Witch Hunter (18 page)

Apparently the book itself would not wait for her. The compulsion to read was matched by the compulsion to get out of the house. She was naked from the waist down and clearly couldn’t go out like this, so why was she heading downstairs? She told herself the book must have some kind of powerful homing device within it, a Morgana magnet. This was utter claptrap and she knew it, even though she was now in the lounge and aiming for the front door. It was simply her naughty mind, driven by the overwhelming itch in her pussy and her rudest fantasy of being naked and fucked in public whilst others watched. Just throw the book down and snap out of this shameful yearning to masturbate! Forget the beautiful witch and remember your poor friend!

She managed to pin herself down on the lounge settee, but her legs were apart and the book was still open and pressed to her crotch. She felt wide-eyed and mad, incapable of stopping the montage of breasts and bottoms, of pussies and beautiful witches, that was spinning through her mind. She was lucid enough to know that, if the Spinster came back and found her like this, she could never explain herself. She couldn’t get up, though, because the book needed to be read and it just wouldn’t wait. Holding it tightly against her bare lap, she turned the pages to see what else was in store for her as the witch’s lover.

It stated that males, specifically young men, could be used in acts of fornication, but roughness was the order of the day;
bēte his buttok
and
smīte his flesche
were phrases used. The
sinne of sodomīe
was lauded, and below were three illustrations, all crude line-drawings but with enough clear detail to put the point across. The first showed a male entering a female from the rear, the second a male entering another male, the third a line of standing naked bodies, a male entering a male entering a male entering a bent-over, smiling female. Mimi felt the current surging into her, gathering pace as each picture turned her on more.

Rationality seemed to have all but flown and she was telling herself that it wasn’t just her dirty mind at work; strange forces were surely gripping her. Many times over the years she had been hit by a fevered need to masturbate, by a flurry of vivid images that drove her so much to distraction that she had been forced to do herself wherever she was, despite the dangers. This was beyond any of those urges. She was shaking from the thought that she would not be able to resist running bare-arsed and free through the village, so that she could surrender herself to the witch and declare her love.

Was it her imagination or was the book now pulling to the side of its own accord, trying to slide off her lap and make for the door? The need to keep it in place to read was still as strong and she pushed it even tighter to her. She gasped as her swollen, burning puss lips were breached by the little V at the bottom of the spine. The feeling of being watched by unseen eyes was greater than ever. She knew it was Morgana, and maybe all of her girls, all waiting for her to come to them.

The urge to get out of the house was now so intense that Mimi once more found herself having to forcibly resist. She slid off her seat and plonked her weight down upon the carpet, so that she was now sitting with her knees bent up, squashed between the sofa and the coffee table. She was panicky, almost manic, aware she was no longer in charge of her actions. She automatically turned the page and found another drawing, which sent a sweep of goose pimples across her already freezing body. It was of a very fat-bummed girl being chased by a group of naked females, each of whom sported what was clearly a large dildo harnessed to her crotch.

Mimi felt a sudden jolting chill in her own, enough to make her gasp. She looked down and saw that her free hand had found its way beneath the book. She had unconsciously pinched the flesh hiding her throbbing clitoris, and was now pressing hard upon it, presumably in an effort to sate the itching burn there. She couldn’t pull her hand away. The shame of being turned on by this wicked book was withering. Worse was the knowledge that she might have to give in to her craving for masturbation, even though her friend’s life was quite possibly hanging in the balance. And still she couldn’t prevent herself from reading on, although she knew that each word, each picture, sank her deeper under the spell and increased her need to go back to the witch.

The next page had the underlined heading of
Sparagmos
and beneath it there was no text, only drawings to show that it referred to some kind of ritual sacrifice. Again, each new picture drew her in more, despite their grisly nature, which should surely repulse her. There was a decapitated sheep, still standing, with its wound spurting drops of blood that travelled in an arc to fall upon a prostrate naked female. There was a male on all fours being pierced from the rear by one male whilst at the other end an even bigger erection filled his mouth. He had, however, been cloven in two at his middle. Above the gap in his torso was a sword held by a floating hand to demonstrate how the death blow had been dealt. Mimi was now salivating.

