The Witch's Graduation

"Susie..." his voice was hoarse.

"I know, Johnny. Let it come. Cum. Cum for me, baby."

John's head tilted back and his eyes squeezed shut. With a drawn-out moan he emptied himself into her. When she felt the first hot pulses strike her womb, the sensation sent her over the edge as well, and she fell onto his chest, hot nipples digging into his flesh as she kissed him. His hands came up to grab her ass-cheeks, and he slowly, relentlessly, drove himself into her as the flood of semen slowly receded.

He opened his eyes and smiled at her. "Thanks, baby. Sleep with me tonight?"

Susanna opened her mouth for a quick agreement, then closed it. Slowly, she said, "I don't think that's a good idea, Johnny. I'm fighting these feelings of jealousy. If I have what the rest of the coven doesn't, well..."

John nodded. "I understand." He watched regretfully as she gathered up her clothes. Leaning over his bed, she gave him one last long slow kiss goodnight, lips and tongue promising more than words ever could. She rose, then bent again. Cradling his beloved organ in her hands, she cast a charm of healing over it. She smiled as she saw the redness fade and felt John relax.

"Why the heck didn't you do that earlier?" he asked.

"For the same reason you couldn't do it for yourself. It would have been an act of selfishness. This way, I can heal you, because I am doing it for you and whoever you next bring to your bed.

"Good night, my mate," she said, and left, closing the door behind her.

Chapter 2

Steve woke in a blind panic, heart thudding. For one instant, he had no idea where he was or how he had gotten there. Where is Grant? Oh, God, please let me not have overslept, or it'll be the strap again.

Finally his terrified eyes landed on the nightlight next to the bed. He collapsed on the bed in a heap, breath sawing in and out of his lungs like he had just finished a marathon.

Softly, he began to chuckle. The chuckle built up to a laugh that transmuted into a full-fledged roar of relief.

No more! He is never going to scare me again! I'm free!

He turned on the light and looked at his watch.

Seven AM. Time for breakfast. He frowned. And a talk with Claire.

Twenty minutes later, shaved and dressed, he was seated at the Chamberlain's kitchen table. Claire had offered him his pick of breakfast and had showed him where the plates, cups, and everything else was kept. Trying to keep his presence as low-key as possible, he had grabbed a couple pieces of bread, toasted them, and had spread peanut butter and strawberry preserves on them for a breakfast sandwich, with a glass of orange juice to drink.

John and Susanna were at the table as well, quickly eating before school. Both of the Chamberlain siblings were quiet. Steve got the impression that John was not a morning person, as he responded to his mother mostly in grunts as he ate a bowl of microwaved oatmeal. Susanna was a little more animated, but was still quiet, with a small smile on her face, as she ate her breakfast of yogurt and fruit. With a last hurried swallow, John leaped out of his seat and bolted for the door, yelling goodbye to his mother. Susanna quickly followed, hauling a book-loaded backpack behind her.

Steve finished his toast and faced Claire. Taking his courage in both hands, he asked, "Claire, can I ask you a question?"

"Certainly, Steve," she replied, taking a sip of coffee. She was dressed in a heavy flannel robe, and her hair was still mussed from bed. She looked, Steve thought, very attractive.

"If you wanted to, you could rent the basement for more than twice what I am paying you. When you take into account the cost of feeding me...heck, you are practically paying me to live with you."

Claire nodded. "And?"

"And why?" Steve demanded. "You don't know me. You don't owe me anything. Why are you being so nice to me? I've seen your shop. It can't make too much money. And you're sending two kids off to college in a couple of months. Surely you could use the cash."

Claire frowned and stood up. With her back to him, she walked over to the counter.

"It's...unfortunate that you made the connection so soon, Steven," she said. Her voice had grown colder. "I believe that Hilda told you that we are pagans?"

"Yes," said Steve, suddenly nervous.

Claire turned back to him, lips peeled in a snarl. "Well, foolish child, pagans need blood for our rituals. And you," she said, raising a butcher knife high, "are our next sacrifice."

Steve gaped in terror. His eyes flashed to the door, but Claire blocked his path. He tried to rise from the chair, to run somewhere, anywhere, but his legs tangled and he sat again heavily. He drew in breath to scream for help...

