tagLesbian SexThe Witch Trials

The Witch Trials

byFatwa_Morgana©

Dorcas Corey stood on the rough wooden planks of the scaffold, barefoot, wearing the plain sackcloth frock of the damned. The coarse rope of the noose was tight about her neck. She stood on her toes, the tendons of her feet arched, to relieve the tension of the rope. She could feel the rough fibers of the noose digging into the skin of her throat. The townspeople and villagers had come from miles around to witness her hanging. She felt the tight cords biting into her wrists tied behind her back, and listened to the murmur of the crowd below.

"Dorcas Corey, you have been sentenced to death by the Superior Court of Judicature of Essex County for the crime of witchcraft," read the court clerk from his scroll. "You have sinned against God, the Holy Bible, the King, and all of humanity. You have brought shame upon your family and your community. You are hereby sentenced to hang by the neck until you are dead. May God have mercy on your soul. Proceed!" He nodded to the hangman.

As the hangman reached for the lever, Dorcas involuntarily drew a deep breath and said a quick prayer to the Almighty. Although innocent of the charges, she was ready to meet her maker. She closed her eyes and awaited the inevitable. Seconds passed. Nothing happened. Then she heard a cry go up from the crowd.

Dorcas opened her eyes. Her young lover, Sarah Buckley, had broken, struggling, through the ring of constables and leapt up to the scaffold, fighting off officials with her slim lithe limbs all the way. Struggling with the hangman, barely maintaining her balance, she managed to reach out a slender arm toward Dorcas. She held a small glass phial in her hand.

"Dorcas, breath into this!" she cried, still struggling with the hangman. Surprised, Dorcas exhaled quickly, her breath discharging near the phial. But then Sarah was wrenched away by the constables, manhandled bodily, and flung prostrate to the dirt below. The lever was pulled.

Dorcas felt her stomach lurch as the trap door below her bare feet disappeared and she plummeted earthward. She briefly felt the weightlessness of her fall, felt the rope tightening on her neck, and then -- the world went away with a snap.

****************

Dorcas, middle aged and dowdy, could scarcely believe her good fortune. She was lying in bed with a beautiful young woman, with creamy white skin and deep, soulful eyes. Dorcas leaned in and pressed her lips against Sarah's, feeling their moist plumpness. Sarah's lips parted, her tongue came out to play, and they kissed deeply. Dorcas gently caressed Sarah's long white neck with her fingertips, and Sarah tenderly held Dorcas's sagging breast, kneading it lovingly in the palm of her hand.

Dorcas put her full weight on the body of the younger woman, and pressed her knee between Sarah's thighs, which parted at her urging. Their hands and fingers were as entwined as were their mouths, and soon their limbs as well. Their passion grew with each breath they took, fueled by their love, and their guilt. For they each had husbands, and children, and homes, and chores. But they stole moments such as these whenever they possibly could, to be with each other, against all of the laws of God and man.

They slid their bodies against each other; breast upon breast; abdomen upon abdomen; thigh upon thigh. After an eternity, they broke apart, and relaxed onto their backs on the straw mattress. They stared longingly into each other's eyes. "How can you find me attractive?" Dorcas asked. "I'm so much older than you."

"Your body is lovely," said Sarah, tracing tender circles on her soft belly. "It's not as taut as a young woman's, but it is very, very comfortable." She gave Dorcas a sly smile. "Besides, yours is the only nude body I've ever seen, other than my own, and my husband's of course."

"Well, you make an old woman feel special," Dorcas said, rolling back into her lover's arms. And they returned to their embrace, and their kisses, and their passion.

Their lips met again, glancing, touching, tasting. Their eyes held each other fast as their mouths danced. Eventually, Sarah rolled up onto her knees, pushing Dorcas onto her back, and straddling her thigh. She pressed her sex down onto the older woman's leg, and slid herself slowly up and down, back and forth, rubbing herself toward ecstasy.

Dorcas could feel the warm wetness of Sarah's sex, sliding along her own milky white limb. Lying on her back, she stared up into Sarah's face, blank and angelic, lost in rapture. Sarah continued to slide, her ecstasy growing, her mouth set, sweat breaking out on her brow. The two lovers had their fingers entwined, and they grunted together as Sarah continued to pump on her lover's leg.

Dorcas watched Sarah intently. Her naked young breasts were swaying obscenely, and her hair, unbound from its string, was flying freely behind her. Her full hips were undulating, and the short curly hair above her sex was glistening with moisture. Dorcas knew from experience that it was only a matter of time.

