Witch Hunter (13 page)

She took the stolen thong from the cupboard beside her. She would have liked to say she had used spells to spirit this scrap of underwear from the girl’s room, but actually it was the fruit of good old-fashioned burglary. That morning she had waited until the Spinster had gone out. She had instantly found the spare key in the potting shed, hidden inside a ball of twine. Mimi’s room had been small but neat. Everything had been tidied away from the prying eyes of her nosy landlady. Morgana noted the borrowed library books on witchcraft lying on top of the laptop. So it
was
snooping and not a genuine desire to lose weight that had brought the journalist girl to her class. She had searched the larger chest first and found the photo album buried in the bottom drawer. She had removed one candid snap of Mimi smiling back over her shoulder at the camera. In it her bottom looked big and inviting.

Morgana had then searched the wardrobe and located the jeans the girl had worn to her class the night before, identifiable by the stitched and bejewelled butterfly design on the rear pockets. She sniffed at the crotch but even with her heightened senses she couldn’t discern much beyond the smell of denim. The base of the wardrobe was stacked with shoeboxes. Inside were pairs of high heels in all manner of colours and varieties. Where this girl got to wear them around this village was a mystery. Other flat shoes were there but out of boxes, except for one very ordinary-looking pair that sat on a layer of scrunched-up paper. The Spinster might have been fooled by this but Morgana was not. She slipped her hand under the paper and smiled as her fingers closed around a familiar shape. Further investigation revealed not only a rabbit vibrator but a little bullet vibe in chrome too, along with a small bottle of lubricating gel.

As well as the sex toys, the shoebox also hid a well-thumbed paperback. The cover showed a beauty’s face in close up, pulling an expression of joyful surprise. Behind her was a shadowy male form, as if this stranger had found her prone and was forcefully doing her from behind. The book was a collection of short stories entitled
He Made Me Do It!
. Morgana had held the book up and flicked through the pages to see where it naturally opened. Again she allowed herself a little smile as the book popped apart on pages describing a woman’s ravishment at the hands of a gang of thieves. The no-holds-barred passage was within a story entitled
Dragged to the Woods
. Naughty,
dirty
Mimi!

The smaller chest revealed a plethora of lingerie. The drawers were full of tights and stockings, and tiny undies in all colours, presumably to match the shoes of the day. It seemed that journalism was a job for flirts who expected to be stripped to their smalls at any moment. The laundry basket yielded more underwear. She had pressed a few pairs to her nose and some gave off Mimi’s scent. She needed blood ideally, but none carried any sign. Perhaps, as the two of them seemed so in tune in some ways, Mimi already had the same cycle as Morgana, like all but the very newest of her coven girls. However, Morgana couldn’t wait another week before returning.

The thong she had selected was lilac in colour. It had been on top of the pile so it was reasonable to assume it had been the one worn to the class the night before.

Morgana had laid them on the bed alongside the jeans and then stripped naked. She had taken the trouser hanger from the jeans. She had raised it to her chest to check the distance, and slid the two plastic gripper-clips inwards slightly to get it perfect. Then she had pinched each gripper-clip open in turn and closed them over her stiff nipples. The clips bit tightly and she had yelped, but it was a good kind of hurt. She took the metal hook of the hanger and put it into her mouth. Lifting her head meant pulling the hanger upwards, which meant tugging harder upon her swollen, trapped teats.

She had splayed the lips of her quim apart and grasped the pillow Mimi slept upon. She had straddled it and sunk down to press her sex to the portion of material where the girl’s head would rest. She wanted her own sweet scent to be there, to be breathed in as Mimi slept. It would make her irresistible to the girl. As she humped the pillow to spread her scent, she had repeatedly jerked her head back to stretch her tortured nipples. A few little squirts of her milk had been wrenched from them, caught by the plastic of the clips before dripping onto the pillow. If she had been discovered at that very moment, she would almost certainly have been carted off to the funny farm most already claimed she should be in.

