Witch Hunter (7 page)

‘Turn around and show me your behind,’ Morgana said.

Mimi blinked mutely at her, totally taken aback. If she had had a million guesses she would not have picked those to be the first words this witch-woman would say to her. The sight of the crimson-haired beauty was disarming enough without this introduction. She seemed to have come directly from the set of some sexy horror movie entitled
Stereotypically Gorgeous Vampire Witches with Sumptuous Milky-White Cleavages who Unfailingly Make Your Heart Stop
, or something like that. Anyway, what did she mean by ‘show’? What, literally bare it for her, right here in front of the class? Mimi fleetingly thought about summoning up a joke but the woman was impatiently tapping one finger on the desk and didn’t look like she wanted to crack a smile.

Bizarrely, almost magically, Mimi found herself complying, turning to face the seated girls and bending forward from the waist until she was nearly forming a right angle. Incredibly, she even reached back and pulled up her top slightly, so the view of her bottom in tight jeans would not be impeded.

‘It is large, is it not? It sticks out,’ the woman observed, matter-of-factly.

Yes, I have got a fat backside, thank you very much. Glad you’ve brought that to the attention of the whole world, thought Mimi, her cheeks flushing as she saw the sadistic glee sweep the faces of her classmates. Miss Morgana didn’t seem at all perturbed by the embarrassment her brusque honesty was causing.

‘Are others drawn to it? Do your men like to finish upon it?’ she asked.

Finish upon it?
Did she hear that right? Was there any way that could mean anything other than what it seemed to? Now Mimi was incredulous. As her eyebrows shot up, her mouth fell open, as if the two parts of her face were linked. Potential answers stopped short in her mouth, making it sound like she was panting erratically on her last breaths. Some kind of rebuttal seemed appropriate but how can any statement begin ‘I’ve never been so insulted’ when you’re voluntarily sticking your bottom out for a woman you first clapped eyes on about a minute before? Does a dignified reply actually exist when you are bent over in front of eight giggling fresh-faced females, all of them complete strangers, whilst being asked to comment on whether your male lovers like to come all over your fat bum?

‘Well, yes, they do seem to,’ was the answer she eventually mumbled.

‘It will always be large because of the jut,’ Morgana unfeelingly continued, actually prodding the proffered bottom a couple of times. ‘The firmness of the fat gives it good shape, at least, but it will dimple the surface texture and take away any smoothness. That will never do. Your bottom has great potential but is too much of a spread to be perfect. We need weight off your hips to accentuate the roundness of the buttocks, and greater muscle tone to compensate for the loss of fat. If we can keep the curve and eliminate sag you will find a great many more admirers, men and women, desperate to ravish you from behind.’

Mimi flushed even deeper red. She knew she had audibly gasped at the word ‘ravish’. Having been plainly informed that, should she join this class, the primary objective would be to make her bottom more desirable, she now didn’t know what to do or say. However, the woman had apparently not yet finished her appraisal, and was pressing gently at the small of Mimi’s back to keep her bent over.

‘Obviously society in general would always ridicule its size,’ Morgana was now saying, ‘but the lustful spirits of this world would adore it. And who cares for society’s approval? Of course, if you wished it to stay exactly as it is I could teach you a spell to make it irresistible to all who saw it, whatever its appearance. However, it is not an easy spell to perform. You have to mix an exact recipe based on heather honey and liquorice root to spread upon the skin. You must stay in the woods, naked by day, for two whole weeks, with the mixture upon your bottom, even within the crack. And the incantation will not work unless every inch of your behind is covered by insects feeding upon the honey, and that essentially requires a colony of bees or wasps. It can get a little, shall we say,
stingy
in the sensitive areas.’

The woman was now not just prodding the bottom under inspection but running her long black-painted nails lightly over the expanse of stretched denim as she talked of feeding insects. The grazing contact sent a shiver across Mimi’s skin and she knew her face might easily betray how much she was enjoying it. Despite this public humiliation she was glad she was still being bent over, and gladder still that the woman was doing all the talking.

‘There are downsides to having an irresistible bottom,’ Mimi was informed. ‘You may find the attention constant. You will be groped and pinched wherever you go. It will drive your admirers mad with lust. Certainly your lovers will want to plunder your tighter hole. It will undoubtedly become a focus of their penetrations.’

