Memoirs of Lady Catherine Pt. 06

We took Norman Hall's most nondescript carriage that evening. There are some events at which a fine lady wishes to make an impression upon the larger community. A dark-moon witches' esbat in a snowy forest isn't one of them.

I wore the clothes Mother had selected for me: A festive white blouse, hand-embroidered with red and green thread; a red felt vest that served as a sort of bodice; long woolen stockings that climbed above my knees; and a long red skirt that began far above my waist. All this lay beneath a heavy blue riding robe with a deep hood. My mother's was identical.

Faerie Rock lay only about a mile from Norman Hall, but the track that led there was rough and slow, made slower still by the moonless sky. Eventually one of the two footmen accompanying us dismounted and led our four-horse team up the forest path that climbed toward the ridge above.

Mother had nothing to say, and so I let my mind replay the events of my afternoon "nap." How young Herbert - Father's page and Mother's youthful plaything - had pleasured me. The taste of his first orgasm in my mouth. My urgent pleadings for him to fuck me, hymen be damned. Our first assfuck together. Our mutual orgasm. And then the denouement, just a friendly game of lick and stroke in a private bed, with the sun dipping below the horizon.

The carriage rolled to a halt, and the door opened to reveal the second footman, holding our lantern.

"There's a group ahead on the path," he reported. "Holding torches."

"Have the other two remain here," Mother instructed. "You shall accompany us."

The snow beneath our feet was days old and well compacted, so it crunched and squeaked beneath our boots. Just twenty feet away stood three hooded figures, illuminated by the flicker of pitch torches. It felt ominous, mysterious - and yes - dangerously erotic.

"Oh hey there Lady," said a voice I instantly recognized as Big Mary the midwife. "It's me, Mary. How you doing there, younger lady? And who's the big fella?"

"One of our footmen," Mother said. "Remind me, young man, what your name is?"

"Aethelbjorn, my lady," he replied boldly.

Mother gave him a withering stare. "Really?" she asked after an uncomfortable pause.

"Not really," he confessed, shuffling his feet and casting his eyes down. "It's actually ... Neville."

"Neville," she said, rolling the word around on her tongue, before returning her gaze to Big Mary. "This is our footman, 'Aethelbjorn,' and he's my date for the evening. Are we on time?"

"Fashionably late," Big Mary said. "But that's very stylish these days. Builds tension. Suspense! Big night!"

One of Big Mary's two robed companions cleared his throat.

"Whoops!" Mary said. "You know Roger, the Blacksmith..."

The taller of the hooded figures gave a clipped bow.

"And then this is Larry," she said, indicating the second man.

"Larry... the what?" Mother asked.

"Just... Larry," Big Mary said, then shrugged.

"My identity is more than just my job," Larry replied, instantly indignant. His voice was high-pitched, nasal and possessed all the transitive properties of annoyance. "But if you must know, I'm a scrivener. An apprentice scrivener."

Big Mary shuffled her boots in the snow and stared off into the distance.

"Well then, Larry, I'm pleased to meet you," Mother said. "This is my daughter, Lady Catherine Tracie Lourdes Rhys-Muffington, the soon-to-be-20-year-old daughter of the second baron of Rumpole."

"And she's actually a virgin?" Larry asked skeptically. "Because we get a lot of people who CLAIM to be virgins. And the second baron of Rumpole does carry something of a disreputable reputation."

"I can assure you her maidenhead is fully intact, and awaits your ritual destruction," Mother said.

"It's so nice of you to provide your sweet Catherine for tonight's event on such short notice," Big Mary interjected. "There's just so much demand for virgins this time of year, and the local supply is small enough that it's become a bit of a seller's market. Who was the girl from last year's ceremony? Do you recall?"

"Harriet the Plumbers Daughter," Roger said.

"Yes," Big Mary said. "I remember now. Nice girl, but as a ritual virgin she proved rather... sub-optimal, I'm afraid."

"It's difficult to get that full magical benefit from a cynical virgin with a bad attitude," Roger observed. "Just kinda harshes the groove for the whole group."

"For the record," I announced, inserting myself into the conversation, "since Mother retrieved me from the convent earlier this week, I've taken two cocks in my mouth, two cocks up my ass, I've had my lady parts licked by a very strange nun, and I've enjoyed three excellent petit mortes. So I'm technically a virgin. But only technically."

