The Witches of Winter Castle Ch. 02

My initiation and return had come after a bad car accident and loss of memory. But things were coming back to me now. I realize it was fate that brought me back to the coven. It was no accident. And soon my skills would be needed. Little by little, faded memories started to flow in. It would be a process. But the scent of the soft, white-armed witches would bring me back. And back to the fray I would go. To fight.

But before we explore the future of the witches, the covens, and the coming war let us go back in time to the beginning. Before the witch burnings and before people no longer believed in the value of magic and astrology. I will tell you that witches are some of the most powerful groups on earth. They fought hard. The trials changed everything. Secrecy they valued over everything else. To rule behind the throne. But many learned not only the Weirding Way but how to physically defend themselves. With firearm, with hand, with dagger, or with a spell.

Secrecy. But you have never heard of any of them and that is it how it is, how it was, and perhaps how it shall always be. They danced with the devil. And like the devil one of the greatest things they did was convince the world that witches and witchcraft doesn't really exist and doesn't work.

There are secrets—both dark and delicious—of witchcraft and all the myths and superstitions have some truth to them. It goes so much deeper than that though and many will not want to hear the truth. Many can't handle the truth. But the truth can set you free.

My birth starts sometime before the trials of the witches. Mother never took a husband. She was considered a witch by birth but she kept out of harm's way lest she be marked. At least until the stranger came. He was my father. He was not human. And mother never speaks of him. But he took a human form when he came upon her in the forest. Like Merlin I am of both human and demon. But some have another name for that. Nephilim. The fallen angels.

"The Nephilim walked upon the earth in those days, and also after that, when the sons of God came in unto the daughters of men, and they bore children to them; the same were the mighty men that were of old, the men of renown."

Mother had found a small parcel of land a half a day's ride on horseback from the nearest town. There she built a small cottage of wood, brick and thatch. She started to grow herbs and was quite successful. She was alone and though she was lonely she sought no company and no man.

He came then. A black rider on a back horse. She said only that I have his blue eyes. She was churning butter. Her red locks were sweaty. Her large breasts heaved, as if trying to burst from the tight, low-cut shirt that revealed them. With her large, pink nipples just below the hem of the fabric and ready to slip out. The freckles on her breast only added to the appeal. Mother was younger then, but still nubile and full. Her waist has always been relatively small and her hips large with long, strong legs. Taller than most men. He took a fancy to her then. As even with the thick layers of clothing a man can tell the contours and curves of a well-hipped, well-shaped woman. She had bent over to adjust something there outside the cottage on that fall day. She asked him if he came for the herbs and medicine and he smiled.

The sun was setting on the pumpkins in the patch nearby. And a coolness came. She took a liking to him. There were little words spoken and mother said there has been no man and no experience like that since.

She admitted that she took a fancy to him rather quickly for she had known no man and only taken the end of a broomstick for pleasure. She knew it was a sad substitute but it was how things had to be. Until him. He said that she should finish churning the butter. He unmounted and came behind her and grabbed the long handle of the butter churner from behind her. She smiled. She felt no ill ease with this tall, handsome stranger. And they continued together. It started slow. His hands were large and strong. Powerful. She pumped the handle and he felt her breasts. Just a touch at first. Then a firm grab. Then he cupped both of them together and removed the pink nipples from the blouse. He twisted the nipples and they quickly became hard. Mother moaned and fell back into him. He nuzzled her cheek and chin. She felt as if under some strange spell. He could have done anything and she would have complied giving herself fully to him.

He grabbed her hips and waist. They were in a dance now. Moving together. In an unwritten song of nature. A silent rhythm following the cycles of the birds, the bees, the predators and the prey. With the fallen angel who would become the one to wear the emerald crown she pumped the pole. They were in sync.

The fallen crown of emerald. Shunned from heaven. Great white wings. Falling. She had visions that came to her with his touch. Mother was frenzied then. Breathing heavy and running wet. She felt his sorrow. His pain. His lust. She wanted so very much to connect with him to caress his strong features and take away his sorrow and pain.

He lifted up her dress and slip. She wore no underwear. He reached between her thighs and felt the fur around her wetness. He was more than ready. Mother said it was the most beautiful thing she had ever seen. Well-proportioned and of good heft and girth. She was guided by instinct now. She widened her stance on the muddied ground. She threw her hand to one side. She guided his shaft in. First she winced with pain. But after the driving of the throbbing and wet flesh she felt the pleasure. The waves of pleasure that caused her legs to buckle.

A strange thing happened as she moaned with frenzied and rising pleasure. He continued to caress and fondle her breasts and nipples. She felt his strength as she saw visions of a beautiful white-winged angel falling from the skies, falling from heaven. Something so deep. Something so powerful. She gave in to him. She gave everything to him. A white substance started to drip from her breasts.

