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The Witch's Ball

Reynaerde Feb 8th, 2019 (edited) 3,606 Never
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  1. The Witch's Ball
  2.  
  3. By Reynaerde
  4.  
  5. -----------------------------------------------------------
  6. Winter had lain a thick, white blanket over the village. The diminishing orange disc of the sun tenaciously hung above the horizon, stretching the world’s shadows long and thin. A precursor of the season’s long nights, which were growing longer still.
  7. The tavern at the crossroads was at least a temporary home to most of the villagers tonight. A market had just been had, and the occasion as well as the presence of travelers drew more people than usual. A hurdy-gurdy player was practicing his hand at jaunty tunes, and the village folk made an attempt to dance at them. The innkeeper’s daughters carried mugs of beer and bowls of stew to the needy. A large open hearth crackling with fresh firewood, roasting cuts of meat and bubbling cauldron of stew hung above, made the silent blanket that covered the world outside seem farther away than it was.
  8. Jarek hoisted the first tankard of ale of the evening, and clunked it forcefully against those of his friends.
  9. ‘To King Winter, may he leave our balls unfrozen!’ He cried, laughter and shouts of agreements rising up from the group.
  10. ‘You toss the grain too much for that to ever happen, Jarek!’ The taunt came from a man with ginger hair and built stoutly, as a pot that refuses to break when dropped. More laughter rose up.
  11. ‘That’s only because the line to your mother’s room is so long, Urich!’ Called another voice, belonging to a tall hayseed of a man. Only barely a man, but he talked like one. His name was Jack.
  12. The group roared even louder at that one, and some again clunked their tankards against Jack’s. A small celebration for the crude, but well placed insult. They all drank deeply, as one man. It was well deserved, with the day’s work behind them.
  13. They drank more as the night darkened. They ate as well, and tried their luck at coaxing the village girls into dance. Jarek had some success with a girl called Agathe, the tanner’s daughter. The smell of her father’s business was still on her, but Jarek found himself unable to care much about it. She had a gleam in her eye. He twirled her around, she giggled, but eventually found her way back to her own friends.
  14. Maybe another time.
  15. ‘Not your usual type, now is she?’ Urich stated more than asked as Jarek returned to his seat.
  16. ‘I have a type?’
  17. ‘Yeah...’ Urich cupped his hands in front of his chest, mimicking a truly massive pair of breasts. He flopped his imaginary tits up and down, and let his tongue lol out of his mouth for extra effect. ‘We’ve been thinking your mum never fed you enough. Left you hungry.’
  18. ‘Right!’ Jack shouted, harder than he should have. ‘The milkmaid! You were gonna get with that wench in Upriver, weren’t you?’
  19. Another man leaned in. ‘I remember that festival. Our boy here got home late, and he had that fucked silly look about him all fucking week!’
  20. A roar of laughter rose up.
  21. ‘You never went back, though, did you?’ Urich resumed. ‘So nothing came of it, or you left her swollen.’
  22. ‘Oh, I did hear they had a really ugly child a while ago.’ Another voice exclaimed. ‘Near drowned it in the pond for fear of the devil!’
  23. ‘Shut up, the lot of you.’ The barbs had itched Jarek to the point where he was going to say something either really smart, or really stupid. ‘You’ve hardly laid eyes on women at all, let alone what they keep in their skirts. No, I did not fuck the milkmaid, but I had a meeting that any of you would sell your dick to have just once in your lives.’
  24. ‘Bold claims!’ Laughed Jack. ‘Did a saint come down from the heavens to bless your cock or what?’
  25. ‘I’ll tell you what…’ Jarek had gotten himself in hot water, and tried to scour his mind for a way to turn his unlikely tale into something believable. But he did not have to.
  26. A gust of cold night air swept through the tavern as a man at arms held the door for a tall and thin robed figure, snow drifting in with him. The music fell silent, as did the dancing and bawdy conversations. This man was a priest, and he looked none too pleased. With piercing eyes he swept the room as a lacky opened a scroll for his inspection. An arm rose up, with pointing finger on sinewy hand. People shrunk away from the baleful appendage as if he cut a swath in the crowd with the fires of heaven itself.
  27. He pointed towards Jarek. The entire room was silent, now. His friends quietly shifted away from him. The tanner’s daughter clasped her hands in front of her mouth.
  28. ‘There he is!’ The priest spoke, spittle flying like the snowflakes dancing around him.
  29. ‘Oh, for fuck’s sa…’ Jarek began.
  30. ‘Witchfucker!’
  31.  
  32. After they had shackled him like a common criminal, by arms and legs, the guards hauled Jarek into a waiting cart. They kept the beatings to a thankful minimum, no doubt owing to the weather rather than mercy. The priest left the townsfolk little time to gather, gawk, and murmur their rumors, and even less for anyone to protest. Before they pulled the hood over his face, Jarek saw Urich go down after one of the men at arms struck him with a cudgel. He could hear more shouting, the crack of a whip, and the cart lurched off into the night.
  33. During the uncomfortable journey he found himself strangely calm in pondering his predicament. He found himself in the unenviable position of having been arrested for a crime he definitely did commit, though he reasoned the witch had fucked him, rather than the other way around.
  34. But how did they know? Had he let slip too much in an idle conversation over a tankard of ale? Had someone seen him with Minuet in the woods, that night? Or was he just the victim of a false accusation that only by happenstance happened to be truth? When he could, he tried to listen in to any word his guards spoke among themselves, but they did not say much. And when they did, it was disturbingly banal. The wife of one man was with child, and he debated the nature of crib-making with another. Another told a joke which Jarek would have laughed at, were he not in such a grave position. Nothing enlightening.
  35. He resigned to bear out the journey. There was no escaping, and it would only make him seem guilty. And what evidence could they have?
  36. After what must have been a few hours he heard the cry of the city’s night watch, and the creak of the gate. He could not see what time it was, but the streets were dead quiet. Eventually they took him by the arms, and under a few encouraging words such as ‘bastard’ and ‘degenerate’, dragged him down several stairs. The air became noticeably damp, and their footsteps and voices echoed off the walls. Once again, to a man with jingling keys, his nature as a deviant was confirmed. A door’s hinges protested at opening, and he was flung forward, stumbled, and landed heavily on a hard floor with a thin covering of damp straw.
  37. Yes, this was a dungeon. Not the best place to find oneself.
  38.  
  39. Sometime during the remainder of the night Jarek managed to slip the hood off. There was little point to it, as there wasn’t much to look at. The cell was small, the walls were oppressive, and the rats curious. And contrary to what whimsical tales had led him to believe, there was no barred window at street level from which to hurl abuse and pleas to passers-by.
  40. With no desire to sleep, he had plenty of time to prepare his argument of innocence. Just saying it outright was probably overplayed. Maybe insist there had been some kind of mistake? No, telling them they were doing their job wrong would probably not speak in his favor. He mulled the options over in his head.
  41. Eventually, predictably, they did come for him. The priest in his flowing robes, flanked by two guards. Jarek opened his mouth to make his well-rehearsed statement, but the priest caught eye of him immediately.
  42. ‘Hold your heretical tongue! You will speak when spoken to.’
  43. ‘Who knows what foul magics he’d cast upon us…’ Murmured one of the guards.
  44. Well, that was that. Jarek had planned to affirm his desire to cooperate and be an easy prisoner, but if he’d point that out now, he’d be disproving himself.
  45. ‘On your feet!’ The priest ordered.
  46. Under the encouragement of a few friendly kicks, Jarek did as ordered. Then they guided him out to a larger room. Iron rings for shackles lined the walls, and a fair number of cruel devices stood waiting. Now, for the first time, Jarek truly felt his courage desert him. They weren’t going to even start with a nice, calm interview, were they? What was it with these zealots, anyway? If they were so sure of his crime, could they not leave all this nonsense be and simply hang him?
  47. No, he’d heard of people who endured, and were set free. He could bear a few more scars yet.
  48. ‘Prepare him for questioning!’ The priest’s voice boomed.
  49. The guards removed the shackles, and promptly attached new ones, so he was forced in an X position in the middle of the room. He felt vulnerable, and practically naked.
  50. ‘So this is the prisoner?’ The simple question sounded authoritative, but above all feminine. A pale-faced nun had entered the room, her habit only barely hiding the figure of a born harlot. Despite his situation, Jarek noticed. The guards noticed to, and the priest was clearly trying hard not to.
  51. ‘Mother Superior, you ought to not be here. This is not a matter for ladies. Not even of the cloth.’
  52. The nun produced a large scroll bearing an impressive seal. ‘My credentials say otherwise.’
  53. The priest broke the seal on the scroll and read it, slowly, murmering some of the words to himself.
  54. ‘My apologies, Mother Superior. This is quite genuine.’
  55. ‘Of course it is.’ The nun had already obtained a short whip and was running her hand down the length of the instrument. She cracked it with a ferocity that made the guards jump. ‘The convent does not make mistakes.’
  56. ‘You two.’ She prodded the guards with her whip. ‘Stop being useless and undress the prisoner. Then make yourself scarce. Important business like this is wasted on you boors.’
  57. Without delay, the guards did as they were told. They didn’t bother with any finesse, cutting his clothes apart with their knives. As they leaned in close to do so, they seemed suddenly less threatening, wearing expressions of nervousness.
  58. ‘Is this perfume?’ The voice came from the priest, who had seated himself on a stool, scroll still in hand. He gave it a tentative sniff.
  59. ‘Oh, yes, just one of the products we make at the convent. Ora et labora, etcetera.’ The nun seemed to pay no attention to him.
  60. Having left him naked, the guards quickly scurried out of the room without another word. The door swung closed behind them with a loud bang. The nun now regarded him with predatory eyes, the slight hint of a smile playing on her lips.
  61. ‘So you’re the witchfucker, then.’
  62. Jarek remained silent, unsure of what to say. He didn’t want to admit guilt. The nun was having none of it, though, and brought the whip up under his balls to exert a threatening pressure.
  63. ‘Answer me, prisoner.’
  64. ‘I… Erm… That… that’s what they’re accusing me of.’ He stammered.
  65. ‘So this…’ She ran the whip up and down his shaft. ‘…is not the sort of cock that witches go in for?’
  66. ‘Wh… what?’
  67. ‘Mother Superior! This is highly unusual!’ The priest called, still sitting on the stool, still clutching the scroll. After speaking, he brought it to his nose again and sniffed audibly. ‘Oh, this is quite exquisite… We can’t go about questioning the prisoners about their genitals!’
  68. ‘Oh shush, you old goat. Cataloging the cock preference of the dark arts is an instrumental task in Witchology. In fact…’ a sharp-toothed smile played across her face, ‘… we should get a good look at it in full glory. Get hard for me, prisoner!’
  69. ‘What do you…? I can’t just get wood on command!’ Oh damn, why did he call his dick “wood” in this fucking situation?
  70. ‘Say no more!’ The nun’s hand shot out at once and grabbed him firmly be the member. She tugged him forward against his bonds.
  71. ‘Movver Spweror!’ The priest’s voice was muffled from the scroll pressed against his face. He inhaled deeply, and dropped it to speak. ‘You can’t just go about practicing onania on the prisoners! What sort of technique is this?! And you must absolutely get me more of this!’
  72. ‘This is a highly advanced technique.’ She turned her face to Jarek’s, and for the first time looked him straight in the eye. ‘Don’t you agree, prisoner?’
  73. Set in the woman’s fine features were shining, green eyes. Her pupils were slits, almond shaped.
  74. Like a cat’s.
  75. ‘Minuet?’
  76. There was not so much the sound as the sensation of a soap bubble popping, and the nun’s pale skin gave way to a coat of black fur, bordered by the white of the nun’s habit. Long whiskers tickled his face. The feeling of threat dropped away immediately. The feeling of his favorite witch’s paw on his manhood did not.
  77. ‘There it is! That is the sort of cock witches go in for! Another victory for Witchology!’
  78. ‘You came for me?’ Jarek was still incredulous, despite being erect.
  79. ‘Choice words.’ Minuet purred. ‘Can’t let good cock languish in a dungeon, can I?’
  80. ‘Mother Superior! What is the meaning of this?’ The priest was clearly distressed by the whole thing, though the illusion seemed to still be working for him. Jarek now saw it was not a scroll he was bringing up for another whiff, but a pair of women’s underwear. Quite a large pair, in fact, Even Minuet would find them roomy. An expression of pure euphoria spread over his face as he inhaled long and deep.
  81. ‘The prisoner will be released on grounds of advances given to the field of Witchology. He will be expected to show our findings…’ she slapped his dick, swinging it to and fro, ‘… at the convent, for the benefit of all the nuns there.’
  82. ‘We can’t do that. Questioning hasn’t concluded. We haven’t even applied the thumbscrews!’
  83. ‘Take another sniff.’ Minuet pressed the undergarments into the priest’s face, and he slackened in his stool. All for one part of him, as Jarek could see through the man’s robe. ‘You’ll see things more clearly.’
  84. Minuet made a witchly gesture, and Jarek’s shackles popped like day old pretzels. He rubbed his wrists, as is the custom after being freed from shackles. There was no point in gathering what had once been his clothing, so he simply stood there. He was quite used to being naked in Minuet’s presence by now, anyway.
  85. Minuet leant in for a conspiratorial whisper. ‘They really are the Mother Superior’s pants, you know. She’s got a fine ass on her.’
  86. ‘So this is… ‘ Jarek gestured at the priest, now fully enraptured by the nun’s underpants.
  87. ‘Just spreading the gospel of ass.’ Minuet shrugged. ‘There are no churches of ass, people don’t beseech ass in times of trouble, there are no holy days of ass. Maybe that ought to change.’
  88. ‘What do we do now? Do we go back to your place?’ He could only hope.
  89. She laughed in response.
  90. ‘You haven’t changed, I see. This zealot,’ she indicated the priest, ‘almost did terrible things to you because of me. Are you really that eager to please your mistress again?’
  91. ‘Of course! I haven’t stopped thinking about it since you brought me back.’ He wasn’t lying. The encounter had put more spring in his step, he had become more confident, and flirted with likely girls like poor, smelly, probably perverted Agathe back in the village. But none of that stacked up to the feeling of warm fur on his skin, or of teeth, claws, and tongue.
  92. ‘That’s good. Because I actually wanted to ask you to come with me, not only to my lair, but to another place.’
  93. ‘Oh?’ If he knew Minuet, even as little as he did, this could only mean something outlandish.
  94. ‘Wait, this requires some introduction. And some pomp. Let’s go somewhere else.’
  95. Without waiting for a response, she turned for the door. Jarek followed. It’s not like he was going to stay in the dungeon, after all. No matter how naked he was. And he really couldn’t get any more naked.
  96. ‘Wait, Mother Superior!’ The priest called, rousing from his pants-induced stupor.
  97. ‘What is it now?’ She asked with a barb in her voice.
  98. ‘You must really tell me how I can get more of this.’ He held up the underwear with both hands as in prayer.
  99. ‘At the convent, of course.’ Minuet giggled. ‘Come visit me any time you need more.’
  100. With that, she walked out. How she did it, he didn’t know, but she guided the both of them through the building without a word from anyone. They either saw nothing, or were simply looking away at the right time as they passed. They went up flights of stairs, out of the dungeon, up more stairs into the lavishly decorated upper floors of the building. She brought him to a wealthily decorated room, with icons of saints on the walls, and the golden artifacts of religion set reverently on pedestals. There was a large desk with gold inlay, and a high padded chair behind it. The place smelled of incense and wax.
  101. She quickly ducked into an adjoining room and came back bearing a robe of some sort, with fine stitchwork, golden threads, and jeweled decoration. A bishop’s robe, if Jarek had to guess. She pulled it over his head, laughing. Then she put her paws on his shoulders, and pushed him into the high chair.