"Technically a virgin isn't a virgin," Larry snapped. "Not in my grimoire!"

"Oh, now Larry," Big Mary corrected him gently while patting his upper arm. "You don't actually HAVE a grimoire. I only loaned you mine."

"But it's my turn to..."

"Please forgive Larry," Big Mary interrupted. "It's a long story. Shall we continue the conversation when we get to the rock? It's just up there."

"Let's," Mother said. And the six of us hoofed it up the snowy track through the dark forest.

Faerie Rock wasn't a place I'd ever visited, except in my childhood imagination. There it was a fantastical place where unicorns and winged magical creatures flitted about amongst brightly colored flowers and rainbows. In the real world it was a collection of stones - some of them as old as time, others hewn and arranged to complete a hilltop circle.

But this was no ordinary magic circle atop a barren hilltop, with views to the distant horizon. This one sheltered beneath a grove of stately trees, many of them dating back centuries.

And in the center of that circle, a bonfire.

"Oh! There they are!" announced Reedy Rachel, Big Mary's partner in both life and midwifery. "The virgin's here!"

"Good thing too," said another female voice. "This witch's tits are as cold as a witch's tit!"

Everyone came over to welcome us. In addition to Mary and Rachel, there were five other women and four additional men. After hellos and hugs, members of the coven brought us metal mugs - one for each of us, and we toasted: "To new beginnings!" My draught tasted unlike anything I'd ever experienced - musty, earthy, with hints of flowered herbs and honey.

"Now, Catherine, we're going to prepare the circle," Mary said. "Wait here and watch, and follow your mother's lead when we summon you. Alrightee?"

"Sure," I said. But my voice sounded far away and distorted, like a bubble rising to the surface of a bog.

Mother began whispering descriptions of the meanings beneath the ritual acts that now unfolded before us: A parade around the circle, chanting, around and around. Then four robed figures, two male, two female, each opposite the other, shouted out what sounded like commands in an ancient language.

But soon Mother's words sounded like they were foreign gibberish, too.

Which was when I noticed that there were little green tree branches growing out of Mother's head, each sprouting leaves and bursting into little dogwood flowers. Mother seemed not to notice, and continued speaking a language that I barely understood.

This was when I reached the conclusion that the drink they'd given me wasn't just some new craft brew from Derreck the Alemaker's latest experiment. I'd been drugged.

And WHAT a drug!

Of course, time and sequence got a bit garbled, and even when the effects wore off, some of what I remembered made no sense. But I remember being led before a rough wooden altar near the fire at the center of the circle, and there two women lifted off my heavy robe and hood, displaying me in all my naked glory to the rest of the group.

Now: How did I come to be naked? After all, I'd dressed in a nice peasant-heatheny outfit selected by Mother, and I had no memory of removing it. But that's what I remember, and I have no clue how it came to pass. The two women removed my cloak and there was nothing beneath it but my bare skin.

And why wasn't I cold? It was well below freezing that night, and the bare trees on that hilltop served only to diminish the winter wind, not block it. Yet I felt as warm and flush as if I were surrounded by braziers.

Whatever the answers, the reaction to the night's big reveal was a clearly audible gasp from the coven.

"Dear Goddess!" one witch exclaimed. "Never in my life have I seen such sexual perfection!"

And I have to admit: I looked, and felt, like sweet-sticky-sex on a stick. My hair was perfect. My skin was rosy, soft and utterly unblemished. Tits: Pert. Nipples: Erect. Pussy: Wet.

I couldn't wait for the moment Mother had foretold: The moment when a witch, dressed like a stag, would thrust his cock through my virginal protective packaging - and propel me into the next stage of my life. I was about to get fucked.

Finally!

Next came the building of the bower. Each member of the group picked up two fresh cut pine boughs, and laid them before the coven's well-appointed wooden altar. Mary and Rachel laid an enormous bear pelt atop the fragrant evergreen mattress, then tossed dried rose petals and rosemary onto it.

I was ready to jump into that magic bed and take that magic stag cock right then.

But some sort of drama was unfolding. My inability to understand my native tongue that night remains unexplained, but as best I could tell, Larry the I'm More Than My Day Job had picked up a set of antlers and attempted to place them upon his head. But as he approached me - casting off his own robe to reveal a pale, young-man's body, soft and awkward and undefined by muscle or tone - another member of the coven grasped him by the shoulder and spun him about.

