by Noa Xireau
Rachel let out a long breath when she noticed that they were leaving the cadaveric coachman behind with the carriage while they walked deeper into the forest. Rachel faltered. What had Sera done with the dildo? Had she left the toy in the carriage? Rachel didn’t want the man finding the toy with her smell. Too late! She couldn’t go back.
They reached a clearing where a group of women covered in black capes like Sera’s were preparing a huge bonfire. With her red cape, Rachel was going to stand out like a worm in a pond full of fish. A knot formed in her stomach as she noticed the strange signs carved into the burning logs and traced around the fire. Witches! The clearing was full of witches!
A bunch of witches gathered at a godforsaken place deep inside the forest with an enormous bonfire couldn’t be something good. Things looked worse when Irina—the blonde witch who had been at Sera’s tower two days ago—came to welcome them. Irina gifted Rachel with a mocking glance.
“Here you are!” She greeted Sera with a false kiss on the cheek. “I thought you’d back down at the last moment.”
“Why would I do that?” Sera shrugged.
“Who knows?” Irina made a dismissive gesture with her hand. “You could have changed your mind about offering your pet as a sacrifice.”
What? Rachel would have escaped if her feet had moved, but no, they stayed frozen in place. She heard Irina introducing Sera to another witch as the generous sorceress who would contribute with her pet for the sacrifice. They want to use me as a sacrifice! A sacrifice to whom? How? Oh, Goddess, they aren’t going to throw me into the fire, are they?
Rachel stared at the bonfire. There wasn’t a stake in the center where someone could be tied. However, there were enough logs to burn a human until only the ashes were left. Rachel’s feet finally recovered their ability to move. She took slow steps backward, trying not to raise the other women’s attention. She had to get the hell out of here! Now! Irina’s gaze crossed with Rachel’s. The delicate blonde eyebrows arched.
Before Rachel could turn and run away, her body froze, this time for real. An ice-cold sensation wriggled along her limbs, tensing Rachel’s muscles and making them so hard that they seemed to have turned to stone. She was unable to move. Her feet appeared to have grown roots that held her glued to the ground, and her arms and torso felt as if they were restrained by a rigid armor. Oh, Goddess! Please, please, help me! I don’t want to die burnt alive!
Only Rachel’s lungs, heart, and eyes kept working normally. Rachel knew because she was having trouble taking enough air into her lungs, and what little air she was getting seemed to be burning her nose and throat, turning her breathing into a painful torment. Her heart pounded fast and hard, as if it wanted to break through her chest to escape the horrible death.
Sera, Irina, and the other witch appeared in Rachel’s limited vision.
“And where do you think you’re going?” Irina asked with her hands on her hips.
Rachel swallowed. “I don’t want to die. Please! Please!” Her stammering was drowned by her sobs. “Being burned alive is such a horrible death!”
The women exchanged bewildered glances. More witches appeared in Rachel’s vision, some frowning, others studying her, full of curiosity.
“Let’s see if I get this straight,” Irina said, staring at Rachel incredulously. “You think that we’re going to kill you by burning you alive?”
Suddenly to Rachel’s astonishment, the whole clearing burst into laughter. Everybody seemed to be laughing except Sera, whose arms were crossed over her chest and her face seemed sculpted in stone.
“Isn’t she cute?” Irina asked between guffaws. “My dear, innocent pet, we want you to burn alive, although not in fire, and of course not to death.”
Her cold hands turned Rachel around to three makeshift altars. Two of the altars were surrounded by offerings of fruits, honey, and jugs of wine. The one in the middle was empty. Rachel hadn’t seen the altars before, as she hadn’t seen the throne placed just behind.
“Today we’re going to celebrate spring, fertility, and life, and you’re our offer of pleasure to our special guest.”
“What guest?” Rachel asked, still worried but much calmer now that she knew they didn’t want to throw her into the bonfire.
“Don’t worry about him now. Pan always arrives late, and none of our sacrifices has ever had complaints about him.” Irina chuckled.
“Here, take this. It will help you,” another witch said, offering Rachel a goblet.
“What is it?” Rachel couldn’t get rid of the feeling that she was being manipulated.
