Witching Hour

Luke Gladstone walked around the shopping centre, deciding where to eat rather than what to eat. He'd spent the morning at his usual haunt, Wizard's Parlour, where he'd perused the latest expansion packs due for release. He then got into a game of Witchunt. The title bothered him because the correct term was Witch Hunt. He'd written to the design team, pointing out the poor use of grammar, to be fobbed off with talk of marketing and artistic rights. Despite the name, he enjoyed the game, because it did bring a few cute girls into the Wizard's Parlour who wanted to play it.

????

With no success at getting to know the fair sex playing games, he tried the next best plan, according to Reddit, which was to hang about in the food court, which was where he was now. There were plenty of girls there he'd like to get to know up close and personal, but they always ran in packs, and he shivered with the memory of feeling emboldened by the Reddit advice to go in heavy and confident. He'd once stood in front of the mirror the night before practicing his lines, how he'd act to make sure they'd notice him. He set his sights on the hottest group, took his meal over to their table and asked if he could join them. They burst into laughter, deriding him, calling him unpleasant names, and outright insulting his masculinity. He dropped his food tray and bolted and stayed away from the food court for two months.

It was bravado, and deep down in his heart he knew it, too. At six foot, the nearest celebrity he came to compare himself to was the rake that his secret celebrity crush, Samantha Doddesworth, was always gripping or tugging in a most salacious manner. Her gardening show, Let's Sort Your Unruly Garden, was one of his dad's, and his, favourites. Like most men that watched it, it had naff all to do with soil acidity or the use of nematodes to keep slugs at bay. It was the way her unrestrained giant tits shifted under her loose top like a couple of out-of-control eager puppies, the occasional view of a rock-hard pebble of a nipple brushing the sometimes too thin material which would become the talk of one or two social media chat groups until the next near nipple slip occurred.

Then there was her arse. More than once, he'd watched his dad shift uncomfortably in his armchair, covering the bulge in his trousers, trying to adjust his underwear. Not that Luke was immune to her charms, far from it. Once the show started and she appeared on screen, little Luke throbbed and leaked like Pavlov's dog thinking it was meal time, and Luke would dream of doing more than feast his eyes on her magnificent rump that strained against her jeans. She'd even been persuaded to do a shoot for a lads' mag, having won their hottest MILF vote.

If the crusty sock he kept in his top bedside drawer had any feelings, it would quake every time he pulled that edition of the mag out and held up the centrefold. She was in the skimpiest of black underwear and killer heels standing in a garden, bent at the waist holding a large courgette in her hand looking back over her shoulder with a knowing smirk plastered across her face. There were a few times he'd pored over the magazine photos with a magnifying glass, checking out every contour, every little ridge in her underwear, imagining how it would feel to kiss her skin and more, much more.

????

Back in the food court, there was a group of goth kids over at Burger King; he felt they were his best odds. He'd seen them here before, sat by them a few times and said hello, trying to break the ice and find a way into the group. The guys outnumbered the girls, so they weren't overly keen on lowering their odds of scoring with the opposite sex, therefore he remained an outsider. His mum had always told him to never give up on anything. She instilled in him that he should try, and try again, until the law of odds worked in his favour. Since he had been fifteen, six years ago, he began to feel that those odds were similar to having a winning lottery ticket.

Standing at the screen creating his order, a spray mist engulfed his face, making him choke and feel most light-headed for several seconds. He turned, ready to make a bit of a fuss, but his heart leapt into his mouth. Standing slightly to his right was the most visually stunning goth girl he had ever seen. Long, jet black curly hair bounced over her shoulders, skin pale and translucent, with the juiciest, most kissable lips he had seen in real life and up close. Her body; bountiful tits encased in a lacy black bra partially hidden below a net-panelled dress that flared out over hips that were made for gripping and a backside that was pure erotic art. In an instant, he replaced visions of Samantha Doddesworth in his wank-bank of images with this vison of slutty gothic beauty.

"Sorry, I got a little carried away with my perfume there, I didn't mean to make you choke."

Her voice was liquid porn, as if the words themselves that flowed from her mouth could float over to him and wrap themselves around his cock to jerk him off until he had cum. He noticed she had an old-fashioned ornate glass perfume bottle. It even had the little rubber ball that you squeezed to atomise the liquid into a spray. That was why it had been so strong, so overpowering.

She looked slightly older than him, mid to possibly late twenties. Unlike him, there would be no way on the planet she'd be a virgin like him. That thought made his cock twitch in his pants, the thought of her stripping him of his virginity. His cock twitched again, violently this time. He was worried she'd be able to see it through his jeans. She picked up on his slight discomfort.

"I'll let you get back to ordering your food, I guess your girlfriend has gone to bag you a table."

He had turned, and was now looking directly at her. Her skin; it was impossibly flawless, and her eyes! They had a depth to them that was unreal, almost trance-like he felt. They looked black, jet black like looking into two pots of his favourite Games Workshop Citadel Shade Nuln Oil, with that slight warm hint of dark brown. He would love to get her home, and after a night of fun, ask if she would let him test his theory, and compare a paint pot to the colour of her eyes. He suddenly realised his mind had wandered off topic; she looked at him, lopsidedly waiting for him to answer.

"Er, no actually, I'm here on my own."

"Really? I can't believe that someone as handsome as you is here without your woman in tow. If you were mine, I'd be afraid to let you out of my sight."

She had reached out and was running a hand up and down his upper arm. He looked around, thinking it might be a joke. There were people looking their way, and most of them looked on with disgust. He felt embarrassed, glowing a deep shade of crimson. Built like a rake and wearing heavy, thick-set glasses plus still suffering with chronic acne, he had still not lived down the comment he overheard his dad make to his mum that they would have to find out if he could legally marry his sock, because with his looks, that was all he was destined to find as a sexual partner. It made sense that people would question why such a beauty was anywhere near him.

With a coy smile showing off her perfect white teeth, she put an index finger to her lips, the glossy stickiness almost glue-like. How he wanted to be that finger.

