Goldenrod: Rowan

Rowan sat in the cafe, looking up through the window at the gray sky. She was a picture of poetic melancholy in her heavy sweater, and long sandy hair parted in the middle. For weeks she'd been eating lunch at the same table, waiting, wondering when her next mission would come and what it would be. When the waitress dropped her change off, she knew the wait was finally over.

No one else was in the small establishment, or she wouldn't have held up the two strange coins to examine them. They were thousands of years old, and Cretan in origin. Each had the head of a goddess surrounded by wheat, a basic fertility motif. On the tail of both coins was a small labyrinth, and at the center of each maze was a star. The door closed quietly behind her as she left for home.

In the small offshoot of her bedroom that she liked to call her office, the witch placed a heavy old book upon her desk, and opened it to one of several dog-eared pages. There was a picture of Baphomet, a god of the High Magicians; hermaphroditic, horned and hooved. It pointed up with one hand and down with the other to illustrate the ancient maxim, "as above, so below," an equation of energy and matter devised hundreds of years before Einstein's. On its right forearm was the Latin word solve, and on the left, coagula. The motto of the alchemists, Solve et Coagula, meant to most scholars that to understand something one had to take it apart and then put it back together again. Rowan knew, as the renegade lodge did, that its meaning was infinitely more important. It represented the secret of teleportation, which was possibly the ultimate power.

"They're ready," she said, looking at one of the coins, and she laughed. She had been summoned to attempt the spell.

A week later, the woman drove to a business park outside the city. It was owned and controlled by the dark witches, and a facility had been prepared there for the ritual. She presented her ID to the guard in the booth as the rain poured down around them, and she wound up the drive to the designated building, with the materials she'd need nestled safely in her trunk. After she'd parked, two attendants took the bundles from her car and carried them for her into the main entrance.

"Rowan, welcome," Margaret said, and shook her hand. "This is an auspicious occasion."

"I certainly hope so," the witch responded, as they walked to the heart of the building, with her luggage in tow. "It was a long drive."

"If you have any doubts about the text's authenticity..."

"This isn't one of the tomes that you liberated. I hope it's not from some internet auction."

"It isn't. It's been verified by our research division. The source was a book collector in Portugal who had a casual interest in the occult, but who was never even a dabbler in practice. Everything about the grimoire checks out, from the paper to the printing. It's the real thing."

"Then today will be historic." Margaret smiled.

"There's no one we'd rather have making this quantum leap."

"I'll try not to disappoint. Who's playing the role of bottom?"

"No one you know. A volunteer." They entered the room where the magic was to take place. A quick glance around it told Rowan the trappings and instruments were in order.

"I'd better suit up." Margaret motioned to the servants, and Rowan followed them into the rear chamber. Then the leader herself retired to a lounge, to watch the ceremony on a closed circuit television set up.

Having studied a scan of the spell for a week, Rowan knew the incantations all by heart, and she had no doubt of her ability to recite them mentally, effecting changes in her environment by will alone. What she was less sure about was the ceremonial dress she'd be wearing. It was a modern take on the ancient theme, and though she generally perceived the advantages of changing with the times, this costume was something of an oddity to her.

In the guise of Baphomet, Rowan wore boots that resembled the rear legs of a horse. Her body's weight ran entirely through the front halves of her feet into resin hooves, while the back halves were elevated to look like cannon bones, with her heels forming the hocks and her shins the gaskins. From the knees down, the material was tight and black. Up to her abdomen, she was covered in black shag. Over her real ears were prosthetic imitations of a goat's. Through the hair above them protruded two resin horns which curved back and downward, and then pointed forward beside her eyes. Moving in the outfit was like walking on tip toes, and in a few minutes she was naturally taking on the mannerisms of a faun.

With the final preparations completed, she reentered the temple. The naked man was on his back atop a stone sarcophagus, his calves hanging against the side near her. Rowan saluted the four winds to purify the space, and approached him. She radiated a magical vibration, and the torches dimmed. In her plush chair on the second floor, Margaret leaned forward at the viewscreen, her eyes ablaze with expectation.

The priestess held out her hands, and his legs levitated slowly so that she was able to take hold of his knees, with his ankles resting lightly on her arms. A squelch followed by soft rustling announced the emergence of her golden cock from the goat fur on her lower body. Its eight inch length was ribbed with a double helix of metal serpents that ran up and down as they entwined around the shaft. In her erect state, Rowan's consciousness bi-located to both the base and head of the phallus, highlighting in her spirit the pull of those two most basic, universal forces; the horned god and the nature goddess, Repulsion and Attraction, reason and emotion. The powers shifted into perfect equilibrium within her.

Her bare breasts heaved as she drew a deep breath and caught sight of the glinting coins covering the man's eyes, each of which was placed with the star side up. The girl-hooves clacked on the concrete floor, and in the next moment she was inside him.

