Posted by Barbanne on November 20, 1999 at 15:41:54:
SUMMER OF THE WITCH.
As always, after mating with my master, my wicked blood felt renewed and young again. I relished the way in which he took me. I loved the beating and the fact that he used me like the trashy rubbish I was. To be forcibly taken whilst lying half senseless was, to me, the greatest form of love possible. The master knew me for what I was and he loved me as I deserved to be loved, hard, brutal, aggressive and without pity. My adoration of him was multiplied many fold by my submission to his needs.
I walked towards the village where I was currently resident. I had already picked my victims. The two sisters Candice and Samantha. The daughters of the local doctor, they were both in their late teens and were virginal and pure. Candice was tall, inordinately tall for a girl, and she had skin like creamy milk with flaming red hair and a voluptuous body that belied her youth. Samantha was only a few centimetres shorter and slender and boyish in her figure with black hair and such a sweetness of disposition that she was beloved by all who saw her. Both girls caused much lustful wishing amongst the young village men, but their innocence meant that they were prized above all others as wives to be. I had decided that their only mate would be myself as I took them in sacrifice to my master.
I walked into the village and saw the fresh young faces of the children, playing amongst the new born lambs. At times like this I had strange sensations which I could only attribute to my human-ness. I felt a soft yearning towards these gloriously unspoiled children and I felt an aching need to be one with them. I even felt a tenderness toward the other folk of the village and a love for Candice and Samantha that was a love of sharing and wanting and needing. They were sisters and I wanted sisters.
Strange feelings these humans had.
On Friday Giselle was to be burnt for a witch.
Giselle was only twenty three and I knew her to be a sweet and guileless woman. Her problems came from her differentness. Giselle was a healer. She used the herbs and potions of the fields and gardens to heal the sick and help those in need. And Giselle was unmarried, Giselle did not want a man, her instincts caused her to feel love for her own sex. Giselle had tumbled in the hay with Samantha. I knew. I knew everything. For Samantha it was a passing thing but for Giselle it was true love. Their passionate joining had gone unnoticed but Giselle had also made love to my fellow scullery maid Alicia. Alicia was young and very stupid and although she joined with Giselle enthusiastically enough, she had suffered from guilt afterwards and, encouraged by her doltish father, the blacksmith, had accused Giselle of bewitching her.
Many people disliked Giselle.
The young men she had spurned. The doctor, whose patients she had treated far better than he could and those patients themselves, who, although she had healed them, had decided that only witchcraft could have brought about their recovery, so used were they to the incompetent butchery of the doctors of this time.
Giselle was tried before two narrow minded and prejudiced church examiners who decided that her healing prowess and her sexual inclinations condemned her as a witch.
Many young and older women were so condemned as witches by the bigoted stupidity of the church in these days.
They were not witches.
They were innocents. Saintly women.
I WAS a witch!
On Friday the village would learn what was and what wasn't a witch. I looked forward to the day with evil joy in my heart. So many would learn. But it would be their last lesson.
Two days before the witch burning the weather turned foul.
The summer was at its height and huge storm clouds gathered in the sky. The wind started to whine and those who knew the weather looked anxiously to their ripening crops and started herding their livestock into shelter.
The doctor was out attending to the widow McKracken. She had been taken mysteriously ill and he had taken his leech bottle to bleed her. Fat lot of good he would do. The widow, hateful old biddy that she was, was doomed to die before nightfall, but not until I had visited the doctor's house.
I rang the bell and Candice opened the door. She welcomed me in and Samantha joined us and I showed them the drink we had made at the tavern and of which I had fetched a bottle to the doctor for him to try. He always had his drink from the tavern and the landlord had sent this bottle for him as a special. I asked the girls to join me in a sip of the wine so that they could tell me if their father would enjoy it and, laughingly declaring themselves no drinkers, they agreed.
We all sipped and I knew the girls were mine.
