Memoirs of Lady Catherine Pt. 06

He was penetrating me from an odd kneeling position: Thighs splayed out at a 45 degree angle, his butt resting on his crossed ankles. But thanks to his footlong dick, fucking me from a distance was no challenge. Only now he was rearranging my body, drawing my thighs up onto his, withdrawing from me as he brought me closer.

I was so enthralled by it, but his magnificent musky smell, by the animal-strong tone of his muscles, by the mind-bending energy that seemed to course from his cock, that I almost didn't recognize what was happening.

The Horned God was positioning me for The Thrust.

"Oh no," I said meekly.

"Oh yes!" he declared as he pinned me to the mattress with irresistible strength and drove himself as deep into my pussy as my pussy would allow.

Now I suppose there might have been thoughts somewhere in my head at that moment. What if he ruined me? What if he tore me apart? After all, my cervix was a limiting factor. It really didn't matter how much cock he had: Anything beyond the depth of my cervix wasn't getting in.

And anyway, the point is, whatever poorly formed thoughts I might have entertained in passing, they were soon subsumed with tactile imperatives that required - and allowed - no thought.

The Horned God's phallus was simply too big for a virgin's pussy. Despite all the time he'd allotted to gently relaxing my opening, something that thick and deep inside me was going to be too much to handle sensibly. Every sensation was too new, too strong, too intense. Every inward thrust made me scream. It wasn't something I willed: It was simply a physical reaction to having such a hefty blunt object shoved up my pussy.

How long this went on I couldn't say. What I recall is merely the act of holding on to my sanity. There was no escaping the pounding I was taking. I merely grabbed ahold of the giant's body and tried not to fall apart. All sense of pride and decorum evaporated. I wailed and cried and groaned.

But at some point in all this, I noticed something new: With each withdrawal, my body craved the phallus that had just been removed from me.

It was a desire that came not from my mind, but from my body itself. My imagination had nothing to do with it. My libido had nothing to do with it. In yearning for the cock as it retreated, a physical desire for its return thrust formed. And before I'd even recognized that pattern, my pussy began directing my body to deliver what it craved: More of that Horned God Cock.

My immortal partner recognized that moment, too.

"Sometimes the pain comes first," he said, grasping me by the waist and lifting me up until my thighs rested on his thighs. I locked my ankles behind his back. "But now you know the pleasure."

"MY GOD!" I shouted, measuring his rhythm to maximize the reality-warping power of our hips smashing together.

"At your service," he said.

And then it struck me, like a wave formed at night far off shore, one that swells up out of nowhere to sweep ashore and drown you. I was about to cum, and it felt like the orgasm might just kill me.

I tried to say something. It came out as a gurgle. I tried to signal him. It didn't matter. The Horned God understood.

It felt like blue, throbbing fire was pulsing through my nethers. As if his enormous cock were ejaculating energy into my void with each thrust. I couldn't take him all the way inside, but the frantic, unbidden motion of my hips pleased him. I was sinking beneath a towering wave.

He grasped me by the arms, increased his pace and intensity. My body tightened, as if in a cramp. I stopped breathing. I dug my fingernails into his broad, dense back.

And then it all collapsed. My pleasure, my pain, my desire. And not merely my desire for erotic fulfillment, but for all things.

To call that experience blissful misses the point. It was more like every hope and fear I carried with me was flushed out of my mind by a pleasure too intense and encompassing to pursue. And yet his cock pursued it, driving that pleasure into me, sustaining it, prolonging it, then lifting it to new levels.

Which is when he climaxed, stag head tossed back, strong fingers indenting my flesh, his throaty, ancient bellow echoing across the cosmos - as his magical, immortal cock gushed semen into my depths

And yes, in the end, all played out and spent, I floated in a blissful state. But that came AFTER.

When I opened my eyes I was no longer in a candlelit room carved into the earth, but floating among the stars. The Horned God was nowhere to be seen, but I sensed him near me.

"Where are we? What is this?" I asked.

"The World Beyond the World," his voice replied. "The world where I reside."

"You fucked my brains out," I cooed.

"I fucked you out of your brain," he corrected. "You won't be able to stay here long. Ask whatever it is you wish to know before the moment fades."

"I'll just come back here the next time," I replied. I felt like a cat purring on a lap beside a hearth on a cold night. "I just want to enjoy this."