“Stop asking stupid questions!” Irina’s voice gave away her irritation. “You’re a pet, and as such you’re expected to obey.”
“Do you want to use your safe word?”
Sera’s cold tone startled Rachel. The meaning behind Sera’s words was clear: either Rachel began acting like the pet she was supposed to be, or she could go home to her father and tell him she had failed.
Closing her eyes, Rachel drank from the goblet Irina was holding against her lips. The beverage was rich and sweet and too dense to be just wine. Rachel tried not to think about what she was drinking and centered her attention instead on the hot trail the liquid was leaving in her throat and how the warmth expanded from her stomach to the rest of her body. Her rigid muscles began to relax, and Rachel’s limbs recovered their mobility slowly, accompanied by a strange lightness that made her feel as if she were floating.
When Rachel opened her eyes again, the women around her were smiling—all except Sera. Rachel hadn’t noticed until now how beautiful those witches were. A light glow seemed to surround them like a misty aura.
“Time to begin our celebration,” Irina told Rachel, taking the goblet from her hands and giving it over to the witch waiting at their side.
Chapter Eight
Rachel followed the single line of witches around the bonfire. Sera, the only one not taking part in the ceremony, stood with crossed arms in the shadow of an old oak. A petite brunette handed Rachel a broom.
Since Rachel had drunk from the goblet, her senses seemed enhanced. The crackle of the fire competed in volume with the rustle of the dry leaves and twigs under Rachel’s feet and the strong heartbeat resounding in her ears. She felt vibrant, carefree. Joy and excitement filled her as she gave herself over to the moment and imitated the rest of the women.
The line of witches stopped, and everybody turned to the fire, forming a large circle. Rachel dried the sweat from her forehead. Why was she suddenly so hot? The cape was warm, and she was seven feet from the fire, but she seemed to be burning from the inside out.
A beautiful voice sang in a strange, ancient-sounding language. After the first verse, the witches hit the ground with their brooms’ shafts and whirled around, starting to sing in unison. The repetitive words were entrancing, and even when Rachel didn’t understand what they meant, soon she was singing along with the rest of the women and marking the rhythm with the butt of her broom.
Rachel’s whole being seemed to follow the music as she chanted the words selle hawe, sene hawe, sete hawe nou, chavu rinu kele mater selle mave nou… Her feet danced on their own accord, stomping, gliding over the ground almost without touching it, following the other women as they danced around the fire. Selle hawe, sene hawe, sete hawe nou, chavu rinu kele mater selle mave nou… Rachel’s hair floated, surrounding her as she whirled around, again and again, entranced, making the world swirl with her. Selle hawe, sene hawe, sete hawe nou, chavu rinu kele mater selle mave nou… Rachel felt like she became one with nature and the dancing witches. Selle hawe, sene hawe, sete hawe nou, chavu rinu kele mater selle mave nou… Selle hawe, sene hawe, sete hawe nou, chavu rinu kele mater selle mave nou… Selle hawe, sene hawe, sete hawe nou, chavu rinu kele mater selle mave nou…
The cape was too warm. The cloth that had previously seemed soft, now rasped against Rachel’s sensitive skin. Unfastening the hooks, Rachel let the cape fall onto the grass. She remembe
red too late that she was naked, but as Rachel looked around, she realized she wasn’t the only one. Nobody seemed to mind the bare women dancing. Rachel didn’t either. She was hot, too hot, and the cool night air on her moist skin felt good, almost as good as losing herself to the rhythm of the song.
The witches mounted their brooms, and Rachel followed their example, putting the shaft between her thighs as she kept dancing and moving her hips. Her pussy slipped against the polished shaft, making a warm sizzle spread through her womb. There were no rational thoughts as she followed the music, rubbing her pussy against the stiff shaft faster and faster, singing and laughing and floating in pleasure.
As the music increased the rhythm, bodies got closer, brushing skin against skin, hands appeared from everywhere. The unknown witches touched Rachel, caressed her, helped her increase the sheer bliss she was going through.
Hands were followed by arms and bodies. Some witches only hugged her, pressing breasts against breasts. Other witches gifted her with playful kisses. Rachel returned whatever came her way. There were no faces, no names, only sensations and bliss.
