The Maypole

Happy Spooky Season! This is a May Day story, so not totally the right time of year, but it's witchy so it counts. This story is somewhat inspired by The Wicker Man and includes a female-focused rewrite of The Maypole Song from that film. It includes trans and disabled characters (one who is blind, one who has dwarfism). Content Warning: folk horror elements (no gore) and a brief allusion to a history of paternal emotional abuse.

When Erika arrived in the village, she was wearing hiking boots. Thick, sturdy things; the sort that reduce wild ways to trampled paths and keep the wearer safe from the treacherous give of earth underfoot. Now she goes barefoot, her toes tickled by grass and her heels pressing soil so deep it may swallow her up. It rained for many days before this soaking sunshine. The air is still clouded with disturbed dirt and pollen. It smells of growth and sex.

When Erika arrived in the village, she was wearing a raincoat. A heavy shell; the sort that makes the storms nothing but a polite tap on the shoulder. Now she is clothed in only a muslin shift, the milky fabric little more than fog against fresh, cleansed air. It flutters as she dances with the other women and femmes down the winding, cragged street lined with violets and dandelions. Check curtains flutter over latticed windows. Moss squats snugly on dry stone walls. The May Day procession eddies through the village like blood through the arteries of uniting lovers. The villagers skip and whirl in a dizzy parade of soft white and bold colour. The dance gushes over garlands and bells, poppets and posies, riddle drums and the leering skulls of horses.

"On the hill there grew a tree and a kind, brave tree was she"

When Erika arrived in the village, she called her father to let him know she was safe. He was sour - she should never have left him, she was being selfish, she was to blame for his loneliness, his lostness, for however many other things. She'd walked for weeks, but his voice still made her feel confined. Now she can't remember the last time she saw her phone. It went missing one morning in her B&B bedroom and no amount of rummaging among the frills and corn dollies did any good. She was annoyed, then worried, then she went for a walk. She leaned her back against a beech tree and brushed her fingers over cow parsley like lace. A dozen smiling faces passed her. It was nice here. She could wait to replace her phone. The faces smile at her now, broad, bucky, and brash as they gambol past crooked cottages and overflowing gardens. Their bare feet pat smooth stone. They hold her hands and guide her in their instinctive current. No one taught Erika this song, she just knows it. It comes to her as if it's blooming in her soul. She moves as one with the others and the pleasant ache in her cheeks tells her that she's smiling too.

"and on that tree there was a limb,

and on that limb there was a branch"

When Erika arrived in the village, she had a short thicket of curls that jostled like bluebells. Now her hair falls untamed to her shoulders, like honeysuckle, crowned with a wreath of wildflowers, as they all are. She has no idea how it grew so fast. She thinks of how her hostess combs her hair for her before bed, humming softly as the teeth sink through the tangle and graze the back of her neck. She thinks of wearing it in braids so the lady in the dress shop can pull on them to bring her close in the waterfall of cotton. She thinks of it swirling in the font of the ruined church; cool droplets streaming down her face as the priestess feeds her bread and pushes their fingers into her mouth.

They come to the central green, decked in royal grandeur - tulips like livery, daffodils like fanfares, hyacinths like fine embroidery. In the centre of it stands a very tall, wooden pole, also crowned with flowers. Falling from the wreath are long, thick ribbons that shimmer softly in the high, white sun - happy yellow, hot red, haughty blue, heathen green. The girls yip and chime with delight as they see the maypole, a rainbow waiting to be shaped. Their dance spills from the street to the grass. They skip in a wide ring around the maypole. Their song echoes in the terraces and the embracing hills.

"and from that branch there was a shade,

and in that shade there lay a ewe,

and from that ewe there was a lamb"

Erika skips with them, another knot in the cord of their conjoined hands. Their fingers are a little bumpy, calluses and bent knuckles from sickles and stitching. She subtly grinds her own fingers against the newly (always) familiar shape of their grasp. Then she's twirled giddily into the centre of the ring. Hands snatch her shift and there's a snarl of ripping fabric. The green air washes her stripped body. She arches into it with a gasp. She's pushed. Her back grazes the maypole.

