Witch Hunter (19 page)

The girls from the class were there in her head now, all dressed like medieval milkmaids, their frilly tops pulled down to reveal their chests, their long dresses pulled up so that they could slap their fingers in and out of themselves. She was sucking at the witch’s huge breasts and her mouth was being flooded. She had breasts squashed to her own, to her back and bottom and thighs. Hard nipples pushed at her puss. Tongues were all over her and up her. The Priestess was spanking her hard, the open hand sending fire through her bottom. The trainee girls were slavering all over her body, pinching and tugging at her erect nipples.

Then there were pricks all over her too, being smacked against her face and breasts and bum. She had them jostling to get inside her from the rear, three or four unfeasibly together trying to breach her. Morgana then replaced the pricks with a huge tapering dildo made out of horn, like a two-foot elephant tusk. Mimi could feel the horn going inside her, the point as wide as the tip of the banana had been, but widening rapidly as it sank deeper. Pricks and breasts were being alternately forced into her mouth to suck and all the while the tusk was slowly driven in, impossibly deep, spreading her open wider and wider as the witch’s hips closed up to meet Mimi’s bum.

She could feel the stretch at her lips and the spearing point right at the centre of her body. She was picturing herself from the side, with Morgana pressed to her from the rear.

The males were all faceless except for Dominic and his load was the biggest of them all, ten times harder than he had ever managed in real life, blasting her as the witch drew her dildo fully out and then drove it in one hard thrust all the way back into Mimi’s body. She could feel her heart being pierced, and that’s what took her over the edge.

The spasms hit her and were enormous. She shrieked and bucked, slamming the soles of her feet against the door as the orgasm ripped through her and threatened to blow her apart. Her hands mercilessly kept on going at her crotch until the banana broke inside her and the heat of her insides turned it to mush. Her body felt as if it had been caught in a high-speed collision, but the overriding feeling was of unparalleled satisfaction, almost like she had been purged. She could hear someone sneering that she was a dirty bitch and always would be – the dirtiest of them all. She managed to put her hand up to her mouth to pinch her lips and stop the words, but they still rang in her ears.

Just as the orgasm began to wane she remembered she had felt something long and solid writhing from her, like a serpent being dragged from her belly and out of her quim. She knew that the malicious spirit had slithered from her, but its wicked seed had been left inside. She had been tricked and possessed but she didn’t care. All she wanted to do was celebrate rudeness.

She lay there for some time. Her breath was fitful and her body twitched and jerked as the climax slowly ebbed away. The clouds in her brain started to clear and although she was fatigued she began to see more clearly. Her body was immediately warm again. There was no trace of the chill she was sure she had felt. Her limbs moved freely. The sense of them not being under her control had disappeared. She felt as if she was coming out of a vivid dream, where what seems like reality is slowly blown away as you blink and find your bearings and grasp the true situation. She couldn’t even remember the feeling of the mania that had gripped her, the desire to bare her fanny to the world on her way to giving herself to the witch.

Recall of the incident was skittering away, so that every second it seemed less and less believable that it had happened at all, except for the fact that she was lying bare-bummed, and there was a discarded banana skin lying next to Morgana’s Book of Magick. The book, mercifully, was closed. She couldn’t remember the words she had read in it but she knew they resonated inside her and she would have to fight like hell to keep at bay the instinct to run to the witch. Her head was clear now and strength was returning. She cursed herself for falling into this trap. Time was pressing and the longer she sat around in the presence of
that
book, the more chance there was of falling under its spell again.

She hurried upstairs to dress. It was late afternoon but the light would hold for a few more hours yet. She had no camouflage so she opted for black: a tight stretch top, leggings, and trainers, all brought in the optimistic belief that she would once in a while go to the gym. She packed a little satchel with a torch and an aerial photo of the estate courtesy of Google Earth, plus a bottle of water and a bar of chocolate for sustenance. She didn’t dare touch the book again with her bare hands, but bizarrely donned a pair of oven mitts to stow it within her bag. She planned to dispose of it en route, regardless of the fury this might cause. At the last moment she realised that taking the car was no good, since she would be unable to conceal it. Instead she got her bike from the shed and, after a pause for a few deep breaths, set off on her brave mission to save the day. The trouble was she had no idea of the wickedness lying in wait for her.

Mimi held her breath and tried to stop her heart banging loudly enough to be heard in the corridor. There were more voices out there, female ones this time, a clamour coming her way. She could feel their growing energy, like mounting pressure that threatened to burst her door open and expose her. They were right outside now. The strip of light at the bottom of the door was blocked by their passing. Her nerves shook as the door was brushed by shoulders and elbows. It was like feral kids on a school trip, all talking excitedly over each other – except that this excitement was far more adult and sinister, and far, far wilder. She gripped the dildo tighter in her hand and pictured the girls with their own in place, sniffing the air for her scent, coming for her; these
bacchantes
, these female savages.

The stiffness in her legs was starting to hurt. She adjusted her position as silently as she could within the dark confines of the mop cupboard, asking herself, not for the first time, how the hell she had got herself into this mess. It had to be the book. Why else, if one discounted her habitual journalist’s urge to snoop, would she have acted with such reckless disregard for good sense and self-preservation? Getting rid of the book should have been the easy bit. Just toss it into the bushes on the way to the estate. But she could not bring herself to do it, maybe through fear of holding it again and being instantly put under its spell.

She had kept well away from the witch’s cottage, fearing the magnetic pull of the book, which might see her impelled slap-bang into Morgana’s front door. This compromised her search for Dominic, restricting it to the land on the west side of the Big House, which turned up nothing of interest. Having spent over an hour sneaking around empty barns and smelly outbuildings, she gave up and found herself gravitating towards the Big House itself. She knew it would be empty and it had certainly appeared to be, the gates chained shut and the house showing no signs of life.