  102. ‘Stay there.’ Again she ducked into the other room, this time coming back with a bishop’s miter. She plopped it on his head, askew.
  103. Minuet made a gesture, and the curtains drew closed. Another gesture, and the pall in the room was lifted by the candles in their golden stands and candelabra lighting. She cleared her throat with a small, ladylike sound, and turned her eyes on his. They glowed in the artificial twilight.
  104. ‘Every winter the nights grow longer.’ A magical echo lingered in the room in the last word.
  105. ‘Witches feast, collect the innocence of man.’ She brought her claws up in a theatrical expression, as if milking a giant cow.
  106. ‘Magic grows with the dark. The time comes for the grand ritual!’
  107. As the echo sounded, she levitated up, landing on the desk.
  108. ‘This witch demands a minion to serve, to wait on his mistress as a loyal servant.’ She lifted the habit and stretched out a paw before him. ‘What do you say, minion?’
  109. ‘Yes, mistress. I will serve.’ Jarek said.
  110. Minuet wiggled her toes. ‘You have to kiss the paw Jarek. Kiss the paw.’
  111. ‘Oh, of course.’
  112. He took her paw in his hands and kissed it gently, for the formality. Her paw had that same, gentle musk the rest of her had. Then he kissed her again for himself. He kissed every toe, and then kissed her pads, and the fluff between them.
  113. ‘OK, you’re actually pretty good at that.’ Minuet purred above him. ‘Remind me to put you on paw duty. Wait, before I forget… ’
  114. She cleared her throat again, and boomed out in an amplified voice.
  115. ‘You are invited to… the Witch’s Ball!’
  116.  
  117. After her little show Minuet returned the room to normal with a few easy gesture, and threw a window open with another.
  118. ‘Would you rather ride on the front or the back?’ She asked.
  119. ‘What?’ Jarek idled over, the golden candle stand he’d been inspecting still in hand.
  120. Minuet simply stretched out a hand, presenting the thing outside the window. A simple broom. Well, a simple witch’s broom that floated mid-air above the building’s courtyard. No-one seemed to take notice yet, though.
  121. ‘Uhm… how do I get on?’ Jarek asked.
  122. ‘You climb on.’ Minuet shrugged. With a sweep of her hand, the broom floated inside, prompting Jarek to jump aside. ‘Here, give it a try.’
  123. Jarek felt some trepidation at the prospect. Minuet’s magic seemed innocent when it made small objects float, or worked on his senses, but a witch’s broom was the real thing. Here it was, large as life. However, Jarek’s sense of reason came to its senses, and reminded him he was standing in the bishop’s office, wearing the bishop’s robe, having just escaped from the dungeon. Whatever vestige of common fear he had, it was probably best to let it go.
  124. However, a more primal, older part of his brain reminded him that people weren’t supposed to fly, so he only added up taking half a step towards the broom to then stare at it for a second.
  125. Jarek had no way to tell that Minuet rolled her eyes, but that’s exactly what she did. She gave an order to the broom, and it started circling Jarek, searching for an opening. He turned with it, though this was apparently not what Minuet wanted. She clasped his shoulders from behind, standing him still. The broom came up behind them, stopped underneath them both, and moved up. They were seated.
  126. ‘A front-rider, then. You’ll have a good view.’ Minuet giggled. ‘Hold on to your hat!’
  127. ‘Wait!’
  128. Minuet did, in fact, not wait, and Jarek did not hold on to his hat. The broom shot out of the open window, imparting the bishop’s miter with enough momentum to bounce off the window sill and into the courtyard, where it was quickly followed by a golden candle stand as Jarek realized he needed an extra hand on the broom more than gaudy means to light the dark. The miter would be duly returned by a member of the clergy. The candle stand would not, though part of it would eventually find its way back to the church in the form of an indulgence for theft.
  129. The broom arced steeply up into the air as Jarek clung to its shaft with both hands. Despite the reassuring softness of Minuet behind him, he feared he might fall off. He made a quick glance for the ground, maybe to see exactly how dead he’d be if he did fall, and immediately regretted the decision. The city beneath them turned very small very quickly, and he had never known anything to fall from the height they were at now, save for rain, hail, and snow. And maybe bird shit. He suspected the impact he’d leave would be similar, albeit messier and redder.
  130. He calmed down slightly as the broom leveled in flight, if only because gravity’s pull seemed somewhat less insistent. Beneath them stretched a wintry landscape, smothered by snow. The forests deep, dark, and full of mystery, the fields flat and untended. Rivers and streams were laid across the land like frozen ribbons, smooth and unmoving. The light of the freshly risen sun gleamed off ice and snow, setting the land ablaze with a luster of sparks. He could make out well-traveled roads, the snow trodden off them into a brown, frozen winter mud. And the villages and towns on those roads, small like dollhouses, smoke rising from their chimneys. Jarek had never seen a map in his life, and quickly stopped any attempt to identify the places he saw. All he could say was that they were heading due South-East, judging by the sun.
  131. ‘Sooo…’ Minuet purred behind him, ‘… how do you like flying?’
  132. Jarek’s thoughts weren’t flowing quite so well, but after a few minutes he did have an answer for her.
  133. ‘Scary.’ He said.
  134. Minuet let out a little growl. ‘That’s why I usually tie you guys up and knock you out.’
  135. ‘We’re so high I can’t even see my house from here.’
  136. ‘Should have been someplace to the left.’
  137. ‘Aaaaand why aren’t we freezing?’ True enough, neither of them was wearing much. The bishop’s robe was especially breezy if it was the only thing you were wearing.
  138. ‘Magic. I used to have ashtrays, too, but I don’t smoke and fly anymore.’
  139. Eventually the villages below disappeared entirely, forest dominated the land, and sturdy, ancient evergreens the forest, with only the occasional thin spiral of smoke indicating a deep forest hut or woodsmen camp. But in time, they disappeared as well. Below them were now only untouched, savage lands, with fearsome crags jutting up around them.  A large oak, towering over the forest around it, thickly laden with foliage despite the season, came into view. Minuet pointed a finger over Jarek’s shoulder.
  140. ‘Home sweet home.’
  141. Without warning Minuet turned the broom over in a turn, pointed it downwards, and descended at a frightening pace. Jarek gave a high-pitched yelp and held on for dear life. Briefly, he again imagined himself as a bird bowel movement, but Minuet pulled up above tree level, and bled speed in a few wide turns. Finally she turned the broom straight on towards the tree, and only before they were just about to hit its foliage, its branches parted to let them through. Leaves rustled as they caressed Jarek’s shoulders and legs. A large, round window in its gnarled and twisted exterior opened to admit them, and Minuet landed lightly on a rug in the spacious room, curiously decorated with nothing but a large “B” in red.
  142. She hopped off, lightly as a cat might, seemingly briefly hanging in the air before paws touched ground. The broom was ordered to a separate alcove, where it took up a position much like a regular broom. They were on an upper landing of another room, and this space seemed to be outfitted for travel. A collection of coats hung from hooks on the wall. A slick coat to repel water, a sheepskin one to keep out the cold, a white garment with face covering presumably for summer. Maps adorned the wall, though Jarek had no idea what information was contained within them. In one corner stood a rolled up carpet or tapestry richly decorated in wildly foreign designs. He could only presume Minuet got around farther and wider than just his village and the city nearby. With a shock, he realized he was farther from home than he’d ever been. True, he had been here once before, but now he had seen the journey for himself. It had simply been too harrowing to put any amount of thought to less immediate existential questions.
  143. ‘Plan on coming down?’ Minuet called from below.
  144. She had already descended the stairs that followed the contours of the great, hollow tree. The room proper was clearly her bedroom, judging by the large and impossibly comfortable looking bed she had sprawled herself out on. Of course, the bed was hart shaped. She was a sex witch, after all. Despite this being a bedroom, there were still stacks of books and shelves with weird things to be found. Paintings adorned the wall as well, including an enticing nude of herself. Cats were always made out to be vain creatures, perhaps not without reason.
  145. Jarek duly descended the stairs, rather uneasily, as he was still trying to regain his feeling for solid ground. Minuet sprang up against as he came closer.
  146. ‘It’s been fun being a nun, but it’s time I got into something a little more dignified. Be a good servant and help me undress.’
  147. He undid the hood first, clumsily, as he’d never undressed a nun before. Or even anyone pretending to be one. Minuet shook her head, and her raven hair cascaded down her shoulders. The next part was a little less dignified, and not at all sexy. He took the hem of her habit and pulled it up, past her buttocks, got it briefly stuck on her breasts, and then over her head. She was taller than him, so it wasn’t exactly elegant business. Oh, and then he had to tug it free from her arms, too. She held them out rather helpfully, but her fur was ruffled, and the hair that he had liberated in such a storybook manner looked as if it’d been caught by a strong wind. Her eyes maintained a decent effort to regard him with disregard, but her mouth was screwed up in containment of a smile.
  148. After a final, inelegant tug, she was left in her underwear. It still covered more than what he’d seen her wear previously, and the white fabric contrasted starkly with her black fur. Unrestrained by the religious cover it once more became obvious how voluptuous she was. The undergarments struggled and failed to give her a semblance of decency. The sway of her breasts was not impeded in the slightest, and the overhang of her plump belly suggested the pants might slide down her thighs at any moment. She could finish undressing by jumping up and down.
  149. ‘Just put it with the rest.’ She said, pointing to a wooden trunk.
  150. The trunk itself had a crucifix crudely attached to it, but other symbols as well. Jarek recognized the Saracen crescent from stories he had heard, but the rest were alien to him. All seemed to have been part of something else previously, stolen by the witch for her own purposes. Upon opening… well, this wasn’t first nun’s habit to be added to Minuet’s trunk. There were several already there, likely of different orders.
  151. ‘How often do you dress as a nun?’
  152. ‘Oh, not all that often.’ Minuet answered absentmindedly as she stroked her fur into the right order again. ‘Usually just for a competition or something.’
  153. ‘A competition?’ It hardly seemed usual, but nothing about her did. ‘Of nunnery dress-up? That’s not the sort of adventures I’d have thought witches get up to.’
  154. Minuet cocked her head at him, and briefly regarded him with narrowed eyes.
  155. ‘That’s not the competition, silly minion. It’s something me and the girls get up to now and then. We come in as a new mother superior, no magic except glamours, and we see which one of us manages to spank the most nuns. Plus, points for sleeping with the nuns. More points for sleeping with nuns you’ve spanked. It’s fun. You’d be surprised how many are into it.‘
  156. ‘We… uh… in the village we’d sometimes have competitions about who could touch a pig in the mud the most.’
  157. ‘Ew!’ Minuet wrinkled her nose.
  158. ‘Not like that! I’d much rather touch cats, anyway.’
  159. Minuet’s stare went cold at that. In fact the entire room did. She slowly crossed her arms and looked down at him with a scowl.
  160. ‘Did you just compare me to a pig, minion?’ She hissed. ‘I have stolen dicks for less. Perhaps some… punishment is in order!’
  161. Ah shit, he’d done it now. Angry cat.
  162. ‘Uh… I’m sorry… I didn’t mean it that way, but I can understa… ‘
  163. ‘No, no, no…’ She pinched the bridge of her nose in frustration. ‘If you’re going to be my servant, you have to get the begging down right. Especially if I’m to have you at the ball.
  164. She looked him up and down for a minute, then tugged at the robe. ‘First get this off. It looks ridiculous.’
  165. He did so immediately.
  166. ‘Right, now get down on your knees.’
  167. Another great suggestion by Minuet.
  168. ‘Clasp your hands in front of you like this.’ She clasped one of her hands in the other, almost like a gesture of prayer, but not quite.
  169. Jarek followed the advice.
  170. ‘Now throw yourself on the mercy of your mistress. Tell me how good and beautiful I am, how you belong to me, and that you’ll do anything to please me.’
  171. He quietly collected his thoughts for a while. This ought to be utterly humiliating. Everything in life had told him that. But there had always been stray thoughts at the back of his head, fantasies about the women he liked, even wild thoughts about a noblewoman having her way with him. Thoughts he had tried to banish, but which Minuet had somehow sensed in him.
  172. ‘Mistress…  ‘ he began uneasily, but then found his words, ‘you are the finest creature in all of creation, and the one shining light in my life. I am nothing but your lowly footstool. I exist only for your comfort, and I beg you to do with me as you please.’
  173. There was only silence, then. Jarek looked up at his mistress, and saw she had her hand in front of her mouth, and a look of surprise on her face.
  174. ‘Oh my, Jarek!’ She exclaimed. ‘That was good! You should be proud! You’re my footstool. That’s so cute! I knew there was good perversion in you the moment I saw you.’
  175. Jarek could only blush slightly. Her words filled him with a slight glow.
  176. With a smooth motion Minuet pulled her upper garment loose, letting her breasts fall heavily out of it, and sat down on the edge of the bed. ‘Come.’ She invited him to come to her, taking his hand in hers. She guided him to put his head between her breasts, and pressed him to her. Her fur felt like the finest velvet, with an otherworldly warmth. He pressed his nose into the tuft of fur on her chest and sniffed deeply. She had an intoxicating aroma. He felt the rasp of her tongue as she licked his forehead.
  177. They lay like this for a while, until Minuet broke the silence.
  178. ‘Jarek?’ It was only his name, but her tone was coquettish, with the hint of a fang-bearing smile.
  179. He made a sound of acknowledgement from his comfortable position.
  180. ‘I can still give you your punishment, if you want.’
  181. He looked up at her. The smile he had heard was, indeed, present on her face.
  182. ‘Anything you want.’ He said.
  183. ‘You have to want it too, silly minion.’ She purred. ‘That’s how it works.’
  184. He put his head back down on her soft chest and thought about the situation. They had already done this before, and he’d wanted it back then, no doubt about it. All of his life he’d wanted… well, this. He’d never told anyone, and Minuet was the only one who knew. There had been no point denying his nature with her, so why should he even consider fooling himself any more?
  185. He propped himself up and looked into the unfathomable depths of her deep, green eyes.
  186. ‘You’re right, Minuet. I’m a pervert. I want you to punish me because I’d enjoy it. You’re the only person who’s ever been able to understand this about me. I…’ he’d already lain with her, he’d flown on her broom, he’d escaped justice and defiled a bishop’s office, but still he could feel that last vestige of his upbringing, of his history as a man in a God-fearing society, telling him to not say these words to a witch. He waved that last vestige away, ‘… I trust you, Minuet.’
  187.  
  188. The witch tried not to show it, but she seemed a bit giddy. Jarek waited patiently on the bed while she hopped about. She flung off her underwear carelessly, not trying to impress, kicking the pants into a corner with a swift motion of one leg. With a witchly gesture she flung open a wardrobe. At a glance Jarek could see it was filled with all manner of exotic clothing. Strange, colorful garments fluttered out at Minuet’s behest. She caught them in a spin, levitating herself into the air, and deftly pulled them on without the pesky annoyance of gravity.
  189. The result was most strange. Her breasts hung free, golden disks covering her nipples, seemingly held there by nothing at all. A strange, translucent fabric hung from a broad belt inset with precious stones, leaving her sex plainly visible. Around her neck was a wide choker, etched with strange symbols. Lastly she set a diadem on her head, the most striking feature of which was a golden, angry looking snake, reared back, with red, ruby eyes and a broad neck. Unlike any snake Jarek had ever seen before.
  190. She touched down.
  191. ‘Do you like it? Just a little something I’m thinking about wearing to the ball.’
  192. ‘You would look beautiful in anything.’ Jarek answered, quite truthfully he considered.