"I'm sorry, I didn't mean to embarrass you. If you buy me dinner, then that would officially make this a date. What do you say to that, would you feel better?"

Luke was lost for words and simply nodded.

"Good. Now finish up with your part, then I'll add what I want to the order. My name's Circe and you are...?"

"L.. L... Luke."

"Mmm, I can see that. You certainly are leukos, bright and white, a symbolic name meaning bringer of light But that doesn't matter, I think it's a manly name to go with such a fine specimen of a man."

Luke was broadsided. They collected the food order and sat at a table. He felt bewitched by her outstanding beauty; the looks of jealousy, so bad they looked at her as if disgusted, made him feel on top of the world that she didn't give a rat's arse about being seen with him. They ate their food in near silence, but he could not help staring at her. At the end of the meal, she looked straight into his eyes, inserted her greasy fingers into her mouth one by one and sucked so hard it hollowed her cheeks and made an obscene popping sound when each finger slowly left her mouth. Luke's cock throbbed to a point he thought he was going to cum in his underwear. His insides were doing crazy somersaults and his cock felt like it would burst through his trousers.

She stood up, collected the waste on the tray, and sauntered over to the waste station. He sat watching her hips move with an exaggerated sashay, leading him to pray that she was going to hang around. When she came back to the table, she leant down so her face was inches from his. Lowering his eyes slightly filled his view with an expanse of overflowing creamy white flesh that tried to spill from her top.

The rude cat calls continued, and he had to admit, if she was impervious to being called out for being seen with someone who had been called a dork numerous times, then he would hold his head high and revel in her ability to not back away.

"I tell you what Luke. I've come here to do some shopping, how would you like to accompany me, give me your verdict on an outfit or two? I need a man's input, because I'm looking for something to wear on a hot date."

Discreetly, he pinched his leg under the table to make sure he hadn't nodded off and it was all a dream. Then again, maybe he could pinch himself in a dream. Wasn't it the film Inception that was filled with mind-bending dreams inside dreams? She had winked at him when she said hot date. Did she have a boyfriend, or was she hinting at him being her date? He didn't care; the longer he was in her presence, the greater the number of images of her he could commit to memory in his wank-bank.

????

They went to one of the big department stores, where she gathered some full-length, if somewhat boring, dresses. In the changing room, he sat there with the other men. While they looked bored while their other halves tried on clothes, he was giddy as a kid. He also felt proud of himself. Men and women stared at him like he had two heads, especially when Circe showed him each outfit. He felt they looked good, just a little on the conservative side compared to what she was wearing. She came out of the changing room, handing all of the clothes to the assistant before walking over to Luke.

"No, I don't think they were quite me. What did you think, Luke?"

He felt trapped in a question that he was sure had no right answer. He remembered the day they were watching football when his mum came home, tried on a dress she'd just bought, and asked his dad if her bum looked big in it. Whether his dad felt brave, or was so engrossed in the football match he failed to engage his brain before his mouth, uttered the fateful a little. That was the day Luke learned never directly, indirectly, or from the merest hint to suggest that a woman's appearance was anything less than perfect. It took his dad weeks before his back straightened out after a week of sleeping on the sofa, and several weekends of overtime before he restored enough funds to not feel like he would go bankrupt after the countless dinners and gifts it took to appease his wife. Luke took his life in his hands.

"They looked good on you, but... they aren't a patch on the hot look you are rocking right now."

She kissed him on the cheek, turning him to a quivering sex-starved mess.

"You are learning quickly Luke. Right answer. Come on, follow me, I know just the place."

She walked off, her Doc Martens leading the way. He could see her toned flesh ripple with every stride, her firm arse cheeks just begging to be gripped in a deep embrace. He was already deeply in love when he almost jogged along to catch up with her.

In the far corner was a little boutique; he didn't ever venture down this far because there were women's clothes shops there. The boutique was called Sexona Stick, which made him chuckle. Inside the small boutique, an unknown rock song was playing, sung by an unknown female artist. They had only just stepped inside the store when Circe took the perfume from her bag, giving herself a liberal spray while walking around the store. There were around ten customers and two members of staff.

Circe stopped and picked up a neon green stretchy dress that looked like it was for a child, not an adult. She held it out for Luke to take and was already walking off towards another rack before he had hold of it. She picked out five outfits, and by the looks of all the others in the boutique, he was damn sure they were looking forward to seeing her in them as much as he was. Waiting by the changing room, the only other guy in the shop spoke to him in hushed tones.

"All I can say is you are one lucky fucker if you're banging that piece of ass. She looks dangerous."

Luke grinned, happy to keep his mouth shut and just casually nod his head, which belied how he really felt. Maybe his luck was really about to change. He came back down to earth from his dreamy state when she stepped out from the changing room. The guy next to him spat out a mouthful of cola he was drinking from a bottle. The green dress did fit, because the material stretched impossibly so, to make it micron-thin. It was a simple design, generously cut showing off plenty of boobage, and her nipples! Luke started to get hard again, real hard, with something primal stirring deep inside like never before. When she turned around he was convinced she'd never be able to get the dress off; it clung to her hips and arse cheeks, and that arse! The dress just made it down far enough to cover most, but not all, of her arse. Neither Luke nor Circe's newfound admirer had any complaints.

All the other dresses she tried on lived up to the name of the boutique. Each and every one made her look like sex on a stick; even the women who worked there cooed over how hot she looked. When she tried on the last outfit, she poked her head from behind the curtain of the changing booth and called an assistant over. She walked away and came back with a large rectangular box. Five minutes later, the curtain opened, and Luke swallowed in disbelief.

Her top was covered by a thin black all but fully transparent net top with an embroidered pattern of some sort. What he could not avoid were two perfectly formed and large breasts free of any bra sitting high and proud on her chest. After drinking in that view, his eyes travelled further south, taking in the pleated mini-skirt; instead of a colourful tartan pattern, it was a mix of greys, white, and black. He could see the tops of black lace hold-ups; the remainder of her legs were encased in a pair of patent black thigh-high boots, on stainless steel-tipped six-inch heels. The boots were laced, and he noticed they were undone.