And then he heard the laughter.

Claire was howling, howling, with glee. She dropped the knife and put her hands on a chair to steady herself.

"Oh, oh, oh Goddess that was funny," she gasped. "I'm sorry, Steve. I shouldn't have done it. But then I had a flashback to every terrible horror movie where the evil witch lures in the innocent teenager for some unspeakable purpose...and your face! Oh, that was funny. I'm so sorry," she giggled.

Sitting down, she wiped her eyes and patted Steve's hand.

"Why am I doing this? Because I can. We're not rich, but we're well off. Both the kids have cars, and I am not going to struggle putting them through college. Though the fact that they both qualified for partial scholarships is a help. The shop is not our only source of income. The family has made several smart investments over the years, and we could live quite comfortably on the interest for a long, long time. The shop is simply a way of keeping in touch with the community.

"Besides," she said, more than a little sourly, "people tend to get suspicious when they see a single woman living well with no visible means of support.

"If you are uncomfortable with the situation, you can always find things to do to help once you are earning a paycheck. Bring home some groceries now and then. Drop some money in my purse. Or you can do some chores around here. In fact, John didn't have a chance to mow the lawn this weekend. You can do that in your free time today, if you like.

"Or you can simply do a good deed for someone else. We believe in the Goddess. And part of that belief is that we all have a responsibility to each other. No one is an island, and all that being rich does is guarantee a fancy funeral.

"Okay?"

Steve smiled. "I'll mow the lawn later this morning. And if there is anything else I can do, let me know."

"Not too much. We didn't bring you here to be our slave." She stood up. "I'm going to get dressed. If you decide to mow, give the dew some time to burn off before you start. I'll be going downtown to the store this afternoon, and you are welcome to come along if you like."

She left the room with a smile.

And as she passed the doorway, Steve swore he heard her giggle again.

%%%

Steve hung around in the basement for a while that morning, taking advantage of the satellite hook-up. For the first time in his life, he was able to watch whatever he wanted.

Unfortunately, most of what was on TV was garbage.

God, he thought flipping the channel over to a news station. Who the hell watches this crap? Do people actually sit down to watch a freakshow family with 19 kids?

He looked at his old digital watch. After 10 AM. Time to mow.

Claire's mower was electric, with an extension cord that could be plugged into outside outlets. At first it was hard for Steve to get used to mowing around trees and shrubs while avoiding running over the cord, but in time he got used to it. It took him well over an hour to finish.

This lawn is huge, he thought. I've seen football fields with less grass. She must be telling the truth about having money. The property taxes on this place must be pretty high.

When he was done with the lawn, he went inside for lunch. He scavenged a leftover burger from the fridge and some chips from a cupboard and sat down to eat. He could hear Claire vacuuming upstairs. When he was done he washed the dishes and put them away.

And discovered that he was bored.

Say what you will about Calvin, he thought, at least he kept me busy. Granted, it was usually with things he would have happily avoided, like passing out pamphlets and protesting abortion clinics, but at least it was activity. He wandered to the back deck and looked out over the yard. His eye fell to the back edge of the property, where there was a garden which he had barely noticed while he was mowing.

Five minutes later he was grubbing happily in the dirt, weeding around tomato plants, green peppers, and beans. One of his favorite things in school had been anything to do with plants or agriculture, and he had joined every 4-H program he could find. Pausing for a moment, he pulled off his t-shirt. The warm May sun felt like a benediction on his skin.

Whistling happily, Steve moved down to the next row of plants. If he had looked up towards the house, he would have seen Claire in one of the upstairs windows, looking at him with the hot, lustful eyes of a predator.

%%%

Sybil was right, thought Claire. This is going to have to be the quickest integration in the history of the coven. Even here, a good forty yards away, she could feel Steve's power working on her. Suggesting she disrobe, go to him, give her body to his and meld with him in a glorious song of power and passion.

With a sigh of longing, she closed her eyes and tried to reforge her mental barriers.

She had been pleased to see a bit of spirit in the boy earlier. While he had not been timid the night before, she had been worried that he had been ground down by the monster who had controlled him. His wounded pride at being charged such a low rate for the basement, and his desire to make himself useful, bode well for the future.

