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Witch's Brew

Witch's Brew

Erotic fiction by Michele London

    “There is a way, a spell, but it’s powerful magic, Colette, and not something you ought to decide lightly.”
Colette shook her head, locks of hair streaming from her once tightly coiled braids and sticking in the tears that had softened her cheeks.

    “I don’t care. I don’t care what it is, I want to do it. Please, you cannot deny me this.”

The women looked across at one another, an unspoken conversation passing between them. Ella, the younger and fairer of the two, pursed her lips and lifted her brow at Lisse, who closed her eyes in a moment of hurried contemplation.

    “Very well. We will help you. Come to the King’s chapel tomorrow midnight. Wear your hair unbraided and your feet bare. Bring with you something of his; nothing and no one else. Do you understand?” Colette nodded, new tears brimming in her eyes.
    “Yes, yes thank you.”
    “Go now. We must prepare.”

Lisse watched the distraught princess rush and stumble back through the heavy undergrowth of the forest, and sighed.
    “I hope I do not come to regret my decision.”
    “It is our calling to help those in need.”
    “A broken heart seems hardly enough need to warrant a display such as she seeks.” Ella rose up from where they both kneeled on the rush-strewn floor and placed a hand on the other woman’s shoulder.
    “If not the heart, sister, then what else?”

The rest of the afternoon was spent in gathering items the ritual required. They placed the bundles in a woven basket and covered them with a length of linen to keep in their potency. Then the women began the process of preparing themselves, cleansing their bodies in order to be more perfect vessels for the magic that they would call. They bathed in warm water scented with rose oil and mint, and brushed lavender through their long hair, Ella’s the color of burning gold, and Lisse’s the blue black of a raven’s wing.

They made a fire in the small brazier behind the cottage and slept under the stars, drawing the ancient power from those orbs that they would soon need. They broke their fast on oat porridge and spent the daylight hours in restful contemplation, gathering their magic to them.

The Kings’ Chapel was a hour’s walk from the cottage, and so when the moon was halfway through the sky they set off, hooded cloaks clasped closed against the crisp air of the harvest night, the basket slung over Ella’s arm.

The ruins were bathed in a swath of silver light. Less than half of the original stone walls remained, but the altar was intact, a great slab of dark marble veined in shimmering gold. The sheer weight of it prevented thieves from taking it away, however, Ella and Lisse knew it was protected with another force entirely, an unseen barrier that would see no harm was done to it.

They arrayed their tools, scattering the crushed herbs over the altar stone and wedging the candles into the decaying pillars and scones around them. When all was in readiness, they came together and took one another by the hand, giving thanks for the magic they possessed and begging the power to conduct it on this night. Then, they parted to stand on either side of the stone, and await the Princess’ arrival.

Shadows passed over the moon as they waited, no sound but the slow, deep breathing of the forest and the occasional song of a night bird. When the hoof beats of a royal steed approached, then, it was easy to hear them from more than a mile away.

Lisse and Ella kept their eyes fixed on the full moon as the sound grew louder, until at last it was nearly a stampede, shattering the stillness of the Chapel and sending the night birds flying in all directions. The Princess pulled up the reins at the tree line, breathing heavily, and even in her obvious anxiety and distress dismounted with all the inherent grace of nobility.

She seemed to realize the sanctity of the place, and gathered her poise back around herself like the bull who would break no further glass in the china shop. Ella stepped forward.
     “Have you brought what was needful?”
Colette lifted the satin purse that was tied to her waist.
    “Yes. It’s here.”
    “Then come forward. Let us begin.”

Ella took the purse and emptied its contents into her hand. A lock of hair, pale as snow, tied in the middle with a ribbon the color of midnight.
    “He gave it to me, once,” Colette explained, her voice again heavy with threatened tears.
    “It will do.”

Lisse lit the candles and placed the hair in the center of the circle they made. She took Ella’s hand, who took Colette’s in turn, and bowed her head. The women’s voices combined in an eerie chant to fill the air.

    “We raise our voices this night to invoke the Moon and Hecate, to free this maiden, your child, from the bindings of heartbreak and despair. Take from her the memories of false love. Take from her the pain of love unrequited. Give her back the joy of a new love, fulfilled, in the form most fitting. This we ask you, in all humility, for this one of your children on earth.”

