Goldenrod: The Oasis

Samantha looked down the cold, empty street, and steeled herself to enter the bar. The secret venue was located at the bottom of a small staircase beyond the narrow alley at her left. In the window of a closed store, she once more checked her appearance.

The resin horns she'd borrowed from Rowan sat level in her long hair. Her purple and white striped leggings ran smartly into a pair of army boots. Most importantly, her bulky omega medallion hung squarely on the front of the 'Goat of Menses' band shirt she wore beneath her heavy black coat. It hadn't been difficult to call to mind the modes of dress she favored when in high school. She had always been a goth as well as a bookworm, but this was no ordinary club she was about to enter. It was called The Oasis, and it was frequented by fringe elements of the witch world. The very knowledge that would enable her to move among the patrons might doom her if it were discovered she was in the Order. Feeling like a narc, she took a deep breath, and walked to the entrance.

For a place with a wild reputation, the room was surprisingly calm. Two girls and a guy talked in a booth. A man and a young woman were playing pool. One woman drank at the bar. Samantha took a stool a few down from hers, and ordered a ginger beer. She glanced over at the other drinker, a large, dark haired beauty in overalls and a work coat. The stranger studied a compass in her hand intently.

"Torturing herself," came a voice from the opposite direction. "Like she does here every night." The witch turned and found someone she hadn't seen leaning back on the bar with both elbows. Mastering herself, she expressed no surprise that she'd been approached unaware, and looked the speaker over. In black, knee-high boots, tattered gray jeans and a leather jacket, the woman looked like a tough customer. She wore no shirt, only a leather harness that formed an X around her firm breasts with a steel ring at its center. Her tan rested on a body that was hard and well-formed like the phallus jutting from her fly, and her hair was a large sandy mop.

"I suppose she has reasons." The newcomer nodded.

"Lost love. That's easy to figure out. She's even got a memento." Samantha looked back at the compass for a moment. "What I can't get, though, is what you're doing here."

"Perhaps I also have sorrows to drown."

"That's the thing. You're clearly Golden Flower. If you were the ditzy scene girl you pretend to be, you'd have gone to a punk bar. If you'd wandered in here by mistake, you wouldn't be so casual about women who've got dildos sticking out of their pants." Samantha continued to stare through her as she spoke, and the speaker scrutinized her for any reaction. "So why have you chosen this of all places to sulk like you're to blame for all the evil in the world?" The witch looked at herself in the mirror.

"Because I am responsible for it," she said, and removed her horns, which she placed on the bar. "I didn't realize I was so obvious." The other woman shook her head.

"You're not, really. See that girl shooting stick? She's the last Manticore. The way she's hustling Phil, she'll own this place by midnight. What do you think would happen if she knew you were in the Order?"

"An attempt would be made to kill me, I suppose. Are you going to tell her?"

"No," she replied and sat down. "I don't think so. But you haven't answered my question."

"It's none of your business." She laughed.

"That's all I get for not turning you in? I have a right to ask Pandora why she opened her box."

"You're pleased to mock me, and to believe I'm self-important. Turn that lens upon yourself. The women who come here fuck only for pleasure. Like the Renegades who inspire them they're purely selfish, but lacking any sophisticated magical knowledge or affiliation with a Lodge, they're just trash. Their hedonism is completely absent from you. You're as out of place here as I am." The woman bowed her head respectfully.

"Well done."

"So, what are you doing here?" She merely smiled.

"Bartender, two more." The fat man went to fetch their drinks. She held out her hand. "I'm Tara." The witch studied her for a moment.

"Samantha." They shook.

"Two women of intrigue having a night on the town. I wonder how much trouble we can get into."

"I've had more than enough already."

"Hi, excuse me?" A skinny blond young man had addressed them.

"What can we do for you?" Tara asked, as their drinks arrived.

"Um, my name's Henry. I saw you two when I came in, and well, you're not with anyone, are you?"

"We're being picked up," Tara said to Samantha. The witch took a pull off her bottle.

"I'm sorry, I really never do this, but I just had to meet you." He was practically drooling on Tara, eyes fixed on her bare chest.

"I think you two should..."

"What my friend was about to say, is that of course we're happy to meet you, Henry, and we would love to take you home immediately and screw your brains out." Samantha stared at her while the boy brought his fists and knees together, bouncing in celebration. The gaze was returned until the smaller girl rose. "Don't forget your horns." Tara pushed her dick back into her pants before zipping up her jacket. They exited the room.

"That's peace!" the Manticore yelled, sinking her last ball. The former owner of the bar dropped his jaw in horror.

"What just happened?"

"I'm changing the name of this place to The Watering Hole!"

Half an hour later the trio arrived at Henry's suburban home. Their host quickly began making them drinks.

"Why are we here?"

"You mean why are you here. It's obvious you need to have some fun."

"I'm not enjoying this."

"Just watch, then," Tara said as she took a glass.

"And for you," he said to Samantha. She accepted it and looked at the ice.

"I can't tell you how glad I am to have met you," he raved.

"You don't need to," Tara said, casting away her jacket. "I'll have you in front of the fireplace. Get set." Somehow able to keep from fainting, the man disrobed.

Samantha kept her coat on. When Tara was naked except for two harnesses, it was apparent that the intention behind the leather was to add realism to her dick. Straps around her breasts, straps around the cock; none of her parts were meant to look artificial. Her thick form was solid but shapely, though her overdeveloped arms added brutishness to her appearance. Hands on hips, she stood looking down at the man waiting on all fours.