  193. Minuet bared her sharp teeth in a hungry smile. ‘He’s learning.’
  194. With a snap of her finger a box somewhere flew open and a length of blood red rope snaked out, coiling around Minuet’s arm much like the idol on her head. She stepped onto the bed in one elegant motion and pressed her paw against Jarek’s chest. The smile still adorned her face.
  195. ‘And now for the fun stuff.’ She said, and pushed. He sank down into the soft bedding.
  196. The rope crawled over him. It was not coarse at all, as he expected, but softer than any sort of fabric he had ever felt. So strange, he thought, to make a comfortable rope. It wound around his body in a strange pattern, binding not only his arms behind his back, but also his torso tightly. It even went down to his belly, and he felt a slight tinge of embarrassment as the rope dug into his fat. The rope went down further and tied a tight coil around his cock, and then his balls. Jarek grunted as the rope pulled taut. Finally it wound around his legs, tying them together along the length of them. He lay flat on his back, barely able to move, his manhood sticking out vulnerably.
  197. He could already see Minuet eye him with hunger in her eyes, her tail held lifted behind her, its tip twitching playfully. Before he could ask her anything she had already shoved a paw in his face.
  198. ‘I told you you were going to be on paw duty.’ She pressed down and let her claws out slightly. ‘You’d better be good.’
  199. She was much more demanding, this time around. He kissed her toes and paw pads, but she just batted his face with them. She twisted, and pressed down insistently, cruelly rubbing his entire face with them. Whatever he did, it did not seem to be enough. She put her toes to his lips, and when he kissed her again she wormed open his mouth and pushed them in.
  200. ‘I want some tongue, minion.’ She ordered with a sharpness in her voice.
  201. Her weird cat toes were bigger than a human’s, and of course hairy. He suckled on them, as he would on her nipples, and let his tongue play between her toes. She splayed them out in his mouth with a purr of pleasure. When he was done with one paw, she greedily pressed him with the other.
  202. While he was in the middle of servicing one pad, there was a sharp crack, and then a searing pain right in the tip of his penis. He wanted to cry out, but with Minuet’s paw in his mouth he could only moan.
  203. Minuet let out a predatory sound of pleasure. She towered over Jarek in this position, like an obsidian goddess. With one hand she reached under the silk loincloth to pleasure herself, the other held a riding crop.
  204. ‘That’s good stuff, minion.’ She lightly tapped the sore spot. ‘This is still supposed to be punishment, and I want that treatment for every toe.’
  205. What Minuet wanted, Minuet got. She was capricious about it, letting him play with a toe for an arbitrary length of time before bringing down the crop. She played the length his shaft, and for the last two gave a crack on each of his balls. Every time she struck, he cried, and Minuet pushed, filling his mouth with paw. And every time the sudden pain pushed Jarek closer to release, but he knew she wouldn’t let him have it so soon.
  206. When he’d done the last of her toes, she vacated his mouth and squatted down above him. The strange loincloth tickled his chest. She swished her tail, brushing it against his cock with ever swing. She let it play against him in long strokes, each one bringing a crescendo of sensation. It was too much, an over-stimulation, the feeling of being close but not quite there. When it lasted too long, she let up, and started again.
  207. While she did this, she fixed her eyes on his. Those deep, green pools with narrow slits. She just sat there, watching, cocked her head, continued watching.
  208. Jarek opened his mouth to speak, but Minuet put a finger on his lips. She shushed him, and let her extended claw play lightly over his skin.
  209. ‘Only when spoken to.’ She whispered.
  210. This time she let her tail linger for a bit. Jarek twitched at the tease.
  211. ‘Now tell me, did you enjoy paw duty?’
  212. ‘Of course.’ Jarek nodded. ‘Your paws are…’
  213. A sharp crack rang out as the crop struck him again.
  214. ‘Of course, who?’ Minuet asked with a cruel inflection.
  215. ‘Of course, Mistress.’ Jarek answered dutifully.
  216. Minuet giggled at him, her breasts and gold-plated nipples jiggling gently.
  217. ‘Well, I enjoyed it, too.’ She rose up and turned around, showing her plump peach of an ass. ‘In fact, I think you’re ready for the serious work.’
  218. Without further ado she squatted down on his face, that beautiful big bottom covering his entire world in a furry blanket. It was probably the softest part of her. Her warmth enveloped him completely, her smell was sweet like perfume. She wiggled her butt to get a nice seat, and gave his dick a light kick.
  219. ‘Get in there nice and deep, minion. I’ll let you know when you’re ready.’
  220. Between her buttocks she was hairless and smooth. Which made sense. Jarek played his tongue up and down that place. There was the slightest hint of sweat, making it feel dirty without actually being so. When he found her hole, Minuet growled with pleasure.
  221. ‘Right there, minion.’ She purred.
  222. Jarek did the most perverted thing he had done yet, and pushed his tongue inside the warmth of her anus. The act alone was such a forbidden fruit that he felt himself go lightheaded. His cock throbbed, straining at his bonds. The taste of Minuet was as magical as she was. Oh God, he was getting off at the taste of a witch’s ass. The priests were right, but they were also so, so wrong.
  223. Minuet was purring contently at Jarek’s touch, lounging on his face as if he was a comfortable chair. One paw strayed to his penis, cupping her toes around its tip, which she gyrated with a gentle motion. The contrast between her coarse paw pads and the downy fluff around them was most strange, and strangely satisfying, at that.
  224. Cocooned as he was, with all sight, sound, and smell of the world being subsumed by cat ass, Jarek felt both body and mind slacken. He entered a state of peculiar relaxation. Having everything but his duty to Minuet’s lovely posterior, and her power over his erect manhood taken away simplified things in life considerably. It seemed to him, quite simply, that he was now as a monk in his cell.
  225. Perhaps there was something more than a joke to Minuet’s comment about the gospel of ass.
  226. They remained in this position for a while, Jarek could not tell how long. He simply did his duty as Minuet occasionally worked his cock with her paws. Her purr never abated.
  227. However, eventually the world came rushing back at him as Minuet rose. The light of the room pricked his eyes with its unwelcome brightness. The entire situation seemed somehow less natural when not functioning as a seat.
  228. ‘You have a gifted tongue, minion.’ She purred at him. ‘But what am I to do now? I do think you deserve a good spanking for getting yourself caught, but arriving at the ball with a marked minion might be a little… crass.’ A wicked smile played across her dark lips. Her whiskers jutted forward aggressively. ‘But I might have something I want to try on you.’
  229.  
  230. Minuet turned her hands palms-up, and raised them slowly. Jarek felt the rope dig into his skin, and realized she was levitating his bounds, and him with them. He was glad she was using more care than usual. She turned him face down, and he felt the rope tightening, pulling on his arms and legs, binding him in the classic hog-tie, arms and legs connected to the single piece of rope he now hung from.
  231. He hardly thought it possible, but now he was even more immobile than he had been. His cock was the lowest part of him, pointing down in its erect state, completely vulnerable. Minuet realized this state as well, as she ran her extended claws over the sensitive skin, then batted it hard, claws mercifully retracted.
  232. ‘What a nice cat toy.’ She purred as she gripped it hard. She squeezed painfully, and Jarek groaned in response. ‘And it’s all mine.’
  233. Minuet pulled hard, as if his cock were a leash, and let go to leave him swinging in his bonds.
  234. ‘You just…’ a mischievous smile formed on her face, ‘… hang around for a while.’
  235. She hopped off the bed and with lithe steps disappeared down the stairs, deeper into her lair. Jarek could do nothing but swing gently in his bonds. He wondered what she had in store for him, and what the ball would be like. The outfit she was trying out didn’t leave much to the imagination. Clearly, it wouldn’t be a regular ball, but with witches.
  236. It wasn’t long before Minuet returned. Jarek hadn’t even come to a complete stop. She moved with long, stalking strides, mischief in her eyes, tip of her tail twitching. Near her a glass jar hovered, trailing behind her, the substance within giving off a soft, pink glow.
  237. ‘This is one of the things I made after our previous meeting.’ She said as the lid unscrewed itself and a measure of the material snaked out of its container. It danced like a snake, following the movements of Minuet’s finger. ‘You’ll find it’s something of a… performance enhancer. Sort of.’
  238. She pointed at his dick, and the goo snaked itself around it. Strangely, it was warm to the touch, and it stung like rubbing alcohol. Minuet’s fingers were on his members soon after, rubbing the substance into his skin with smooth, rhythmic motions and her characteristic lack of a soft touch. She kneaded him like dough, spreading the magical stuff the length of his shaft, tracing the tip with a finger and making sure to get it under his foreskin. She rubbed it on his balls as well, where it had a mean sting, and made sure to knead it in vigorously. He could hear her purr as she squeezed him with a cruel relish.
  239. At first, the stuff only stung a little. But Minuet plopping herself down on the bed with no more than a smug look on her face, even more smug than a cat normally looks, promised something. Soon enough Jarek felt the sting on his cock and balls increase. They were glowing with a strange, internal warmth, like cold fire  streaking across his skin in waves. It felt as if he’d lain his cock in a bed of stinging nettles. He moaned softly at the sensation, at which Minuet smiled broadly, and flicked her tail. His skin felt taut, now, swollen like a breakfast sausage. He was in something close to pain, and could feel every movement of the air with his cock. Minuet flicked her tail, and the draft tickled him.
  240. ‘Do you like that, minion?’ She asked with a tease in her voice.
  241. ‘Of course, mistress.’ He answered dutifully. ‘But what is it?’
  242. She got to her feet and lazily draw an extended claw down his shaft. It drew a trail of fire, and despite himself Jarek struggled in his bonds, with a groan. And despite the pain, or maybe because of it, his cock seemed to grow only more erect, throbbing painfully, bucking at Minuet’s touch.
  243. ‘Oh, it’s just a little potted spell.’ With a flick, she let her nail run off the head of his cock. He let out a little yelp, and she giggled. ‘I made it with your desperation. It just… forces that aspect into your dick, if you follow me. Wait, I’ll show you…’
  244. With those words Minuet clasped his cock in her grip, and closed her other hand around his balls like a vice. She squeezed hard, without any finesse or mercy, as if he were just another object to play with. Jarek screamed at the cruel, undeserved gesture. Her hand slid up and down his shaft, and after only three strokes  a hot stream of ejaculate spurted from him. Momentarily, he was in the throes of orgasm, but his cock stayed defiantly erect, and impossibly sensitive. Minuet released her grip, and he could only hang there in the ropes, panting heavily. Minuet took his head in both hands, and pressed her snout gently against his for forehead for a soft cat kiss. She pressed his face into that wondrously soft tuft of fur between her breasts.
  245. ‘There you go, minion. You can come, but it won’t be the end of it. You’ll always be on the cusp of release, until I get it all out. It’s nicely swollen, too. Aaaaand there’s a little protective spell in there.’ She flashed a toothy grin. ‘You know, so I can be nice and rough. You seemed to like that last time.’
  246. He had no doubt those teeth would be on him soon enough. That a creature so soft and perceptive as Minuet could also be so casually cruel seemed almost paradoxical. Jarek rejoiced at the thought, though. For she was right, he did love it, and her callous demeanor. He could scarcely imagine being anything other than her plaything.
  247. Indeed, Minuet wasted no time and took him in her mouth. Her sharp teeth drew across his skin, and her raspy tongue moved over his cock in painful patterns. Without warning she bit down, causing him to scream first in fear, then in pain, but her teeth did not puncture his skin. Instead they bore down on him with an unimaginable weight. Blood rushed to his head, and to his cock. Out of nowhere a sharp crack issued forth as a paddle struck his exposed, swollen balls. He screamed again, and swooned, all the while spurting his orgasm down Minuet’s toothy maw. With his cock still clasped between her teeth, she purred loudly, the reverberations tickling him in an impossible way. He came again.
  248. It was impossible for any man to come this often, this fast. The entire ordeal was dreamlike, and Jarek felt himself more in some strange state between waking life, and the realm of sleep and fantasy. Minuet was a hungry beast, her purring turning to guttural growling, ever louder every time he spurted down her throat. Without any need to be gentle she bit hard, she shook her head as if having seized prey, the strange, bewildering barbs on her tongue running the length of his shaft. Periodically she encouraged him to come with another beating of his balls, which felt swollen and throbbed both with the pain of their treatment, and with the eagerness to be released. Jarek could do little more than let it come over him. He lost the energy to scream every time she hurt him, and only moaned softly as she did her cruel work. The true comfort was in giving himself over to the rhythm of her punishment, and to the knowledge that she knew how far to take him. The pain she gave him was as intimate as the gentlest kiss.
  249. Eventually she took him out of her mouth, the air suddenly cool on his skin, yet he did not shrink. Her teeth and tongue had been on him so long that now it felt almost unnatural to go unmolested. She regarded him with a crazed expressed, a smile on her face that bared every sharp tooth and fang possible. Eyes possessed with green fire. His ejaculate was on her lips, in the fur of her face, and even a droplet on one whisker.
  250. ‘By the gods, minion, do you have any idea how delicious you are?’ Her voice was a growl.
  251. He panted heavily, only answering after a few seconds. ‘No, mistress.’
  252. It was the truth.
  253. ‘Come here, then.’
  254. She took a handful of his hair, and put another hand behind his head, pulling him closer to her. She put her lips to his in a filthy, perverted kiss, her raspy tongue playing over his own. The taste was somewhat salty, but there was also a fruity sweetness to it. He had no idea how much of it was his, and how much was Minuet’s. The kiss, Minuet’s taste and his own, were intoxicating to him.
  255. She pulled back, trailing a string of saliva between them which she quickly wiped away. She fixed her eyes on his for a moment.
  256. ‘I love a man who likes the taste of his own cum.’ She laughed. ‘You’re an irredeemable pervert, Jarek.’
  257. ‘You’re right, mistress.’ She was. The ship of doubt had sailed a long time ago.
  258. Minuet snapped her fingers and the rope holding Jarek up went slack. For a moment he was in free fall, complete with that peculiar feeling in the pit of his stomach. By magic, quite literally, he was flipped in his fall, and landed on his back, sinking into the soft covers of Minuet’s heart-shaped bed. It was a good perspective for looking at his own cock, and it still stood proud. She hadn’t lied. It had swollen from his regular size due to her magic ointment. True to what she had said, he could see no claw or bite marks.
  259. Stepping over him, Minuet again had a glob of the pink ointment hovering in the air beside her. She discarded her see-through skirt with a swift motion. For a moment she played the ointment this way and that, poked it with her fingers, then ordered it down. To Jarek’s surprise, she rubbed it into her own sex, inelegantly parting her lips to reveal the pink inside. She sucked the air softly as she smeared it all inside her with her fingers, carefully tracing every part of her labia and clitoris.
  260. The effect was much the same as with him. The magical substance caused her to puff up, to the point where her fur no longer naturally covered her swollen inner lips. She glistened wet, dripping rivulets down onto him.
  261. ‘It’s not just for boys.’
  262. Now she came down, kneeling over him, still dripping. One claw dragging over his chest, the other grasping his cock. The predatory smile returned to her face.
  263. ‘This thing had better fit, minion. I want the rest of your seed inside me.’
  264. She put the head of his shaft to her lips, and with palpable hunger pushed it in. She was tight, impossibly so, and the entry sent a pinching, burning sensation down his sensitive member. Minuet moaned softly, with a slight purr to her voice. No doubt she was feeling something similar.
  265. ‘That’s good, minion.’
  266. She forced him deeper, gripping him tightly with her pelvic muscles. She moaned louder as she pushed. He was not even fully in when Jarek came for the first time. That was it, he was coming inside a witch. She growled appreciatively, and gently stroked his cheek.
  267. ‘That’s it, minion. Give it all to me.’
