Witch Hunter (11 page)

It was the first time he had committed this particular act, having studied it closely many times on porn websites. Although it could be taken as an act of utter depravity, with no homosexual overtones intended, he was still only prepared to do it in this relative privacy. He had selected this slave in particular, not just for his slim, smooth prick, but because he was clearly a submissive, and, once sworn to secrecy, would never dare blab about these proceedings to the others. In truth he also picked him for his handsome face and fit body, but those reasons were quickly pushed back into the darker part of his mind.

The Master waited for the slave to find a rhythm and then he joined it, pulling his hips downwards on the slave’s out-stroke and then pushing them up as the cock above his was driven back inside the girl. Thus they were fucking her in tandem, two hot pricks together forcing her as open as she had ever been. She bathed them in her come as a reward. The Master clasped the girl’s breasts again to give him extra purchase. He stretched the nipples hard, like the bacchantes did to their Priestess.

Such a thought made him lust again after Morgana. His inability to have her drove him to distraction. It made him fuck the other girls harder and come with huge, wrenching force, but it also made him want to tear his hair out. Sometimes, quite often these days, he simply wanted to kill her. He might well have done so already, had he thought it possible. But how do you kill an immortal? The sudden anger he felt for the Priestess and her teasing ways made him pinch the girl’s nipples even harder as he sank his cock as far into her as he could.

The slave reacted to this stronger thrust and matched his Master’s force and speed. The girl was saturated now and the Master released his grip on her breasts to hold her behind the knees, pulling her thighs wide apart. The movement inside her was still difficult but the feel of the other prick on his more than compensated for it. He could hear from the slave’s sighs and panting breaths that he was enjoying it enough to be close to a climax.

The rod above his slipped out without ceremony. The slave was quickly at his side, his jerking prick pointing skywards as the girl grinned at it in her euphoria. She unhurriedly took hold of it and snaked her tongue out over the tip twice, three times. It was exquisite torture and a demonstration of incredible willpower, since she was drooling so much she must have been dying to swallow him. The Master was almost furious that she should tease the slave so, but he gave her no orders, so intent was he to watch the way she teased and then engulfed the prick and gently sucked. It was a method that had the slave crying out and weakening at the knees, a style to be admired and remembered for future reference. Her hand movement on the shaft remained frustratingly slow. Could the Master possibly grasp the slave’s prick and toss him swiftly into the girl’s mouth? Was there any way this act could be seen as something other than gay desire?

As it happened the girl beat him to it, suddenly sending her fist at blurring speed up and down the iron-hard cock as she closed her eyes and sucked. The slave yelped like a girl as he unloaded into her, throwing his head back and grasping his own buttocks. It was clearly a powerful eruption but she took it all and didn’t let him back out until he was on the verge of collapse and his now softening prick had been entirely emptied. All the time she had sucked him she had still ridden the Master, jerking her hips back and forth in the hope of forcing him to spray her insides. He had to admire her wantonness. If bitches like this could be so utterly rude before all the magic had been instilled in them, before they could be properly indoctrinated by a love of the Dark Arts and the ways of Paculla Annia, then was there really a need for a Priestess to guide them at all?

The Master lifted her up off his hard prick. She would have been happy to have milked him there and then, and he might have liked the release while the thought of the slave’s cock against his was so still vivid. However, if there was one thing he had learned about being a god, it was to never come just because you wanted to. Always make it memorable. She needed a rest but would be granted little. The Master took her over to one of his Fuck Tables and laid her upon it, face down.

This particular piece of apparatus was one of his favourites. About the size of a pool table, it had different layers that could be removed from or added to the surface, depending on the desired function. It was currently stripped down to its base layer. It had a padded top in black, and restraints in each corner that he used to secure the girl. Towards the centre, where the girl’s crotch was now hovering, a little square was cut out. Half of a disc protruded some two inches from the surface. This disc was like a small solid wheel, no larger or wider than one found on a skateboard, and made from soft, slightly ridged silicone gel. Beneath the table surface a spindle ran through the centre of the wheel to turn it, and the spindle was driven by a small motor. The wheel sat in a sump housed below the table top and filled with oil, so that as it turned its surface was always replenished with lubrication. The Master chose olive oil as his lubricant, since it was what the Romans would have done, had they invented such a table.