Larry, as I recall it, slashed at the hooded figure with the coven's ceremonial white-handled dagger. The blade missed its mark, but an incoming punch found Larry's jaw on a rising trajectory, followed by two more strikes: One that doubled him over at the gut, and then the coup de grace, which knocked him off his feet and out of consciousness.

The chanting and drumming picked up its intensity after they dragged Larry away, but the man who had challenged him was nowhere to be seen. I searched the circle for my ceremonial lover. Which one would it be?

Which is when I noticed that each member of the circle - Mother included - had turned to the east.

Strange, I thought.

Moments later, I beheld what they awaited: Not a witch wearing ceremonial stag antlers, but an actual stag, the largest, greatest stag I'd ever seen.

The beast approached the hilltop circle with regal grace, each powerful step carefully measured, and the women standing at Faerie Rock's eastern portal made a big show of "opening the circle" to allow the Stag King to pass.

When they closed that magic energy circle behind him, I finally beheld the boundary with my own eyes: Not a circular wall, but a dome enclosing us - and then, more accurately, I sensed that it formed a sphere than penetrated the earth even as it sheltered us from the night sky.

"Hail Traveler," Big Mary said to the Stag King. "Long time no see."

"Is that the virgin?" the great buck asked, nodding his tremendous rack of antlers my way.

"Yes."

"Absolutely amazing," the beast said, now striding closer to me on all fours. He spoke exactly like a man would, and evaluated me with the unquestioned authority of a sovereign. "I've never in my life seen a more exquisite representation of the Goddess in her human form. This must be the most beautiful, erotic woman alive."

"And she's all yours, Lord," Mary said.

"Alright then," the stag said, giving his massive body a good shake. "On your knees, all of you!" he commanded. "Avert your eyes!"

I complied with both instructions.

"Oh, not you," the Stag King said softly. I opened my eyes and looked up.

The celestial creature was morphing into something more recognizably human. As he shook, his pelt became skin. As he stretched his legs, his hoofs became hands and feet. And when he straightened and stood on his hind legs, his transformation became complete: What had once been an enormous stag was now - from the neck down - a giant of a man.

His legs were pillars of power. His chest and shoulders were slabs of muscles atop a heroic frame. His abdomen was lean and structured, descending to a fully erect human penis.

An enormous, otherworldly, human penis. Possessed by a chimera god with a stag's head and a human body. All told, he couldn't have been less than seven feet tall and 400 pounds.

"Would you like a little privacy?" the man-beast whispered in my ear.

I nodded.

"Done," he replied, and with a snap of his fingers, suddenly we were no longer surrounded by hooded witches outdoors at Faerie Rock. We were somewhere safe and sheltered, in an underground room elaborately carved from stone and lit by candles.

I clutched at the sheets on the bed where I sat. The linens, like the mattress below me, felt as real as the bower and pelt had moments before.

"So, Catherine Tracie Lourdes Rhys-Muffington," the creature began, resting a bent knee on the edge of the mattress while he stroked his massive phallus. "What do you wish to know?"

"Who are you? Why are you here?"

"I am the Horned God, of course," he replied. "And I'm here to fuck you. Why are you here?"

"I'm here because Mother has some debt with this coven, apparently."

He moved toward me, on hands and knees, advancing up the mattress.

"You truly are an erotic marvel," he said, then kneeled before me. "Open your legs."

I did as he commanded, spreading my perfect legs to reveal my perfect pussy. He swiftly ducked his head between my thighs, inhaled deeply, gave my labia a single lick, and then straightened up erect again.

"Ready?" he asked.

"Your cock is too big," I fretted aloud. "You're a giant. You'll rip me in two."

I wasn't kidding, either. The Horned God's dong was easily two feet long and thick as my arm.

"As you wish," he said, and without any further fuss the organ shrank to a still terrifying foot-long schlong: A brutal, rock hard, divine cock.

Oh well. It would have to do.

"I'm ready," I said, reclining and closing my eyes.

"Oh not like that," he said. "Open your eyes. Be here with me now. It's a big moment. Ready?"

"Ready."

The Horned God grasped his cock and forced it down toward my virgin cunt. Like Herbert earlier this afternoon, he rubbed its urgent purple head between my legs until my labia were spread and the entrance to my vagina lay unprotected. Only this time there was no surprise diversion to my anus in the works.

This was my formal virginity at its moment of surrender.