  268. Again she pushed him in, becoming tighter the deeper he went. When she had fully inserted him, his muscles tensed again, and he gave her another load. The ointment had made her impossible tight, and him strangely swollen, but some of his seemed still dripped down his shaft, out of her. She gyrated her hips, gripping his cock with her pussy in a way he had no idea a woman could. Again he came. She lifted herself up, and came back down again, pumping him with hard strokes. She gave a little, innocent, cry every time she did so, closing her eyes and furrowing her brow. And every time she came down, he spurted inside of her.
  269. He couldn’t count how many times he released himself inside her, entering a state at one agonizing and ecstatic. At some point, however, Minuet chanted an incantation in a strange tongue, and he could swear he saw her eyes glow. She clasped him more tightly than she had done before, bringing herself down on him as far as she could, painfully forcing as much of his cock inside her as he could. She grasped his flanks with her claws, sinking them into the skin. He came to orgasm once more, but could feel this time was different. His muscles pumped involuntarily, voiding him of semen as if he were a fireman’s spout. Minuet growled loudly as she took every drop of it, until both of them were left panting, neither moving, nor saying a word.
  270. Finally, mercifully, he went part way flacid inside Minuet. With a long sigh, she let him flop out of her, his cock landing in a wet mess on his stomach. She herself was agape, semen oozing out. With two fingers she spread herself even more, with casual obscenity.
  271. ‘Look at the mess you made of me.’ She panted. ‘You’ve completely messed up my pussy with that freakish cock of yours.’
  272. Without so much as a warning she flopped down on him, ample breasts squarely in his face, his world enveloped by the luxurious smell of her well groomed fur. The tuft tickled his nose. His own warm semen still trickled out of her, onto him, and even off his flanks and onto the bed. How much had he come into her?
  273. ‘It hurts, you know.’ She whined on in a mock voice. ‘I’m completely sore, now. My pussy is completely messed up, wide enough to drive a cart through. You know what this means, right?’
  274. ‘Uhm… no?’ He mumbled into her breasts.
  275. ‘You came into a witch, Jarek.’ Oh boy, he could just hear her smile. ‘It’s official. We’re tied together, by bonds of magic older than civilization itself. Me the mistress, you the minion.’
  276. It didn’t seem much of a departure from what they’d already been doing.
  277. ‘That’s good, right? Are we now… married?’
  278. Minuet laughed loudly, jiggling her breasts quite comfortably.
  279. ‘In a sense. More married than we were before, at least. You’ll see in time.’ She yawned loudly. ‘Don’t worry, my sweet minion. The same rules apply: You have to be willing, or it won’t work. I’m going to catch a bit of sleep, now. Be good and stay still.’
  280. Jarek meant to respond, but Minuet had already fallen into a slumber on top of him. It was quite obvious, because as it turned out Minuet snored. Loudly. Then the realization came to him that the sheets beneath him were wet with their juices.
  281. Maybe they were married after all.
  282.  
  283. It was clear that the hour of the Witch’s Ball was drawing near. He’d seen it a dozen times before important festivals and other festivities. Even the day he met Minuet he’d seen the girls of the village, and the occasional man, hop and bounce about as she was doing. She flew, sometimes literally, up and down the stairs of her lair. Sometimes she had clothing or items in tow, other times she seemed to be casting some errant spell or another.
  284. ‘Shouldn’t you have a bite to eat?’ He asked as she padded past with a collection of bottles and jars orbiting around her.
  285. ‘We’ll eat at the ball! Here…’ she flicked one of the vials into his naked lap, ‘… put that in the bath water… ‘ she flung another, and another, and one more, ‘… scrub with this one, wash with that one, then hydrate with the last. Don’t mix them up! Bath’s running, hurry up!’
  286. Sure enough, the tub came clunking up the stairs on golden leonine paws. It lumbered up to them in the way most bathtubs don’t and knelt down, warm water sloshing languidly. Jarek had no time to marvel at this new wonder as Minuet took his arm and urged him in exactly like the guard had urged him into his cell. As he emerged the tub was already running down the stairs once more, and Minuet’s attention was elsewhere.
  287. The tub settled in the lair’s bathroom. Where else? It was as outlandish as the rest of Minuet’s estate, a section of the tree that retained more of its wild nature than the rest. The floor was soft moss, though resilient to the heavy footfalls of the tub. The walls raw, twisting wood. There was even a small pond. The typical implements were held by a helpful branch, including one Jarek was intimately familiar with. The brush that Minuet had used to bruise his bottom when they first met. As he reached for it the branch bent down to hand the implement to him. The luxuries of a witchly life.
  288. He duly followed Minuet’s instructions. First was a glass jar with a sparkling, golden powder that colored the water in strange, hallucinatory rainbow colors. A rich, floral aroma rose up from it, and he could see individual flowers in the bubbles that rose, inexplicably, from the water. He’d come out smelling like a wild garden. The second was a strange, flexible tube. He squeezed a thick, black substance onto the brush, unsure how it would clean him, rather than make him more dirty. Yet as he moved the brush over his skin it removed grime he hadn’t even known was there. The third substance came in a blown glass bottle, which spilled a creamy, lavender foam into his hand as he tipped it. The foam grew ridiculously upon contact with water and under a vigorous scrubbing. Jarek almost disappeared under it, but it dissipated before it could become a problem. The tub sensed that he was done, and unceremoniously tipped itself over, draining water and occupant onto the moss floor. The water filtered through, Jarek did not.
  289. The last container, a small jar, held a cream of sorts, like tallow. Jarek smeared it on his skin, as Minuet had advised. It tingled to the touch in a way he was beginning to realize was a sure sign of magic. It drew into his skin, and after going through half the jar he realized what the effect was. His skin was rejuvenated. It became smooth and supple, while imperfections disappeared. Even the large scar on his leg, acquired from an ornery pig when he was young, was gone. In fact, he felt far more sprightly on a whole.
  290. Honestly, he didn’t know what was more amazing. The magics at Minuet’s disposal, or the fact that he was growing used to them.
  291. With the bathing business taken care of, he reasoned it was time to search out his mistress. If he knew women, she was fussing over either her clothing, or her hair. The smart money was on the latter, given that she had quite a lot of it.
  292. As he emerged into the bedroom once more, his suspicions were confirmed. Minuet was striking poses before a set of tall mirrors, which hopped about with speed and finesse to keep up with her. She flung one outlandish outfit off her, and put on another, struck another pose, and spotted him in the reflection of one repositioned mirror.
  293. ‘Minion! You smell like roses! Come here, I need your help. I just can’t decide on an outfit.’
  294. Jarek stifled a laugh.
  295. ‘How am I even useful for that? I’m from a village. I haven’t even seen a ball from up close. I haven’t even seen a ball from across the river!’
  296. ‘You’ve got two going between your legs.’ She gestured towards his naked, recently rejuvenated balls.
  297. Jarek didn’t say anything for a minute. He wanted to let the realization that her joke was terrible set in. He took Minuet’s annoying smirk to be as much of an admission as he was likely to get.
  298. ‘That was a terrible joke.’ Probably best not to leave it in doubt.
  299. She blinked.
  300. ‘What do you think of this? It’s not too modest, is it?’
  301. She was wearing a type of dress he couldn’t place, with a strange floral pattern. Her breasts were only contained by thin strips of cloth, and the garment ended abruptly below the mound of her belly. It only made a half-hearted attempt at covering her sex.
  302. ‘No… I don’t think so.’ He said.
  303. ‘Oh, I’d so hate to appear too modest at the ball. It’s just not done.’
  304. She jumped up in the air and floated there for a moment as the strange, foreign dress flew off and back into a wardrobe. Another outfit zipped through the air, and snaked itself around Minuet’s furry curves. She landed with a flourish.
  305. ‘And this one? This is a real classic.’
  306. It looked for all the world like Minuet had just wrapped a bed sheet around herself. It looped over only one shoulder, leaving one breast provocatively free. Her paws were adorned with golden sandals while a curious collection of leafs perched on her ears.
  307. ‘I’m… not so sure about this one.’
  308. ‘Oh well.’ She again flung off her garments like a fluffy whirlwind. ‘We’ll try a few more.’
  309. Jarek really had to wonder what she needed his opinion for. Out of the seemingly bottomless wardrobes and chests of various description came a cavalcade of strange outfits, no doubt from the far corners of the world. There was a seaman’s outfit, with an open vest and tall boots, and a sharp saber that she waggled menacingly. She tried on an alien garment of skins and feathers. At one point she modeled only a small piece of goatskin, with her fur dusted in red earth, her hair twisted into thick snakes with mud of the same stuff. All of them were quite scandalous.
  310. Eventually she squeezed herself into another peculiar thing. Tight, bright white leather that contrasted starkly with her obsidian fur. It would have been a complete bodysuit, except the front of it was simply not there. From her breasts to her sex she was naked. In fact, it went through to her butt, he saw as she twirled around. A loop at the waist held a coiled whip, and a short, crimson shoulder cape with gold trim and chain added a splash of color. Finally, a white version of her wide brimmed witch’s hat landed on her head, ears poking through convenient holes.
  311. ‘This is it.’ Jarek said, his voice resolute.
  312. ‘Oh really?’ Minuet purred as she stopped her twirling. ‘What makes this so enamoring to you?’
  313. He had no idea what that word meant, but the question was clear.
  314. ‘It makes your fur stand out.’ He said, tracing the border between her soft fur and the leather with his finger. ‘You really couldn’t find something more scandalous, either.’ He caressed her naked breasts. ‘And I like the hat.’ He tapped the brim of it.
  315. ‘Good minion.’ She purred, and leaned forward for a kiss. Except she didn’t kiss him, but gave him a gentle, coarse lick. ‘Now all that’s left is to dress you.’
  316.  
  317. To be perfectly honest, he had no idea how she did it. It’s not that he’d never cared about how he went dressed, he was no monk, but most of the time his pick of garments was still rather limited. Pulling on a parade of clothing like Minuet did was not something he had ever done, and even with the benefits of her magic, the process was exhausting. Admittedly, more so for the mind than the body.
  318. She seemed rather hell-bent on dressing him up in the trappings of high class. Was that because the ball demanded a sense of irony, or was she simply humoring him?
  319. In the end he decided on a fine, long jacket she told him was called a caftan, made of something she said was called silk. The fabric was white, to match his mistress, decorated with a brazen pattern running along its edges in red. He was given a red sash for it as well. His chest was left bare, which Minuet assured him appeared very manly, though she did give him loose-fitting hose for his nethers. The costume was finished with comfortable, crimson riding boots, a strange, towering headwrap, and finally a truly fearsome codpiece. It was comically large, and bore the face of a devil or demon. A nightmarish, faceless horror it was, smiling with sharp teeth from a head that seemed entirely too phallic. When worn, it poked proudly forward from the caftan.
  320. ‘Is this really necessary?’ He asked.
  321. ‘Of course! You don’t want to appear too mundane at the ball. That won’t do at all, oh no! I could just put you on a leash and parade you around like a dog with a leek up your ass… but it’s been done. Now you’ll appear the respectable prince,’ she stroked the codpiece, ‘but under the facade you’re a perverted boor. People will love it!’
  322. Jarek wasn’t too sure what to think of that. Being a respectable prince didn’t sound too bad to him.
  323.  
  324. Not long after they were sailing through the night sky inside a giant, hollowed out fruit. Or was it a vegetable? Fat, oblong, slightly bent, colored a deep purple with a green crown. He had no idea what it was, but it provided ample space for a comfortable interior, its pillows and curtains lavishly decorated with depictions of lovemaking in dozens of different styles. The thing was being pulled along the heavens by a span of bizarre, bronze creatures, or constructs, as Minuet insisted. Penises with the hooves of bulls and wings of birds. In fact, they had dicks of their own, and their tails were dicks, whipping enthusiastically as they flew.
  325. Jarek idly massaged her soft paws as she put the final touches on her grooming. She brushed her hair for a long time. Then she took out a golden wax or something, and applied it to the ends of her hair, even on the ends of her chest tuft. She put it on her lashes as well, and drew it along her whiskers in long, languid strokes. The moonlight glinted off her gilded features.
  326. ‘Why aren’t we taking the broom?’
  327. ‘Can you imagine? Turning up like that?’ She was putting a golden type of lacquer on her claws, now. ‘Not very stylish, is it? And I have no idea what state we’ll be in by the end of it all. We might be proper fucked.’ She examined the shine of her claws. ‘You want a soft ride if you’re proper fucked.’
  328. No arguing with that. When they’d zoomed about on the broom, it felt like he might fall off at any moment. There was no falling out of this thing. Unless you tried really hard.
  329. In the dark there was no telling how quickly they were leaving the landscape behind them, but the moonlit clouds whipped by at frightening speeds. Where-ever they were going, it was farther again from his small village. And the further he got, physically, the further he got in his mind’s eye. He was sitting in a flying carriage that was also a plant, massaging a witch’s paws, dressed like a prince, on his way to a magical ball. One of the great, hidden secrets of the world.
  330. Eventually the world of men made itself known again, in pinpricks of light passing by below and vanishing in the distance. Soon, they were more than mere pinpricks, until a giant patch of illumination appeared in the distance. These were more than some mere kept fires to ward off the cold and dark. This was the largest city he had ever seen, sprawling along the crook in the flow of a great river. And it looked like its people never slept.
  331. As he laid eyes on it, the carriage started a gentle descent towards the city.
  332. ‘The ball is in that city?’ He was incredulous of the idea.
  333. ‘A great ball needs a great venue.’ Minuet passed a quick brush over her exposed fur and positioned her witch’s hat at just the right rakish angle. ‘Don’t worry about it too much. It’s just like a village, only larger and less cattle. Pretty much no-one at the ball actually lives there, so just act like you’re too good for the place. That’s what everyone does.’
  334. The scandalous, bronzen cock-steeds pulled their luxurious vegetable down below the clouds, in a lazy turn around a massive inner city estate with ornate gardens. Many figures were milling about in the torchlight, save for that part of the carriageway before the main entrance. There he could see a flock of giant bats land, in a haze of smoke. When the cloud of smoke lifted, it revealed a group of darkly costumed people, who were ushered into the mansion. As the ground became more distinct it was hidden from view as their vehicle straightened into its final approach.
  335. This was it. They were here.
  336. ‘You’re supposed to be a prince, remember?’ Minuet said. ‘You should open the door for me, like a gentleman.’
  337. Of course he should. He’d done it before. That is, he’d helped village girls out of open-topped carts that smelled like manure. Minuet gave him some gentle persuasion with her paw, pushing him out.
  338. He was prepared to face the cold harshness of night, but the air only gave his skin a gentle caress. Outside of the circle of light they had landed in he could see, dimly, some of the garden merrymakers. Nothing more than silhouettes, some stopped their cavorting to stare and point at the newcomers. Jarek decided to pay them no heed for now, thrust his thumbs into his sash, and made a good attempt to swagger around the back of the carriage, making the codpiece sway from side to side.
  339. On the side of the mansion there was a man waiting, at a respectable distance, hands behind his back. Jarek tried to hide his shock upon seeing him. The man was a musclebound moor, skin as black as Minuet’s fur. More over, he was entirely naked, save for his adornments. He had many golden rings in his ears, one through his nose, several massive ones through his nipples, and a king’s ransom’s worth through his cock, which almost rivaled the codpiece in size even while flacid. He gave Jarek a polite nod.
  340. He found the handle and drew open the door of the carriage. Minuet made a theater of it, stepping out with a measured, elegant grace, placing each leg with the slow deliberateness of a lazy cat. She extended one hand with an imperious gesture, for him to take. As if he were an anchor, she pulled herself up, and in a smooth movement linked her arm in his like the sort of royal couple they were mocking so obscenely.