Goblets of wine passed from hand to hand. More bodies came closer, more hands reached for Rachel. Someone kneaded her breasts; fingers rubbed a thick cream between Rachel’s folds, taking her almost to the verge of an orgasm. The witches took turns kissing her, and the world kept dancing around Rachel with the rhythm of the primitive song.
Rachel opened her eyelids at the possessive kiss. She bit her lip. Irina? The blonde witch smiled.
“The moment has arrived. Pan is waiting for you.” Irina kissed Rachel’s palm and took her by the hand.
Stumbling after Irina, Rachel followed the blonde witch to the altar. Other witches came behind, dancing, singing, and laughing. Rachel still didn’t know what “the moment” meant, what it entailed, although she wasn’t afraid anymore. A hot, blissful tingle ran through her veins, and that was all that mattered.
They reached the altar. Two witches helped Rachel get onto the altar and lie down. A rich-smelling oil was poured over Rachel’s skin, tracing her breasts, belly, and limbs. What seemed like a dozen hands massaged the silky oil into Rachel’s skin with long, slow caresses. Here and there, a mouth sucked or licked at Rachel as if wanting to confirm if the oil tasted as delicious as it smelled. Through a haze, Rachel became aware of how the rest of the witches were dancing around the altar now, their sensuous movements almost as arousing as the hands taking care of her body.
Oil trickled softly down between Rachel’s buttocks. Two witches reached her pussy at the same time and sparred with their tongues around Rachel’s hidden pearl. Rachel gasped and spread her legs wider. As long as their wishes brought Rachel bliss, she would grant those witches whatever they wanted. Rachel’s back arched when one of the witches won and hungrily claimed the treasure.
Another witch took Rachel’s raised breasts as an invitation to suck her stiff nipples. Rachel’s gasps and moans mixed with the song. Nothing in her life had felt better than this moment, this bliss, this crazy dream wrapping her in a cloud of impossible ecstasy. There was nothing Rachel could do, nothing she wanted to do, except relent to ecstasy.
An odd movement in the corner caught Rachel’s attention. She looked to the throne and blinked hard. She had probably drunken too much wine. The nude young man on the throne had not only horns, but the hindquarters and the hairy legs of a goat. Rachel giggled. He was a man-goat—no, a goat-man. Wait! She had seen such kind of creatures in pictures! A demon. He was a demon! Her eyes widened. Demons really existed outsides of tales and books?
Now that she thought about those pictures of demons…not one of them had been as handsome as this one. His huge masculine hand stroked leisurely what had to be the biggest cock in the kingdom. In the kingdom? In the whole world! Rachel giggled again.
The demon winked at her over the goblet. Amusement sparkled in his dark eyes. He was handsome. The thick dildo Rachel had worn the whole day wasn’t even as half as big as his enormous manhood. A weak warning signal sounded somewhere in Rachel’s mind. She should be worried, but why? The demon didn’t seem dangerous. As soon as the witches began again tongue sparring against Rachel’s pussy, all Rachel’s thoughts were pushed to the back of her mind.
She glanced alternatively from the attractive, weird male sitting carelessly on the throne to the naked witches dancing around them. The images melted into sensations similar to those the strange hands and lips caused to her body.
“He’s hot, isn’t he?” Irina smiled at Rachel.
Rachel stared at the only “he” in her surroundings. Yes, Irina was right. He was handsome with his black-coal tousled hair, his square jaw, those irresistible lips, and his muscled torso.
“You’re a lucky girl.” Irina bent over Rachel and painted strange symbols over Rachel’s belly with a stick and black ink.
She was a lucky girl? Images, sensations, pleasure, and music turned everything blurry. Rachel’s body didn’t feel like her own anymore.
“Stop!” Sera caught Irina’s wrist. “I’ll paint this one myself. We agreed only about pleasure, not about fertility. There’s going to be no pregnancy after this night!”
Ire flared in Irina’s eyes. After a tense moment, the blonde witch nodded and gave Sera the stick and the wooden bowl with the ink. Rachel’s gaze connected with Sera’s as the sorceress took a place beside the altar. There was something about Sera… She was different from all the other women here. Rachel couldn’t put a finger on what made Sera so peculiar; however, the other women were only figures and sensations.