"Would you like to earn a reward, Luke? I can't quite bend down to do these boots up. If you can thread the laces for me, I'll make it worth your while."

Subconsciously, he pinched his thigh again. His brain was adamant this wasn't real, it couldn't be happening to him. But it was. His newfound friend had wandered off with his wife, continually craning his neck over his shoulder for one last glimpse before he was pulled away and out of the store.

He felt nervous. Her face was filled with confidence, something he desperately lacked. Crooking a finger, she beckoned him over. Despite only having known her for less than two hours, he recognised a devious smile when he saw one. Feeling like a fly, he walked towards the spider's web.

He stood facing her, his eyes almost level with the two glorious globes hidden below a wisp of material. The microsecond of a peek he dared take walking over picked out the rock-hard nipples pressed against the material, which made his mouth water.

"Kneel before me, and thread my laces, please."

Just her voice, it sounded like porn, her face looked like porn, her body was pure porn. He was smitten, and she knew it. Dropping to his knees, his shaking hands picked up one set of the laces that required threading through the rest of the boots. Her legs were slightly parted and, despite trying to concentrate on threading the laces, he couldn't help but lift his eyes to look under her skirt at the bands of flesh above each hold-up and... he paused. Shocked by what was only inches from his face.

"You naughty boy. Do you make a habit of peeking up women's skirts?"

His shoulders scrunched up, laughingly trying to make himself smaller. Sheepishly, he looked at her face expecting to see anger; instead, she was smiling, a wicked, dirty smile.

"Don't stop, you've got another boot to do yet."

Totally out of his depth around this woman, he managed to get the first boot done up, and failed miserably to hide the stolen glances at the holy grail hidden behind the tiniest piece of black lace material that sat at the juncture of her legs. He caught a whiff of something - a faint earthy hint with something slightly salty, like sweat, but not sweat. He cursed himself; he was quicker with the second boot, instead of prolonging the experience of touching a real woman, or at least her boots. Her hand reached out and ruffled his hair, still looking down at him with that mischievous smile.

"Such a good boy, if only there were more out there like you. I know in the old-fashioned way, you're supposed to lead, but you're just soooo yummy. Since you've been such a gentleman, how would you like to accompany me to a party tonight, as my plus one?"

He pinched himself yet again. Yes, this was still real.

"O... o... of course, I'd feel honoured! Where is it, what time, what should I we..."

Moving from his hair, her inverted hand glided over his face, using a finger to press against his lips to stop him talking. Bending her index finger slightly, she slid the long fingernail and the top of her finger into his mouth. Like a baby, he sucked hard on the digit, making her push her head back and let out a sexy moan.

"Oooh yessssss, such a naughty boy! Don't worry, we'll go and sort you some clothes now."

Walking away, she headed to the till. He stood up, unsure if he was supposed to follow her or gather up her clothes from the changing room. Thinking she may have forgotten them, he blushed, passing an assistant he bundled her discarded clothes in the changing room in his arms and hurried over to the till. She was talking to the assistant, who was gushing, telling Circe how fucking sexy she looked in the clothes. When Circe looked at Luke, she seemed surprised when he held the clothes out. Putting her arms out for him to hand them to her, instead of taking them, she let them drop to the floor, leaving Luke looking shocked.

"Won't be needing them now."

She turned back to the assistant.

"Thank you, I'll see you next year."

The assistant smiled and nodded; Luke assumed she was lost for words because of Circe's beauty and overt sexuality. They walked from the boutique, with not one word said. Luke hadn't even seen her pay for the clothes.

If the looks of disgust were noticeable earlier, now they drew horrible comments; someone even called her a dirty old hag. Despite knowing he'd take a pasting, Luke tensed up ready to engage the old man that had spoken, when Circe pulled on his arm, then pulled him in for an unexpected and passionate kiss.

"Ignore them, they are just jealous."

They kept walking to a fancy dress shop in the basement level. He rarely came down here as most of the units were empty; it was one part that never quite clicked with the public. They walked in and she walked straight to a rack of outfits and picked one out. She held it up and wiggled her head.

"Put this on."

He looked at her, surprised at the choice.

"Can't I go as Batman... I mean, it would go well with your outfit."

She laughed, a deep, sexy laugh.

"Do you want to come to the party? Look."

With no idea where it came from, she handed him a glossy black party invite. He read it.

'YOU AND YOUR PLUS ONE ARE INVITED TO THE ANNUAL WITCH & SERF BALL'

Turning the card over, it said nothing else. She took it back.

"Don't worry, I know where we are going; I go every year."

Ushering him to the changing room, he changed into the outfit. The material felt coarse and it smelt... of countryside. He assumed they must have sprayed it with a chemical in the factory. Looking at himself in the mirror, he felt it made him look more like a village idiot. He walked back out to let her see. She clapped her hands, and her eyes lit up.

"Ooh, so fucking hot, so fucking hot. My friends will be so jealous."

Looking down at himself, he had no idea what she saw in him, or the costume. Not wanting to upset her mood, he smiled. Feeling a little more confident, he decided to crack a joke.

"If you're a witch, you must have a black cat, and I gather we'll be going to this party on your broom."

Reaching out for the neckerchief of his costume, she pulled him right up until he was pushing against her body. Gripping a wrist, she guided his hand down until it touched a leg. Then she guided it upwards, over the material until he was brushing soft skin, then...

He was touching her pussy. Not directly, but through one flimsy piece of material. Parting her legs slightly, she steered his fingers so they slipped under the material, and felt a tuft of black hair. Letting go of his hand, he stroked it.

"Mmmm, there you go. One black cat, aka pussy. Slide your finger down, find kitty's pink, wet nose."

Moving like she'd break if he applied too much pressure, his digit found the damp crease, then a little nub. Moving his finger back and forth, he felt it harden, a stickiness form that made his finger flow back and forth with ease. She kissed him fully on the mouth this time, her tongue snaking into his mouth, feeling her moan and vibrate where they were lipped locked. She shifted back, causing his arm to slip from her underwear.