Lisse took up one of the candles and dipped it towards the hair. The ribbon caught first, smouldering slowly down into its knot. Then, in a burst of blue flame the hair was consumed in fire, and in seconds there was nothing left but a tendril of smoke and a pile of ash to mark where it had been.

Ella released Lisse’s hand and pulled Colette closer.
    “Be at peace now, maiden. Your sorrow is released.”

She touched her lips to the princess’s, pressing gently on the full, soft flesh. Colette did not resist, but remained perfectly still. Ella moved deeper into the kiss, parting her lips only a little and caressing Colette’s mouth with her own.
    “What…what are you doing?” Colette asked when it ended, breathless and flushed.
    “This is a love spell, Princess. It requires love to seal it, to give it its power. Do you wish to end it?”
Her eyes darted back and forth between the two women. Lisse was calm and reserved, Ella, smiling and kind.
    “Yes,” she said at last. “Yes.”

She lunged at Ella, returning to the kiss with hard eagerness, taking the witch’s face in both of her hands and pressing into her lips. Ella staggered but did not fall, and in a moment she had found the incantation in her mind once again and chanted it aloud.

She placed her hands on Colette’s waist and guided her with slow, small steps to the edge of the altar. She did not have to look to know that the space had been prepared; Lisse had already done it.

Together they lifted the Princess atop the altar and spread her cloak out beneath her her to soak up some of the stone’s chill. Then Ella shed her robe, revealing herself naked and gleaming under the moonlight. Her hair spilled down her back and over her breasts.

She, too, climbed onto the altar, and lay herself down against Colette’s side.
    “Bind up our spell with this offering of love, freely given, and wind tight our wishes to their sticking place,” Lisse said, her hands stretched out over them.

Ella took Colette’s face again, kissing her, worshiping her soft lips and down the curve of her throat, working free the stays of her gown with nimble fingers. She ran her palms over the Princess’ bare breasts and the nipples already straining from the cold. The gown parted further to reveal her pale stomach, and soon the corset was gone completely. From the foot of the altar Lisse pulled the skirts free from Colette’s hips, undid the ties of the undergarments, and left her bare and beautiful.

While her Ella made love to the Princess’ mouth and breasts, Lisse parted the silken thighs. She let her hands wander up the length of that smooth skin and back again, and felt the pull of sacred desire move in her belly.

She bent down to the hidden folds and eased them open, baring the little pearl of desire that had already begun to grow slick. Lisse stroked it with her thumb, waiting to hear the soft moans from the Princess’ lips that meant she was ready. Then, Lisse placed her mouth down atop the heated flesh, drawing her tongue through the length of the cleft and tracing full circles around that sensitive core.

Ella lowered her head to the Princess’ breast, keeping one warm hand over the other and stroking the taut nipple even as she nibbled and laved at its mate. Colette’s sighs quickly became heavy breaths, and those soon were punctuated with the high, tight gasps of female pleasure. Ella ran her hand over her chest and arms and neck, letting her fingers whisper over every inch of the exposed and shivering royal skin.

A hand snaked through Lisse’s hair, holding tight to the blonde tresses. The witch kept on with her spell work. She could feel the Princess coming closer. She redoubled her efforts, paying closer attention to the swollen, throbbing center, pressing in the same quick movements over and over.

Then, the Princess bucked her hips, arching up off the altar and letting her voice fly out into the night. The witches kept up their ministrations until it was done, then soothed and stroked her back to a state of calm, softened bliss.

Ella slipped down from the altar and fastened her cloak about her. The women helped Colette to rise and clothe herself again. Then Lisse lit another candle and set it to burn at the center of the stone table.
    “The magic is wound up,” she said. “Go now, and sleep, and know that he will trouble you no longer.”
    “Are you certain?” Colette asked. “What if the spell should fail?”
Ella smiled gently at her and brushed a finger down her cheek.
    “The magic can be strengthened at any time, dear one. You have only to seek out the spell.”
Colette blushed in the moonlight.
    “Another witch?”
    “No,” Ella said. “You are the Princess, Colette. You may work your magic on any one you wish.”

Copyright ScarletGirl.com

Michele London is an author, editor, and romance consultant with Scarlet Girl. She is a regular contributor to Scarlet’s Letter and the archive of articles at ScarletGirl.com. She writes dark fiction and erotic fantasy, and dips into real-life tales of sexy for the lovely ladies as a Scarlet Girl pleasure party consultant in the San Francisco Bay Area.

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This article was added to our catalog on Thursday 17 October, 2013.

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