The villagers reform a perfect circle around her, each holding the end of a maypole ribbon that soars over her head. With the hands not holding the ribbons, they slide their fingers under the loose collars of their shifts and push them off their shoulders. Muslin ripples like seafoam. They stand naked, as at ease and brazen as everything in this place has been. The sunshine adorns them. It dresses their sturdy shoulders in gold and hangs in droplets from acorn nipples. It nestles on the bumps of full bellies like feline familiars. It oozes down voluminous hair and interlaces with flower crowns, coloured light emanating from them like spell candles. Shadows ink curves and the grooves of rib cages, puddle in belly buttons, pepper scuffed knees, scars, stretch marks, and cellulite, redden orchid vulvas and lily bud cocks. A smouldering tingle curls around Erika's clit like an adder.

The gathering starts to dance again. They weave in and out of each other, their ribbons braiding into diamond patterns down the pole overhead, creeping towards her. Scarlet as if their palms are bleeding. Cerulean as if they're pouring water over the flowers. Emerald as if they're growing from the fertile ground. Gold as if they're brandishing magical swords. They grin at each other as they pass in the smooth interlace, as tied together by love and pleasure as surely as if they were trussed in the shimmering ropes. They sing like thrushes and arc like swallows.

"and from that lamb there was a fleece,

and of that fleece there was a thread.

Turn and turn and turn and turn."

Erika blinks up into the turquoise haze above her to watch the ribbons descending the pole. Shards of light sprinkle on her face. The ribbons slither down to brush her hair, scattering petals, then lower, over her bare body. The dance draws in interlocking circles closer and closer to her. Silk licks behind her ear, wraps her throat and gently presses a tight moan from her. Ribbons criss-cross over her shoulders, then bind her breasts bolstered so they flood with want. They hug her belly, bedding into the softness so it puffs like quilt. They creep down her thighs and lock them apart, grazing just shy of her displayed, swelling pussy. She is secured firmly to the pole with a burn up her spine. The dancers drop the ribbons, join hands, and turn about the maypole and its captive. They're close enough that Erika can smell the glisten of sweat and feel the vibration of footsteps in the soil. A few twinkling eyes catch hers and anticipation knots at her core.

The priestess steps free and walks slowly forward with the blur of the dance behind her. Erika meets their eyes, dark as peat and deep as caverns. Aislinn's brow looks carved, but their mouth is soft and framed by smile lines. Her hair is the grey of thawing snow on heather, but bright against her dark skin. It falls in heavy, wide curls over her soft body to their sharp hips. She is naked save for a crown like that of the others, but all in white, and a wheel woven out of corn hung about their neck and resting on their small breasts. She comes to Erika and kisses her brow. Their lips are cool. "Are you ready for your blessing?" Their voice is like the rustle and caw from the rookery outside their gutted church.

Erika's knees quake. "How will I be blessed?"

Aislinn smiles and cups her chin with one hand. "As rot blesses fallen leaves, brings them back into the earth." She runs the dry pad of her thumb over Erika's lips. "Call the corners with us, as I taught you."

Erika swallows and nods. They chant together. "Draw the circle around me, I invite the goddesses, spirits of this ancient land. As we will, so mote it be."

Aislinn presses her mouth to hers. Erika's heart thumps. The priestess steps away and raises her arms. The circle mimics her fluidly and keeps turning. Every time Erika glimpses a detail of a body, her blood courses hotter.

"and from that thread there was a dress,

and in that dress there was a girl"

Aislinn moves their hand in the air and a bell seems to ring clear through the throng. Another figure slips free. Anna, all sun-braised freckles like incense ash, skips from the circle and flings herself against Erika. Their nipples strike against each other, their fat melds and tingles. She bats eyes as green as fern and reaches around the maypole to take Erika's bound hands. Erika beams, Anna's soft presence like a soothing breeze. They bump their noses together and whisper to each other. "We invoke air. Wolf wind and kestrel flight, blood and mind."

Anna catches her mouth. The kiss is ginger and honey, spice and sweetness. Erika hums and returns it hungrily, sucking and pecking at her full lip through reedy whimpers. They both sigh in harmony as they slink their bodies in a rising tempo, gooseflesh making the friction thrum. Anna steals one hand between them. Her fingertips brush Erika's clit. Erika gasps. Colour ripples around her as she feels Anna smile and those fingers gracefully curl and swish like cotton grass in a breeze, gently back and forth until her pussy is caged in a crackling cloud of electrical charge. She writhes and rasps into the stirring kiss. Her breathing turns hasty, harried, the pleasure moving too fast and freely for her to stay grounded. Her lungs inflate, her head spins, and for a moment she swears her feet leave the grass, the ribbons turning her into a kite. But she's still bound, still sinking into Anna's flesh. She doesn't close her eyes, not quite, so that her vision can flood with the girl's soft, chestnut hair afloat around them. It smells of meadowsweet.