"That was enjoyable, yes?"

He nodded, still dumbstruck at having intimately touched a woman. She turned, taking his hand as she did so and walked from the store.

"Wait! We haven't paid... and my clothes and wallet!"

She never stopped walking, that sultry voice carried itself into his ears.

"Don't worry, I have an account there, and they'll put your belongings aside to collect later. Don't be such a worry-puss. Trust me."

By then, his eyes were mesmerised by the short skirt bouncing on her arse cheeks while they moved pendulum-like, in sync with each other and her hips. How he wanted to worship that body! Not forgetting what happened, he lifted his fingers to his nose, inhaling the scent that left a light coating.

"Don't worry, if you're really good, you'll be able to inhale it directly from the source."

He was mortified, she was walking slightly ahead of him while holding his hand, she hadn't turned her face so how did she know? He blushed, hoping she couldn't detect it.

????

They made their way to the multi-story car park, and headed to the disabled parking bays. Spanning two bays was a piano black Rolls-Royce that looked new, with totally blacked out windows, even the windscreen making it impossible to see in. It sat on huge black rims with tyres of such low profile they were like a slice of liquorice wrapped around the alloy. Convinced it was a joke, he waited for her to swerve, but she didn't. The registration was the old school black and silver style plate and read W1THCH 37, which he knew was not a legal registration number. What shocked him, was the rear passenger doors popped partially open.

"My broom."

She spoke like she was referring to a shoe or something so mundane, it was hardly worth mentioning. He still felt there was some catch, some joke, maybe they had brought back You've been Framed and he would be today's fall guy. He decided to play along.

"How is this a broom, it looks like a Rolls Royce to me."

She smiled at him, each minute that passed her whole demeanor was indeed dripped with another layer of sexual tension.

"Yes, my broom. He's called brrm, brrm... after the noise he makes. Now be a gentleman and get my door."

Luke fully opened the door, the black leather interior soaked in the low level red LED lighting set into the car's interior, reflecting in a privacy panel that separated the rear passenger compartment from the front. He tried hard to look to see who was in the driver's seat, but the low light in the car park coupled with the black windows made it impossible to see in. That thought evaporated when she bent slightly to get in, her tits bobbed in the top, the cooler air here made her nipples press into the fabric, they looked hard enough to pierce the material. The sound of the boots creaking fascinated him, the skirt riding up far enough to show the pale flesh and, at the right angle where he stood, the very top of her thighs and a hint of the scant underwear.

"Don't hang about, the cold air is hurting these. Get in the other side."

Opening his mouth in shock, he watched as fingers pinched on each nipple, making them strain even more. And if that voice couldn't sound any dirtier... He walked with haste, entered the other side and closed the door the moment he was in. Within seconds he had his seat belt on; she sat there and giggled with a devilish grin.

"That's a good boy, strapped in safe with a wicked woman like me. I'm cold so I'm going to turn the heating up a little to get warm."

Pushing a button on the small centre console, warm air began to circulate with a new smell. It had hints of wood, cinnamon and things he couldn't make out. She watched him drawing in the tainted air, trying to work out what it was. She smiled, a happy, content smile. The car started to move.

"That's the air freshener built into the air conditioning. I think this one's called Winter Rising."

He felt compelled to keep breathing it in, deep breaths, letting it permeate through his lungs, into his bloodstream, into hi...

By the time the car was out on the open road, he was asleep. Her laugh was different, more of a cackle now. In her bag, she had another spray of her perfume, seconds later, he moaned, thrusting his hips out. Those dreams of getting down and dirty with Samantha Doddesworth gone, instead it was Circe, knelt on all fours with him behind her about to give her a pounding she wouldn't forget. Leaving him to sleep, she took the restrictive bands hidden in her bag, she would occupy herself for the hundred miles, as the crow flies, and this car climbed skywards to follow that precise path towards Sudbury, a quaint town, now her home town when it came to be.

????

His dreams had never been so vivid, felt so real. This one was odd because he could feel immense pleasure but offset by something uncomfortable shifting towards pain. He started to talk, low, practically a mutter in the murky place where dreams merged with reality.

"Please... please let me cum, I need to cum."

Slowly his eyes opened, unsure where he was for a moment or what he was doing. The glow from the red LED lighting reminded him where they were, his hands gripping Circe's hair, driving her head up and down in his lap had been the dream, not reality, until it was real. Horrified, he took his hands away, how could he have forced her! Already thinking how he was going to try and explain it away, she didn't stop. Even without his hands, her head bobbed up and down in a steady even motion. Becoming more reviviscent, she was kneeling across the seats, her tits shifted back and forth under her top, perfectly synchronised to the movement of her bobbing head.

The sound was far better than any porn clip, the pace she set was just so, the steady gluck, gluck coming from her throat sounded magical. Shuffling in the seat slightly, mainly because of the growing discomfort in his groin, the pace slowed until she left her lips pressed against the base of his cock. He could feel it, feel her throat flexing, gripping his cock. Like a dirty tease, she corkscrewed back until just his aching cockhead was in her mouth, then let her tongue run riot for several long, ball-aching moments. Pulling away, sucking hard on the plum head to make a load pop, she shifted to sit back in her seat. Licking her lips, she looked at him, and looked even more dangerous than when she had thrust his hand under her skirt.

"I'm sorry, I can't help myself. You fell asleep real quick and you started dreaming, kinky I'd guess... You were thrusting your hips up, you wanted it, I wanted it so I thought I'd make the journey a bit more interesting."

He smiled, amazed that nothing about her was out of place, the lipstick looked untouched, her mascara hadn't run and her hair looked like he'd not touched her head. This was nothing like the porn films where women's faces looked wrecked after a deep-throating session. The churning ache in his balls made him look down to see she'd undone his crude trousers buttons, and managed to tug his cock and balls out.