Without question they agreed to accompany me to the black stones even though the weather was now very dirty and the rain was beginning to fall. We slipped un-noticed from the house and made our way down the path though the meadow and into the forest until finally we came out on the bleak shore where the black stones rimmed the ocean, standing as they had since the beginning of the world, in regular prismatic rows, rising and falling, aligned to the encircling leys.
I led them to a large regular flat rock in the centre of the stones and out of sight of anyone not standing alongside. I sat and watched as Candice took her sister and, putting her arms around her, drew her into an embrace. Samantha responded and both girls kissed passionately and then, in a frenzy of sexual needing, started undressing each other until their beautiful bodies were naked and unadorned.
The sky was so overcast by now that it was as dim as twilight and the wind howled from the sea, bending the trees near the shore and flinging spume and spray across the rocks. The rain pounded down, bouncing straight up as it hit the ground.
Candice and Samantha had fallen to the ground and, oblivious of the weather, wrestled, grappling together on the slick, wet, rock face. Water streamed around them as they embraced, mouths locked in frenzied passion and hands roaming over each other, fingers feeling out and carressing nipples, breasts and tummies. Candice plunged her stiffened hand into Samantha's womanhood and, curling her fingers, found her sister's aroused clitoris, hard inside the blood engorged, swollen pouch of her pussy. Samantha found Candice's clitoris in her grasp and still holding, kissing, saturated by the rain, naked bodies gleaming wetly, the two sisters rolled on the obsidian blackness of the rocks, hands pumping furiously as they rubbed each other to orgiastic delight.
I was naked and soaking wet too and I rolled there with them. My breasts were squashed flat against the wet skin of Samantha's back when I felt both sisters shudder with release as their love juices ran freely from their tight slickness each coating the others hand in sticky white ejaculate.
I kissed them both as they lay embracing, eyes glazed and bodies limp.
A huge crack of thunder rent the sky and lightning snaked down and struck both girls and they were gone.
Gone to my master.
The black prince's slaves.
I gathered up my sodden clothes and left that bleak place.
On the Friday everyone in the village had gathered in the square. The doctor was there along with the church examiners, hoping to see their evil, so called justice done. I would show them what needed their prayers more than a poor, sweet, lesbian lady. The doctor was distraught, as the sudden and inexplicable disappearance of his two lovely daughters was weighing heavily on him. Like the rest of the ignorant oafs in the village he and they had blamed it all on Giselle, claiming that her witch powers had bewitched Candice and Samantha into running away.
Two fat sherrif's helpers came into the square dragging the near unconscious Giselle swooning between them. She had been kept in a thief's hole and was covered in filth and cobwebs. Her clothing was stained with her own ordure and her normally lovely, long, brown hair was matted and stringy. Tears had riven streaks through the grime of her face and glimpses of her glorious, full breasts appeared through the many rents in her ragged gown. They dragged her to the centre of the square where a bucket of pitch stood below a pole surrounded by straw and kindling. I looked at her. She was nearly senseless and her eyes were only half open, the whites of her eyeballs only showing. She was drooling from the mouth and as they lashed her to the pole, binding her arms behind her, she lost control and her bladder emptied, spreading across the front of her filthy rags. She drooped in the grasp of her tormentors and would have fallen several times had not they held her so securely while they bound her to her funeral pyre.
One of the fat churchmen stepped forth carrying a flaming brand and plunged it into the straw and it crackled and caught and the pitch ignited.
I put it out.
The crowd heckled him for his stupidity and he lit the conflagration once more.
I put it out again.
Fear started to show on the faces of the crowd and the red faced, sweating churchman thrust his brand into the flammable mix yet again.
It caught and crackled and I doused it again.
He looked at the brand and the pitch and the straw and thrust them together.
"Witchcaft." He screamed and turning to the now highly nervous crowd, repeated "Witchcraft."
"Indeed!" I shouted and stepped forward.
"Mistress Barbanne." Said the fat red faced one.