Without a conscious thought, my body began grinding toward that divine cock, and he held still and let me work, my hips and legs drawing my body toward him, toward that astounding, otherworldly phallus.

"Gotta say it, Catherine," the Horned God said. "I can't believe I'm this turned on by one of these rituals."

"Please slide it into me. Please get it over with. Please fuck me."

"No, I like what you're doing," he replied. "The tip of my cock is inside your pussy lips. Why don't you push yourself onto it just a bit more?"

He held out his burly hands. I reached out and took them, intertwining my fingers with his. With his solid strength as my anchor, I tensed my arms and wiggled my hips toward him. With just that slight movement, the tip of his cock penetrated the opening of my pussy.

I gasped, moaned, and sighed.

"Lie still," he commanded. "Give yourself a chance to adapt to it."

I protested, and attempted to take more of that shaft into me. But the Horned God tightened his grip on my hands and pushed them into the mattress alongside my hips.

"In a few moments I'm going to drive myself as far inside you as I can go," he whispered. "It won't be entirely pleasurable, but I promise you: You'll never forget it. So take a moment, now, to let your pussy relax."

"Yes my Lord," I replied. "It's just that I've been waiting for this for a long..."

"Tell me, Catherine," the Horned God interrupted, changing the subject, "are you in the habit of talking back to deities?"

"What? No. I mean... Well, what are you, exactly?"

"I'm the God," the stag-headed man said, shifting his hips so that the cock lodged within the tight opening of my pussy moved laterally. "I died a few weeks ago at the cross-quarter. In a few days, at the depth of the Winter Solstice, I'll be conceived anew. That's the mysterious part. And then I'll be reborn at Candlemass, grow to potency and manhood and the height of my powers by the end of next summer. Then I'll begin my decline. A human life can last decades, but my time from birth to death is never more than forty weeks."

"For a dead person you sure are quite lively," I observed. "I can feel your cock twitching inside me."

"Wait until it's all the way there," the stag smirked. "Anyway, during my dead weeks, I'm actually quite accessible. Nothing better to do with myself. So if a coven summons me to holy ground with the promise of a virgin on the last New Moon before Yule, what rutting stag worth his rack would turn that down, eh?"

"I was in a convent only about a week ago," I confessed. "I don't know much about heathen heresies. But don't those horns and hooves make you the Devil?"

He gave my pussy a short, brisk, teasing thrust. I cried out involuntarily.

"The Devil is your invention," the Horned God said. "I am that which exists beyond time, the living, dying God. But anyone may summon me."

I instantly imagined a possibility: What if I could summon this majestic, magical cock upon demand? What if I could...

"No, you cannot summon me to fuck you whenever you please," the Horned God said. "Besides, this is about more than sex."

"I'll settle for the sex," I panted. "Please give me just a little more of that cock."

"Just a bit deeper," the God agreed. "I'll give you another minute or so to accommodate it."

He pushed it about an inch deeper inside me. It felt as if my insides were becoming three dimensional. The parts he'd filled ached with his enormity. The parts not yet penetrated ached to be filled.

"Woo!" I said, then shook my head with a shiver and a smile as I accepted more of his thick shaft. "Am I still a virgin?"

"Technically, no," he replied. "My cock's in your cunt, so your hymen is already history. But I'm applying a few million years of life and death experience to your defloration. Your body will thank you - and me - for giving it time to adapt before what comes next."

"What comes next?" I was both excited and nervous.

"Pain and pleasure," he whispered. "Which is basically life in a brief summary."

"I wouldn't know," I confessed.

"No, because you are young and sheltered," the Horned God said, now beginning to rock his hips back and forth. He withdrew his cock so that only my labia caressed it, then pushed it slowly, gently back into my pussy, stopping at the precise depth of his previous penetration. "Things have not always been easy for you, but you've generally been spared suffering. At the cost of so many pleasant experiences."

"As pleasant experiences go, this one is right up there," I said. My breathing was becoming heavier by the second.

"The same is true for me," the Horned God said. "And that's what you need to understand. The greater your pleasure, the greater MY pleasure. And the greater my pleasure, ending in my climax, the more magical power we shall produce for this coven tonight."

"Mother said if there's any left over, I'll receive it as a 'luck dividend.' What does that mean?"

"It means you're about to get very lucky, my sweet child," the Horned God said, releasing my hands to place his fingers on my hips.