They were both an angry reddish purple, what amazed him was that his cock seemed longer, harder and fatter, and it felt overly sensitive. Then he saw it, the band around the base of his cock was tight, tight enough he couldn't get a finger under it. He then saw the other one, keeping his balls pressed tightly against the lower part of his ball sack. Once again, it was so tight he couldn't quite get a finger under the ring.

"Have you not used rings before? They are so much fun, bringing a little bit of pain to the pleasure but heightening everything too. Trust me, when you do get to cum, it'll be to die for!"

He was well aware that with a body and face like hers, there would be a chasm wider than the Capertee Valley in Australia, between their sexual experiences. His had been restricted to his right hand and his trusty sock. He didn't care, he was adamant, by tomorrow, he would lose the virgin tag several times over.

With blacked out windows, he lost all sense of motion but it felt like they were descending, rather like being in an airliner rather than in a car. Maybe they were going down a long hill. He felt a slight bump, the car coming to a stop and both the rear doors partially opening. Circe squealed excitedly, clapping her hands like a giddy schoolgirl, her tits bouncing around confirming she was a woman, and a stunning one at that. Mist leached in through the open doors carrying muted sounds. Straining his ears, he wanted to be sure that the sound he could hear was real. He shouldn't have bothered trying, because she had a plan.

"Come on, let's go find the party, it sounds like it's well underway, I think we may be the last to arrive!"

Stepping from the car was a shock. No, it was a lesson in shock and awe of the highest magnitude. There were several identical Rolls Royce's, the only difference was the numerical suffix on the registration plate. He started to be very suspicious of who the hell were these people. The sound of men and women engaged in sex carried on the thickening fog dismantled the thoughts that had begun to feel that something here was wrong, very wrong.

Suddenly, she was there right in front of him, her hands pulled on his head towards her, their lips collided in a torrid kiss. Her tits mashed against his woolen jerkin, the overwhelming desire to pull her in close made him cup under each arse cheek and pull her towards him, His cock was still bare, he could feel it pressing close to her sex where the killer heels levelled up their height. She couldn't help but grind against him, her own arousal, fuelled by a year's worth of abstinence, willed him on to lift her up, let her hungry body engulf him for her own selfish needs. Willpower quickly won over her when she broke the kiss.

"Not yet, not here. The party, it's through that corpse of trees, can't you hear them? Before we go through there, do you promise to let me have your body, there is so much we can do tonight".

Luke felt his cock and balls throb with real need to give her a good fucking, he desperately needed a release from these restrictive bands, maybe once he had made her cum, she would give him his release, in both shooting his load and getting rid of these accursed bands.

For some reason, the cold didn't bother him, probably because he was fixated on her backside swaying sexily back and forth in front of him while they walked towards the copse. He was amazed her heels didn't sink into the bed of golden fallen leaves. She kept up a fair pace, practically pulling him along through the mist that made visibility beyond a few yards difficult into the eerie corpse. Leaves fell silently, adding to the red brown hue of nature's carpet below them. The sound of fucking, lots of people fucking, echoed in the mist. Before he fathomed what type of party this was they came upon a clearing, with a small river winding through it.

He knew this place, not that he'd been here, and the version he was aware of existed in fiction, built up in his mind from a description of the 'Ducking Stool', where witches met there end, or found a way to survive in Witchunt. Whoever created that scene in the game, must have been here, knew it was real.

To his horror, there was a ducking stool, an exact replica of those used for real, centuries ago. He could see a woman, a sexy woman strapped in it. What didn't fit in with history was the way she was bouncing up and down on a guy laying on the ground. He may not be able to see the detail from here, but she was fucking him, and hard. All around them, there were couple fucking, and every single woman had jet black hair, slutty makeup with clothing that made him look for cameras in case he had been duped into making a porno with a bunch of porn stars masquerading as the sexiest bunch of witches to ever walk the earth. Circe pulled him over to a pile of hay spread on the floor then turned towards him.

"Remember, you're here to give yourself to me, let me show you what that entails."

Slowly, and maintaining eye contact for most of the move, the top came off. She stood smiling, watching Luke stand like a rabbit caught in the headlights, which was the goal here. She didn't want him to be over observant, at least not yet.

For his part, Luke was lost. His brain tried to think if there was some etiquette he should be following to touch her. Instead of letting him overthink things, she grabbed his hands and placed them on each mound of flesh, letting out a soft moan.

"Play with them Luke, find the key, make me cum, because they are that sensitive."

Luke's cock pulsed painfully, and his poor constricted balls did their best to churn, but he tried to ignore that. His hands cupped each globe, feeling the weight and how little sag was evident considering their size. She threw her head back, another little sexy coo, her mouth open, letting a little ahh! escape. His confidence grew with each little sound, each reaction to his touch.

It didn't take long for him to gain confidence, start to tweak her nipples, rolling them around between his finger and thumb, feeling them harden more with his touch. She shifted, leaning in to trail kisses on his neck, up his jaw, across his cheek towards an ear.

"Take them in your mouth Luke, take the last step to make me cum."

She pulled back and looked at him, pleased to see the lust burning deep in his eyes. He looked into her eyes, believing that he had hit the jackpot. He remembered his mum's words; Try, and try again, until the law of odds worked in your favour.

He kissed her neck, then used little butterfly kisses to move down until he took a nipple in his mouth. Running his tongue around her the nub, her breathing increased, her chest started to rise and fall where she drew deeper breaths. What did it for him, was the elevated-to-porn-star level of moaning, her hands gripping his head, pulling him in tighter.

"Go on, bite them, make me cum, make me cum hard. Then I'll take you to somewhere unimaginable as a reward."

He was now a man on a mission, making up for a lack of skill with gusto. Her moaning intensified, her body started to shake, then it happened. She went rigid, for less than a second, then she exploded. She screamed out and juddered like she was about to stroke out, Luke gave one last hard bite, keeping her nipple between her teeth, letting it stretch out under her own motion. He felt a mass of emotions roll through him, and he wasn't even on the receiving end. He didn't care she was pulling chunks of his hair out, he didn't care that his cock and balls were in agony. He didn't care his right hand was soaking wet...