I placed my hand on his chest and his heart, overloaded by greasy food and copious quantities of ale, gave out and with a high shriek, he turned purple and fell down, stone dead.
I untied Giselle and pulled her from the pole. She lurched at me and then fell unconscious at my feet. A sherrif's helper clutched at me and I grasped his face and ripped him into two bloody halves.
The crowd started screaming and women fainted and men started bolting for safety. The doctor made the sign of the cross and I ripped his head off. The other church examiner stood there, eyes popping, mumbling benedictions and I grabbed his head and forced my arm down his throat and grasped his lungs and tore them out, rending him inside out. He made a blooping noise as his air escaped back inside him and I looked around, eyes blazing red with unleashed evil. The village was in full flight and I was only able to shred the widow Twankie and little Lexie Hood before they had all vanished.
My passion spent, I resumed my normal appearance and stooping, hoisted Giselle's inert body over my shoulder. I made off back up the hill toward the Dublin road. I found a deserted cottage and carried Giselle inside. I flopped her down on the straw which covered the floor and she moaned from the depth of her unconsciousness and quivered with some unseen terror. I stripped her naked and then, removing my own clothes, I sat admiring her full figure, wide hips, soft round breasts and lean flat tummy. Her limbs were slender and shapely and her pretty face took on an ethereal beauty as she lay there, slack in repose.
I knelt and, spreading her legs, I kissed and sucked my way up the inside of her thighs, kissing the soft flesh of her inner thigh and revelling in the way it shivered under my carress. I looked up from under my tumbling tresses at her face and saw that she was dreamily awake. She gazed at me in silent adoration and, leaning to my task again, I nuzzled under the fine curls at her groin and let my flickering tongue find her soft crepe like lips and parting them I ran my wet tongue around the hot, dripping interior of her highly aroused pussy. She tasted of woman and sexual arousal and feminine musk overlaid with salty lust. I probed and licked, my hands gripping the swell of her hips and my face buried in her cunnie, my tongue busily at work. I felt her shudder and come in an orgasmic rush and sucked in her juices. Sliding my slick body forward over her sweaty flesh I came face to face with her and we kissed long and hard, lips locked and tongues wrestling. I fingered her nipples as she fingered mine and, as I took her in a long passionate embrace, I noticed that her free left hand had gone to her own pussy and her long delicate fingers were inside, rubbing herself to fruition. She came a second time, moaning piteously as sweat broke out anew all over her body. I drank of her sweat and taking her wet, sticky hand guided it into my own pussy and left it there as she rubbed my stiffened clitoris until my own sexual release came hard and fast amid a lot of grunting from us both.
Giselle and I lay together throughout the night and she told me that she loved me, had always loved me and thanked me again and again for her deliverance from the flames. She had no clear memory of what had happened and I kissed her gently and cuddled her until she slept.
In the morning we left together and at the road junction we parted tearfully and she walked away to a new life in the more tolerant city environment of Dublin and I walked back into the countryside and to my next task.
The night is black and the pale glow of the quarter moon barely lights the ground. Shadows from the wildly tossing trees throw a kalaidoscope of light across the gravestones in this field of the dead. Some stones are upright and relatively new, some are broken and tilt alarmingly, some lie shattered on the ground.
I need all of my friends for the task ahead.
I stand naked and project the message of purest evil in unseen waves spreading out from my white, nude, woman body.
The ground stirs around the grave sites and worms wriggle hastily away.
Bones slide and roll together and then crack apart.
In the shadows lining the edges of my vision I see the shambling form of the loup garou. The night is rent by the long, clear howl of Vulpa and his pack.
Rotting, putrefied and dripping slime, the dead start to appear from their graves.
Samhain ushers in Halloween and the witches night demands sacrifice. The girl's convent of the Holy Blood is but a half kilometre away and tonight my grisly horde will destroy many young lives. Tomorrow in the dawn following the night of blood I shall mate once more with the supreme evil.........