Those same lilac knickers were now being carefully pushed up inside her. Her clit was throbbing from the contact with the ginger and she was ready to invoke the spell. She was on her back, with her knees raised above her breasts. The thong was now fully inside her and her puss lips had closed up to conceal it. She began her incantation. It was one to draw the subject in and make her fall in love. It started slowly, with Morgana trying to hold back and say each word clearly, but the thought of the girl naked and the itch in her clit made her fingers hurry. Soon she was gabbling her words over and over and her fingers were a blur at her crotch. She came with a shriek. She was sure the girl could not now escape the pull.

She smiled with satisfaction and was still congratulating herself when a knock came at the door. It shouldn’t have been any of her girls. The bacchantes were at exercise class and the trainees were forbidden to come to that part of the estate. It would be one of the Lord’s slave boys, delivering some petty instruction. Perhaps she would make the slave suffer a bit; shoot the messenger, so to speak. If it was that new boy Dominic, the one the Master seemed to have taken a particular shine to, perhaps she would order him over the kitchen table and fill him with a huge dildo, just to get there before
he
did. It would be nice to steal his thunder. It would be nice to ruin his boys the way he seemed hell-bent on ruining her girls.

She pulled her long dress back down and bounced off the bed, keeping the thong inside so it could soak up her juices. The spell wouldn’t work otherwise. She made a few hasty adjustments in front of the mirror and decided she would definitely give whichever annoying slave he had sent a taste of plastic up his sorry arse. She was annoyed with
him
. He was being a prick about Mimi, out of spite. He had ordained that she be allowed into class, but only to be prepared physically. She was not to be given any secrets of the Order. He gave Morgana a month to get her into shape, after which time he would reconsider letting her in. It was lies, she knew. The fact that he wanted her in shape as quickly as possible meant he wanted to use her for his ends. If he had any intention of allowing her into the Order he would have done it from the outset. So his designs upon her body were clearly for more nefarious reasons.

He clearly had reservations about the girl’s background and her motives for wanting to join Morgana’s bogus slimming club. Almost certainly he had plans to make her pay for this snooping. Morgana herself had no qualms about bringing someone as potentially problematic as a journalist into their midst. All she knew was that she needed this girl close to her, very soon, sharing all her secrets, sharing her love. Whatever
he
said, the girl had to be brought close because Morgana’s life depended on it. And the girl’s life probably depended on it too.

The knock at the door came again, louder this time, impatient even. The cheek of it! She would fuck this bastard slave all over the estate. She adjusted the deep V at the front of her hastily donned dress to ensure her breasts didn’t spill free as she opened the door.

‘What the hell do you want?’ she was saying fiercely, before she had even seen who was there.

Mimi blinked at her, looking a little taken aback.

‘I was hoping for a chat,’ she said nervously.

Morgana’s face lightened with a wide smile, and her pussy clenched on the sodden stolen panties still inside her.

‘My, my,’ she said, ‘that
was
quick!’

Mimi sat as instructed and surveyed the room. It seemed a little early for wine but the witch had brooked no refusal and was out in the kitchen pouring them each a glass. Perhaps a little alcohol would help calm her nerves. She felt confused and groggy. Her efforts the previous evening to gather information had melted away. She had excused herself from the Spinster’s company while the old woman was still nattering, and once in the safety of her room she had stripped and leaped into bed. Her fingers were inside her before she’d even hit the mattress.

She had endured a night of fitful sleep and vivid dreams of Morgana, broken by spells of sleepy, almost forced masturbation. In the morning she had tried to recall all the things the Spinster had said, tried to tally it with the information she had gleaned from her books and the internet. It was important stuff, she knew it was, but the thoughts kept morphing into images of Morgana with her dress pulled up. She hadn’t felt this lost in somebody since her earliest crushes. She would have liked to believe the witch had slipped her some kind of love drug. However, she knew the infatuation was simply sheer lust for a gorgeous, authoritative woman, one who fed her pupils from her breasts and spanked miscreants, and kept sex slaves for her girls’ enjoyment.

Yes, sex slaves and Haydn Shady: this was really a serious matter, so why couldn’t Mimi focus on the bigger picture? Morgana was seemingly harbouring a villain of the highest order and that made her just as dangerous. Trifling with her was clearly not something to consider. An approach of any kind was foolhardy. Mimi needed to concentrate on her leads and build a story to expose possibly the worst criminal activity this area had ever seen. Caution was paramount, but the longer the day went on the more difficult it was to keep the witch from her mind. She decided, against all logic, that she would go to her after all. She would ask some tough questions, the ones she had said over and over in her head to get them right.

