There were eleven witches assembled at the house when we arrived. With Doña Maria, that made twelve—-not quite a coven, but it would do. They had gathered in a large room lit by flickering candles. The ceremony was to be a long and elaborate one. I realized that as far as my part was concerned, I’d have to play it by ear.
Doña Maria supplied me with a long, white cloak with a hood. It was a little Ku-Kluxy for my taste, but I doffed my other duds and put it on anyway. She handed me a long whip and led me to the center of the room. An intricate design had been drawn in charcoal on the floor. In the middle of the design some pillows had been arranged. I sat on them and waited.
Doña Maria disappeared for a few moments. When she came back, she was wearing a long, loose, black garment identical with those worn by the other witches. It hung from the shoulder to the floor in front and back, but the sides were completely open and the only thing holding it together was the loose collar. As the witches moved about, the garments swirled between their legs. In profile, bosoms were visible, as was the plumpness of an occasional derrière. All the witches wore domino masks which didn’t so much conceal their features as lend an air of the mysterious to them.
The witches formed a large circle around the mystical diagram. They linked arms and began to chant some sort of mumbo-jumbo that sounded like no language I knew. The chant had a strong rhythm to it though, and soon they Were doing an intricate dance in time with it. The circle pulsated as they came towards me and then backed away. The tempo increased and the witches began to perspire. Their eyes glittered wildly in the candlelight and they seemed completely possessed by the ceremony. With their heads bobbing from side to side, and their long hair flying wildly, they really did seem witchlike. The throbbing circle they’d formed was like the erotic lips of some disembodied, ultra-female mouth.
The circle closed tightly around me and they fell to their knees. Their arms weren’t linked now, and their hands reached skyward and then fell to the floor as they prostrated themselves before me. Their bodies jerked convulsively from side to side and their chant mounted to a shrieking crescendo.
Then one of them broke from the circle and threw herself flat on her back directly in front of me. She was a small, dark girl with high breasts that were too fat for her slender torso. She writhed on the floor, panting, shrieking a high-pitched, monotone wail.
Her fingernails were very long and very sharp. Her hands seemed like claws now as they ripped at the loose, black garment in a spasmodic frenzy. One of her hard-breathing, globular breasts sprang free. Its large, round aureole—about the size of a silver dollar—was blood red against the dusky skin of her breast. At first the nipple didn’t protrude particularly.
But then one long fingernail raked the breast from its base to its tip, leaving a thin scratchmark of blood in its wake. Immediately the nipple turned a darkish purple-red and pushed out from the center of the aureole. The maneuver was repeated from the top of the breast to the tip, then from each side, and finally from points between. The result had the effect of a globular wheel with b1ood-red spokes. At the hub, now, the purplish nipple protruded almost three-quarters of an inch. It quivered as if with a life of its own.
The petite brunette pulled the garment free of her bosom altogether and repeated the ritualized flagellation on her other breast. Then she ripped the robe from her body, tossed it to one side and began tearing at her naked flesh in earnest. Her nails raked her flat belly, drawing furrows from her navel to the V where her palpitating thighs met. Then, after a while, quite suddenly, she became absolutely quiet. She just lay there like a stone in front of me, her arms and legs spread wide, naked, scarcely breathing.
While she had been moving, the other witches had sub- sided into a slow-moving, moaning mass of femaleness. Now, however, they sprang into action. They closed around the prostrate form of the little brunette and raised it over their heads. Chanting and swaying, they circled the room, holding the girl high, their heads raised and eyes staring at the naked figure they supported.
Finally they deposited her facedown in front of me. One of the other witches broke from the group and took the long whip I’d been holding from my hand. She stood back and lashed out at the still figure. One buttock quivered under the blow. Outside of that she remained completely quiet.
The whip was passed to another witch. She too delivered a stinging lash to the plump posterior. This was repeated by the next witch and the next until all eleven had lashed the twelfth girl once. The last girl bowed down before me and handed me the whip.
I understood that I was supposed to add to the crisscross of welts on the bare derrière. I struck as lightly as I could and sat back down again. Immediately the victim sprang to her feet and threw herself over my lap. When I didn’t respond, the other witches led her away to the side of the room. She sat there looking miserable and rejected. It dawned on me then that each of the witches would offer herself to me and that eventually I would have to choose one of them. Meanwhile, the token whiplash I’d laid on the first supplicant served as Wica’s “blessing.”
This blessing would be different in each case. I realized this as the ceremony continued. Each of the witches offered herself to me in a different way. In each case, the “blessing” would have to suit the mode of offering. And each would hope to be chosen as Wica’s “bride.”
The second witch to claim the center of the stage was tall and very slender with long, brown hair, a rather small bosom, narrow hips, and sensational legs. She had extremely delicate and graceful hands with long fingers and close-trimmed nails. She knelt in front of me with her knees wide apart and the rest of her torso bent so far backward that her hair trailed over the floor.
As the other witches swayed and chanted in a circle behind her, the lissome lass described intricate designs in the air with her hands. Then her hands went to her body. Tracing a slow, sensual pattern, she stroked herself. One hand stayed at her bosom, trailing over the ivory surfaces of the small globes, dipping into the cleavage, manipulating the nipples that seemed to spring out of the breasts themselves with no roseate around them. The nipples were a reddish brown color and as she played with them, they swelled to sharp, hard points. Her tongue peeped out from between her lips as she strummed the distended nipples.
Meanwhile, her other hand followed the faint line of quivering muscle along her inner thighs. Starting almost at the knee, she stroked upwards—first one leg, then the other. Finally her hand nestled at the juncture. Her other hand joined it there. The fingers drew back the thick brown curls there. The red lips of her nether-mouth were visible now. A tongue of sensitive flesh peeped out from between them.
Her fingers dueled with the tongue and it strained to protrude beyond the lips. Under her caresses, it pulsated and grew. Her eyes rolled in their sockets as fine beads of perspiration formed between her small breasts. Her fingers were a blur of motion, moving as surely and quickly as a top-flight violinist playing a Stradivarius. Finally a trill of laughter escaped her lips and she half rose from the floor, freezing in the impossible position, tight as a bow. Finally she sank down to her knees again.
But her part in the ceremony was far from over. Now she moved around the circle of witches, chanting at them and being chanted back as if it were some sort of responsive reading with unintelligible sounds instead of words. She paused before each one. Deftly, with practiced agility, she did for each of them in turn as she had done for herself. Then, finally, it was my turn.
My policy is never to refuse a helping hand. What with all the stimulation from the free-flowing eroticism, she didn’t have to do much to receive my “blessing.” And, not to be immodest, it was a very generous “blessing” indeed.