Anna pulls a fraction away and rolls her tongue in her mouth, as if savouring the taste. Erika takes the chance to ask, "what are you going to do to me?"

Anna keeps teasing her clit. "Are you afraid?"

Erika chuckles under her breath. "There are horror films about hikers in hidden villages."

Anna giggles tunefully and coaxes a shimmer of pleasure with her fingers. "Have you noticed how many horror films are really about sanctuaries? Idyllic villages that turn into nightmares, tranquil retreats that cover up murder, beautiful manors that create madness. Why do you suppose that is? Why do you suppose we are so afraid of having somewhere to escape to?" She pecks Erika's parted lips and whispers again. "Why do you suppose they want us to see darkness in getting away from them?"

Erika stares at her. She attempts a reply, but a slippery sneak between her labia drowns it in a thick groan. Anna grins, thieves one more heady kiss, and whisks away. She leaves her in a confusion like the first moments of waking from a dream. Erika instinctively moves after her, tongue wet, but silk restrains her. The chubby, springy girl links back into the circle like a bubble into a cluster. The song comes sharper then fuzzier in Erika's consciousness as her skin sizzles in the high heat and tight cords. Her eyes drift closed.

"and from that girl a woman grew,

and in that woman was a heart"

Warm hands cup her breasts. She opens her eyes to see the apple red smile of Judith, tall and strong, arms and shoulders packed with muscle from hauling kegs in her pub. Her blade-straight hair is as red as her mouth, a fox making Erika's pulse run like a hare. Erika stares at her reflection in the dark sunglasses that Judith wears to protect her blind eyes. Her cheeks are flushed and her lips are puckered, trembling with the magnetic draw to the sly, scarlet smile. She can see her own fear and arousal. Judith slides long fingers along Erika's jaw to the base of her skull. She begins to tease her there, finding the nerves and pressing so they spark haywire. Her gravel voice joins Erika's tremulous murmur. "We invoke fire. Bright sun and warm hearth, hunger and heart."

The sun burns Erika's eyes, haloing Judith so the cut of her muscular figure blazes. Her firm hands furl around Erika's breasts and squeeze lightly. "I can feel your want."

Erika coughs. "So can I."

"Are you ashamed of it?"

She winces. "I don't know."

"Which do you trust more, your shame or your desire?"

Erika rubs her lips together uncertainly. She swallows. "I trust you."

Judith grins with sharp canines. She dips her red mouth. Their lips crush like poppies mulching in rain. The kiss is slow and hard, rolling through Erika's body, tectonic and torrential. She pants like a mouse as strong hands work her breasts like clay. Judith massages in circles to close in on her nipples. She clamps them in her fingertips and tugs gently. Sensitivity slashes across Erika's skin. She moans roughly and flails her tongue under Judith's. Judith chuckles again, buzzing on her lips. She strums and flicks and rubs her nipples until they sting, then lays her palms over the prickling flesh in a wash of healing warmth. She waits for Erika's kiss to quell, then spurs her again with a brutal pinch and quick whisks around her stippled areolas. Their pussies graze each other, a flint stroke igniting a flame in the pit of Erika's gut that fills her lungs with smoke. The pain of need wars with the pain of stimulation, but she can't beg, Judith has her tongue pinned like a shrew by a dog. The drum of blood in her clit paces and pummels until she's sure it's going to break. But just before it can, Judith releases her. She heaves in a dousing breath. Judith's final laugh threads into the song that rushes back over them. Her maddening hands vanish, and the dance consumes her once more.

"and from that heart there was a beat,

and from that beat there was a dance"

Erika thrashes against the wooden shaft, crumbs of earth bedding between her toes. She lets loose a scree of need. Spring flowers gale around her and her cunt weeps. Spit leaks from the corner of her open mouth. Sweat dampens the edges of the ribbons and makes them cling harsher. A smooth slide through the folds of her pussy makes her mewl. She chokes and blinks into the hazel eyes of Mariah as her girlcock glides in Erika's wetness. She bends to kiss her cheek, her pale hair submerging Erika in the scent of blossom. Her lips are like cool water. Her neck smells of jasmine and narcissus.

"God, thank you," Erika whispers into the cream strands.