Overleaf was a full-page drawing of a female held down on some kind of rack, her wrists and ankles secured by thick ropes so that she was splayed out in a star shape. The ropes securing her limbs were each secured to some kind of beast, bulls perhaps. These were running away from her, and the drawing showed that her limbs had in fact been ripped free of her body and were spurting gore. An oversized phallus complete with large balls had been drawn near her crotch, the head and part of the shaft buried inside her. At the sight of the prick in the tortured female’s body, Mimi suddenly felt her two fingers release their press on her clit and slide up into her puss. The shock was massive. Her insides were roaring hot and the fingers freezing. The contrast was huge and seemed to wake every nerve ending at once, sending the pleasure shooting through her body.

‘You dirty
cunt-whore
!’ she cried out involuntarily.

She couldn’t believe she had said it. She almost thought it must have come from one of her unseen observers, although it was clearly her voice. She didn’t know who the insult was aimed at, so it had to be herself. She was almost sobbing with the shame of her words and at the overwhelming need to frig, but she couldn’t pull her fingers clear. Instead she jammed them back up inside her, spattering the heat of her juice onto her freezing thighs. It was as wretchedly wanton as she had ever felt. She had a sudden mental picture of her schoolfriend who once claimed to have masturbated with an ice pop. She even had a flash of the two of them plugging each other with frozen lollies, and now she really did feel utterly possessed.

The fingers continued thrusting in and out of her but the cold did not dissipate at all. Still it burned her insides and sent the shockwaves of joy radiating through her body. She needed to be filled, though. Suddenly, fingers were not enough. If she could just make it upstairs then she could sink her dildo inside. Maybe that would be enough to calm her down. She shuffled sideways, the wrong way as it happened because she was now facing the front door, not the stairs. The urge to rush out was still massively strong, and the panic rose again at the realisation that she might not be able to stop herself shuffling on her behind out of the door and all the way down the garden path, so that she would be sitting bare-arsed, still playing with herself, in the road.

She dug her heels in. If she could just make herself come she might yet shake the demon from her body. She couldn’t get up and run for her dildo because she knew she wouldn’t get past the front door. The book was still in her lap, masking her fevered masturbation and begging to be read, to show her things to fire her dirty thoughts. Again her hands seemed to be working beyond her control, one plugging zealously at her puss, the other keeping the pages turning. She skimmed through the text at speed, catching mere words here or there, although the butterfly excitement was constantly building, as if her
soul
was processing and understanding whole passages, and exalting in them all.

Another drawing interrupted the text, beautifully clear this time. It was a detailed close-up of a fat-lipped vulva, with an engorged clitoris poking out. To one side a not-to-scale dagger was pointing at it, one drop of blood at its tip. At the other side, also not to scale, was a side view of a female head, the mouth open in a smile and her very long tongue curling out, trying to catch the falling drip. Mimi’s eyes picked out a single phrase from the text,
lōn droppe of blod fro Þe kēkir.
She knew immediately what it meant:
a single drop of blood from the clitoris
.

‘Yes! Drink from me!’

Unbelievably, it was her voice again, louder even than before, enough to be heard outside. Even the porn stars she so jealously watched were never this loud and lurid. She whimpered in her shame, but the licentious spirit was growing inside and taking her over, telling her to let go and abandon all decency. She was going mad with the desire to come. Oddly she wasn’t yet scared, despite her lack of control over her own body. There was underlying comfort in it all, as if rudeness was something to luxuriate in, and to hell with what others thought of her. Morgana promised a haven for such alluring immorality.

It was a trick, she knew it. The witch was planting these thoughts to reel her in. Drop the book, it was the only way. But she wouldn’t, she had to keep it open, pressed down upon the fingers working so furiously inside her. She had to make one last stab at breaking the spell. Summoning all her willpower she managed to drag her fingers from her puss, but as soon as they left her empty her body hated her for it and rebelled. Her heels had been dug in to stop her moving but her legs shot out in front of her, as if to make a break for freedom. She dug in again, but this time her bottom immediately rose up and came forward, moving her body towards her heels, and towards the front door. It was bizarre and unreal and her head was swimming. She was sitting hunched up, humping at the hard cover of the book now that her fingers were not giving her pleasure, delighting in the rude sensation of the long pile of the Spinster’s rug tickling her bare anus. God, how she longed for that magic snake tongue right up her backside!