Thrusting forward her furry hips, Rowan fucked him like a stallion, bringing the torches up to a feverish fury with the primordial vigor of her pendular swinging. His back arched with every insertion of the huge, solid rod, and the air above the man's reclining form became luminous, as though an express train were approaching to enter reality there. The witch knew the moment of truth had arrived, and allowed herself to be disintegrated by the manifesting energy. With her cock firmly lodged in the man's quivering body, she remained conscious rather than dying, and attained the ability to move her mind through the infinite, labyrinthine folds of spacetime in whatever direction she then wished. On the monitor in the observation room, her body appeared to be a calm white flame between the male's legs, but what seemed only a moment to those watching would afford an eternity of travel to the disembodied woman.

"She's done it!" Margaret cried.

"But has she survived?" an underling responded.

The first experiment she'd planned was a trip two hundred and fifty years into the past.

Her expanded awareness found the Earth at that era, and zeroed in. Momentarily her devilish form stood invisibly in the bedroom of a large house. Judging by the interior, and the clothing of the young man seated near the fire, she had landed in France at some point in the eighteenth century. The youth turned his head as his door was thrown open.

"Good evening, young master!" exclaimed an older woman in man's clothes as she bounded into the room, dropping her bag.

"Who are you?" the male asked in French.

"Ha ha! Who indeed!" She bowed histrionically, extending a buckled shoe. The hearthlight danced on her silk breeches. One arm of her dresscoat was tucked beneath her abdomen, and in the other she held her hat out to her side. "Surely my fame precedes me," she said, straightening up. "The head of a lost twenty who reject the Golden Flower Order." Her fingers drummed on the cravat around her neck. "A defender of the rights and persons of the nobility. My signature doggerel:

They seek her here, they seek her there.

Those Witches seek her everywhere.

Is she at home? Is she abroad?

That damned, elusive Goldenrod!"

"The Goldenrod?"

"None other, my good lad, and I am come to free thee from thy most ignominious captivity." She kicked off her shoes, and shed her tie, coat and vest. The shirt she wore was loose and flimsy, and as white as her hose.

"But how? This place is occupied by soldiers, and they all know my face!" The woman smiled, and drew up each of her puffy sleeves.

"Then we shall change it, my dear Chevalier d'Eon. I shall instruct you in the means to alter your identity most assuredly."

A short time passed and the young man was attired in a low-cut white gown with the exaggerated hips of the period's fashion, and gossamer sleeves that draped his forearms. A platinum wig with bows and dangling ringlets adorned his face, which had been powdered quite pale and marked with a black spot on the right cheek. Diamonds sparkled on the neckband over his blanched chest. The adventuress stepped back to take the measure of him.

"How likest it, young sir?" He pulled the sagging fabric from his sternum and looked beneath it to his belly.

"I fear it will not suit me."

"But wait, my comely lass," the rogue said, and took his chin in her hand, "here is the remedy to that!" From the unbuttoning crotch of her tight pants drew up the shining gold length of her namesake. His eyes widened, and then so did his mouth. "To the deflowering!" She stooped to hoist his midsection onto her shoulder, and carried his plundered body to the bed. He was thrown down.

"Please! Gently!"

"Fear not, sweet maid. The Goldenrod is legendary for the care of her caresses!" She climbed beside him and hiked his ruffled skirt over the white stockings that were rolled onto his thighs. "Ha ha ha! Have at thee!!" In the prone position, she swooped forward and penetrated his virgin body with graceful ease. His feet shot into the air above her firm backside.

"Ow, my rump! Oh! Oh!!" The Goldenrod was already asail upon waves of ecstasy. As she took the Chevalier; his voice became higher, his skin softened, his bones reknitted into a dainty shape that pleased, and his pectorals swelled to fit the dress.

"Nature abhors a vacuum," the Goldenrod proclaimed, thrusting into his ass again. She laughed merrily and fucked away the last of his masculinity.

"Oh, heavens! Oh!! Heaven!!!" the newly-made girl babbled, as she was sedated by the hardbodied woman's joyous pounding.

Rowan rose slowly through the ceiling like a ghost, and held a position several hundred feet above the structure.

"Clearly I can move into yesteryear well enough," she reflected. "Do I dare take a look at the future?" The sky around her was drearily snowy and fed by a few black rivulets from chimneys. With no more care for the place, she let her vision expand to the course of the planet as it sailed through the cosmos, five hundred years hence. As immediately as she'd thought of her destination, her demonic outline was there.

The countryside she visited was American. From the clouds Rowan spied a hovercraft parked at a lakeside in the moonlight, and descended to investigate.

In the back seat were a couple who looked like high school seniors. They were engaged in heavy petting. The witch was about to depart when something unusual snagged her attention. Poking out from under her dress, a dildo was visible, fixed to a harness on the girl. She brought the boy's hand down to stroke it but he withdrew in refusal.

"Come on, Kevin. Please."

"I don't want to, honey. Let's do it normally."

"This is normal. My mom gave it to me."

"What? I thought you got it online."

"She doesn't know about that one. She thinks this is my first. She wanted me to wear it for our first time."