  341. The moor bowed deeply.
  342. ‘Mistress Minuet.’ He rumbled with a voice deep as a chasm. ‘A pleasure, as always.’
  343. As casually as shaking hands, Minuet grabbed the man’s cock.
  344. ‘Still feeding the monster?’
  345. ‘You know the rules.’ The man smiled widely with blinding white teeth, he gave Jarek a sly wink. ‘One ring for every witch slain by the beast.’
  346. Under the gentle jingling of his golden rings the moor led the two of them up the stairway towards the mansion’s main entrance. The entire building was something like Jarek had only heard about, perhaps seen once in the distance from across the river. The building was large enough to house his entire village, cattle and all. It was built from a pale sort of stone, veined like living flesh. Its windows were as large as barn doors, its walls held up by pillars. At a gesture of the moor giant doors of carved oak swung open to admit them.
  347. Jarek had no idea what to expect, but whatever pastiche of high society he had in his mind was shattered when the cacophony of the ball washed over him. From the open doors blasted the sound of several different musical troupes playing over each other with wildly disjointed instruments, accompanied by a chorus of shouting, moaning, the slap of flesh on flesh, and even the occasional crack of a whip. A small hall opened up into a large foyer, where the party was going on. The various musicians all had their own method to elevate themselves above the crowd. One, playing a double flute, walked on stilts like a giant bird. Another, a small fat man playing a harpsichord or somesuch had himself carried around on a massive shield, supported by figures clad fully in black, with even their heads and eyes covered. There was even one that was his instrument, a long-legged gray creature bedecked with jewelry with a long snout that ended in a brass trumpet. It placed its long legs with deliberate care among the crowd.
  348. There was no rule to unite the figures in the crowd. Jarek had expected the attendants to be much like Minuet, and he wasn’t exactly wrong. There were humans in the crowd, but also many upright animals, and things stranger still. He saw what he first thought was a rider, but then noticed that the rider and horse were one and the same. His human and animal halves both had their own dicks, and he was having both sucked at the same time. Lucky man. He saw a woman who seemed carved out of living wood, leaves sprouting from her scalp and between her legs in lieu of hair. He saw a woman he could see through, whom he first through a ghost, until she oozed off to a different partner. He saw much more than he could make sense of. The guests dressed as differently as they were. There were styles of dress Jarek could recognize from the rich folk he’d seen in the city, albeit with the occasional bit of casual nudity. There were styles that he recognized from Minuet’s wardrobe, alluringly foreign. And then there were things being worn like Minuet’s current style of dress. Strange, alien, and designed solely to provoke.
  349. He felt a tug at his arm as Minuet strode forward, pulling him into the chaos. Some people moved aside as they came through, evidently not witches themselves. Jarek completely forgot his composure and stared quite obviously at the madness around him. One of the other guests noticed, an attractive but otherwise normal woman.
  350. ‘Nice cock, honey!’ She shouted, then flipped up her dress to reveal a cock of her own. ‘Mine’s bigger!’
  351. She wasn’t wrong. He could hear Minuet giggle by his side.
  352. They’d only been here for a moment, but he’d already seen three monster cocks. The codpiece began to make sense.
  353. As they pushed their way through the crowd, past dancing and fornicating couples of various description, it became clear where Minuet was leading him. The crowd parted to reveal a throne of impressive size, its back reaching halfway up the wall behind it, its seat the size of a bed. The thing looked to be made of gold, though it was hard to see through the dense layer of precious stones that covered it. The wealth concentrated in it was unimaginable. As was how anyone would carry it in through the door.
  354. On that throne sat a small figure, even by the throne’s standards. A doll of a woman, human by the looks of it, in a puffed up dress as gaudy as the thing she rested her ass on. Beside her sat another woman, an ugly, little troll of one, with jutting belly and upturned nose. And at the foot of the giant throne stood a man in distinguished finery, a member of nobility, but his expression was calm and dutiful.
  355. The entire thing stood on a dais, but it matched the throne in its pompous, parodical size. A couple climbed it presently, the man hauling himself up one step with effort, then helping up his wife. She was heavily built, so it wasn’t the most elegant sight. The gaudy princess and her entourage didn’t laugh, however, merely regarding the entire thing with friendly smiles. Or, in the case of the noble manservant, a placid expression.
  356. When they reached the throne after all their hard labor, the woman on it made a peculiar gesture. She lifted her dress to reveal a knee, and the couple kissed it dutifully. Then the manservant produced a handkerchief and a pot of ointment, wiped the woman’s knee clean, and massaged the ointment into it.
  357. It was impossible to hear them over the sounds of sex, carousing, drinking, and the music, but once the knee had been kissed, all exploded in a flurry of hugs, handshakes, kisses on the cheek, all that. Even the manservant broke character to participate. He could just as easily imagine the pleasantries passed between them without needing to hear the ritual.
  358. ‘That’s Lucretia.’ Minuet’s voice was icy by his side. Her eyes were sharp, and her nose wrinkled in disgust. ‘Wealth witch. She’s the host tonight, so we ought to be nice.’
  359. ‘You don’t like her.’ This much was obvious.
  360. ‘She’s a bitch.’
  361. ‘And what’s with the knee?’
  362. ‘I don’t know.’ Minuet shrugged. ‘Maybe she just thinks nobody is good enough to kiss her feet. That’d be just like her.’
  363. Well, that made sense. He’d been kissing Minuet’s paws a lot as of late, and it wasn’t exactly a punishment. There was an intimate quality to it. But a knee? The knee was completely sexless. He’d just as soon kiss one of his mate’s knees as a fair woman’s.
  364. ‘What do you have people kiss, then? When you’re the host?’
  365. ‘Oh, you’re getting smoother by the minute, aren’t you?’ Minuet purred. ‘I’ve yet to win the favor. But… maybe I’d let you decide.’
  366. Minuet’s steps became more aggressive as they got closer. Before the dais an elderly hunchback with lopsided eyes, in jester’s motley, received them.
  367. ‘The mistress is ready to see you, lady Minuet.’ He croaked.
  368. ‘That’s nice.’ Minuet said in return.
  369. ‘The mistress requires her knee…’
  370. ‘Yes, yes.’ Minuet dismissed him.
  371. Jarek felt Minuet pull him more closely, and heard her whisper in his ear.
  372. ‘Hold on tight, try not to look too surprised.’
  373. With a rush of magic Minuet jumped lightly into the air, with Jarek floating up besides her. They landed before the throne, Minuet elegantly, Jarek only not stumbling over because his arm was clasped to hers. He quickly pushed his headdress back into place.
  374. ‘Minuet! So glad you could come!’ Lucretia’s voice was high and nasal, and Jarek could hear she didn’t mean a word she said. She truly was tiny, had luscious blond hair, sharp cheekbones, pointed chin, narrow nose, and eyes as golden as her throne that blazed in their sockets like little coals.
  375. ‘Truly, you’re a credit to our little gathering.’ The ugly woman beside her mistress had an ugly voice as well, words slurred through thick saliva. Her eye, quite literally one while the other gazed off somewhere else, fell on him and his codpiece. ‘And so thoughtful to bring me such a lovely boy.’
  376. Ugh.
  377. ‘Aw, such a shame.’ Minuet didn’t even bother to try and lie. ‘We’re bonded. He’s my minion.’
  378. ‘I’m so proud, Minnie! You’ll be a real witch soon enough!’ The golden witch chirped. She hiked up her dress to expose her knee. ‘Now be a good, little kitty and give me a kiss. Your boy, too.’
  379. Minuet quickly bent down and kissed the small witch’s knee. Jarek followed suit. Indeed, the witch’s knee was perfectly boring and unarousing.
  380. For them there were no hugs and kisses. The manservant ushered them off as soon as their lips had touched Lucretia’s knee.
  381. ‘Enjoy the ball, now!’ He could hear as they made their way down the dais. And not just that. The ugly woman called something as well, her thickly slurred words impossible to understand at this distance.
  382. Jarek shuddered. It’d better not have been a promise of gross sex with her.
  383. ‘Ew.’ Minuet said.
  384. Shit, it was something grossly sexual, wasn’t it? Damn Minuet and her giant cat ears.
  385. And like that, they were back in the din of the ball. The trumpeting animal gingerly stepped over them, Minuet visibly wincing at the noise. True enough, it wasn’t very good. Perhaps on account of its lack of fingers to play the trumpet with.
  386. ‘So, what do we do now?’ Jarek asked after the musician had passed.
  387. ‘Just the usual ball stuff. Drinking and fucking.’
  388. ‘Dancing?’
  389. ‘Well, that usually goes with the fucking.’
  390. Sure enough, there didn’t seem to be much distinction between the two in this place. Revelers danced with wild abandon around them, hooting and hollering as they went. The ones with no skill to their name were content to simply shake their bodies about in an invitation for others to touch them, which many did not have to wait long for. The ones who did have skill showed crazy performances. There was a woman wearing nothing but a featureless brass mask who had a flaming orb suspended from between her legs, which she spun with no care for her audience as she jumped and cartwheeled through the crowd. The dark acrobat landed before them, quickly bowed, and spun off again.
  391. Jarek felt somewhat thankful that he did not expect dance from Minuet. He could scarcely imagine her engaging in behavior like this. She was much too imperious for this sort of thing. It wasn’t like a cat to show enough excitement to dance. Maybe in a more intimate setting, but not here.
  392. ‘It’s kind of boring here, don’t you think?’ Minuet asked.
  393. This wasn’t something he’d normally call boring. Dark and wondrous things came at him constantly, here. But Minuet was obviously above it all, and more to the point, her tail was twitching.
  394. ‘What are you trying to say, Minuet?’
  395. ‘Ah, so perceptive, my little minion.’ She flashed that sharp smile of hers. ‘The foyer is for chumps. They’re all only waiting for some pathetic boon Lucretia might bestow on them. They don’t deserve the show we could give them.’
  396. ‘The drinking and fucking show?’
  397. Suddenly she was on him, soft, fluffy breasts pressed to his naked chest, his absurd codpiece rubbing between her thighs. She looked at him with those unfathomable slitted, emerald eyes just briefly. Then nuzzled him, her warm, wet animal nose sniffing his skin, the rasp of her tongue gliding over his neck.
  398. ‘And then some. Now follow me like the good minion you are.’
  399.  
  400. With an impish, little laugh Minuet grabbed Jarek’s codpiece and pulled him forward by it. He had no choice but to follow. She pushed through the crowd with an aloof attitude, head high, chest forward, one paw immaculately in front of the other. Before long they came upon a large double door, and without pausing she slammed it open with her free hand.
  401. The room it led to… wasn’t a room. It was a calm clearing, flanked by trees on one side, and reeds on another. There was a small pond, and the entire scene was lit by an old fashioned bonfire. The door fell shut behind them, and took with it the sounds of music, revelry, and fucking from the mansion’s foyer. The sudden quiet was eerie for a moment, until Jarek’s ears adjusted enough for him to hear the sound of crickets, croaking frogs, and the gentle sound of the river flowing through the reeds. That, and the sounds of the people entertaining themselves around the fire. Merry voices, and a merry tune being played on some kind of lute.
  402. Minuet eased her grip, and her pace, sauntering down towards the fire in a leisurely manner. Jarek figured the reason as he follow. The people around the fire seemed witches to him, beastly women as they were, just like his mistress.
  403. ‘Look who it is!’ One of them called out as Minuet stepped into the light.
  404. The music stopped, and some got up to greet Minuet. The sentiment seemed earnest, here, as opposed to the busy mansion they’d just left. But here, too, Jarek attracted attention that hadn’t been spent on him in the foyer. The eyes of the witches fell on him with greedy curiosity as he came closer.
  405. ‘My, my. What has the cat dragged in?’ Said a soft-spoken fox. She didn’t seem very wild on first glance, wearing a green ranger’s tunic and matching witch’s hat, except she was naked from the waist down. She was the musician, clear from the instrument resting on her shoulder.
  406. ‘Boy, do you still have a dick under there, or has she worn it down already?’ This was a small ermine, white winter fur clashing with their green surroundings.
  407. The witch women giggled.
  408. ‘She’s been trying.’ Jarek smirked. This sort of uncouth language he knew.
  409. ‘It speaks! It speaks!’ Several of them hollered.
  410. Though the women were all animals, this sort of thing was far less strange to him than where they had just been. Any time a group of friends met someone new, they did something very much like this. With the ice broken, Minuet motioned for silence.
  411. ‘Girls, this is Jarek. He’s my minion, he’s got a sick mind that has given me good magic, so be nice.’
  412. She then introduced her witchly friends.
  413. The musical fox was called Marian, and she did indeed profess to hating pants. The ermine was called Mesuline, and was a sex witch like Minuet. There was really no other path to take if you could contort to lick yourself, she said. Then there was Vedma, a giant wolf woman with arms as thick as his thighs.
  414. She also introduced two with animal aspects Jarek did not recognize. Oshun, a large woman with a hearty belly, with spotted fur, a dog’s snout, and round ears. And Zatha, a cat like Minuet, but small, with low ears, thick fur that hid her figure, and an expression that hovered between apprehensive and downright malicious. She seemed friendly enough, though.
  415. With the introductions over the witches promptly plopped down by the fire again. They had no seats, but the moss was unnaturally soft. Witch magic, no doubt.
  416. He was thinking about saying something, breaking the ice a little, but before he could contemplate his options a black paw entered his field of vision. He turned to look, and Minuet pushed it gently on his face.
  417. It seemed clear what she wanted. He took her paws, kissed them gently, and started massaging them. It was practically second nature, by now. Minuet let out a satisfied purr as she lounged about.
  418. A giggle rose up from some of the other witches. Certainly Marian, he would guess, as she brought a hand up to her snout. They couldn’t possibly think paw rubs were a shameful thing. So they were probably a little jealous. He decided to ignore it. He’d be rubbing all their paws before too long.
  419. ‘You two could do with a bite to eat, no?’ The witch Vedma said in a strange, lilting accent. And without waiting for an answer, she clapped her hands. Not a dainty gesture, from the massive wolf, and Jarek could swear he felt the ground quake.
  420. Nothing changed immediately, but after a short while Jarek noticed something flying through the air. Something small, perhaps a strange sort of bird. It came closer, and it was indeed a bird. But plucked of its feathers, and with the greasy glisten and golden brown color of being roasted over a fire. Indeed, the smell that accompanied it spoke of much the same. A salivating, rich smell that one gets from a well-fed, fat bird like a goose. It shouldn’t be able to fly, not just on account of not being alive, but also for the lack of feathers. Yet it circled around him.
  421. Jarek would have sat there in wonder, mouth agape, but as soon as his mouth went agape, the tiny, roasted bird promptly flew in. The taste was better than the smell. He had no way to describe it. It was the perfect roasted bird. The taste rich like goose, or duck, but the flesh light like chicken. There were no bones.
  422. And there was more. Ever so much was there more.
  423. The pond stirred slightly, and fish jumped out at them. Fish already scaled, cooked, and in some cases filleted. They smelled of wine. Because, of course, the pond was a fine, white wine that went excellently with fish. A pig wandered by, a roast pig with an apple in its mouth, and a knife stuck in its back for easy carving. Plates on tiny legs came to sit by their sides to make it all easy. Pancakes flapped through the sky like birds, even ones with cheese and bacon, or apple and syrup for the sweet tooth. It briefly rained freshly baked bread, and then creamy cheese to top the bread with. Branches of trees bent down to plop plump grapes, and fat, ripe strawberries in their mouths. Larger fruits simply fell on their plates. Even eggs wandered by, their tops already struck off, spoons sticking out. And the spoons were made of bacon.