The Master pressed a button and the wheel began to spin, quite slowly at first. The girl’s crotch was mere centimetres from it. She would feel the breeze its rotation produced upon her clit. She was still too turned on to be able to bear such extreme, relentless pleasure, but soon her muscles would tire and she would drop into contact with it. Then she would have to strain every muscle in her body to keep herself in position, to ensure she kept precise contact with the oily surface of the wheel so that it spun freely beneath her, just buffing her clit. Too much contact would be excruciating, maybe even harmful. Of course, this was only half the battle. To add to the torture he could position a fuck machine at the foot end, its long arm attached to whichever dildo he thought she deserved. She could be pummelled for as long as she could stay conscious, while the spinning silicone grindstone constantly dragged more and more orgasms from her ravaged body.

Or, instead, he could mount the table and fuck her himself, his weight of thrust driving her crotch hard into the wheel with repeated shocking intensity. This is what he chose to do, not just because he needed his own finish but because the slave was still there to witness it. He slipped into her from the back with minimal effort and she felt gloriously hot inside. He would have to hold himself above her and not press down, but this was a good thing, since it would show off the tensed muscles in his arms and thighs. His chest was in light contact with her back and his groin was pushing into the flesh of her soft bum. She squealed as the clit buffer did its work, and he could smell the taint of the slave’s seed on her breath.

It would not be a long fuck, because even his stamina had its limits. He would use his hips to slide in and out of her and his forward press would hold her crotch to the wheel. She would come every half dozen times he thrust inside her. Better still, it would dawn on the slave that this was a position a man could take another man in – not with that spinning wheel perhaps, but elsewhere, in the Master’s private chamber, for instance. The slave would jealously envisage himself in the girl’s place. He would see his Master’s measured strokes, feel the girl’s rapture at being filled by him. It was deep and gentle and incredibly intense, almost an act of love by the Master. He balked at his own need to feel compassionate in the eyes of this slave, although he could not deny the urge was strong. He hated this flaw in his character, this weakness. He even closed his eyes and silently cursed Gavin for finding Dominic in the first place.

Everything was Gavin’s fault. If not for him, the Master would never have been tempted away from the delights of female flesh. The young rugby captain claimed he could turn any straight man and that seemed to be the case. He had been working on the estate during the summer break from university, when it passed into Shady’s hands. He went personally to meet the new owner, to argue a case for being kept on. Somehow he ended up with Shady’s stiff bare prick in his hands. The villain, in a sudden burst of shame and rage, had struck him. This only fuelled their lusts and Gavin had left with a gash above his eye, his job secure, and a mouthful of his new boss.

Shady was quick to see that Gavin was a prime candidate to be the first slave of the coven. Myth dictated that men were present at Paculla Annia’s bacchanals, and he needed his own private entourage if Morgana was to oversee all the girls. It helped him get more power back from the witch. It was Gavin who volunteered, after only a little gentle persuasion, to bring in more boys. It was also his idea to write to his parents, telling them he was safe and not to come looking for him, which became the template for masking the disappearance of all the new recruits. Gavin remained the only male to have had the Master in his arse. Shady’s shame at his own latent homosexuality burned terribly and the slave bore the brunt of this fury. Worse for Shady, he knew it meant Gavin held some power over him.

The Master fought back any more such instincts. He allowed certain slaves to suck him and he justified it to himself as being part of the orgiastic fervour, of the coven’s ways. He resisted urges to do the same to his slaves, although some, Dominic especially, tested his resolve to its fullest. There was no way he could give in to his urges. He told himself it was just another of Morgana’s curses, undermining him by making him want other men. To give in to what he seemed to crave most, to have Dominic’s slim, wonderful prick up inside him, would be the ultimate emasculation. The coven would never forgive him for it, nor could he forgive himself. They wanted a warrior-god, a bitch-devouring Kurgan, not some effete prick-lover. The thought of his growing desire for his slave made him shrink inside, but it still made his cock swell.