"There won't be a next time for this gift," the Horned God said. "Most people never experience this even once."

"Whaddaya mean there won't be a next..." I demanded, opening my eyes in alarm.

I found myself naked, sore and covered in a sheen of sweat, reclined upon a bear pelt spread over evergreen boughs between a roaring fire and a rough pagan altar. All around the fire other bodies were coupling - robed and hooded figures, because it was a cold winter night - but most were entwined with a partner. In Mother's case, that partner was the footman named Neville, who lay on his back while Mother, who had straddled his hips, rode him to climax.

Where was my Horned God? I glanced about frantically, but there was only one hooded figure near me: The taller of the two men from the road, Roger the Blacksmith. He lay passed out on his back and naked beneath his robe.

I rolled over to examine him: His rather average-sized penis was no longer fully erect, but neither was it yet flaccid. The retreating organ was covered in his own cooling, sticky jism. I dabbed up a drop with my finger and perused the man: Dark, handsome, burly.

A well-made human creature had taken my virginity. But that was only part of the story.

"The thing about a visit from the Horned One is that it's a great honor," Big Mary's voice said behind me. "We always invite him, but he attends only when it pleases him."

"So I wasn't actually fucking a giant stag man?"

"In a manner of speaking, no," she said, lowering herself with an audible "harumpf" onto the bower beside me. "The Horned God mounted our friend Roger there, and then Roger mounted you. Sexiest thing I've seen in years."

"I thought I was in a candlelit chamber beneath the earth," I said. "Just a moment ago I thought I was floating among the stars."

"In the World Beyond the World," Big Mary mused as one of the random couples in the circle climaxed together. "I've always wished to see it."

"What happened?" I asked.

"Well, first we drugged you," she replied. "And then Larry lost his composure and tried to take you on the spot, whereupon Roger knocked him unconscious. And then the Horned God took Roger and ... well, it was truly spectacular. We don't usually let these rituals descend into chaotic orgies. But the way you two went at it? Actually made me wish I liked men enough to make use of a cock."

"Well what's wrong with Roger?" I asked. "Is he..."

Now it was Mother's turn to climax, which she did in respectably accented French: "Remplis-moi! Finis-moi, salaud!"

"It's good to see your mother having a nice time," Mary said fondly. "And Roger is fine. You just fucked him senseless."

"Remarkable," I said.

"Let me tell you what's remarkable," Big Mary continued. "I've been a witch all my life, and I've NEVER attended a dark moon esbat in which the Great Rite released so much elemental power. Everyone here is filled with it. Every single ritual object the coven owns - plus all our holy spring water - is now fully charged. So our needs are met, your mother's debt is settled, and you, my dear, are now blessed with a reserve of luck that any king would covet."

"But a hymen that's utterly shredded," I said. "I'll need all the luck I can get if I'm unable to fulfill Mother's plan to marry me off and save the family from ruin."

"Hey!" Mother shouted my way from her perch atop her blissed-out, post-orgasmic footman. "I told you that wouldn't be a problem!"

On the other side of the fire, the last of the fucking couples - an ample grandmother and Larry the Annoying Guy - completed their bent-over erotic struggle with more of a whimper than a bang. They slumped to the ground, breathing heavily.

"My pussy has been fully Rogered, Mother," I called back to her. "No way my hymen survived that treatment."

Big Mary said nothing, but lifted a silver-cased hand mirror off the altar and positioned it between my legs, playing with the angle to collect as much firelight as possible. I studied the reflection of my cooch. It seemed... exactly as before. Except for the telltale residue of Roger's jizz below my pussy.

"See? No damage whatsoever!" Big Mary exclaimed.

"See?" I replied, dabbing up the semen that had leaked from my pussy and was now cooling on my asshole. "He didn't just fuck me. He came inside me."

"Not a problem," Mary said, patting my shoulder. "Not only are you not pregnant, but your maidenhead is fully restored."

"How is that possible?" I demanded.

"Well I don't know," she answered with a huff in her voice. "I'm only a fucking witch. I don't make the magic. I just WORK the magic."

"Aren't I the lucky one?" I mused aloud.

"Yes you are, dear," Mother called to me as she wiped Neville's cum out of her crotch. "You most certainly are."