  424. They didn’t want for drink, either. A large barrel lumbered out of the trees, thoughtfully provided with enough tankards to supply them all. But for those even too lazy for that, it was more than ready to squirt ale directly in their mouths. For those who had a taste for wine, wine skins with the wings of bats came flying.
  425. The witches carried on as normal. Minuet devoured a fish, even while Jarek still loyally rubbed her paws. It’s not like he needed his hands for anything, after all. Mesuline and Marian shared a rabbit. Vedma bit into the flanks of a roast boar without even bothering to carve.
  426. Jarek moved to say something, but a wine skin came to him first. He had a good, big gulp of the stuff. A luxurious red that made his head swim.
  427. ‘We’re in Cockaigne.’ He finally stated, still incredulous. ‘This is Cockaigne. I… I always thought it was a fairy tale.’
  428. ‘Oh minion.’ Minuet purred delightedly. With a paw she batted him in the face lightly. ‘You thought witches were a fairy tale as well.’
  429. ‘But…’ he sputtered, ‘… we came in through the door. Where is the wall of rice pudding?’
  430. Zatha looked up from resting under the barrel to roll her eyes at that.
  431. ‘That annoying thing.’ She growled. ‘We did away with that. Look how fluffy we are. Do you have any idea what that stuff does to your fur?’
  432. Indeed, he could imagine the likes of Zatha or Minuet eating their way through a rice pudding wall wouldn’t be too elegant.
  433. ‘Is there still rice pudding, though?’
  434. As he asked, a bowl of the stuff hopped out of a bush. With a sigh Jarek gave in to the absurdity of sitting with a couple of witches, who were also all animals, in a mythical land of plenty. He laid back and let the bowl tip its contents into his mouth. He let more roast birds fly into his mouth, snatched flying pancakes and pasty from the air, and washed it all down with equal amounts of beer and wine, which somehow always perfectly suited whatever he was eating at the moment.
  435. After they had eaten, they just laid back. Minuet had migrated to lie over him in a position that would surely be uncomfortable if she weren’t a cat. He absentmindedly scratched her naked belly as she purred.
  436. ‘You know,’ he said, ‘I remember something else about the myths of Cockaigne.’
  437. ‘Oh really?’ Minuet purred. ‘And what’s that?’
  438. ‘Sex.’ He could feel the animal ears of the witches prick up. ‘It’s not just food, but also sex that is everywhere. Normal decency turned on its head. Nuns lifting their habits as you pass, that sort of thing.’
  439. ‘I’m already showing the goods, minion. Feel free to scratch lower down, though.’
  440. He duly did as she suggested, and she arched her back with a long growl of pleasure.
  441. ‘Oh, I think I just got fatter.’ Oshun groaned from her reclined position. Sure enough, she was surrounded by empty plates, discarded bowls, and clean bones.
  442. ‘Turn your fat into muscle. Become a muscle witch. It’s good, I promise.’ Vedma seemed unfazed by the enormous quantities she had consumed.
  443. ‘Stop stalling. The boy’s got a point.’ Marian said. She threw a bone at Minuet. It bounced of her left breast. ‘Stop being a slut for two seconds and tell your minion about the plan.’
  444. Wait.
  445. ‘What plan?’ Asked Jarek. ‘And what does it have to do with sex?’
  446. ‘Oh, just a dastardly, witchly plan.’ Minuet said, gesticulating magnificently but not bothering to get up. ‘You’ve met Lucretia. Not the nicest person, right?’
  447. ‘A bit of a bitch, I’ve heard it said.’
  448. ‘Yes! But wouldn’t it be nice if a proper, nice witch got to host the ball next year?’
  449. He could see where this was going.
  450. ‘Let me guess. She’s an insatiable black cat?’
  451. ‘See? I told you I’d caught a sharp one.’ Minuet said to her friends.
  452. ‘I seem to recall you told us you caught a really perverted one.’ Marian retorted.
  453. ‘Same thing.’
  454. Mesuline nodded in agreement.
  455. ‘I told you that tonight is the witching hour, right?’
  456. Jarek nodded. He recalled that Minuet mentioned something like that during her invitation in the bishop’s office.
  457. ‘It’s the peak of witchly power!’ She used some of that power to make her voice boom. ‘So we strike out into the world to cause mischief, teach people lessons, and just make a great, big witch’s sabbath of it. And the one that does it best, gets to host the ball.’
  458. That seemed simple enough. Aside from the magic, that is.
  459. ‘So what are the rules?’ Any contest had to have rules.
  460. ‘That’s the best part! There are none! Except you can’t break the witches’ bargain and make yourself the queen of England and ban pants.’
  461. Jarek’s gaze involuntarily wandered towards the pants-less Marian. He was not alone in this, either. The other witches eyed her up as well.
  462. ‘I was only minor nobility, for fuck’s sake. Nowhere even near the throne.’ Marian growled.
  463. ‘Alright, I get it. You’re going around flying on brooms, turning milk sour, make lightning strike church towers. But how do I fit into this?’ Jarek asked.
  464. At this question the witches shared a conspiratorial glance. Smiles played on their lips, tips of fangs being bared. The broadest smile belong to Minuet, who finally decided to rise up. She slowly came face to face with him, until her fur tickled him. Then her tongue darted out in her familiar gesture, rasping over his cheek. At the same time she reached under his crazy codpiece and clasped her hand around his balls.
  465. ‘When we bonded I made you a vessel of my power.’ She purred, then glanced to the other witches. ‘And you’re going to give some of it to them.’
  466. It was now he noticed a menacing hunger in the eyes of the witches. They looked at him like hungry predators at a piece of meat. Which, to be fair, wasn’t all that far from the truth.
  467. ‘I think I get it.’ Jarek said.
  468. ‘It means we get to fuck you.’ Mesuline confirmed the obvious.
  469. ‘I’ll try not to break you.’ Said Vedma, with that thick lilt in her voice as she eagerly disposed of her garments, tossing them aside without a care. The dancing light of the flames played off her naked body. Thickly coated in coarse, grayish white fur though she was, her primal, muscular build was unmistakable.
  470. The other witches, one by one, revealed themselves to him. Their fangs glinted in the firelight, they licked their lips in anticipation, and step by step they came closer to him, reveling in the animalistic menace they knew they possessed.
  471. In a fluid motion Minuet slinked behind him, stripping the sash from his waist as she went. She pulled off the caftan, and the night air kissed his chest. The headdress fell forward over his eyes again as the witches’ hands tugged at his hose, pulling them down to his knees. The codpiece was tossed aside, the real thing springing upward in its place. He felt small paws with sharp nails on his skin.
  472. Minuet plucked the headdress off his head, and sent it sailing after the codpiece. Mesuline was standing over him. As well as she could, at least, given her diminutive size. Her pure white fur looked as luxurious as a noble’s coat. Like regular ermines she had short limbs and a long, snake-like body.
  473. ‘I’m first!’ She cried with a sharp-toothed smile.
  474. Minuet still sat behind him, propping him up like a purring pillow. She idly let the claws of her hands and paws glide over his skin. The other witches circled around him widdershins like the predators they were, almost in a dance. And if they were anything like Minuet, they were thinking of a way to be horribly perverted while he entertained Mesuline. Vedma was scarily powerful, Marian lithe and lightfooted, Zatha almost indefinable under the thick fur, and still scowling, Oshun with her fat belly and thick thighs.
  475. He felt the warm, wet touch of Mesuline as she rubbed herself on the tip of his dick.
  476. ‘Pull up your legs.’ She said, and Jarek did as he was told. ‘I’ve got a trick for this.’
  477. She leaned back against his legs, then squeezed down on his dick. She got half the tip in with some effort. The little ermine was just as tight as you’d expect, and Jarek would worry about hurting her if she weren’t a magical creature.
  478. With a perverted smile she lifted her feet into the air. She sat there, suspended on his cock like a morsel on a spit. Squeezing, then relaxing, she slowly let herself slide down, giving a little moan every time she made progress. She was tight as a vice, choking his dick cruelly, almost painfully. Jarek laid back, his head between Minuet’s breasts. He could only let the tiny witch work him.
  479. For the other witches Mesuline’s trick was the starting sign. They descended on him with howls and laughter. His vision was immediately obscured by a blanket of warm fur, and a dripping wet pussy thrust into his face. He serviced it dutifully. One of them guided his hands to her paws. It was clear what she wanted, and he rubbed them as he had done with Minuet’s wonderful paws. Sharp teeth bit at his nipples, and nipped his balls. All the while Mesuline gyrated her hips, ever so slightly. It was enough, for he felt her every movement. In fact, if he were ever stuck in such a way in any other situation, he’d worry if he’d be getting his dick back at all.
  480. It wasn’t all that long before he came, in heavy spurts, inside the witchly ermine, filling her up with more than she could take. Thanks to Minuet’s magics he wasn’t spent, and after Mesuline had carefully liberated herself from him, the other wasted no time in taking their turn. Zatha was almost as tight as Mesuline, but crueler. She hung onto him with her claws as she forced him into her. Marian was a sophisticated, elegant lover, who put him in several exotic positions. Oshun made him do all the work as she laid back and demanded bellyrubs. Vedma, on the other hand, simply picked him up like a doll and fucked herself with him like he were a toy.
  481. They had time for each other as well. When the witches couldn’t find a part of him to rub or bite, they did as much with each other. Minuet might have loaned him to her friends, but she did not want for attention. Every witch’s snout found its way between her legs, and her raspy tongue pleasured them in turn. Especially after they had fucked him.
  482. ‘To see if the spell takes.’ She said with a wink. But their moans and growls seemed to betray more pleasure than professionalism.
  483. By the end of it he was left worn out, sprawled naked and panting in the middle of the clearing. He wondered whether Minuet’s protective magic was wearing off, because his dick felt raw after being punished by the powerful pussies of the four witches. Minuet idly batting at it didn’t help.
  484. The witches lounged around him, though they did not seem as tired. When Jarek squinted his eyes, he could see a soft, pink glow in their bellies. Eventually, it disappeared. That was his ensorcelled semen, no doubt, passing Minuet’s magic into her peers.
  485. He laid there for a while, Minuet batting at his dick all the while.
  486. ‘So, did it work?’ He eventually asked.
  487. ‘Let us see.’ The voice was Vedma’s. She got up and wandered over to the edge of the clearing, wrapped her arms around the trunk of a sturdy tree, and pulled. With a great crash of breaking branches, tearing roots, and squawking birds fleeing their refuge, she did the impossible. The tree came free from the earth. With no effort at all the wolf witch hoisted it over her head, and tossed it. It sailed the length of several houses before landing in the river with a mighty splash.
  488. ‘Yes. I feel powerful.’ She said, rubbing the dirt from her hands.
  489. ‘You didn’t need to do that.’ Zatha said, a low growl in her voice. It was always there, Jarek figured.
  490. ‘I wanted to do it.’ Vedma shrugged.
  491. Minuet gave a final slap at her toy, and gave it her customary, affectionate lick. Jarek winced slightly at the unexpected rasp on his most sensitive part.
  492. ‘You did well, minion.’
  493. ‘So what do we do now?’
  494. Minuet’s eyes lit up, her ears pricked up, fangs bared, whiskers thrust forward.
  495. ‘Now the real fun starts.’
  496.  
  497. Jarek hadn’t exercised so vigorously since harvest time. Fucking an entire witches’ sabbath wasn’t quite the same as cutting and threshing grain, but his muscles felt just as taut for the fact. He rested on the soft moss, thoughts drifting this way and that. He imagined the strange acts the witches would commit, powered by magic that sprang from his dick. Once, he’d heard it said that there had been two popes centuries ago, both claiming the other to be an impostor. Was that the sort of mischief they would get up to?
  498. The urge to laugh pulled at the corners of his mouth. He thought he’d seen the ridiculous before, but these animal witches had ways of trumping even their own madness.
  499. They were conspiring at the edge of the clearing. Well, not so much conspiring, as much as him simply not being able to hear what they were saying. In truth, they had the look about them of people leaving a gathering to return home. They burst out laughing a few times, probably discussing their dastardly, witchly plan.
  500. ‘Thanks for the dick, Minuet’s minion!’ The short, fluffy cat, Zatha, waved at him.
  501. ‘Maybe next time we can try something harder.’ Mesuline followed. The other witches laughed and giggled. Marian put her hands to her muzzle in a demure gesture that seemed entirely out of place, given her self-imposed dress code.
  502. They bade their farewells, waved, and summoned doors out of thin air. They opened onto a collection of chaotic scenes, clashing violently with the peace and quiet of the clearing. Other rooms of the party, he guessed. The doors disappeared just as quickly after they had stepped through.
  503. Minuet stalked over, soundlessly, quiet cat paws on thick moss. He felt the press of her paw in his side, pushing. Getting the message, he rolled onto his stomach. Then he felt the soft, warm kiss of her fur as she straddled him. She started kneading the sore muscles of his back in slow, but firm motions.
  504. ‘I thought this was my job?’ He quipped.
  505. ‘The girls like you.’ Minuet answered the unspoken question. ‘At least, they like you well enough.’
  506. ‘What’s well enough?’
  507. ‘Not everyone takes as well to the revelation of witchcraft. We’ve all had people who seem to be taking it well, and then they are beseeching God, or Vishnu, or some other deity. Or they start going on about dark pacts, offering to sacrifice their firstborn. Very tiresome, trust me.’
  508. ‘Vish-who?’
  509. ‘Some god you’ve never heard of. Not important.’
  510. He paid it little heed. Not much news of the world reached his village, but he knew people believed in other gods, even when it was mostly mentioned to tell how wrong they were. As far as he was concerned this world of witches was so far removed from the regular world that the regular world had little to say about them. True enough, he hadn’t seen a single one of them worship Satan. And all he had been told about witches is that they kill livestock and worship Satan.
  511. Jarek let Minuet work his muscles in silence, only broken by her rhythmic purring. He hadn’t yet seen this gentle side of her, so he might as well enjoy it.
  512. She had started with his shoulders, gradually moving down. Eventually she worked on his thighs, dealing with tension he wouldn’t even have guessed was there. It was so relaxing that he started dozing off, but just as he was entering that twilight zone between waking and dreaming, a sharp slap on his ass brought him back to reality.
  513. ‘Hey!’ He called out.
  514. ‘That should take care of you. It’s time to sow some mischief.’
  515. She was already on her feet, evidenced by the paw poking him in the ribs.
  516. At the edge of the clearing she conjured a door. Just a regular one, save for the fact that it stood freely behind a bush. And hadn’t been there before.
  517. ‘Where do you want to go?’ Minuet asked. Her manner was uncharacteristically nonchalant, but the tip of her tail flicked around.
  518. ‘You’re asking me? You’re the worldly one. The farthest I’ve ever been from the village was to the city. And the last time I didn’t even want to go.’
  519. ‘Come on, minion. We can’t start with the big stuff right away. We’ve got to break you in a little.’
  520. ‘You want to play jokes on people, right?’ Jarek asked, pulling on his clothes.
  521. She nodded, her hat flopping in the exact opposite of a dignified gesture.
  522. ‘Can you show me those people you talked about? Dark pacts, sacrifices?’ They should be easy enough to mess with, Jarek figured.
  523. ‘Just so!’
  524. She flung open the door to reveal a snowbound forest clearing, blanketed in dark night. A wild fire provided light, flickering as if fueled with damp wood. People sat around it, listening to a crone with antlers on her head. Their shadows danced menacingly, as if living revelry their owners were denying themselves.
  525. ‘Seems boring.’ Jarek said.
  526. Minuet rolled her eyes. ‘You have no idea.’
  527. They walked through. Minuet’s ear flicked as snow crunched silently under her bare paws. She gave Jarek a sidelong glance, and stepped forward.