Sarah pressed harder and firmer, sliding her sex on the smooth skin of Dorcas's leg, harder and stronger and ever more urgently. Eventually she could take no more; her orgasm shook her, and she pitched forward. She landed on her lover's chest, and their mouths met once more, fervently sharing their breath, their bites, and their spittle.

"I love you! My God how I love you!"

"I love you too, my darling!"

"Are we going to hell?"

"Probably," said Dorcas. "But hell with you is better than heaven without you."

Sarah raised herself up on her elbows and stared down at Dorcas. "You are right, my darling," she said. "Heaven can be damned, if I can't have you." They kissed again, and then both glanced upwards, wondering what deities might have overheard their blasphemies.

Several hours later, Dorcas was back at her chores; sweeping the stone floor of her home, preparing dinner for her husband and their children, tending the fire in the hearth, and saying her nightly prayers. Yet her mind wandered to her stolen moments with Sarah: to the smooth whiteness of Sarah's thighs, the firm flesh of Sarah's breasts, and the tangy taste of Sarah's sex, still lingering on her tongue. And of course to the way that Sarah stroked her to orgasm. She fantasized about the next time they could be together.

Later that week, Dorcas and Sarah chanced to encounter each other in the town market. They were cordial, of course, but forced themselves to conceal their delight at the unexpected meeting.

"Well, hello, Mrs. Corey," said Sarah, with exaggerated courtesy.

"Why, Mrs. Buckley, delightful to see you again," said Dorcas. They discussed trivia about the price of corn meal and the latest dress fashions out of Boston, while expressing their love with their eyes and trying not to touch each other.

"Hear ye, Hear ye!" came a loud voice from the center of the town square. Sarah and Dorcas turned to see what was happening. William Stoughton, one of the town elders and Chief Magistrate, was making an announcement.

"Good people of Essex County!" he was saying, his arms held aloft. "Let it be known that there is a witch in our midst!" A hushed murmur ran through the crowd. The Chief Magistrate nailed a proclamation onto the post in the center of the square. He addressed the crowd in his loudest voice. "You are all aware of what has been happening. The town's water supply has been dangerously low all season."

"That's no proof of witchcraft," whispered Sarah to Dorcas. "There hasn't been any rain all season!"

"Shhh!" said Dorcas. "Listen."

The Chief Magistrate continued. "Seven sheep have been found dead, of no known ailment. And the entrails of slaughtered cattle have been found tied in knots. Supernatural forces are surely at work in our community."

"He's crazy," hissed Sarah. "Just out stumping for votes."

"But worst of all," continued the Chief Magistrate, "is the plight of the three children of William and Elizabeth Procter. They have been bewitched!" He jabbed at the air with his fist for emphasis. "These three young innocents have been observed having extreme bouts of fits! Screaming for hours on end, throwing furniture about the room, contorting their young bodies into peculiar and impossible positions, and uttering strange, inhuman sounds. Clearly, they are under the influence of a witch of extraordinary powers!"

"Don't the Procters live next door to you?" whispered Dorcas.

"Yes. Vile people," said Sarah. "And their children are perfectly dreadful. I hope they are bewitched!"

"Oh, you are awful!" Dorcas laughed under her breath, trying to keep a straight face. The Chief Magistrate continued his diatribe, but it was mostly the same charges, repeated over and over.

"Say, who is that fine young woman standing near Chief Magistrate Stoughton?" asked Sarah.

"Why, that's his daughter, Abigail. She is a tasty little thing, isn't she?" Dorcas stared at Sarah, who was gazing appreciatively at young Abigail Stoughton, with her taut young body, firm breasts, and pert posterior. "I'll bet you'd like to get your hands onto that little strumpet, wouldn't you?"

Sarah was embarrassed. "Well, it's just that I appreciate a fine looking young woman, that's all," she said. "You know it's you that I love."

"Yes, but I'll bet you'd still love to get inside those bloomers of hers if you had the chance," Dorcas chided.

"Don't be silly," said Sarah. "She must be ten years younger than I am."

"Even so, she's closer to your age than I am," said Dorcas. "If I were you, I'd want to sample her wares."

"Oh, you are horrible!" laughed Sarah. "I suppose that she is tempting, but I love you. And Magistrate Stoughton can go to hell. Forget about her. When do we get to be together again?"

