Story: School's Out at the Witch Academy

Posted by C on September 16, 2001 at 14:17:04:

An old story that never really satisfied me. I've tinkered with it a little, and I wonder what other folks might think.

By C

The attack worked perfectly. The witch hunters had surrounded the witch settlement, then gone in
undetected. By the time they knew what was hitting them, it was too late. Captain Charmaine Landis, fay- and witch-killer extraordinaire, had been assigned the task of pacifying the dorm at the Witch Academy. Severely wounded in a sortie six months before, she had what everyone believed would be an easy assignment this time. Since personnel were spread thin, and since she really was one of the best, her superiors hadn't bothered with back-up. "Just go in, round 'em up, then string 'em up," her commanding officer had said.

As the plan required, Charmaine went running down a street that passed the dorm on the south. She wore the standard-issue night-op uniform: beret, vest, miniskirt, and boots all in black. When the dorm came into view, she pulled the pin on a witchbane grenade and hurled it with all her strength. The grenade hit the brick wall of the building and disappeared. What the naked eye couldn't see was that witchbane was now spreading over the entire surface of the structure. Now no witch would be able to leave under her own power.

She knew from intelligence reports that the front door would be unlocked. The witches had gotten
over-confident of late, and had scandalously neglected security. Behind the door would be a single guard. Charmaine wasn't worried. She quickly dashed in, finding herself in a kind of alcove. At the other end of the alcove sat the guard: a very pretty, redheaded witch in a cap, blouse, and skirt of blue, with black high heels. She was filing her nails. When she saw Charmaine, she jumped up and reached for her wand. Charmaine had already let loose her bolo, which caught the witch mid-body, pinning her arms to her sides and driving her into the wall behind her. She crumpled to the floor, the wind knocked right out of her.

Charmaine ran up with a compact mirror in one hand and a small hammer in the other. "No! No!" shrieked the doomed girl. Charmaine pointed the compact at her, made sure her reflection appeared there, then smashed the glass. The witch gave out a long, bitter wail, then just . . . disappeared. Nothing was left but a pile of clothing on the floor.

Charmaine could hear screams now, and the clatter of running feet. According to intelligence, there
was no one with serious military training in the building besides her, but it paid to be careful. She
left the alcove and moved carefully along one wall until she came to a doorway. This was the Common Room. She took a rag that she kept in her pack for this eventuality and waved it in front of the open doorway. A bolt of energy from a wand tore the rag out of her hand and reduced it to ashes.

She put on a pair of goggles, pulled a flash grenade from her belt, activated it, and tossed it through
the doorway. There was a loud bang, and blinding radiance filled the Common Room. Charmaine
ran in and with the aid of her goggles saw about fifteen girls dressed in Academy uniforms: white
blouses, plaid skirts, white knee-socks, black shoes. They were all screaming and covering their eyes. A few--no more than three--clutched wands in their hands. Soon they'd be able to see again, and it took just one zap from a wand to atomize a target. She had to incapacitate this bunch. She didn't like cheap magic tricks, but a very simple skirt-flipping spell was the best solution at hand. So she spoke the words: "Aiai, aiai, your skirts are flying high!"

It worked. The girls' skirts all shot up as far as they could go. Now they had a new reason to
scream as they frantically and vainly tried to push their plaids back down. When that didn't work,
they clutched their groins protectively and stumbled for what they thought might be cover. Most were still blinded, and so they were a blundering, colliding mass of tears and terror.

"Stop moving! Stand still!" When Charmaine barked these orders out, the stricken girls all obeyed. They had to, for a witch must obey whoever takes her skirt up or down. "Now, whoever has a wand, drop it! Drop it now!" Three wands clattered on the floor. "Get against that wall!" When they'd retreated, Charmaine grabbed up the fallen wands and made sure to break all three.

There was time now to survey her catch: fifteen--no, sixteen--girls, ranging in age from eighteen to
twenty-one, all whimpering and shuddering, all covering their panties protectively with their hands.
They were–each and every one of them--exceptionally pretty, and in Charmaine's eyes their wide-eyed terror
made them more than pretty. She felt a strange stirring in her breasts and belly.

I've got to get a grip, she thought, so she began to interrogate them. "Anyone else in the building?"

"N-nobody," said a black girl with skin the color of cinnamon and curly, reddish-brown hair. "J-just us and a guard. She was in work-study."

"Why were you all awake and down here this time of night?"

"A p-party. End of finals week." Charmaine looked around her. Sure enough, the room was full of party paraphernalia: a table with plates and a big cake, a keg of beer, a CD player.

"Are you the only students?"


"You'd better be telling the truth!"

"Honest, just us!"

Charmaine tossed a pinch of truth dust in the air. Everything the girl said was cold, hard fact. She then performed one more spell, to determine whether someone had entered the building whom the girls didn't know about. All clear.

"OK," Charmaine said. "I expect you want your skirts back down. I'll do that, but I'm going to tie
your hands behind you first. You'll still have to do what I say, but it's a little more dignified." So
she got out a coil of rope and cut sixteen lengths from it. As she bound the girls' wrists, she smelled
a heady mix of coconut soap and fear. Again, she felt that bothersome stirring.