  528. ‘Behold, mortals!’ Her voice boomed across the clearing, amplified with foreboding thunder. Birds squawked as they fled their perches around them.
  529. Most people sitting there simple stopped what they were doing and gawked, mouths slack, eyes wide. One immediately bolted out into the woods, clearly rethinking this whole devil worship business. The crone, for her part, immediately went to her knees and buried her face in the snow.
  530. ‘Oh holy diver! Great seducer! We are yours to command!’ She shrieked.
  531. Minuet threw her head back and laughed an evil, little laugh that sent veins of ice through anyone who heard it. ‘Silly mortal! Do you not know the visage of your own lord? I am merely his accursed herald. Now, look upon the face of all that is unholy!’
  532. She stretched out an arm toward where Jarek was waiting, behind a friendly tree. She was looking at him, beckoning him, green eyes piercing the night, fangs glinting in the firelight as she very clearly tried not to burst out in another bout of laughter.
  533. Oh, balls.
  534. He sauntered forward into the clearing as imperiously as he could. Which was not very. He had not seen someone so confused since he had to tell Urich swans and ducks weren’t the same thing.
  535. ‘Hello.’ He greeted them. ‘I am the devil.’
  536. One of the worshipers wasted no time, and came for him with frightening speed for a man walking on his knees, planting his lips firmly his codpiece.
  537. ‘Grant me a boon, oh maleficent one!’
  538. ‘Ew!’ Jarek exclaimed, pushing the man away. ‘Don’t kiss my cock. That’s not for you.’
  539. The man shrank down, incoherent apologies streaming forth.
  540. The others crawled closer, now, moving on hands and knees like supplicants. But in the brief time he was dealing with the cock-kisser, the crone had thrown off her rags, old, flat pancake tits flopping freely. Her nether region looked like she’d stuck a feather duster in there out of spite, though Jarek was still grateful the view was obstructed.
  541. ‘Fill me with your seed!’ She wailed, shuffling toward him with her legs spread. ‘Let me bear your spawn!’
  542. Oh Jesus, these people were eager. He cast a glance at Minuet. The smuggest smile he’d seen yet graced her face.
  543. ‘Help me.’ He mouthed silently.
  544. She made a small gesture, and nodded.
  545. Jarek cleared his throat and almost bowled himself over. A deep rumbling issued forth, with low, dark tones that reach into your guts and wrench them around. The worshipers stopped in their tracks.
  546. ‘Listen to me, you worms! I am not here to be your plaything!’
  547. Branches of the trees shook of their coat of snow as they trembled before the voice magic. The clearing was plunged in near darkness as the fire almost went out, sputtering in protest, then flared up again as Jarek stopped speaking. The worshipers went prostrate.
  548. Except for another one that decided against devil worship and disappeared into the night.
  549. ‘Get your clothes back on, crone. You’re no use to me frozen to death.’
  550. ‘Y… your wish is my command, oh dark one.’ The disappointment was palpable in her voice, but she did as she was told.
  551. Jarek let them stew in it for a while as they trembled on the ground. They were lucky it was just him, and not actually Satan. He imagined Lucifer himself would have even less patience with these antics. In fact, that gave him an idea.
  552. ‘My flock, I have come here because you have made yourselves too obvious to the world.’ His voice reverberated around the empty woods. ‘The dogs of the church have your scent, and you must go to ground. Become more holy than holy. If your neighbor gives alms, you give more. When they go to church, you be there ahead of them. Refuse to let them find fault in you, and await my command.’
  553. The group responded with a hushed murmurs. Very wise, he could hear them say. Deceptive and shrewd, just how the devil is.
  554. He looked at Minuet. ‘Minion, we are leaving.’
  555. Then he spun where he stood and marched back into the night. Minuet followed suit. Not that he heard her, with her silent cat paws, but the sudden hand on his behind was clue enough. Especially with the claws digging into his skin.
  556. ‘I’m your minion now, am I?’ She growled. ‘I’ll have to punish you for that one, later.’
  557. He laughed. ‘You’ve got some nerve, threatening the devil.’
  558. ‘I’ll make your ass as red as the devil’s, minion.’ She squeezed for emphasis.
  559. Her threat made him stir under his codpiece.
  560. She conjured up another doorway. As they opened it, an odious smell wafted through, acrid and stinging. So suddenly present in the clean night air, it made his eyes water. He knew it well, though. It was the smell of the tanning process. He soon saw why.
  561. On the other side of the magical door was a modest room, a small closet, really. And lying in the modest straw bed was Agathe, the tanner’s daughter, sleeping peacefully with a content smile on her face, her black curls a tussled mess. Jarek took in the scene with foreboding.
  562. ‘What are we doing here?’ He whispered. ‘I don’t want to joke around with her. She doesn’t deserve it.’
  563. ‘Oh minion, don’t sell me so short. Your would-be girlfriend here has a lot of potential. You picked her well.’
  564. ‘What do you mean?’
  565. Minuet sat down lightly besides Agathe on the bed, and beckoned him closer.
  566. ‘I found you by sniffing your perverted thoughts. As it happens to be, you’re not the only one. Come.’
  567. She put a hand on his head, and extended the other towards the sleeping girl. The world fell behind them, leaving them floating in a warm, ethereal place.
  568. ‘Where are we?’
  569. ‘Her dreams, silly. Where else would we be?’
  570. Sure enough, that made sense. When you took witchery into account, at least.
  571. Shapes formed around them. Gravity returned, and they found themselves standing on solid ground once more. The room itself was undefined, shifting around the edges, but it seemed like a barn of sorts. Just your regular village building, with wooden walls and beams. More interesting were the two figures in the center of the space. There was Agathe, of course, but also… him. The images had more comely features than they did in real life, but the likeness was unmistakable.
  572. The dream people acted out a typical scene. Dream-Agathe asked for payment for a piece of leather she had given him, but dream-him had nothing to pay with. But the dream-them quickly reached an agreement. His counterpart undressed, while dream-Agathe unfurled a long whip.
  573. Oh boy, Minuet wasn’t kidding. He felt a beam of pride that he’d pursued this perverted girl. He did know how to pick them, he reckoned.
  574. In the dream scene, he was whipped cruelly, his skin painted with welts. Of course, he was completely into it, professing to the sadistic dream girl how much he deserved it, ending with her riding him like a wild animal. Or a witch, he thought.
  575. More fantasies followed. In the next one, it was Agathe who was on the receiving end, with a belt being tested on sturdiness on her bare bottom. Again the payment was sex. And again, it was him giving it. So it continued in a cavalcade of dream sex.
  576. ‘Notice anything, minion?’
  577. Of course. It was obvious.
  578. ‘She’s kind of into me.’
  579. Minuet pinched the bridge of her nose. ‘The other thing, minion.’
  580. Jarek pondered for a moment, regarding another scene where his dream-self was sodomizing a dream-Agathe strapped helplessly to a table.
  581. ‘Right.’ He said. ‘It’s all leather. The whips, the belts, the straps, it’s all leather.’
  582. Even the wooden paddle, which dream-Agathe used as a noble mistress, had a handsomely designed leather surface. It made sense for a tanner’s daughter. She worked with leather all day, and it was a fine material. Regular folk like him would have a few scraps here and there, but she was always surrounded by stacks of it. And with the way the smell clung to anyone even near a tannery, it was no surprise it would define someone’s life. Many of the final products had her work in them. Her fine fingers were perfectly suited to the careful cutting and stitching of the material. Perhaps one day she was working a sheet of leather and started thinking how it would feel on the skin. A thought that had never left her, by the looks of it.
  583. ‘You know how people often have… inspirational dreams?’
  584. He didn’t say anything.
  585. ‘That’s us!’ Minuet did a little twirl in the air. ‘Mostly us, anyway. With that I mean, we can do it. And we’re going to do it right now! You have power in here as well, minion. Go ahead, use it to make her realize her potential.’
  586. A touch of witchly power? Maybe it was inevitable when you’re going with a witch. He reached out mentally in Agathe’s dream. There was a feeling to it, like a collection of strings in his hand, waiting to be pulled. Or maybe a set of building blocks. He could build a dream for her, with more detail than the fragmented fantasies she was indulging in.
  587. With a thought the vestiges of the dream flew away into the ether. It surprised him how natural the act seemed. What he wanted, happened. He conjured a fine workshop, with a storefront. The sort of place wealthy people would visit. He lined the walls with product, all the various implements Agathe was so infatuated with. Whips long and short, small, cruel switches, leather bound paddles of various sizes and shapes. Finally, he put Agathe behind the sturdy oaken counter, and gave her a fashionable dress. While he knew little about fashion, it materialized without effort. It was still her dream, he supposed. Perhaps he had pulled it from her mind.
  588. Lastly, he inserted himself in her dream, as the wealthy prince Minuet had dressed him up as, codpiece and all. The bell over the door rang as he entered. Agathe looked up from her work.
  589. ‘A fine shop you have, my good lady.’ He complimented his own work in the slight foreign lilt he expected his dream counterpart to have. ‘I’ve heard it’s the best in the province for leather goods.’
  590. Agathe blushed. ‘Thank you, kind sir. How may I be of assistance?’
  591. He left the question hang for a moment, perusing the dream store’s goods.
  592. ‘I have some servants who need… ah… motivation.’
  593. ‘Say no more, master Jarek!’
  594. He hadn’t told her his name, or to call him “master”, but it was a dream, after all. She quickly gathered a collection of various kind of instruments. He hadn’t put them here, he noticed. They were things pulled directly from Agathe’s mind, things she would make if she had the opportunity.
  595. ‘Perhaps you should give these a few swings, good sir.’ Agathe said. She hiked up her skirt and dropped her undergarments, presenting him with her delicate, bare behind. ‘And don’t spare your strength.’
  596. He tested the implements in his hand one by one as she waited, and decided on one with a sturdy handle and two long strips of heavy leather. Then, he did as she desired as she gave pleasured screams at the punishment.
  597. He gave every implement a few swings. Agathe encouraged him.
  598. ‘A good swing, dear sir!’ She would say.
  599. ‘You have a skilled hand. Try that one again!’
  600. Every time he was done, he gently let his hand feel the effects of the tool he had used. Agathe trembled slightly at his touch, and she was quite clearly dripping wet. And every time she would implore him to try the next tool in line. Surely, he would find it satisfactory. And don’t be too shy to try one he liked again.
  601. In the end, he left her buttocks bruised a bright red, streaked with welts. She shivered with pleasure where she stood. He picked an implement that had felt good in the hand.
  602. ‘I’ll have this one, good shopkeeper.’ He slapped her butt. ‘I like the effect it has.’
  603. ‘And how will my kind sir be paying?’ She panted.
  604. With a smirk he undid the codpiece and pulled his cock from his trousers. He’d made it slightly bigger than normal. A small crime of vanity, but one he thought any man would make himself guilty of.
  605. He took her there, on the counter, fondly squeezing her red ass. Despite it being a dream, albeit a magical one, her warmth felt very real, as did her shuddering climaxes and the juices running down her legs. He left her exhausted, still bent over the counter, his semen flowing out of her.
  606. ‘A satisfactory deal, my good lady.’ He said as he made to leave. ‘I shall call upon your services again.’
  607. Then, as easily as stepping through a door, he stepped out of the dream. He was back by Agathe’s bedside again. The air in the room seemed warmer, more damp. Sweat beaded on Agathe’s forehead, and even under the thick winter covers he could see she was touching herself, moaning quietly in her sleep. Her smile had broadened to betray ecstatic bliss.
  608. ‘Good show.’ Minuet purred. And she clearly meant it, as she had taken a seat in the room’s corner, shamelessly rubbing herself in an equally shameless wide-legged posture.
  609. ‘Thanks.’
  610. ‘I mean it.’ She said, still vigorously masturbating. ‘You had a good swing going on, there. I think you’d do well with her in real life.’
  611. Minuet climaxed then, with her cute, purring moans. She squirted, quite a good amount, spraying Agathe in her bed.
  612. ‘Jezus!’ Jarek had to try hard to keep his voice down. ‘You can’t just spray everything in witch cat cunt juice! What’s her father going to say?’
  613. She came up to him and put a wet finger to his lips.
  614. ‘Shhh. It’s magical witch cat cunt juice.’
  615. Admittedly, it did taste magical.
  616.  
  617. There was no need to conjure a door where one was already present, apparently. The door of Agathe’s room swung open onto a room in the mansion, party in full swing. A thick mist clung around the edges of the space. Nature seemed to have partly reclaimed this part of the building, thick, deeply green vines winding their way around the ornate pillars surrounding a pool. They sprouted a bewildering array of flowers in colors Jarek couldn’t even begin to name, plump and thick as if they were fruit. Party revelers cavorted in the pool, swimming, fucking, jumping. Others pressed their noses deeply into the strange flowers, then sinking back where they lay with content smiles on their faces.
  618. After the sort of serene forest clearing, and the certainly serene dream jaunt, the cacophony of inebriated voices, the shouting, laughter, and unashamed sounds of wild sex hit Jarek like a stampeding ox. Walking from the frigid winter air into the hot and humid environment was like pushing through a wall. The air itself was not only humid, but thick with the smell of brandy and sickly sweet floral notes. It was all enough to make him lightheaded, and he quickly closed the door, as to not wake Agathe to this mad world. He had no idea how he’d explain all this if she did.
  619. That is, it’d be easy enough. “Oh well, Agathe. Magic is real, so are witches. Some of them are also animals. The church is probably wrong about everything. And my dick is magic now.”
  620. No telling how she’d take it, though.
  621. He quickly dropped the idle thought and followed in Minuet’s wake as she passed through the masses of revelers. Occasionally she stopped to exchange a few words with people who’s names he forgot as soon as he heard them. Thanks for some ointment here, some quick gossip there. She introduced him as a prince of Taklamakan, where-ever that was, if it was at all. He exchanged pleasantries with them if they were human, and listened respectfully when they were not.
  622. Jarek surprised himself with the ease with which his lies came. They often gave him the material himself, inquiring after the ways he abused or enjoyed his power. Despite having never done such a thing the bawdy jokes and remarks any villager is bound to make after a few tankards of ale and the absence of priests or women sprang to mind.
  623. Minuet spoke with the air of a practiced socialite, a far sight from the crass cat he’d come to know. She was a whirlwind of subtle compliments, light touches, and graceful acceptance of praise. Eventually they had gone through this room’s collection of supplicants. Just as well, because Jarek was running out of tall tales to tell.
  624. ‘You seem popular.’ He said.
  625. ‘Oh gods, minion.’ Minuet bodily threw herself down on a poolside sofa, sprawling catlike with no sense of decency, giving him the full view of her naked body. ‘I just sell them things. Do you socialize with your baker just because he sells you bread?’
  626. ‘Eh… Urich is one of my best friends.’
  627. ‘Bad example. The world is not a village.’
  628. Jarek put himself down next to his mistress, between her open legs. One rested in his neck, while she placed the other in his lap and wiggled her toes in a sign he knew all too well. He started kneading the paw with practiced motions.
  629. ‘Who are all these people, anyway? How do you get invited to the ball? If you’re not a witch, or… good at paw rubs.’
  630. ‘Oh, if you’re a magical creature, you’re automatically invited. Witches, wendigo’s, vampires, kelpies, they’re all welcome.’
  631. Jarek didn’t know what half of those were, but he wasn’t sure he wanted to ask.
  632. ‘For your bog standard human, it’s simple. Perversion is an easy in.’ She pointed to one of the people they’d spoken to, a quiet, thin man with glasses, wearing a plaid suit. ‘He’s a choirmaster. Seduces pretty boys in his class and teaches them that the right audience appreciates the more au naturel performances. He’s responsible for more dicks in asses than the average priest.’
