, he approached the window and peered in.

The inside of the small house was lit by a fire gently burning in the fire place. The few pieces of furniture had been moved away from the fire, crowding the walls to leave more open room in front of it. In the open space, laying on the floor, were four women.

They seemed asleep, or unconscious, splayed out on the wooden floor, limbs askew, in a rough circle, feet pointed towards each other. They were of mixed ages, this one a grey-haired crone, these two matrons, the last one still a young woman, fresh faced. Phineas' eyes grew wide as he saw next to each woman a broom, and wider still when he noticed that each had her skirt hiked far up her legs, so far up in one case that he could see the beginning swell of a sex.

He rushed around the farmhouse, sword drawn, in search of the front door. He barged through it, knocking over a chair that had been pushed near it. He stormed into the small room and was met with silence, and stillness. None of the women moved. He scanned their faces for any sign of recognition that he was there, but none of them stirred. He lowered his sword, tip inches away from a face, but still no one stirred. Finally he knelt near one and listened for a breath. They were alive, but asleep beyond any normal sleep. He picked up a broomstick. It seemed normal enough, but he noticed the tip of each broomstick had been smeared with some shiny substance, the acrid smell of it still lingering in the air.

Eleanor stepped into the room, glancing around.

"Gather wood," said Phineas flatly. "We will burn them, burn this den of sin"

Eleanor crouched next to one of the sleeping women, picking up a clay pot. It was filled with a gooey substance, greyish, like soft butter. She dug her fingers into it, scooping out a thick dollop.

Phineas turned to her, about to bark another order at her, when he noticed what she was doing. Before he could say anything, Eleanor launched herself at him, knocking him off his feet. They fell to the ground, feet and arms tangled, his sword clattering to the ground. He raised his arms to defend from her punches, but instead she stuffed her fingers, goo-covered, into his mouth. He spluttered and spat but she pushed more of the substance into his mouth, rubbing it against his inner cheeks.

"You better not swallow, it could kill you!" She laughed as she got off of him. He sat up, spitting the substance out, wiping his tongue to be rid of its foul taste. She walked away from him, picking up the clay jar that had fallen on the floor. She dipped her fingers into it, covering her fingers with a thick layer of the substance. With her other hand she lifted up her skirt above her thighs.

Phineas watched in astonishment as she revealed her fiery red bush, opening her legs to give her fingers access to the meaty lips of her sex. With a practiced stroke she slipped her goo-covered fingers into her pussy, smearing the ointment against the mucus membranes of her sex.

"See you there," she said with a smile, before falling to the ground, unconscious.

Phineas was about to get up when he noticed that the world had gone sideways, and he was suddenly falling. His face hit the floor. He felt the hit but went right through the floor and was now suddenly falling upwards through the house and into the night sky.

For a split second the world was still, and he could see the house below, the fields and the forest and the moon above, but then the world turned again and he was falling at frightful speeds over the hills. He screamed and flailed his arms. He could feel the wind stripping him naked, bits of cloth flying off of him until he was falling naked through the night sky.

Besides him, laughing, naked, Eleanor flew.

Ahead a light grew, like the rising of the sun. On a hill ahead was a pillar of flames, lighting half the sky with its red glow. In the middle of this fire Phineas thought he saw a figure, immeasurably tall, standing, laughing, hands on hips.

Suddenly Phineas slammed into the ground, at the base of the column of fire on top of the hill. Figures leaped and danced around the fire, drums were beating, a high pitched tune played by some unseen musician.

Eleanor landed softly in front of him. She was framed by the fire behind her, so as Phineas lifted his head to look at her, she was a dark silhouette, her red hair blending with the flames. His breath caught in his throat at her terrifying beauty, the curves and swells of hips and thighs, a face covered in darkness but for two glowing eyes that showed both pity and contempt.

Eleanor stood above him as he laid naked on the ground, curled up and pale, his face a mask of fear and confusion. A frightened worm. She hesitated, torn between the desire of revenge for the fear he had caused and compassion for the boy she had known. The fire behind her was an oven of raw emotions. She had felt it before, danced around it, releasing the darkest of lusts, the wildest of violences, the pettiest of judgements, letting them all be consumed by the fire. That fire called to her, called for revenge.