"Kind of a family tradition, huh?" The girl nodded.

"It's an heirloom. For a special occasion." She looked into his eyes. "Would you suck it for me?" He shook his head nervously.

"I don't want you to be a boy, Court." She smiled sweetly.

"Oh, baby. This is to help you to be a girl."

"Well, well, what have we here?" came a hoarse voice from behind Rowan. She turned to find four mutated-looking young men lurching from an idling armored wagon, and advancing on the surprised teenagers. The coed got out and stood to face them. The rubber dick held up her skirt.

"What do you want?" she demanded. Three of the intruders howled with delight.

"Just whatever credits you happen to be carrying," the chief humanoid growled, and he reached out a claw for Courtney's shoulder. She caught his wrist and flung him bodily into the trees. Another of them pulled a laser pistol from his belt and the girl was before him in a flash, crushing it in her superhuman grip. She picked him up by the front of his metallic jumpsuit and hurled him headfirst into the lake.

"Drak this!" a third yelled, and ran down the road. The fourth fumbled with his knives and dropped them. He looked at the enraged female who was packing the threatening erection, and surrendered. Suddenly the night above them was filled with a horrible buzzing, and dirt spiraled up from the ground in a spotlight. Kevin got out of the land speeder to stand beside his date, and they held hands as a V.T.O.L. police cruiser touched down. The doors of the craft were raised on hydraulics, and two women in boots and black catsuits got out. One had shoulder length blond hair with bangs, and the other's was dark and in a bun. Both wore thick silver badges on their left breasts, and regulation strap-on dildo harnesses.

"What seems to be the problem here?" the brunette inquired.

"Great." Kevin muttered, and Courtney gave him a sympathetic side glance.

Four hours later the young man had trudged angrily past his parents in their den, and locked himself in his room. Though they looked to one another with concern, his folks thought better of asking him how the evening had gone, just then. He undressed in a huff and got under the covers, brimming with frustration at his relationship. When he heard his window open, he didn't turn to look at it.

Courtney glided gently to the floor wearing only her harness, the rubber dick hidden up inside her sex. She called his name, and when he didn't respond she sat down on the bed. He rolled over to face her.

"Do you want me to leave?" He shook his head. "Can I get in?"

He didn't reply, disturbed by the ambiguity of the question. Then, he scooted back to make room for her. She joined him beneath the sheets and they looked at each other on their sides. Finally, she spoke again.

"What did you think of tonight?" In spite of himself, he laughed.

"It was magical."

"What did you think of me?" He looked away to consider his answer.

"I admired you." She smiled, and leaned in for a kiss. He pulled his lips away, and turned onto his other shoulder. Enjoying the sight of his profile, she interpreted the presentation of his rear as an invitation, and slid to spoon him.

"Let me have you," she commanded softly, but the order was now merely a formality. The dildo moved out of her like a thing alive, through the metal ring on her crotch, and into his body; with one steady movement. She held him insistently by the shoulder until he was resigned to being penetrated. Courtney pushed him gently onto his front, and mounted his hips in a straddle. She grabbed a handful of his hair, and began to rock her pelvis.

Rowan's spirit left the young lovers, and ascended once more into the sky.

"So, the Night Of Ages does fall, as prophesied," she said awestruck, to nobody but the stars. She steeled herself for the journey home, and then teleported back into the stronghold of the rebel women.

The black she-goat materialized in the last position she'd occupied before time-traveling. The man was unconscious, his body withered to a husk. Carefully, she released her hold upon his wrinkled legs. Margaret rushed back into the room.

"Rowan!"

"I am pleased to report success."

"Total victory!" Margaret cried. "That's what you've delivered. With this power, no one will be able to stand against us. We can strike at the Golden Flower Order anytime, anywhere. They'll be defenseless. The entire world could belong to our Society."

"That depends on how many editions of the formula exist." Margaret became solemn in an instant.

"This is the only one," she said, producing the small, worn book from her back pocket. "Beside the PDF we sent you, no other copies of the spell can be found. We've looked everywhere."

"That's good to know," Rowan said, and dissolved her form again in a blinding explosion of searing heat, that knocked Margaret brutally against the wall, and incinerated the furnishings.

She reappeared in the gymnasium of the Golden Lotus Lodge, downtown.

Ray was stretching in front of a mirrored wall, and when she saw the satyr's reflection she stood up and approached her, yanking her strapped-on dick to loosen the shorts bunched up between her buttcheeks.

"Welcome home, agent. I take it by your presence in that costume you've accomplished your mission."

"Thank you. Yes, but I can't report with certainty that another version of the Rite of Baphomet won't turn up, in time." Ray shook her head.

"Don't worry about unknowns," she said sagely. "We're safe again now, thanks to you." Rowan nodded, and her hooves clicked unsteadily on the hardwood. Ray smiled. "Going to keep the outfit?"

"I think so," Rowan mused, as they walked to the door. "It could prove useful, in the nights to come."