He moved those fingers, something wet, warm and rubbery gripped them as they slowed back from the sawing motion, his thumb slowed and stopped gently massaging the sticky little nub. When the hell had he started to finger bang her, and diddle her clit, no wonder she exploded into a glorious orgasm!

They stood breathing hard then he noticed... she looked different, somehow the light from the bonfire he hadn't really noticed danced across her face making her look older. She turned away quickly, bending down to pick up the black handbag that was always with her. Pulling out the perfume, she gave herself a liberal spraying, and yet again, he caught a face full of atomised perfume. When she turned, she looked... exactly like she did when he first met her, not a hair out of place, in fact, nothing that even hinted she had just had a sexual workout with him. He was going to ask her what had happened, but that thought was dissolved by another steamy kiss.

Without saying a word, she dropped to her knees, he hadn't even thought his cock was still out catching flies so to speak. He started to look around, watching the other couples engage in every conceivable sex act he could imagine between a couple.

"Don't look at them, the show's down here."

Before he turned to look, her hot breath pricked the over-sensitive nerves of his cock. Her black eyes looked up at him, those blood red lips opened to engulf his cock, letting it sink slowly to the back of her mouth and beyond.

Her eyes didn't even blink, just a few ripples from her throat, and her tongue lazily rolling around as much of his cock as she could make contact with. After several long seconds, she began bobbing. Up, down, corkscrewing, obscene wet sounds that filled his ears making it his favourite new soundtrack. A hand came up to massage his balls that ached like he could never imagine was possible. He felt close, so close but couldn't quite get there, the ache down below shutting down what should be nature's conclusion to such a sexy act of love. In the end, he stepped back, it had become a maddening torture, and he wanted to make her pay for what she's done.

Dropping to his knees, he pushed her onto her back, then used his hands to pin her down while shifting his body to lay over her, his cock dead centre with his target. Pushing forward, he had forgotten about the scant piece of underwear, which stretched but did not yield when he tried to enter. She giggled between the husky breaths, making a poor attempt at trying to break free. In the end, he let go of one hand, then groped around to pull the material aside and guide his cock towards the molten, sopping target. Once he knew he had breached the entrance, he lunged forwards, driving the air from her lungs.

"That's it, fuck me! What are you fucking?"

"A dirty lil' witch!"

She came straight back between each powerful stoke into her body.

And... who... are... you?"

"Matthew Hopkins."

He slowed and stopped but remained buried to the hilt in her snug channel.

"I'm sorry, it's the game I play, Witchunt. It's a board game, based on the witch hunts led by Matthew Hopkins. If I can, I like to play him in the game. The girls that play it, they're always cute... I imagined that if I was Matthew Hopkins, I'd rather have tried to fuck the witchcraft out of them rather than kill them. I often imagined doing that with the girls that played the game. But it was just a thought, I'd never force myself on them... I... I.."

She stopped him in his tracks before he lost sight of his goal.

"Sssh stop. You aren't really forcing yourself on me, and I wanted it. I know exactly who Matthew Hopkins is."

He looked at her, just inches from his face.

"Don't you mean you know who he was?"

That dirty little laugh left her mouth.

"Off course. was and is. Slip of the tongue"

With that, her tongue snaked from her mouth across her pure white teeth and over the blood red lips. He responded by kissing her, her hips trying to rise up and falling back gave him a clear signal. This time, the strokes were slow and even, relishing the feel of her pussy wall that gripped and milked his cock. It wasn't long before he was grunting, jack hammering in and out of her tight body, the sound of wet and lurid sex at full pelt.

The sweat poured from him, no matter how fast or how deep he pounded away, he couldn't get past the last hurdle to reach the finishing line. In the end, he had to stop, barely able to breath. Circe wasn't in much of a better shape either.

"I... really.... needed that. It's been too long. Do you want to finish in style Luke, make it something you'll never forget, something never to be surpassed or repeated?"

He had rolled off of her, laying on the bed of straw.

"I'll do anything, as long as you can get these bands off, they are really, really uncomfortable and I can't get to... you know."

Rolling over, her hand gently stroked face.

"Those bands will really heighten the next experience. Had you not been wearing them... well you know we would have been done by now, probably back in the car, eh?"

He turned his head, he didn't want her to see his face turn a little red from embarrassment. Suddenly, she stood up, giving her a clear view up her skirt where he could see an oily sheen around her now puffy pussy lips.

"C'mon, this is really special. As a witch hunter... well you'll really get it."

He stood, and followed her, looking at the various couples still going at it in various poses. He saw a gaggle of women down by the water and next to the ducking stool he'd noticed. Through the mass of women, he thought he saw another guy laying on the ground. A group of women were pulling on a rope connected to the pivot that would lift and drop the ducking stool. He saw it, just above the guy on the ground, a woman tied to the chair.

Just before they reached the woman, an unholy cackling laughter rose from the group. When they reached the stool, they were untying the woman from the stool, the women gathering around her to congratulate her. When they stopped, the women started to talk to Circe, he turned back to look at the people still fucking around the field and he felt sure there were a lot less couples, and more single women than when they first arrived, and where was the guy he thought he saw laying here a moment ago? Then again, Circe was spraying her perfume, and yet again, he copped for a faceful of overspray. He turned and smiled at her.

"Sisters, meet my plus one, Luke. Did you know he plays that game... the one about the witch catcher? He likes to play the part of Matthew Hopkins. He said that if he was the real Matthew, he would rather have fucked their wicked witchy ways out of them. Now what do you say to that?"

There was another round of cackling... but this time it sounded more like a group of typical twenty-somethings, which most of these women were. Did the mist change the tone of their voices earlier?

He looked down at the ground, embarrassed by her words and their laughter. It was then he noticed the piled up hay, and four stakes driven into the ground, each with a chain and leather cuff. Walking up to him, she kissed him, then stepped back.

"Ready to claim your prize? Don't worry about those bands, I'll remove them soon. In a few minutes you'll need to lay down on the hay, this is the fun and deliciously wicked part. I'm going to sit on the stool and then you'll fuck me... well truthfully I'm going to fuck you. Let me show you what the ultimate prize is."