Now she was sitting here those questions seemed to be locked behind some frosted glass in her mind. She had quite forgotten why she had felt impelled to abandon caution and rush to this woman’s house at a speed that saw her bouncing off kerbs. She felt a little dizzy. The butterflies were alive in her stomach, like she was awaiting her first kiss. She should have run but she was already in the web.

The witch looked every bit as appealing as the night before. She wore a full-length red velvet sleeved dress cut down the front almost to her belly button. Plenty of cleavage was on view, the breasts huddled together and held in place only by the tightness of the dress. One sideways tug and they would have fallen out bare. It took all Mimi’s willpower to keep her hands in her lap and not slide them inside the dress to cup the warm soft flesh. Heaven alone knew where Morgana got such an item of clothing from, unless Top Sorceress had just opened their first branch in town. It was a totally inappropriate garment for lounging around at home in the early afternoon. However, Mimi wasn’t doing much better, clad as she was in her normal workwear combination of skirt and blouse, but with fishnet stockings beneath. She hadn’t planned to be here but now that she was her attire felt very unbusinesslike and wholly provocative. She had to calm down and see if she could gather her wits, or she would be there for the taking.

The front room didn’t automatically shout ‘witch’. Mimi had hoped that by turning up unexpectedly there would be evidence of Morgana’s dark practices all around. But there were no lambs lying sacrificed on stone altars, no scary stuffed cats in jars or broomsticks propped in the corner. The chocolate-brown leather suite was disconcertingly modern, as were the rugs that lay on the flagstoned floor. At least the fire was open and sooty as if in constant use, and there was a big black pot sitting in the grate, perhaps all the better for boiling witchy potions in? There were no pentagrams daubed in blood anywhere. The walls, apart from the exposed stone around the fire, were all plain magnolia and looked recently painted.

The decor was certainly eclectic. One window seat was decked out with wax-covered wine bottles and pewter holders housing well-used candles. Other furniture was sparse, just a couple of antique-looking side tables. There was no TV, just a row of old books on a ledge to provide entertainment. One wall had stag antlers hanging upon it, while another had a huge, ornately framed portrait of a pretty young woman in period costume. Mimi was struck by the uncanny similarity between herself and the subject of the portrait – or was she just imagining it? It didn’t seem like the type of picture a woman of Morgana’s age would choose, but then again how old
was
she? Mimi realised the witch could be anywhere between twenty and fifty. The bearing of absolute authority suggested maturity, yet the flawless soft skin and firm body could scarcely belong to anyone much out of their teens.

The woman came back from the kitchen and handed Mimi her glass. She then sat down, not on the single chair, but right next to Mimi on the two-seater, so close their legs were almost touching. The room was small, certainly not large enough to have the girls from the class staying there. In fact, if she was concealing anyone there at all, she was doing a good job. There was no sign of a man’s touch or belongings. No sign that a villain was hiding out there. Ah, yes, Haydn Shady, the man she must keep in mind because he was the key to this all. Already he was fading. Mimi was instead thinking of the woman’s sweet smell, citric and slightly spicy, warm but not overpowering. It didn’t seem like a sprayed-on perfume, more a natural aroma, as if she had mixed so many potions and burned so many candles that her whole body now exuded the vapours. It was just one more thing to make Mimi’s guard slip.

‘I see you are here on business,’ Morgana said, indicating Mimi’s clothes.

It was too bad that Mimi couldn’t now remember what that business was. She felt intoxicated but she hadn’t yet touched her drink. The woman’s eyes seemed more intensely green than they had the night before and Mimi found it very difficult not to be transfixed by them. Perhaps it was the heavy black eyeliner and mascara making them stand out. The flawless white skin of her face was natural, not aided by makeup at all. The wide lips were set in a smile but painted blood-red. Mimi needed to get a grip fast or she would be sunk. She raised her glass but somehow mistimed her sip and ended up having to take a big gulp to avoid spilling some down her front.