"Now I'm going to march you over to the main square, for further questioning by my superiors. I'll . . . ."

"Y-you're going to kill us," said a full-bodied blonde. "Isn't that right?

"I'm going to march you over to the main square," Charmaine repeated.

She made them head out the front door. As they approached the central portion of the witch
settlement, they could see other groups of captured women, their wrists bound as well, being marched by their captors to the same destination. From the looks on these witches' faces, they had no doubt as to what awaited them. Charmaine's girls just kept their heads down and cried softly.

When they reached the square, the prefab gallows was ready for business. The hunters had known they'd haul in a big catch tonight, so it was a big one, with capacity for ten at a time. Ten nooses were in place and waiting. When they saw the gallows, many of the witches began to scream, or wail, or sob uncontrollably, or beg for mercy. So it was with Charmaine's group; a few even fainted. Charmaine and several of her comrades quickly uttered calming spells,
which put an end to the worst of the commotion. Charmaine then said to her captives, firmly but
not ungently: "Be quiet now. Listen. You all chose to use your magic for evil. You all volunteered
to be the Dark Lord's minions. This is the penalty. Now show some backbone and accept your

"Please," said the beautiful black girl. "I'm only twenty. We're all so young . . . please . . . . "

"You've all committed human sacrifice at least once," said Charmaine. "The law is clear. No more
begging. I'll allow you to cry instead: cry your hearts out. Cry because you gambled everything on
evil and lost. Cry because a noose, not the Dark Lord, is going to caress you tonight."

So they did cry: big streams of tears and big, heaving sobs that made their whole bodies shake.
And as they cried, the witch hunters determined how the hangings would proceed. Charmaine's group would go last, in two batches: one of ten and one of six.

So the girls stood there, still crying, as the older women climbed the gallows to pay their debt. After the first group of ten had been brought up, the men there roughly tore off their skirts and panties, then pushed them down to the wooden floor. Everyone could hear the shrieks that came next.

"W-we're going to be raped! We're going to be raped!" cried the full-bodied blonde, and the
others in Charmaine's group began to scream all over again.

"No!" shouted Charmaine. "I promise you, whatever you see and hear, you will not be raped!"

When the men had had their fun, they made their victims get up. Then the witches all had to stand in a line as the nooses were adjusted around their necks. They had looks of dull shock on their faces, and blood and urine dripped from their groins. They stood for what seemed several minutes; finally, at a command from one of the men, a trapdoor opened and down the women dropped, kicking and twisting. It was over very soon. The bodies were cut loose, and the whole business began anew.

The young students finally had their turn, at about five in the morning. Charmaine repeated her
quieting spell and gently ushered ten of them up onto the trapdoor. A male hunter said to her, in a
leering tone of voice: "I reckon you'll be needing some help with revenant-prevention."

"If you or the others so much as lay a hand on them, I'll gut-shoot you," said Charmaine. "Now get
off my gallows."

"Bitch," he muttered, but he and the other men left.

Charmaine lined the girls up and drew the nooses tight around their necks. "Keep crying," she
said. "Get it all out." And so they did.

"Now," said Charmaine. "We have to insure that none of you comes back. 'Stripping and dishonoring,' they call it. I'll make it so it doesn't hurt any more than it has to." She went up to the black girl, who trembled and drew away.

"Stand still," said Charmaine. The girl shuddered and groaned, but obeyed. As gently as she could, the witch hunter slipped the girl's panties down to her knees. Charmaine scented a rich, musky perfume, which almost made her swoon. Next, she cradled the girl's bottom with her left hand. Then she extended one long-nailed finger on her right hand and slipped it quickly into her victim's vagina. Whether they were truly virgins or not, these students had been magically altered for the pleasure of this or that great sorcerer. Each was as tight as she could be, with a tough, resistant hymen. Charmaine had to push hard to break all the way through. The girl squealed and
fell forward. Charmaine took her in her arms and stroked her hair.

"It hurts!" the girl sobbed.

"I know, baby," said Charmaine.

"I-I wish I were a boy!" cried the girl.

"No, no, no you don't. I catch boy fays, too. When I jab their pouches, it hurts just as much. They cry just as much. Now be still, baby . . . I have to do the others."

And so she did. The girls all shrieked, but not nearly as much as their predecessors had. When that task was done, Charmaine went over to the lever, paused briefly to collect her thoughts, then pulled it. Down they went, kicking and squirming like all the others. By the time they were done, some had kicked their panties all the way off (these had floated down to the pavement, like little white parachutes). Others kept theirs, snagged at their ankles (the black girl was one of these). Pantied or pantiless, they were all beautiful in the way only a hanged girl can be.

Charmaine repeated the process with the remaining six, the last of whom was the full-bodied blonde. When she'd deflowered this one, the girl, in the midst of her sobs, asked her: "Am . . . am I pretty?"

"No, baby, you're beautiful."

"'Cause I think I'm too fat."

"No! No! Your panties are just a little too tight; aren't you glad to have them down? Now it's
time for nighty-night." And with that, she again pulled the lever.

Later, Charmaine filed her report. With it she submitted a request: never to be assigned again to
"easy" duty.