"Sssh..." Mariah's light voice lulls her. "Don't speak of Him." She kisses her cheek again, strokes her waist, and rocks her hips softly to tenderly bump against Erika's swollen clit. "You're an offering to goddesses."

"What could a goddess want with me?"

"You have in you a great desire to be free, to grow, and so you have in you a great desire for goddesses. They want only to be desired."

"Will they kill me?"

"What is death in a world made of cycles?"

Her mouth lays like satin over Erika's shoulder and pours tenderness onto her, lapping and nipping gently. She takes hold of her own girlcock and begins to stir it in Erika's flesh. Erika bursts with relief and moans in a silver harmony with the swirling song. It trickles into their shared chant. "We invoke water. Cleansing river, deep lake and quenching well, motion and soul."

Mariah massages deep into Erika's vulva, rippling and churning her flesh like sugared batter so the pleasure gushes in waves through her belly. It seems to be filling her, her stomach rounding and her chest rising and her mouth widening to make more room for the pool of delight. They both fall to each other's throats and lick and suck as they thrust together in a shared current of sensation. Smoothness like polished stone wanders along Erika's nerve endings like a brook over moorland. Mariah tilts her knee and nudges Erika's spread legs wider with a creak of silk. Her cunt aches. She whines and kisses into the heady jasmine fragrance. Mariah sighs and rocks with her, their desire meeting in a mist of music. The broad woman's round shoulder is rolling as she strokes herself, seeping over Erika's clit to purify the pleasure of the smoulder of friction. It lets her bathe in want. The waves slough and crash, the full feeling swelling in her as grateful adoration drips from her tongue onto sun-blushed skin. She feels like parched ground relieved by rain.

"and in that dance there was a kiss.

Turn and turn and turn and turn."

Mariah slips away and the ache she leaves behind makes Erika scrape her hands down coarse wood. Blonde softness melts back into the dance and it continues to revolve around the green. Erika sways with it, twisting her body in the ribbons in the desperate hope one might stray over her nipples or pussy and take her over the brink on which she teeters like a drunk. She is held up only by the rainbow interlace, her body loose and disobedient. At least to her, not to them. Never to them.

It obeys again.

A scream flies from her lips and echoes around the valley as violent pleasure is summoned from her core. Rosette has come to stand before her, head level with the hang of her breasts, her black curls just dusting Erika's belly. She stoops to drag a thick tongue over her clit. She draws back and flicks a bright smile up at her. Her starry eyes sparkle bluer than the sky, the rainbow of the ribbons refracting in her wide pupils. Erika loses her breath in the stunning glitter of her gaze, piercing through her as surely as the need spiking her gut and chest. The little woman sucks her lip and speaks sultry and soft. Erika barely realises she is speaking too. "We invoke earth. Bountiful crop and sprawling wilds, bone and body."

Rosette smirks and ducks to Erika's pussy again. Erika hurtles in the petal fluttering and serpent slither of her tongue. Her hunger is wicked and humid, heat lacing every winding lick. Her full lips meet Erika's labia, then her cunt, petting around her pussy until it pounds. Her tongue scoops as if it's turning earth, digging Erika's lust out from where she kept it buried all these years. It sprouts through her pores like crocuses, her skin bursting to life. She wriggles and pants as she watches Rosette's fine shoulder blades crest in her subtle stoop to take her into her mouth.

"Oh... Oh, yes, I'll..." Erika arches.

"Don't," Rosette states. "Don't chase it. There's no rush. You can stay in this feeling here."

Erika's heart blooms. She nods, brow creasing. Pleasure unfolds in kaleidoscopic layers as Rosette's kisses work deeper and open treasure boxes of desire in her flesh, her tongue a wyrm gloating over a hoard. The sensation is deep and crumbling.

"and from that kiss there was a touch,

and from that touch there was a grasp"

Erika's vision hazes as she moans and murmurs. The villagers sigh and keen within their singing as the dance plaits their limbs together. They spin like falcons and leap like deer. The sunlight splashes on reaching arms. Their shins streak with soil. Erika is enchanted deeper and deeper as Rosette lashes and lulls her with her drenching mouth. She feels like a field giving forth wheat. She feels golden and healthy and ready to harvest. She feels generous. Pleasure froths and flows between her legs and warmth spills down from the sky. Her body glows with it. She wrestles to thrust into Rosette's mouth and groans at the cut of silk. She surges towards release and howls to the sun.