A pensive smile crossed her face as she watched him, shadows from the maple trees throwing patterns of light and shade across the pale skin of his back. His obvious delight in growing things was one more indication that he would fit in well with the coven. While worship of the Goddess was not mandatory for members who married into their fellowship, it certainly helped.

With a start, she realized that she had unbuttoned her slacks and that her fingers had dipped below her panties and were playing with her sex. Her free hand lightly grazed the skin of her stomach as she hungrily eyed Steve's ass. He moved slightly, shifting down the row of onions, and her breath caught, watching the play of muscles in his arms and legs. The urge to go to him was now almost painful, like a hook sunk deep in her soul.

She emerged from the house naked as the day she was born. She walked up to her lover, heavy breasts swaying in the warm breeze. Without a word she lay back on the damp earth, dirt and sweat combining to form charms of power on her back.

Her lover was suddenly nude as well, and he wordlessly took her, shamelessly rutting in the sunlight, beloved face hanging above her like the sun, his mighty cock plunging deep within her again and again and AGAIN...

Stumbling, she went to her bed. Shoving her slacks down to her knees, she fumbled in the bed-stand for the dildo which had been her friend ever since she had reluctantly cut off her last relationship, not knowing whether the backwash of power from her sex life would trigger John and Susanna's crossing before they were ready. Thumbing it on, she ran the vibrating tip over her clitoris, then rammed it deep into her eager cleft. Her eyes closed and she gasped in relief, as in her mind's eye she pictured a gentle face and pale brown hair, joining her in the oldest dance of all.

%%%

An hour later, Steve re-entered the house. He was soaked with sweat and his arms and hands were plastered with dirt, but his muscles had the tired, relaxed feeling that came after a hard morning's work.

A hot shower, he thought. Then maybe a trip to the store with Claire. If she doesn't mind, I am going to hide in the back with the books and read all afternoon.

He climbed the stairs to the second floor and went into the bathroom. Stripping quickly, he turned on the hot water and got into the shower. Looking at the array of soaps, shampoos, and body washes stacked on the sides of the tub and the shelves, he added more items to the growing list in his head.

Shampoo, he sighed to himself. And soap. Conditioner. And a shower caddy so I am not cluttering up their bathroom with my stuff. Towels of my own. Maybe some hand soap for downstairs. Eventually a laundry hamper and a bureau to hold my clothes. Laundry soap and detergent. Maybe some new clothes for a change. Work clothes for the job this summer. An alarm clock, so I can make sure I get up on time. He sighed as he soaped up.

Would you rather be here or there, dummy? Everyone starts off with damn near nothing. You're just closer to nothing than most other people. Work the highway job until you get enough set by so you're not stone broke, then find a place of your own. Then start to save. Then community college. Then a real school. Then a good job, where you choose what you want to do for the rest of your life. Then maybe a car and a wife and kids and friends and everything else that Grant stole from you for the last seven years.

He rinsed the shampoo out of his hair, turned off the shower, and dried off. To his disgust, he realized that he had not brought clean clothes upstairs. Wrapping the towel around his waist, he stepped out of the bathroom, intending to make a quick dash downstairs, hoping that Claire would not see him.

Instead, he nearly ran her down in the hall as she came out of her bedroom. He had to dance to one side to avoid bumping into her.

"Good afternoon, Steve," she said. She raised her eyebrows at his state of dress.

"Hi Claire," he said, blushing furiously. "I was cleaning up, but forgot to bring up clean clothes. It won't happen again."

"Relax, honey," she said, drawing closer. "I've been a mother for longer than you've been alive. You don't have anything that I haven't seen before."

Steve was slightly horrified to find his body reacting to her presence. With a quick nod of his head he said, "Well, I should go get dressed." He moved past her to go to the stairs, but was brought up short by her gasp of outrage.

"What the hell happened to your back?"

Claire was horrified. What she had thought were shadows earlier were a criss-crossing of livid bruises, mottled blue and green and purple across Steve's back and shoulders.

Steve stopped. A lie sprang to his lips, but he knew without thinking that she would never believe it. Face tight, he turned to face Claire. "Calvin Grant happened," he grated, voice harsh with old pain.