But the crowd was moving about them, and they could no longer talk candidly. They switched back to small talk, and eventually said goodbye with noncommittal pleasantries.

As it turned out, Sarah and Dorcas did not manage to arrange their next tryst until more than a week later. Sarah's husband had gone to Ipswich on business, and Dorcas's husband Jacob was off for the day visiting his solicitor. Dorcas set her children to their chores, and told them she would return by dinner time. Then she made her way to Sarah's home.

Sarah opened the door at her knock, and practically attacked her on the threshold. But they managed to maintain their decorum until the door was closed. Then, they were on each other like a millstone on grain. Their lips locked, their bodies closed, they embraced and gasped and panted.

Sarah pulled herself reluctantly away. "One moment, darling, please," she said. She went to the hearth, and removed a large pot from over the fire, placing it the stone floor. Dorcas could smell the pungent odors steaming from the pot. Sarah placed a ribbon in a large book nearby to mark her page, and slammed it shut. Then she returned to Dorcas.

"Where were we, my love?" she asked coquettishly, sliding up against Dorcas once more. Then they were again locked in embrace, arms and lips and hips. Their breath soon came in rapid, ragged gasps.

"I don't know how I lasted so long without you!" panted Sarah, as she pulled Dorcas tightly to her in a grip like a vise.

"The wait was eternity, but now it is as if we were never apart," said Dorcas, panting, and returning her embrace. Their mouths jousted; their fingers grappled with each others' hair and clothing.

And then they were on the bed, frantically pawing and disrobing each other. Their austere clothing soon lay in rough piles on the floor, their naked bodies sprawled on the straw mattress.

"Why do we have to hide like this?" asked Sarah. "Why can't we just be together?"

"You know why, my love," said Dorcas. "It just isn't done. Especially now, with the witch trials going on. Why just last week, Bridget Bishop and Mary Warren were accused of witchery, and last month, Margaret Jacobs was hung! William Stoughton and his magistrates are on a mission to catch as many witches as they can, and they would jump at the chance to accuse us. If we were caught making love like this, we would be next."

"Oh, a pox on the witch trials! And Magistrate Stoughton can still go to hell."

"No doubt. But he would say that our love is evil and wrong."

"How can love be wrong?" asked Sarah, brushing Dorcas across the cheek with her fingertips.

"It isn't wrong," said Dorcas. "Love can never be wrong. Never believe that it is." She looked at Sarah and panted in her need and lust. Her face was flushed. "Do it to me, my love," she said. "It's been so long. Do it as you did before."

Sarah grinned her sly grin, and pushed Dorcas down onto her back. "Of course," she said. She slowly parted the older woman's fleshy thighs, and traced her fingers through the thick thatch of pubic hair covering her sex. Dorcas groaned with pleasure at the younger woman's touch, at the way her fingers traced the secret folds of her womanhood, parted her graying hair, made her flesh quiver.

Sarah slid off of the bed, and got on her knees on the dirt floor of the room. She pulled Dorcas toward her, spreading her knees, making her sex bloom like a tulip in spring. She leaned forward, her mouth approaching the glistening opening of Dorcas's sex. The pungent fragrance greeted her nostrils, and she pursed her lips, stiffened her tongue, and bent to meet it.

Soon Sarah was licking up and down the folds of her lover's sex, lapping along her lips, slurping her sauces. As Dorcas moaned and thrashed on the bed, Sarah licked and stroked and loved, her tongue dancing on the tiny bud hidden in the thicket of pubic hair that brought her lover to the edge of heaven.

Dorcas lay on her back, and thrashed her head back and forth. Her arms reached down and her hands grasped Sarah's head, urging her ever tighter and closer into her groin. She entwined her fingers in the younger woman's hair, ran her fingertips through the folds of her ears, and squeezed her skull with her urgency.

Sarah let her tongue dance in the beautiful cavern that was Dorcas. It danced the dance of the devil, not caring what gods were offended, what elders were defied, what conventions were flaunted. Dorcas was her lover, her life, her world. Anything else could be damned! She would please her lover or die, and perdition could take her. Her tongue danced, her lips pursed, her mouth flew on the fleshy entrance to Dorcas's womb.