He increased his thrust and the girl had to tense and push herself back to avoid having her clit crushed against the wheel. He gritted his teeth and thrust harder. The shuddering girl shrieked but he didn’t let up. The sound of her bum cheeks slapping against him momentarily blanked out his thoughts of men. When he had eaten his fill he would go after Gavin and make him pay for corrupting his mind. He was getting way too big for his boots because he knew too much. Well, there were ways to sort that out once and for all.

The Master felt his balls tightening as they readied to unload. The feel of the girl’s arse and
cunnus
was proving enough to take him to the edge after all. He stupidly allowed himself a glance towards Dominic and noticed that the slave’s prick had grown again. The sight of that erection and the knowledge that it had gone hard again out of desire for his own sent the Master into a climactic passion. He was barely able to pull out.

He would have liked to finish inside her for the extra intensity of orgasm, but he wanted his ejaculation to be seen. It showed him at his most powerful, blasting his heavy jets of come all over his adoring girls. Also, the internet had taught him that, just as girls loved to be filled and fucked hard, gay lads loved the sight of huge cocks.

The bitterness filled him even as his last drops showered the girl. He climbed off and tersely ordered the slave to free the girl and take her away. She had to crawl out on her hands and knees. He had a flashback of his final thoughts just before he erupted. He quickly chased them away but not before he recognised the image of himself on his knees with Dominic pumping him from the rear. He felt angry and confused, not for the first time recently. He had an urge to bring the fucking machine into play, to get a dildo the size of Dominic’s prick onto the piston arm and lie on the Fuck Table himself, to get it out of his system once and for all. However, Morgana would
know
, since she somehow seemed to know everything, and she would make sure his secret counted against him.

He had to gather his thoughts and make sense of them, make a plan of action. He had to reassert himself, because he could feel things slipping away. Primarily he had to stay as a god, because he could not exist without the constant adoration. The coven needed a god to make it real, so to maintain his position he need only ensure that the rites and beliefs of the coven were strictly adhered to. He had always thought that he needed the Priestess to make this so, but was that actually the case?

Morgana brought the magic, but then she taught it to her girls and they could teach others. Yes, she was the incarnation of the High Priestess, but now they had an actual
god
, the Beast of Depravity made flesh to worship. He could get new coven girls. He didn’t need Morgana for this. He could even get slaves, now Gavin had shown him the richest source. Gavin had to go, that was for sure. He would be sent on holiday as a reward for good service. It would be a skiing trip, to Bulgaria, one he wouldn’t come back from. He would keep the other slave lads for now, just in case.

The thought of getting rid of Morgana made him shiver. How could he live without the person he most needed and most craved? What if it was only her potions that fuelled his never-flagging desire, fired his dirty imagination, made his cock so mesmerising to all? But then, what if it was only her potions making him feel so dependent upon her, so in love with her? What if it was her making him feel as desperate to fill his slaves as he was to fill her, presumably so that she could stoke her own power and alone enjoy the pleasures of the bacchante girls?

The witch was certainly as conniving and power-hungry as she was beautiful. She had already broken their original agreement. She had promised him immortality but now held back from bestowing it, claiming the time was not right, when they both knew this was merely an excuse to retain a hold over him. She had promised to bring him girls
exactly
in her own image, but they never were. Some were close but her perfection was clearly impossible to recreate. If he couldn’t have her double then he had to have her, but this was never allowed. He knew she
made
him desire her more to keep him at her side, but then, if he could never have her, was he not doomed to ever greater frustration? And if he could not have her, then why stick with her to be constantly reminded of the one pleasure eluding him? Was the witch the pivotal element of the Order, or was she now a redundant trouble-maker who mocked him daily with her refusals?