She had decided to give up and rethink her strategy when events unfolded in a flurry of activity. She had performed a high-speed, ungainly dismount of her bike into some bushes, having had to veer off the road at the sound of an approaching car engine. To her dismay she had belatedly recognised the driver as the estate manager, perhaps her only ally at this particular moment. He could have helped her in her search. He could have rung his boss and the good Mr Pieter Bakkers would have instantly dropped everything, flown the trifling few thousand miles to get there and arrived just in time to once more save the day.

Having extracted herself from the hedge she had heard voices nearby. She crept through trees and saw two lads carrying boxes from a van to a small, windowless stone hut. She thought she recognised the two males from pictures she had often studied, published after they were reported missing. If these two were here, then Dominic must surely also be close by. When they left she had gone to inspect the unloaded contraband but found the hut empty, a trick even Morgana would have been proud of. They had to have gone under the floor, in this case beneath the rectangle of grubby carpet that had been laid there. However, the carpet was stuck down and only by accident did she stand on the little button that released the trapdoor and allowed her to lift it and peer down into the gloom.

She had seen a small flight of steps and the start of a darkened passage, heading east, back in the direction of the Big House. This had been the critical part. Don’t go down, her head had told her. Remember all those scary films where you yell the same advice at the screen, where you pull your hair out with exasperation when they go against all good sense. But then the book must have been exerting its wicked influence because down she was going, closing the trapdoor above her to cover her tracks. The initial passageway had been dingy and dank. She had used torchlight to find her way the forty or fifty yards to the metal door at the end. Beyond that, though, things could not have been more different.

She found herself in what could be mistaken for a swanky subterranean London nightclub, or maybe
fetish club
would be more accurate. The corridors were all lit and the walls smartly painted. There was a modern kitchen that wouldn’t have been out of place in a posh restaurant, plus a cloakroom that would have served a horde of club-goers, all swanky chrome and black marble. There were a couple of doors covered in buttoned black leather. Both were locked, which saved her racing heart the test of having to keep going through the suspense of finding out what lay on the other side. The place was deathly quiet but she sensed danger behind every door, round every blind turn.

The final corner presented her with double swing doors in metal. When she finally plucked up the courage to peek inside she discovered a room to make her gasp. Her eyes swept around, although the full information would not be fully processed until after, when she had fled to the mop cupboard. There was a central dancefloor, with a glitter ball and swivel lights above. Around it were various tables and couches, all apparently covered in black padding and cushions. There was a long wooden banqueting table with what seemed like a couple of thrones behind. There was a bar area, backlit so she could see all the optics in place. There was a row of high stools in plastic and chrome, their backs to the bar, each one with a veined rubber prick suckered to the seat.

These were not the only dildos around. They abounded, lying on ledges, on tables, on wall racks. Most had straps to secure them to the waist. The one she had been unconsciously grasping when she fled she later found to have a little ridged rubber pad on the inside, positioned to titillate the wearer whilst it was put to use. There were other things too, various machines, but these didn’t get much scrutiny because her attention was mostly taken by a large cage towards the back, which just happened to contain a blindfolded and naked female. The captive hung there stationary, her arms secured above her by cuffs to a dangling iron chain. Her head was slumped forward and for a few spine-chilling moments Mimi had feared the worst.

The captive had then sensed some movement and lifted her head, tilting it towards the sound. The floor of the cage was dotted with thick candles in purple, black or red, all alight. The girl tried to manoeuvre herself around on her tiptoes to face the direction where noise might come from, careful not to upset any of the candles and burn herself. Mimi could see that a pentagram had been daubed upon her belly in red, she hoped not in blood. Across her breasts were red letters, which needed closer scrutiny but proved to spell out
sparagmos
, the rite of sacrifice that the book had told Mimi of. The girl was clearly wary and perhaps she had some knowledge of what was coming to her. Mimi wanted to help her, but had no idea what to do with her if she did. It had proved immaterial because there was a sound of a door closing somewhere and she rushed back to the swing doors to listen.

The sound of chattering male voices had driven Mimi back down the corridor, where she suddenly realised she had nowhere to go. The noise was coming her way and in a blind panic she secreted herself inside the tiny mop cupboard and held her breath as the males outside passed by. She tried to make an escape behind them but there were more voices, from the kitchen this time, and so she hid back in the cupboard and prayed that no one needed to mop the floor that night. In the last hour the voices had passed back and forth repeatedly and she realised she was well and truly stuck where she was. Even when the music came on and started to
thud, thud, thud
and rattle the door, she still knew that there was no way to run and evade capture.

Resigned to her fate she dropped her leggings and panties and squatted to make use of the bucket. As ridiculous as it was given her situation, she had already considered using the dildo on herself, to help ease the tension. It was that damn book at work again, blinding her to anything but the chance of pleasure. The noise of the approaching girls soon snapped her mind back into focus. Soon after she had thought she could
sense
Morgana passing by, maybe even thought she heard the sound of the witch’s nails scratching across the door above the constant throbbing bass of the dance music.

She could only speculate at what was going on in the main room. Time and time again she had to prevent herself from going out to sneak a peek. The footsteps continued to pass back and forth at regular intervals, throwing shadows across the strip of light at the bottom of the door. She had grown almost impervious to it when stupidly she shifted her weight just as someone was walking by and the bucket scraped across the floor. In the cupboard it seemed loud, but surely outside it would be inaudible. However, the shadow stopped and a section of her light was blocked. Someone was outside. Seconds ticked by as she held her breath but the door stayed shut. The shadow started to move and she exhaled her relief. It was still gushing from her lungs when the door snapped open and she was blinking with the light and trying to focus on the figure facing her.