Reaching under her short skirt, she pulled down the soggy black thong, kicking it off. She turned around and bent over, touching her toes. The skirt rode up, revealing her magnificent rump, at her juncture sat that juicy mound he had recently plundered and her tight little wrinkled opening gave the impression it winked at him.

"Slide some fingers into my cunt, because that's what it is. Get your fingers nice and gloopy because I want you to worm them into my arse. Keep doing it, get it nice and lubed up, because if you go in too dry it'll rip your foreskin off. Don't worry about my sisters watching, we're all as kinky as each other here."

He couldn't explain it, but their presence didn't bother him. Stepping forward he first ran his hands over the two cheeks, revelling in their firmness. They were perfection in every sense. Using two fingers, he slid them inside the used opening, feeling the gloopy secretion her turned on body had created. He felt proud of himself, because it was of his doing. Trying to push two digits into the little brown star was a no-go, so he carefully wormed his index finger past the impossibly tight anal ring. This was a whole new territory, he was surprised how once inside, it didn't feel overly different from her pussy, just a little more snug. She moaned, and wiggled around on his finger, so he tried to press the next one inside. With a little work, on the third push of reinserting his index finger, the other finger slipped past her ring too. He felt her clamp down on his fingers, which gave him an idea.

Using his other hand, she scooped out as much greasy goo from her pussy that he could before rubbing over the two fingers that he held against her ring to stop it closing. This time they slid in a little easier, she begged for a third, but he had another idea he wanted to try first.

Like a flash, he lined his cock up with her pussy and pushed home in one single push, it caught her by surprise, pushing her slightly forward but she remained in position. With his free hand, he flipped her skirt up, gripped one hip then tried to pound the living daylights out of her pussy, and to add to his pleasure, pushed his two fingers deep into her arse then spread them so he was wanking himself, of sorts, though the thin membrane. It was like nothing he could imagine, his fingers could feel every ridge of his cock as he sawed roughly back and forth. The shock was, she started to cum really hard after less than twenty strokes of his cock, her pussy gushing juice that soaked his crotch. It weakened her enough that he had to hold her, in fact two of the other women had to move forward to hold her and stop her falling. It started to madden him... so close, so close but so far out of reach.

It didn't take long before he felt something growing inside her, ready to erupt yet again. This time, he stopped and withdrew abruptly before she boiled over. Stepping back, both holes were open, the smaller one only just, but it would be enough for his cock to worm its way in. Stepping back to give her the fucking she deserved, several hands grabbed him, with strength that surprised him, pushing him down to the ground. Panting, she turned to look at him.

"Now that was unexpected, and certainly something I want to try again one day. But now, it's time for the final show, the grand finale. You want my arse, and I'm about to give it to you in all its cock-gripping glory. Strap him down."

Luke tried to struggle, but found he couldn't. Soon he was laying face up, both arms and legs bound holding him spread like a starfish. He watched while Circe sat in the chair, noticing that it was designed so her backside sat low in an opening, her legs strapped into wooden stirrups. Then the rope was pulled, taking the chair out over the water, dropping it so her backside skimmed, and probably lapped the surface of the water from Luke's restricted view.

"On this day thou shall recover, a sinner's soul, to join his brothers."

The women were chanting while Circe underwent her false ducking, but their voices. With each chant, they were changing. Instead of the melody of young women, they were changing into the cackle of older women. Before he could understand what was happening, the chair swung around so it hovered over Luke's face. He could see her pussy, puffy red and extremely aroused. Her brown star had a small trail of the goo he had smeared inside, she was flexing and pushing her anal ring making it partially open.

The chair moved until it was positioned over his cock, then it was slowly lowered until he felt the tip of it touch her arse flesh. The chair moved up and down, shifting in little increments until it made its mark. Confident he was primed at her entrance, the chair dropped under its own weight, his cock slipped past the impossibly tight ring then he was buried inside her warm, tight and now accommodating arse.

"Oh fuck!"

They said it in unison, she shook, juddered and squirted all over him, having the most intense orgasm of the night so far. He groaned, the pain of the rings now outweighing the pleasure. He could feel her weight, but thankfully it was not the full weight of the ducking stool. She tried to move, to create motion, those holding the rope got the message, and with a skill learned over many years, bounced her just far enough for him to remain inside her tight and willing arse before letting her drop down.

The sensation was incredible, for both of them. For her it was liberating, a sense of freedom, despite being restrained. For him, it was a totally new experience. The shock of being restrained, the velvet-like fleshy tunnel gripping, releasing, milking his cock in unpredictable waves was driving him out of his mind. It was not helped by the pressure cooker level of cum brewing in his balls made him terrified that his ball bag may blow out unless he was allowed to shoot all that cum into a receptacle, preferably the one he was currently buried balls deep in.

For ten minutes, his balls churned, her walls did not relent on their talent for gripping and milking him, a couple of times he slipped free, but her ring was stretched enough that he slid back in with impossible ease. Twice more she came with a juddering orgasm, screaming out into the night.

Up down, up down, the pace was relentless, he was sweating, shifting not sure if he should try and break free from the pleasure and pain cycle. Thrashing his head side to side, something registered that made him suddenly focus, really focus on the women that were watching. It was them, but not them. They were no longer hot-as-fuck nymphette goth chicks, the clothes were the same, but they hung off ugly old hags. The chair lifted from him, and sat down beside him. The grey haired woman in the chair, who had her face turned away from him cackled before turning to face him. No, it couldn't be, there was no way the wart covered hag could be...

"What's the matter son-of-Matthew? Don't you like reality? Here, let's give you back your twisted vision!"

She sprayed him with the perfume, he choked and looked at her again. But he knew, he knew what he was looking at was a façade. Earlier in the day, people weren't disgusted because the dork was with a beauty, it was because she was an ugly old hag with someone that could be her great grandson!