"Gentle Goddess," Claire breathed. Looking into his eyes for permission, she ran a finger gently along his back. The bruise was easily an inch wide and six inches long, running from Steve's right shoulder to his spine. And there were at least a dozen more as bad, or worse.

"A belt?" she asked.

Steve nodded. "Called it his strap. Big old leather thing. When he lost his temper, which was fairly often, he would hold it by the buckle and beat me until he thought I had learned my lesson."

"That son of a bitch," she snarled. She met his eyes with a furious glare. "Get dressed and meet me downstairs in five minutes."

"Why?"

"We are going to the police."

"But..."

Claire stepped near, and Steve stepped back, afraid.

"We are going to the police. Five minutes. Downstairs. Go."

Steve went.

%%%

As soon as they were in the car, Claire handed him her phone.

"It's unlocked. Call my sister and put it on speaker."

Steve fumbled through the unfamiliar commands, but finally managed to hit the right sequence of buttons.

"Hi, Sis," came Sybil's calm voice, "What's up?"

"Hello, Sybil," said Claire, speaking loudly to be heard through the speaker-phone. "Do you think you could have someone else watch the store this afternoon? Steve and I are on the way to the police station."

"To the police? What did you do to the poor boy? Or what did he do to you?" Sybil's voice was amused.

"Can it. This isn't funny. I'll explain later, but we have a bona-fide child abuse case on our hands."

"I'm not a..." Steve started to protest, but was cut off by Claire's sharp look.

"Well, let's see," Sybil's voice mused. "Johnny's got practice, and Eleanor...well, you know."

"Right," said Claire.

"I'm not going to bother Susanna, so close to final exams. I'll see if Agatha or Hilda can come over for a few hours. I know Agatha should be free."

"Thanks, Sis. I'll call you when I have more info."

"Bye."

Steve pressed the disconnect button, then turned to Claire. "I'm not a little boy. I don't think this is actually a child-abuse case."

"He said he adopted you, right? That makes you legally his child. And if what is on your back isn't abuse, I don't know what is."

They pulled into the police parking lot. The building was spartan and utilitarian, a pile of pale brick with the Des Moines city seal carved into the side.

Once inside, Claire worked with all the subtlety of a bulldozer. Within thirty minutes, a patrolman had passed them off to a desk sergeant who made way for a senior sergeant who was traded in for a female lieutenant.

Claire sat in front of Lieutenant Rawlings' desk, Steve next to her. For the first time, Claire relaxed, taking time to chat and complimenting her on the pictures of her grandchildren, hung behind her in the tiny cubicle she had for an office.

"So, Miss...Chamberlain. You've managed to fight your way through three levels of bureaucracy in an incredible amount of time. Why are you here?"

Claire nodded at Steve. "This young man is Steven Johnson, and he is my boarder for the summer. We just recently became acquainted, but it my opinion that he has been physically abused by the person who claims to be his adoptive father.

"Between the three of us, I have my doubts about the validity of the adoption. However, Steve expressed fear for his safety when he first came to me, and the bruises on his back confirm what he says.

"The matter is in Steve's hands. However, I wanted to make him aware of his legal options. This seemed to be the best place to do it."

Rawlings nodded. She turned to face Steve. "Young man, do you mind if I ask you to remove your shirt? If you are not comfortable, I can ask one of the male officers to examine you in private."

"No, Ma'am," Steve said. He turned around and took off his shirt. Behind him, he heard two hisses of indrawn breath. Rawlings snapped a series of quick photos to document his injuries. When he received permission to put his shirt on and turn around, Rawling's thin face was pale with anger. She was rapidly writing on a notepad.

"Well, Steve, based on the physical evidence, I think I would have a pretty good case for assault. Can I ask what it was that led to this...result?"

"I was talking to a girl rather than handing out religious literature," said Steve. "Your niece, actually," he said to Claire, with a lopsided smile.

"He took after me with the belt as soon as I got home that evening."

"Okay. So we can get him for assault. Or, if you like, we can serve him with a restraining order, which would keep him from making contact with you or approaching your place of residence."

"Yes!" said Steve eagerly. "That one."

Claire looked at Steve worriedly. "Are you sure you want to do that? If you have him arrested for assault, you..."