Well, when Mimi decided to get some background for a possible article on the supposed witch and her weight-loss plan, she had no idea the class would be so instantly revealing. Despite this contrived and frankly baffling rudeness, Miss Morgana
was
undeniably bewitching. As the pressure lifted from Mimi’s back and she found herself being slowly righted, she could easily see why the girls were sitting here so attentively.

‘You may join the class for a while,’ the witch said. ‘That desk at the back is free. What is your name?’

‘It is Mimi, Miss.’

Why had she called her ‘Miss’? She wasn’t in school now! Why did she feel so inferior to this beautiful but clearly unhinged woman? Why had she felt such a sudden and undeniably pleasurable twinge between her legs when this woman had squeezed her bottom?

‘Mimi? That is a very selfish name, is it not? Go and sit down then.’

Mimi automatically did as instructed, chastised and confused, her face colouring even more vividly than before. She was keenly aware that all eyes were on her, trying to get a view of the big bottom that had been the focus of the lesson so far. She would have loved to wiggle it defiantly at them but instead she rushed to hide it on the wooden seat behind her allotted desk. A selfish name? That comment had smarted, made her chest flutter with indignation. It’s not
Me, Me
, it’s
Mimi –
as in the heroine of
La Bohème,
her parents’ favourite opera. It was disconcerting to have this rebuke from the woman who had just been touching her with such tender familiarity.

Bizarrely, it seemed suddenly very important to Mimi that this bewitching female look fondly upon her. Glancing around the room she felt a sudden pang of envy, noting that she was quite probably the oldest of the girls, and not necessarily the prettiest. Even if her underlying motives were to potentially expose the woman as a charlatan witch, Mimi still strangely wanted to be her class favourite.

She had a sudden image of herself still at the front of the class, bent forward facing the girls. But she was naked this time, with her wrists tied to her ankles. In her mind’s eye Morgana was raking the taut skin on her bottom with those long nails, pinching the flesh hard, eliciting gasps from all, giving each peachy cheek a slap in turn. Then Mimi imagined the Witch’s grin spreading and the little slaps becoming a hail of stinging smacks that exploded upon her bottom. She pictured herself shrieking with the pain but taking it all, hurt by the spite of the woman, humiliated at being treated like this in front of the others, yet so proud that she had been chosen above all.

‘Are you listening?’

Mimi jumped in her seat, realising that the witch was sternly addressing her and that the other girls were once again stifling giggles at her expense. She blushed again and mumbled her apologies.

‘You had better get on the treadmill first, if you can’t even stay focused for two minutes.’

Once again Mimi found herself shrinking at Morgana’s chiding tone. She was confused and disorientated and stood hesitantly before following the woman’s eyes to the piece of gym apparatus in the corner. The class was being held at the rugby club buildings that had been built within the estate grounds by the new beneficent owner. She was familiar with the place, having been there a few times to support Dominic when he was playing for the First Team. This building was next to the refurbished changing rooms and was designed for after-match gatherings. Next door was the well-kitted gym, although the only piece of apparatus this Fat Club had seen fit to drag through for its use was the single treadmill Mimi was now standing upon.

The witch set it in motion and Mimi, with her back to the girls, started off at no more than a gentle jog. She was still very conscious of the movement of her rear end, and that all eyes would be upon it. Having put her to her exercise, her teacher now apparently forgot her.

‘The potion I will teach you today is to enliven the
cōleī
,’ Morgana was saying. ‘When ingested it increases their output threefold and their power tenfold.’

There were gasps and more giggles from the girls. Mimi didn’t know if this
cōleī
was a muscle or perhaps some kind of fat-busting cell of the digestive system, or indeed why its mention created such mirth. She rather suspected the girls were laughing at her wobbling bottom, now that she was beginning to struggle with the pace of the treadmill. Morgana remained uninterested in her, focusing instead on the importance of first mixing the basil with the clove before burning the candle exactly half-way down and adding three drops of wax to the potion. Mimi tried to listen but she was flagging and sure the treadmill was speeding up of its own accord. The witch’s list of unknown roots and leaves, and the odd ways they had to be added, all became too much for her to digest. However, the thought of losing weight just by drinking some herbal brews certainly seemed preferable to this enforced exercise.

‘You are slowing down.’