Dorcas felt the intensity growing in her soul. Part of her knew that it was wrong. But how could this be wrong? It felt so right. And besides, only love, such as her love for Sarah, could bring this kind of pleasure into being. How can love be wrong? How can love not be the most right thing in the world? The Elders would never understand, but she knew in her soul that this was right, and just, and necessary. She knew it with the certainty of her body, her nerves, her mind, and the throbbing, twitching, flushing feeling that overtook her body at that very moment. Her hips heaved and her body bucked and she screamed from her soul! Her knees clamped on Sarah's head and nearly crushed her poor skull. Then she froze as her soul wandered the universe and stars danced before her eyes and her universe turned inside out.

When Dorcas came back to consciousness, she was still lying on her back, but Sarah was kneeling over her, tenderly kissing her mouth. Dorcas could taste her own juices on her lover's lips.

"Thank you, my love," she said, her eyes crinkling.

"No, thank you, my angel," said Sarah. And they fell asleep in each others' arms, unaware of the doom that was about to befall them.

Several hours later, Dorcas awoke with a start. Sarah was still fast asleep, pinning her arm to the bed. Dorcas smiled at the sweet look on her lover's face. The sun was low in the window, and she knew that she would need to return home soon, to supervise her children in their chores and to begin supper for her husband.

But at that moment, the door burst open with a crash! Dorcas jumped like a startled hare. Sarah's eyes popped open, and she wrapped her arms around her naked bosom. Both women stared at the open doorway in horror.

There stood two magistrates and three of the town elders, peering over their glasses in shameful accusation. Magistrate Stephen Sewell, clerk of the County Court of Judicature, was at their head.

"Madame Corey and Madame Buckley," said Magistrate Sewell, "This is a most inappropriate situation." He clutched his bible under his arm and glared at them before gesturing to his companions. "Do you all see this shameful scene, brothers? Are you prepared to testify in the Court of Judicature?"

"Yes, Magistrate," muttered the elders, wagging their heads. Dorcas and Sarah shrank into themselves, wanting to die on the spot.

"Take them away!" bellowed Magistrate Sewell. And they did.

For the next three days, Dorcas and Sarah languished in their separate cells in the county jail. Nobody visited them. Their husbands had effectively disowned them. They worried about their families, their children, and what their neighbors in the community would think. But most of all, being unable to communicate, they wondered about each other. Dorcas thought about poor young Sarah, her tender young body, her soft flesh, in a cruel hard cell, most likely abused by sadistic jailers. Sarah worried about Dorcas, her aging bones and joints sleeping on a cold hard floor, and fed only scraps. They each cried themselves to sleep every night, wracked with pain, and uncertainty, and guilt.

On the fourth day, the two lovers were called up before the Chief Magistrate of the county, William Stoughton. Stern and official, he sat behind his high bench in his black robe and white powdered wig as the two women were ushered in to the court. A bailiff read the charges.

"Madame Dorcas Corey and Madame Sarah Buckley, you are accused here before us, before the eyes of God the Almighty and the Community of New Salem, as being Witches and Bewitchers of Men and Beasts, in violation of the Covenant between God the Almighty and his people here on Earth."

The magistrate glared down at the two women from his high bench, shackles on their wrists and ankles, handled by jailers. He glanced from one to the other. His eyes pierced them, probing their souls, daring them to speak before he questioned them. But neither said a word.

"Well, Madame Corey? Madame Buckley? What have you to say for yourselves and your Godless behavior? How do you plead?"

Sarah struggled in her bonds, and spat on the floor. "I say to the devil with all of you, your honor! We are not witches, nor anything else you care to call us. We are just good honest Christian wives and mothers, and that's all. Let us go!" She glared around the court.

Chief Magistrate William Stoughton looked at her through the ground glass of his spectacles. Then he took his spectacles off and slowly polished them before returning them to his face. "Is that so, Madame Buckley?" he asked. "You were caught in flagrante delicto with your co-defendant Madame Corey, is that not true? Does this not prove that you are both witches? Would anyone but a godless witch so flaunt the laws of God and man in so obscene a fashion? What have you to say to that?"

Sarah Buckley struggled in her shackles, and would have attacked the magistrate bodily if she could, but Dorcas spoke up before she could respond.

"It is my fault, your honor. I am the witch," Dorcas proclaimed. The officers of the court gasped, and all heads turned in her direction. "Yes, it is true. I am a witch, and I bewitched Sarah. She is innocent. Let her go. I am the one who is guilty."

Magistrate Stoughton stared at Dorcas. "Is this true, Madame Corey? If it is, know that you will be facing the punishment of death by hanging. Choose your next words very carefully."

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