"Flip over." Henry complied and she fell on top of him. As though he were weightless she folded him in half, and scooted forward on her knees to take aim at his hole. Once in him, she lowered her shoulders and his calves pressed against them. She planted her hands on the carpet at both sides of his head, and he took hold of her midsection, gently squeezing her muscles. The marvel on his face was savored as she peered aggressively into his eyes, and her hot breath filled his mouth. Mercilessly, she began ramming her pelvis down to penetrate him. His grip hardened without tightening and his pupils rolled back, while his vertical shins were shaken violently.

Locked into a routine, the pair instantly bored Samantha. She downed her whiskey and with a wince realized that she needed to pee. Henry was moaning and Tara was watching him almost obsessively, so she didn't say anything as she left to find a bathroom.

After flushing, she regarded herself once again in the mirror.

She was short and frail. Her huge green eyes were turned down at the sides in defeat. The knowing smile was gone from her small mouth. The long hazel hair framing her face seemed wrong somehow, and she remembered her glasses. She took them from her coat pocket and put them on. It would be best if she went home, she believed. She turned off the light.

In the living room, Tara was kneeling and clutching Henry's knees, his feet resting precariously on her hips. She mechanically sank into him at a fast pace as he clutched the backs of his thighs. Samantha watched her stretch her neck to stick out her jaw while staring down dominantly, her bottom lip flattened by her top front teeth. Her head bounced to the lively rhythm and she suddenly struck her pelvis forward sharply and held her unit deep inside him, back erect, before punishingly repeating the thrust several times, each lunge throwing her face forward over him. Henry's hands slid slowly down until they lifelessly dropped to the floor, and Tara kept driving, once a second with decisive force, moaning hatefully with every pound. Finally, a cruel satisfaction curved her mouth into a smile, and she withdrew from him.

She looked at Samantha, standing up.

"This is the best part."

Lying on his back, Henry seemed unconscious but for the gentle snapping of his jaws. The clicking from them loudened, and the ends of his incisors began to chip from the slamming shut of his mouth. Tara laughed.

"I bet he bites off his tongue."

Outraged, Samantha flung off her coat and hiked up her skirt. She had just pulled down her tights when her plastic dick sprang from her vagina into place at the front of her harness. Parting his legs she slid into him and held the missionary position as her consciousness fought through her small alcohol buzz and the haywire condition of the man's mind, to restore control of his body to him. Henry's hands had contorted into claws and were lazily raking at his eyes, but the witch emitted soothing waves of energy through her dildo to pacify him. Tara spread out relaxedly on the recliner and watched the frenzied therapy with passive interest.

It wasn't lost on Samantha that the gnashing of the man's teeth occurred at the same speed as the fucking he'd been given. In fact, it was a replay of the event, his facial spasms reverberations from the pummeling of the woman who'd taken him. Now, it was necessary to dissipate that energy before it caused serious harm to him, and the Golden Lotus sister focused all her cunning on completing that task.

"He's a goner. Don't bother," Tara said, even as Samantha's witchcraft released the man from the terrible evil that had been done to him. His mouth fell placidly open, and he became entirely peaceful. The girl pulled out of his anus and retracted her dildo. She stood up, and looked at the attacker.

"What is the meaning of this?" The woman's face went blank.

"I don't like men."

"You overwrote his will with your own. My Order believed these effects were created by a psychic venereal disease. You turned his own physiology against him." Tara smiled.

"I didn't know it could be reversed."

"Neither did I. We've never gotten to one of the victims in time. That is, until now."

"Are you going to bring me in?" Tara asked mockingly. Samantha remained silent, having passed judgment upon the muscular young woman.

"You can't use magic in this way, without proper precautions. There has to be oversight, accountability."

"You're disappointing me, Samantha."

"I? How?"

"I thought you understood. I saw the darkness in you, the weight of guilt. I thought you could be an ally to me, a companion. Maybe more."

"You don't know me at all," the girl said, and stared at her. "Though it is possible that up to this moment, I didn't either."

"I know you've lost faith in your Order."

"No."

"You're ready for something different."

Samantha remained quiet for several moments, parsing and preparing her thoughts.

"What you perceived," she concluded, "was the realization that all systems are imperfect, and that they eventually break down. Yet it is not the Order that makes the witches; rather, it is we who make the Order. I know now where the source of my strength lies, in the desert of evil that is this world. It is inside me."

"Oh, dear."

"And I can trust in it, even when the Order must fall." Tara rose.

"I think that's enough from the greeting card factory for tonight."

"Sit down." The woman smirked. Samantha extended her dick again, and the half-grin faded.

"You're not going to do anything to me. You've learned how powerful I am."

"You're not strong enough to tuck in your member without using your hands." The woman's eyes grew.

"I do see you for what you are, Samantha," she said rapidly. "You're not a killer. You're just some weakling girl. You don't have the nerve to-"

A jolt from the witch's dick ended the tirade. Tara fell back upon the chair.

Samantha got herself together, and left the house just the way it was.

***

The next day, she opened a video chat with Ray.

"Hello, master. I trust I'm not disturbing you."

"You demonstrate a knowledge of my schedule, Grasshopper. What's up?"

"With your permission, I am ready to end my sabbatical."

"All done with your soul-searching, then?"

"I am."

"You'll be very welcome here, Samantha. Don't ever doubt it." The apprentice shook her head.

"I will not doubt it," she replied. Ray smiled.

"See you tomorrow, kiddo."

"Over and out."