She cackled, retaining her real voice as the chair moved to be repositioned above him. This time, he struggled against his bonds, determined to break free and get as far, far away as his legs would carry him. If felt futile, he took two deep breaths and used all of his might to trey and break free while bellowing.

"Nooooooooooooooo!"

Something broke, but it wasn't his bonds, it was the bands around his cock and balls. Precum surged up his cock, leaking like a tap had been turned on, the relief flowed through him like a river. In that snatch of time, his cock disappeared back into her tight back door entrance, freshly lubricated by the precum, he slid back and forth through her now stretched buttery entrance. They put far more bounce into her movement, and he knew what they wanted. They wanted to empty his nut sack deep into her bowels. He fought it, but it was a battle he could never win. He felt the pressure building, the precum, a never ending flow of lubricant that let his cock make a 'shlicking' sound every time it slid back and forth inside her arse.

The speed at which she rose and fell hastened, to fight the inevitable he thought of everything, and anything he hated. From the bitchy girls that had him turn making him run, to the dead cat he once saw flattened into the road. Then the wrong image popped into his head.

It was the centrefold from the lads mag. The delectable, curvy arse of Samantha Doddesworth proved to be the trigger to fire away. Feeling his first pulse, Circe came again, and for last time, causing the chair to rock and rattle. She screamed out, it pierced his skull, because it was unearthly, how he imagined a banshee should sound. Squirt, squirt, his balls quickly responded, his cock pulsed and pulsed filling her arse with his cum but something was wrong. It wasn't just cum flowing, it felt like his whole being was being drawn though his cock. For a second, he thought his brain had been starved of oxygen making him hallucinate, until his hand flopped on his chest, shrinking, floppy, and boneless. Looking down, his cock had become translucent in colour, he could see his body, in liquid form, being driven out through his cock, deep into her arse. She stopped screaming, but kept rolling through non-stop orgasms squirting and covering his rapidly shrinking and deflating body. All sound started to go silent, his head had shrunk and was now being drawn in toward his cock, the last thing his brain could comprehend was the hag in the chair blowing him a kiss.

Then he was gone.

????

Luke opened his eyes, glad the horrible dream was over. But where was he? It was dark, it wasn't a room, the floor felt bouncy, sponge like, but it wasn't outside either. It took a while for his eyes to acclimatise then he saw them. Shadowy figures, wandering around aimlessly. Whichever way he looked he could see no obvious horizon, in fact no distinct shapes that gave him the foggiest clue where this may be.

"Hello!"

Cupping his hands around his mouth in the hope it may project his voice he called out as loudly as he could. The sound didn't travel far. Like the atmosphere absorbed it. The figures he saw stopped moving, and started shuffling slowly towards him. He suddenly felt that may have been a dumb thing to do. He had nothing to use as a weapon and he was naked.

The first figure reached him, and there was something about him that looked familiar.. Similar in height, an uncanny resemblance with respect to facial features, even hair colouring. The person standing opposite Luke was just as naked, and a few years older.

I'm Matthew, what's your name, traveller."

"My name's Luke, Luke Gladstone."

I would say welcome Luke Gladstone, but this is not a place you would wish to be, unfortunately, this is your home now. My full name is Matthew Hopkins, Witchfinder General."

"That's impossible! You've been dead for hundreds of years!"

"Did you go to a witch's coven, on the day of Halloween? If there was a lake, it was Sudbury, where we sent many of them into Satan's bosom. They took me in the year of the lord 1647, leaving a beggar's body wrapped in muslin to claim it was me and that I died due to tuberculosis.

"You see, it was an easy life I led with my small band of men. Descend on a village and pick out the pretty ones. Young, old, married, it didn't matter. They had a simple choice; offer us the comfort only a woman can provide, or face trial as a witch. Once we had our way with the willing, we would round up a few old hags, along with the ones disinterested in forming a temporary bonding with me or my men. Then they would face a trial, be drowned or burnt at the stake depending on where we were and what we thought would put most fear in the locals.

"The witches put you to their own test. They rarely get it wrong these days, fellow travellers through the ages have brought with them the improvements in language and all of the things of the modern world. It is far easier to track our kind down now. Something called DNA I'm told, but I will admit, I still don't quite understand it. You, Luke, are a descendant of one of my unholy couplings. They have traced you back to me. I'm told if you have been in hospital, let them take your blood at any time, that's how they will find you.

"Did your witch dip her nether region into the water? The water possesses their magic. Where we used it to test for witches, they use it to prove you are one of us, a descendent of those that defiled the women, which included some witches that wanted to stay alive. That is why you, in part, are here. Listening to what the others have said, we think that the shrivelled up small piece of skin that once held you, is tossed into the river, just like we did to the women back then."

Luke shook his head, disbelieving this tale of a madman. But others shuffled towards them, each with the same or a very similar story. Someone called John came over looking as lost and frightened as Luke.

"Where are we? Several hours ago, some really hot goth chick came up and invited me to some crazy party, orgy really. Then she had me strapped down, got in this crazy chair and got me to fuck her arse. She made me wear some bands around my cock and balls. They suddenly vanished, I started to cum, and couldn't stop, then I was here. Where the fuck am I, how do I get home!"

John put a hand on each of their shoulders.

"This is your home. There are hundreds of us here, it is a world they have created for us, one we cannot escape from although many have gone in search of a way out, some return here years later. We do not age, we do not need food, nor water. You are paying for my, and my cohort's sins, may the Lord forgive me."

He turned and started to walk away but stopped after a few steps, but didn't turn to look at the men.

I gather they are still using those modern horseless carts. Did you see how many there were?"

Luke had done a rough mental count when they arroved.

"I would say between thirty and forty. Why does that matter?"

Their numbers are dropping. It started at three hundred. I suspect they need subsistence, and that comes through the bloodlines of the founders such as me. If they do not bring a genuine offering to the gathering, then they will not have the subsistence to continue to exist until the next gathering, and therefore fade into the dust and ashes as their foremothers. One day... one day, the circle will close, when there are none of us left to gather, then they too, cease to exist, hopefully for good and we can all rest in peace.

© 2026 by InKent

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