Her presumably possessed legs stretched out in front of her again and before she could stop herself her bottom lunged forward to meet her heels, taking her closer to the exit. When her legs came out again she made an effort to arrest her body’s forward movement, grabbing at the coffee table to try and grip the edge. She only succeeded in upsetting the fruit bowl on top, spilling its contents onto the surface. As her bum began to move forward she made another desperate grab, but her naughty hand had other ideas and grasped something else instead. As her body was propelled away from the table she looked down and saw that she was clutching a banana.

She could not check her progress. Her free hand offered no resistance and the friction of the carpet rubbing her wet holes was too glorious to fight. It was all she could do to bite her lip to stop from screaming out what a filth-loving horny fat-arsed bitch she was. She could not imagine ever feeling as lost and as lusty as this. She was going at a pace towards the door now, shuffling across the floor while trying to bury the spine of the book into her quim, half gibbering with her need to make herself come while shouting obscenities. There seemed to be no way of overriding the irrational need to get out and show off her wantonness to the world, but one final effort saw her stretch her legs out and slam against the door to brace herself. Still, she was not sure whether she was doing this to stop her possessed body taking her outside, or because it was just a sensible safety measure to stop the Spinster coming in while she was there frigging upon the floor. What was indisputable was that she was lying helpless on her back, her legs against the door but apart, and the urge to put the banana inside her was becoming unstoppable.

Most of her wanted to thrust the fruit in as it was but she fought this, quickly bit the hard stem and broke the seal to allow the skin to be peeled away. She had the sour juice of the stem in her mouth, thickening her saliva. In another action that immediately had her squirming with shame, she leant forward and ejected the bitter spit to land on her bare belly, and then quickly wiped it off with her fingers to smear on her quim.

Somehow during her last resistance she had finally managed to throw the book aside. In this brief moment of lucidity she realised it might have been only that that saved her from going outside. However, the naughty spirit was still inside her and hadn’t been shaken free. All rational thoughts were sent packing by the feel of the fruit pushing between her labia. Now she was a slave to desire again. She moaned as she pressed on and forced the banana inside her molten puss. She was far too wet to stop its progress. On it went, the skin peeled back to allow more inside.

Her other arm stretched out at her side, the wicked hand by its own devices seeking the book and grasping it again. She was defeated now for sure. The book came open once more and she could feel the burst of energy coming from it and surging into her belly. The bliss from the fruit inside her was clouding her vision but the book would not let her close her eyes. It had opened on the last page of the chapter she had been told to read. She could just make out the heading of
Prēsteress Paculla Annia.
Below this was another fine outline drawing in black, this time of a beautiful woman sitting naked with her legs wide apart to show off a neat, delightful quim. Her hair was long, falling all the way to the floor and spreading out there. The face was pretty, with all features in proportion, and perhaps it could have been Morgana, although there was no striking similarity. Certainly the breasts were not the same. Morgana’s were big, but these were at least twice the size, although no less firm and uplifted. Mimi couldn’t know, but this wasn’t Morgana. It was Paculla Annia as she looked when she first came to these shores, back in 1348, as the Black Death was also arriving.

Mimi gawped at the huge breasts and imagined the squirts of milk coming from them. She rammed the banana deep and plugged her pussy furiously, dropping the book with ease this time so that she could frig her pulsing clit with her other hand. Her head was full of images. She could see herself lying naked on a black platform in a large artificially lit room. Morgana was there, with breasts as large as the woman’s in the drawing. The witch was rubbing her bare quim all over Mimi’s body. Then Mimi was slurping at the pussy. She was dimly aware of her own voice, sounding husky and guttural, loosing a stream of dirty talk, the words surely too filthy to be coming from her mouth, although they clearly were.