She knelt besides him, grabbing him by the hair and pulling his head back, forcing him to look up at her. His face was a mask of fear. Eleanor's head was framed by the column of fire, and in the fire, huge, was a face. A laughing face, horned, sneering, staring at Phineas, licking its lips with anticipation. Phineas fought back against Eleanor, terrified of being fed to that face and its fanged mouth.

Eleanor shoved him down, holding him easily, her strength multiplied in this unnatural place. She straddled him, her flesh hot against his cool thighs. She held him down, her hands on his, holding his arms above his head and against the dirt. She slid her ass up and down his thighs until the soft worm of his cock was nestled against the burning hot pit of her cunt. He screamed in fright as he felt the wet heat of it.

It wasn't sex Eleanor wanted, it was his fear, his discomfort. Her cunt was her weapon, and in the heat of the fire, it was wet and willing. She ground herself against Phineas, drawing an erection out of him, drawing his cock into the hot folds of her sex. Phineas struggled, his fear and shame feeding the rise of his cock, traitor to his will, until like a rutting beast he was pushing deeper into the wet folds. The tip of it sliding first between the red-haired lips, slick, then bumping against bone to find the entrance and the heat and pleasure that his will was so set against.

Eleanor laughed as she rose and fell on his cock, watching his face and his clenched-shut eyes. He fought and struggled against the feelings she drew out of his cock. She closed her own eyes, focussing on the sensations warming her pussy. That was the point of this place, this fire, to be free to let the body be a body, a cunt be a cunt, as messy and wet and thrilling as it could be. She focussed on the glowing top of her clit, on the feel of that cock as it stretched her pussy open, sliding in and out of her. Her whole body glowed from the inside. She could feel the weight of her breasts as they swung under her, her nipples tight and aching for touch.

She let go of Phineas and sat up, grinding her pussy against his crotch, the better to grab hold of her own breasts, pinching her nipples, drawing more pleasure from a body that was already burning with it.

Phineas could only stare at the woman above him, the red hair a halo of sin, the heavy breasts being mashed and pulled by feverish hands, the curves and swells of flesh that led to the place where his cock was devoured by a wet and hungry mouth. It was a nightmare dressed in beauty and pleasure and desire and release and an animal joy that threatened to burst out of his chest.

Eleanor shook and cried out, her pussy squeezing Phineas's cock as an orgasm ripped through her. That was the fire, that was the purpose of this place. Release. She quieted down, aware of the hard cock in her cunt, though Phineas had not cum yet. She didn't care. Her head a bit woozy, she stood up, letting his cock plop out of her pussy and flop wetly onto his belly. She stood above him, legs open, pussy still stretched open, dripping. She briefly considered pissing on him from her position.

A figure appeared from the darkness, walking towards Eleanor, stepping into the light of the fire as it approached. A woman. Slim, blonde, naked too, boyish in shape where Eleanor was all womanly curves. Agnes. His dead wife. Eleanor stepped back, a shiver running down her spine. She retreated to the fire, where its heat burned away all fears.

Agnes knelt by Phineas and held his head up, pulling it onto her lap. She stroked his face, making shushing noises. Phineas reached up to her like a child seeking comfort, but suddenly recoiled as he noticed her nudity. He scrambled away, kneeling on the ground, his forehead to the ground, eyes clenched shut, arms clenched over his head. Agnes walked over to him.

She stroked his back. She knelt again at his head, pulling it it up.

"My love, my love," she murmured soothingly.

She lifted his face with her two hands, making him look up into hers. Tears ran down his face. He gave a great heaving sob and suddenly crashed into her, arms around her thin frame, face buried in her hair as he cried and cried, unable to speak. She hugged him back, holding him tight.

"I missed you so much.." He finally whispered as his cries subsided.

"I know my love, I know. But I am here now." She said.

His sobs turned into kisses as his lips discovered her neck. She pulled his face away from her neck so that she could look at him.

"I am here now, with you, and you can be here too, with me, all of me," she stated, forcing her meaning into his brain. "You don't have to be afraid, or ashamed anymore."

Phineas knelt in front of his dead wife, the pillar of fire burning at his back lighting her perfect face. The heat of the flames softened the knots surrounding his heart. Memories floated up to dance in front of his eyes, memories of aching beauty as he watched Agnes smile that spring day, the disconcerting feelings as the hem of her nightgown rode up to reveal a smooth calf. The feeling of her body beneath his in the dark, separated by layers of clothes, apart from brief flashes of skin on skin. The undiscovered country of her sex, hidden always, revealed only by blind and tentative touches that seared his fingertips. The hated release of his pleasure that proved his sin and weakness. And the sadness, always, that the love he held for his wife, for Agnes, was forever held back, that he had never been able to tell her how he felt. Or love her with a fullness that was not clouded by shame.