He caresses and squeezed more as he kissed her neck and shoulder. There was more now. Then a drop turned into drips and mother's full breasts started to squirt milk. He squeezed each one in turn as if to check to make sure they were working well. After all, she would be nourishing his newborn son. Such was the prophetic vision.

Mother could barely take the pleasure quaking and rippling through her body. She grabbed the top of a nearby barrel and held on for dare life as he thrusted hard. They were at a strong gallop and she had her elbows on the barrel. She reached back and felt his full balls. Soft like velvet. Round like the eggs of the hen nearby.

She couldn't hold herself up. He grabbed a handful of her red tresses and pushed the side of her face agains the barrelhead. She groaned in discomfort. She moaned in pleasure. She hoped he would not stop. He pulled up her shirt to see the contours and muscles of her back. Her gripped her muscles and her arms. He caressed the white arms of mother. Then he moved his hands down to her buttocks and squeezed them in every way. He pushed them together and pulled them apart to reveal her red-rimmed asshole that looked so inviting. Her moved his hands down and squeezed her thighs and worked his hands up to her shoulders and repeated the caressing of her contours several times. Up and down with the palms of his hands running along her vulnerable skin.

Now the moon was full. The sun was set. He grabbed her waist and arched back as he delivered his seed into her. Mother said she knew she would be pregnant long ago when it happened.

That was about three hundred and twenty-nine years ago. Since then she has been able to keep youth and beauty through the ages by magic. And she says there's always a bit of luck as she was touched by something that night with him. The angelic lover who fucked her like a beast. Some say an angel. Some say a demon.

He stayed for seven days. The time it took god to create the world. Mother said she rode him like Lilith the next morning as he squeezed her breasts and let her milk spray forth. He worshipped every curve of her, running his hands along her thighs and squeezing her from behind. Pulling her apart and pushing her together. Her tits. Her ass. Her thighs.

He took her to a small grotto not far from the cottage. There stood the rocks like Stonehenge but not as big. Surrounded by tall trees, the circle of stone could not be seen. He told her it was no accident that she chose this spot. This was where the witches before him had come. They made love to him here. They made sacrifice. And they mourned the dead here. The gathering of ritual and celebration.

They lie naked together there for a time. And she saw the satyrs and wood nymphs emerge from the forest. Mother had a strong urge to please him and she went to her knees to take him in her mouth. There, naked under the stars in the forest. He guided her and pushed her head back and forth slowly. He showed her how to caress his balls and suck not only the end but the side of the shaft too.

The satyrs became erect on the sight of this and stroked their large dangling cocks until they became red-gorged with blood. The nymphs drew closer and took a variety of positions with the surrounding satyrs. But even as they entered, sucked, and aroused each other they kept their eyes on the magnificent figure of the dark rider and mother's exquisite curves. Like statues of ancient Greece. Mother like Aphrodite and he like Adonis.

He put his hands under her shoulders and guided her up. He turned her around and made her close her thighs so only a tuft of red hair protruded. He stroked and pulled her hairs and reached for her lips and ran his fingers up her down her wet lips. Then he pulled her open ever so gently and guided his fingers in. He fingered her for a while before her mounted her.

They went to the altar and she rode him again until he unleashed another torrent of white-hot seed into her belly. She was a goddess then. He followed the contours of her breast and she started to lactate again. She was always wet when he was near. Wetness and moisture at her thighs and milk leaking from her breasts from his mere presence.

They returned to the cottage. Mother woke to the rising sun the next morning and there was no sign of the stranger. Mother began to cry for she would miss him and his loving ways. She felt her belly. Week by week it began to rise.

On the nightstand beside the bed there was a small green, velvet pouch. In it were many emeralds shaped like tears. There was also a long green and velvet dress that hung from the door. Mother donned it. A perfect fit.

Until the day I was born...

I was too young to remember but I could just barely walk when the raiders came to take me away. And that was many lifetimes ago for unlike mother I have died and went into the underworld only to return again. Her longevity—or immortality—has been consistent. There, at the cottage I remember the day they came.

They were black riders. But they were of a different sort than he was. They wore black leather armor. And they were heavily armed. There was maybe a half dozen of them staring down at me and mother as she gripped my hand. She grabbed me and ran but they stripped me from my mother's arm leaving her there to weep. She has never spoken much of that day.

But this was not the end. It was only the beginning for I returned to mother's loving arms again. There were more adventures to come. We would be reunited. I had a destiny. I was to become a great and powerful sorcerer myself like Merlin. So it would be. In this great war and new aeon to come.