Sera was stability, protection. Sera was real.
“You’re still in time to say your safe word.” Sera seemed to falter.
Why would Rachel use her safe word with Sera here with her? Rachel shook her head. After a short nod, Sera began tracing strange signs on Rachel’s womb.
“Can I come?” Rachel wasn’t sure why she asked. The pleasure she was floating in was immense, but she hadn’t really the need to come.
Sera stopped to look at her. “Soon,” she promised.
Someone secured Rachel’s wrists over her head. Rachel held her breath. Something was going to happen. She wasn’t sure what, but wariness filled her.
“Here, drink!” Sera held a goblet against Rachel’s lips.
Rachel accepted obediently. Half of the liquid spilled down her chin. The heat expanded immediately through her, although the effects this time weren’t enough to make Rachel forget her fear.
A startled squeal escaped Rachel when the handsome man from the throne jumped with ease onto the altar. Her eyes widened when he knelt down between her widespread legs, his huge cock jutting out just above her womb.
“Sera!”
“I’m here, right at your side.” Sera took one of Rachel’s tied hands. “Do you want to use your safe word?”
With his enormous manhood pulsating and ready over her pussy, the man waited patiently for her to decide. Rachel stared at Sera.
“You want this? You want a demon to fuck me?” Rachel whispered.
Not that the demon wasn’t handsome and not that his shaft promised a whole new experience—even when Rachel wasn’t sure if he wasn’t a few inches too large for her. However, there was something wrong with a man fucking her when Sera was at her side.
Sera was the lover Rachel wanted. That man, demon, or whatever creature he was meant nothing to Rachel.
Sera bent over her. “Pan isn’t a demon; he’s a god. What I want is for you to submit to my wishes and your pleasure. I want to see how you give yourself over, sacrificing yourself in my name to the god so I can make you mine afterward and make you remember that you’re mine, mine alone, and that not even a god will be able to change that.”
Rachel shivered at Sera’s possessive tone. “Mine.” Yes! Sera’s words sounded like a wonderful reward. Rachel regarded the man’s giant shaft.
“You’re big.”
“Just big? That’s the only description that comes to y
our mind? That’s an affront to my manhood, my little lady,” Pan laughed, making Rachel snort.
“I’m not little, I’m—“
“Perfect for a man like me,” Pan interrupted, running his gaze over Rachel’s curves without hiding his hunger for her.
“A man who knows that this is only a one-time deal.” Sera’s voice was cold.
“A god who knows he has to give his best this time.” A slow, crooked smile spread on Pan’s face. “We won’t make it easy for your mistress to make you forget a god, will we?” Pan teased Rachel.
Rachel swallowed. How would Sera erase all those memories? With her mouth? Her hands? Rachel’s inner muscles tightened, making her bite her cheek to stifle a moan.
“Do your worst, god. Whatever you do, I’ll make her forget you!”
Pan laughed at Sera’s outburst. The witches around them had stopped dancing and singing and were now staring expectantly at them. His hand slid slow and determined over Rachel’s belly before he bent over her and reached for her breasts.
Rachel’s awareness came back as if someone had thrown a bucket of cold water on her.
“No!” The whole forest seemed to freeze at Rachel’s shout.
The witches stared at Rachel with blank faces. Nobody moved; nobody spoke. Rachel tried to free her arms, but the more she tried to pull away from the strong grip, the more the hold on her wrists tightened. Her heart began to race, and her lungs struggled to find enough air.
Pan turned his face toward Sera as the sorceress hissed, “Release her!”
Rachel let out a sigh of relief when the hold on her wrists disappeared.
“I’m sorry, Sera! I’m so sorry! I—”
“Your safe word, pet.”
Rachel froze at Sera’s tone. The sorceress’s face seemed to be carved in stone. Was Sera disappointed in Rachel? Does she think I’m betraying her? By the Goddess, how can I make her understand that I don’t want to give up, that I don’t want her to erase Pan’s touch because I only want hers on my body?