They hugged again, this time pulling each other tighter against each other, flesh against flesh. Phineas felt his cock grow hard, and somewhere Satan laughed.

The face of Witchfinder General Matthew Hopkins flashed before his eyes, full of hate and anger and pride, and Phineas saw in him the hate that was in his own heart, a hate for his own weakness. He suddenly knew that the fire behind him was not the heat of hell, but the warmth of his heart. That the General's hateful face was the face of the cold sitting in his head, judging. Satan was the gnome sitting on his heart, laughing at his pain.

Agnes was the warmth, the softness, the rising cock and the softening flesh. The smell of skin, the fresh grass staining the knees, the deep aroma of sweat and armpit and that place where thigh meets hip. She was the softness of a breast, the hardening nipple under his tongue, the perfect curve of a waist under his palm. The skin under his skin. The breath against his ear, the moan, the trembling lip. She was the hand on his back, the fingers in his hair, the pull, the shift, the legs wrapping around his waist. And then the unbearable softness against his cock, the lips against his, the roundness of her ass under his hand, the angle of her hips, the heat of her pussy again the tip off his cock.

She was the moan, the pleasure, the heat, the wetness around his cock, the chest pressed against his, the breath in his, the body made whole by sharing itself. She was the warm tears, she was the ache in his heart. She was his grief and his sadness. She was his anger at himself for not doing this while she was alive. She was death.

Phineas was alone. Agnes was gone.

Eleanor was standing next to him. She reached out and touched his hair, then rested her hand on his head. She was covered in sweat, having danced her way around the pillar of fire. Her skin glistened in the flickering light. Phineas, still sitting on his heels, pulled her to him, his arms wrapped around her waist. Eleanor let herself be pulled into his embrace, gently stroking his head with both hands.

Phineas nuzzled his face into the triangle of red hair, smelling the musky scent of her sex and her sweat. He rubbed his face against her belly before dipping lower to kiss the rising swell of her clit. As if guided by her desires, he knew to soften his lips, ease his tongue again the little nub. She sighed, tilting her hips and opening her legs to give him better access. He burrowed deeper, using his lips and tongue and nose to brush away her tangled pubes and reveal the inner lips, their wetness and their softness. He took long licks, tasting her, finding the deeper depths. She smelled strong, of dust and sweat and desire, of fire. His tongue dug deeper, swirling, then darting back, finding her clit again. Eleanor pulled his face deeper into her sex, fingers laced in his hair, knees threatening to buckle. Phineas drank of her cunt, her pussy, allowing himself finally to worship her sex, to smell and taste her flower, to explore the hidden, to reveal the source of his desire.

With a guttural growl he pushed her back and down, leading her down to the warm grass. With his knees he pushed her legs open, revealing her open sex. For the second time, his cock was aimed at her pussy. He held it, aimed it, slipped into her warmth. She moaned, pulling him closer. He sank in until she was crushed under him, her breasts pressed against his chest, their lips finding each other. They kissed hungrily as his hips started to rise and fall. She wrapped her legs around his waist, giving him space to plunge deeper. He did so, his cock slick with her juices, sliding in and out of her meaty lips.

Soon the pleasure started to grow in his balls, the tightening, the rising tide, the tingling in his cock. He groaned and spilled inside of her, his wetness splashing her pussy, pushing her over the edge. She gripped him with her arms and cunt, moaning into his neck.

Phineas pushed back, rising up in a sudden jolt of energy. He fell backwards, the ground rising up to meet him, bounce him back, the sky his new ground, falling up and sideways and over the hills again, falling down towards the horizon until he slammed into the little farm house and into his body.

He blinked away tears, his breath short with surprise. Around him the women started to stir. He noticed his clothes were back on. He was dressed, even though his crotch seemed wet. He tried to hold his head up, but found it too hard. He looked to the side and caught Eleanor's eyes. She smiled cheekily.

He smiled back, and laughed. A great big laugh of joy and release. He laughed and laughed and laughed, releasing years of pent up emotions, laughing until Satan stopped sitting on his chest. He guessed he was a witch now.