Suddenly the witch’s voice was behind her, startlingly close. Mimi felt ridiculous that she was so jumpy and so apparently incapable of keeping up the gentlest of exercises. She started to put in more effort but decided she’d had enough humiliation for one day and announced that she wanted to stop. The splat on her backside was immediate, so unexpected and sharp it took a couple of seconds to register its sting. Mimi looked back in panic, forced to continue on the treadmill or go flying off the back into a graceless heap. The witch was holding a flat paddle made of black leather, conjured apparently from nowhere. She had smacked Mimi’s arse!

‘Stopping won’t get your hips any firmer! Do you want more?’

Mimi didn’t know what to say. The sting had been sharp but the thought that she could be publicly beaten by this woman somehow seemed to outweigh the dread of pain. She redoubled her efforts in silence, but Morgana was not placated and stayed put, ready to deal more blows of encouragement. It seemed ridiculous. First there was talk of weight-loss by drinking potions, now exercise enforced by flogging. Mimi started to pipe up but as soon as she did another slap landed and she was ordered to concentrate. This second blow was worse. Not because it was sharper, but because Mimi had squealed at the impact. Not screeched or shouted, but
squealed
, like she had enjoyed it.

Her legs were spent now and she wanted to turn and tell the witch to leave her alone, but her head was jumbled and her face was burning with the exertion and the embarrassment of her situation. She couldn’t get off with any dignity unless the machine was first stopped for her, so she just had to go on. It quickly became a cycle: trying to keep up, then flagging, then getting a cheek-wobbling smack that enlivened her again. She was being spanked, genuinely, for the first time in her life.

It was terrible and the panic was rushing through her, but her puss was getting so, so hot. She had the sudden thought that the woman had somehow read her mind, seen her fantasy of being beaten upon the bum. As Mimi sobbed and gibbered the girls openly laughed. The pace seemed to be getting faster all the time, although no one was touching the machine. Her leg muscles were burning as much as her rump, but still she went on, desperate for it to stop but unable to make this happen, perhaps not even wanting it to end.

She was on the point of collapse but the slaps were coming one after another, across both cheeks, driving her on. The pain was almost indiscernible now that her bottom was so numb, but the heat between her legs was ever more noticeable. She was so het up that she thought for one terrible moment she was actually going to climax uncontrollably from her panic and humiliation, right there in front of the class. Then suddenly the treadmill was slowing to a stop. She got off it but still held onto it for support, bent forward with exhaustion.

The tears were still on her flushed cheeks. Her mouth was open and a thin thread of viscous saliva was dangling from her lips. She was shaking. Her head wouldn’t clear and she didn’t know what to do. She didn’t need to. The witch moved in to her, so close she felt the crotch at her throbbing bottom and the breasts squashing against her back. She felt an arm come around her waist, a sneaky move on the blind side of the girls, the hand slipping down to jam between her thighs. One finger buried itself in her crotch and pressed hard, magically finding her clit as it pulsed against the constraining denim. She almost collapsed but the woman held her up.

She could feel breath in her ear. The witch was going to say something comforting to her, something loving. That’s what happened in her fantasies. Miss Morgana would whisper that it was all right to be turned on by torture and public sexual humiliation. She would say something to the watching girls that made this whole bizarre episode OK. She would absolve Mimi of any guilt, explaining the squeals as something other than the joy of being openly spanked.

But it was not to be. Instead the witch quietly hissed, ‘You want me to do that to your bare arse, don’t you, you naughty slut?’

Mimi felt one more clitty press that sent the bliss shooting through her, and then the woman had backed away and was commanding her to sit. She could offer no response at all. With one hand covering her tearful eyes and the other clutching her sore bottom, Mimi wobbled back to her desk on legs that would barely move. She couldn’t recall a more mortifying episode in all her life. Worse still, as she played it back in her head she knew it would have sounded to her audience exactly like it had felt to her: like she
loved
it. Then there were those witchy words, hissed in her ear. The truth was that Morgana had read her mind again. She
did
want it on her bare arse. At the end, when she had all but lost control and the shameful joy of it was getting too much, she had been desperate for her jeans and knickers to be pulled down. She had almost cried out for it. The urge to feel the sting on her unprotected skin had been desperate. She had wanted to hear the dull sound turn sharp. She wished the girls could have witnessed her naked juddering rump, the red patches on pure white skin.