  633. ‘Rebelliousness is also good.’ She continued, and pointed to a plump, dark-skinned woman now in the process of being plowed by a goat man. ‘She mooned the mufti of Istanbul. That was a good laugh.’
  634. Minuet shrugged. ‘It’s not like there are any real rules. If there were rules, there’d be no point. It just has to be fun.’
  635. An entire group of revelers jumped into the golden liquid pool, giggling, grasping for each other’s naked bodies as soon as they surfaced. Fun indeed. The smell hit him, and he realized: The pool was filled with brandy. It flowed liberally from the statues by the poolside, pouring from marble cocks, tits, and cunts.
  636. ‘How do you keep the secret?’
  637. There was no doubt they could keep it a secret, after all. It was amazing how no-one seemed to have any clue of how the magical world works. The church, the idle gossips, even the devil worshipers in the woods, they were all just guessing.
  638. ‘Magic!’ Minuet smiled widely, throwing her arms up at the sky. ‘This is the most magical night of the year. If magic doesn’t flow through your veins, or your balls,’ she gave a sharp jab with her paw that made him wince, ‘you’ll have a hard time remembering. Many remember it like a dream. Others only remember fragments. How long do you think we’ve been here?’
  639. There was a good question. Their flight in the purple vegetable and introduction in foyer had taken long enough, but then there was the witch’s sabbath in the forest clearing. He hadn’t given up his seed easily.
  640. She didn’t give him time to answer.
  641. ‘We fit a few more hours into this night. There’s no reason to cut a good party short on account of something dumb like time.’ She shrugged. ‘It tends to confuse the human mind.’
  642. ‘Wait, does that mean I won’t remember anything, either?’
  643. Minuet laughed. ‘Pay attention, minion!’ She wrested her paw from his grip and dug it under the codpiece again, toes gripping his balls, claws pricking his skin. ‘You count as a magical creature tonight. Speaking of which, how did you like your first taste of magic?’
  644. ‘Pretty good.’ Jarek shrugged.
  645. ‘Pretty good?’ A look of surprised indignation came over Minuet. ‘Pretty good? You get your first taste of witchly power, invade the dreams of a woman you… well, not love, but at the very least wanted to mount like a horny stallion. And then there’s the spanking! I came to that spanking, minion! But “pretty good” is all you can manage?’
  646. Jarek could only look sheepishly at her for a moment. He knew where this was going. Already the indignant look on Minuet’s face was changing into something more cruel. Something with frowns and fangs, and no doubt claws soon to follow. In fact, the claws were already extending into his skin.
  647. ‘What I mean is, it felt natural. Like I’ve been a witch all my life. You know, when something goes so well that it feels like it’s the most normal thing in the world.’
  648. Minuet glowered at him.
  649. ‘I’ll just put this on the list of many infractions I still need to punish you for. I’d be sitting on your face and whipping your balls already if I didn’t need you to talk.’
  650. ‘I could just talk into your ass.’ Jarek beamed at her.
  651. ‘Oh, I’d like to see you try.’ She pressed her paw down cruelly on his balls. ‘But I need to actually hear what you’re saying. So answer me, minion. What was the point of our little trip into your village girl’s dreams?’
  652. He thought about it for a minute, keenly aware of the position of his mistress claws. She’d mentioned dreams as a means of inspiration.
  653. ‘We’re trying to turn her into more of a pervert?’
  654. ‘Close,’ Minuet purred, then twisted her paw, sending a jolt of pain through his nether regions, ‘but not quite. She’s already a big pervert. Try again.’
  655. ‘We’re trying to get here to be more of a pervert… in real life? To get her to make her dreams real?’
  656. ‘Now you’ve got it.’ The pressure lifted. ‘Shame. I was hoping you’d get it wrong again. I really meant it when I said you did well. The fantasy with the store was just right. It’s attainable, but puts her in a position of authority, connects her to skills she already has. It’s something she wouldn’t have thought of herself. If you ever see a leather specialty shop in your area in the future, you’d better step in for a look.’
  657. He felt strangely warm at Minuet’s praise. Granted, most of the time when he got praise it was for lifting heavy objects or telling dirty jokes. And mostly that praise did not come from beautiful women, let alone beautiful women that were also cruel, powerful witches. With affection, he scratched her paw in return, now that it was no longer an instrument of torture.
  658. ‘So what do we do now?’ He said.
  659. ‘I’m glad you asked! This scene is beginning to drag, don’t you think?’ She shot an angry glare at the pool. ‘And I’m certainly not going to involve myself with that nonsense.’
  660. While the thought of a wet Minuet was incredibly amusing, he decided not to press the issue.
  661. ‘Have you ever heard that joke about the monks and the candles?’ She asked.
  662. ‘The ones they made out of their spunk and float down to a nunnery in a barrel?’
  663. ‘And then all the nuns get pregnant. That’s the one. We’re going to do something like that.’
  664. Before Jarek had time to ask more questions Minuet sprung up from the sofa with her lithe, weightless grace. With a practiced motion of magic she conjured a trap door in the floor, and kicked it open.
  665. ‘Here we go!’ She said, and jumped through.
  666. Was it a sign of trust that she expected him to follow? Maybe he was overthinking it. He wouldn’t miss her strange tricks for the world, after all. With a private shrug, Jarek jumped through the hole after his mistress.
  667.  
  668. They landed in a field, as nondescript as they come, covered in snow and night. There was plenty of light, though, as provided by a giant, roaring fire beneath a giant, wooden pail, more broad than it was high. Beside it was a familiar figure, a giant, muscular wolf witch. Vedma. She was poking the fire with a piece of wood that was more tree than branch. Overhead hovered the smaller figure of Mesuline, the ermine, stirring the roiling mixture with a crude, large ladle.
  669. ‘Girls!’ Minuet exclaimed as she practically skipped towards the strange scene, arms outstretched.
  670. Jarek followed at somewhat of a more normal gait.
  671. The witches hugged briefly. To much of Jarek’s surprise, they extended the hugging to him. Vedma stopped just short of serious injury, while Mesuline was content to just give his thigh a good squeeze.
  672. ‘You arrived just in time.’ The ermine smiled. ‘It’s steeped well and good. It should give them a nice buzz.’
  673. ‘You know what to do, Vedma.’ Minuet said to the muscle witch.
  674. ‘I can do this with little finger.’
  675. True enough, with a motion of her little finger a cork sprang from the pail, hot water spraying out over the field, melting the snow in a fan pattern. With another motion of her finger the pail itself shuddered, cracked, and tumbled into the fire. The wet wood crackled with the fury of the heavens. Minuet and Mesuline danced around the fire, alternately blowing onto the flames with the power of mighty bellows. The fire reached skywards with orange fingers, consuming the wet wood like kindling.
  676. Above the flames Vedma held a large, black ball of… something. As she spread it out Jarek could see it was clothing, black, with long sleeves. It was all the same. She spun it out in a circle, slowly orbiting the fire, steam rising in a curtain as they dried. Now he could make out the tell-tale white headpieces. Nun’s habits. Of course.
  677. ‘Come girls, to the nunnery!’ Minuet cried.
  678. Out of nowhere Minuet’s broom parked itself under Jarek’s ass, Minuet jumping onto it behind him. Remembering his first ride, Jarek clasped his hands around the handle and held on for dear life.
  679. They shot skywards, coming up to flank Vedma on one side, Mesuline on the other, flying a double flute that whistled faintly as they went. Vedma did not deal with such delicacy, apparently, zooming through the sky on the back of a large, conically carved stone. She trailed the collection of clothing behind her, the garments snapping in the wind like a flock of ravens.
  680. In the dark it was hard to see for his human eyes, though he imagined it was no trouble for the animal women, but there was the faint outline of a large building on a hill. Weak candlelight shone from the windows, a lonely lantern lighting double doors. The three witches circled the building, gesturing wildly. With every flick of a finger, every move of a hand, shutters flew open and flying habits detached from the flock to flap into the open windows. They circled the building five times until none of the garments fluttered behind them, then landed a stone’s throw from the entrance. The witches sent their mounts flying off into the night.
  681. He gathered this meant they would be staying.
  682. ‘Are we going to mess with the dreams of the nuns, now?’ He inquired.
  683. Minuet gave a predatory smile. ‘Not quite. No need, with Mesuline’s concoction.’ Mesuline did a mock bow upon hearing her name. ‘It’s simple. We’re going to wait ‘til morning, the rest will get here, and then you’re going to pretend to be a monk, and we’re going to pretend we’re the nuns who caught you.’
  684. Jarek gulped. ‘Caught me for what?’
  685. ‘You’ll see.’ Minuet then leaned in close and whispered into his ear. ‘You’ve been a very, very naughty boy, minion.’
  686. Vedma snapped her fingers, then, and the stars streaked through the skies in long, luminous tracks. The sun shot up, banishing the stars, stopping cold just above the horizon. Jarek blinked in amazement, mouth hanging open. He’d seen magic, he’d seen a lot of magic, in fact. He’d seen magical, otherworldly creatures. He’d walked through magical portals, played in dreams, and pretended to be the devil. But the casualness with which the wolf witch pushed the sun into the sky was insane.
  687. Then again, she was a muscle witch. If anyone would be strong enough, it would probably be her.
  688. Three sets of paws hit the ground behind them. The other witches, Marian, Zatha, and Oshun.
  689. ‘Let’s get our Sunday’s best on.’ Mesuline said.
  690. The witches gestured, and the air shimmered around them. The air shimmered around him, too, as Minuet gestured in his direction as well. Magic crackled around him, and around the witches. Light bent around them, and briefly he could see them as human women, as nuns. Some nuns! Their habits clung tightly around them, revealing the alluring curves of breasts, bellies, butts, legs, and the triangular dimple between them.
  691. Oh, right. So that’s why they were steeping the habits. The plan was beginning to make… some sort of sense.
  692. Looking down at himself, he could see he was wearing a regular monk’s habit, no shrinkage. As quickly as the glimpse had been shown, it disappeared. He could see the witches in their regular form again, as well as his own princely clothing.
  693. The codpiece was going to be a bit difficult, though, so he took it off. He heard Minuet’s giggle, and it was lifted out of his hands.
  694. ‘I’ll hold onto this for you, minion. Now, to the nuns!’
  695. The witches stepped forward. Minuet seized one of his arms, Vedma clasping her massive hand around the other. They dragged him forward, putting on their very best scowls.
  696. Jarek felt like he was really only half in on the joke.
  697. The monastery was an opulent one. Whitewashed walls shone in the sun like a beacon of hope, ornate spires jutted upward in ignorance of the myth of Babel. A large decorated, polished bronze knocker hung on the door. Vedma used it, booming their arrival thrice through the monastery and the local environment. The door shook with her blows, birds vacated nearby trees.
  698. After a short while hurried footsteps could be heard from the other side. A small window in the door opened to reveal a set of young, brown eyes. They eyes darted from him, to the witches, then down. The window was closed without a word. From behind the door they could hear the young nun bellow for the Mother Superior in a voice belying a nun’s supposed delicacy.
  699. The door swung open to reveal the entry into the monastery, and half a dozen nuns. They scowled at him with un-Christian malice. They barely fit inside their habits, breasts pressing to free themselves, nipples as clear as if they were naked, cloth riding up their buttocks to be pulled down with an occasional tug. Shame colored their cheeks.
  700. Minuet and Vedma thrust him forward, making him stumble.
  701. ‘We found him on the road, carrying suds and supplies for a fire!’ Minuet boomed. ‘And this!’
  702. The nuns collectively gasped, hands before open mouths. Glancing over his shoulder, Jarek groaned.
  703. Minuet proudly held the giant codpiece above her head.
  704. ‘You’ve found him!’ An older, but not unattractive, nun in the ill-fitting habit of the Mother Superior said, then addressed him. ‘Is this your idea of a joke?’
  705. ‘Eh… ‘ Jarek shrugged.
  706. ‘Explain yourself, you pervert!’
  707. ‘I didn’t mean to! Witches made me do it!’
  708. ‘Oh yes, and the devil with them, no doubt! Take him to the refectory! We’ll get to the bottom of this!’
  709. ‘Witches! How preposterous!’ Minuet laughed by his side as they dragged him through the monastery’s halls.
  710. The nuns walked awkwardly in their barely fitting garb, especially the Mother Superior with her fat ass. He spied a small gesture from one of the witches. The small of fabric ripping accompanied it, and one of the nuns let out a small shriek as the seam of her habit tore all the way through, leaving her clutching rags.
  711. ‘Mother Superior!’ She cried in a plaintive tone.
  712. ‘Don’t mind it, darling. You needn’t be ashamed of what God gave you.’ The voice was Mesuline’s, giving this safe advice.
  713. The refectory was a large, square room with vaulted ceilings, painted glass windows, and immaculate white walls. A throng of nuns was assembled there, uncomfortably tugging at their habits. His escort pushed him through to the center of it, onto the podium for the important clergy.
  714. ‘Our good sisters have caught this culprit!’ The Mother Superior spoke to the assembly. ‘He can’t have acted alone, and we’ll get it all out of him! Now we must decide what to do with him!’
  715. The nuns exploded in a chorus of disparate voices, shouting their suggestions, airing their grievances. Jarek leaned to the side.
  716. ‘This is beginning to get scary.’ He whispered into Minuet’s ear. ‘When are we getting to the good part?’
  717. ‘Almost, minion. Look...’ she gently direct his gaze to the nun in her underclothes. Absentmindedly she let her hand wander between her legs, a small wet spot visible on the fabric. ‘The magic is taking hold.’
  718. He cast his glance over the assembled nuns. What had seemed like anger, now looked more like excitement. And it wasn’t cold enough in here to account for every nun nipple he could see straining fabric. Then there were the shouts he could hear through the pandemonium.
  719. ‘Spank him!’
  720. ‘Sit on his face!’
  721. ‘Bite his dick!’
  722. ‘Tie him up and pee in his mouth!’
  723. Those all sounded much too fun for normal, every day monastery discipline. Except the last one, maybe. Who knows, maybe nuns pissed ale.
  724. ‘Make him fuck us all until he falls over!’
  725. OK, yeah, they were getting into it. Aside from a few glances, the rest of the nuns were unfazed by the unusual suggestion.
  726. ‘I have an idea!’ Minuet spoke with magically amplified voice, silencing the crowd.
  727. Without warning she started pulling at his caftan. A chorus of hooting and yelling rose up from the crowd of nuns.
  728. ‘H… hey! What are you doing?’ He shouted with somewhat genuine surprise.
  729. ‘He wants to see us naked? Let’s see him naked!’
  730. The nuns liked the sound of that. The ones closest to the podium lunged forward, some bursting out of their habits in the process, seizing his hose, pulling it off his legs with no effort. A cheer went up from them all when they succeeded, and threw his hose high up in the air, where it was caught by a chandelier. Unlit, thank fuck.
  731. Thus peeled of all but his skin, the ever-decreasing normal part of Jarek’s mind came to a sudden realization. He was not only naked before the largest crowd that had ever seen him naked, but they were all women. And nuns.
  732. And he was fully erect.
  733. His hand shot to cover his shame without him even having thought of it. The nuns responded with immediate laughter, and almost as immediate cries.
  734. ‘Show us! Show us!’
  735. ‘Tie his hands! I want to see!’
  736. A clawed hand was laid on his shoulder, whiskers tickled his neck.
  737. ‘Good show, minion. They love it.’ Minuet whispered, with none of the harshness she played for the crowd. Her touch was reassuring, reminding him she was in control of everything. And if Minuet was in control, he was also in control. Sort of.
  738. She slipped her velvet hand under his own, seizing his cock by the base. He let his hands fall away, as if forced by Minuet, and feigned a shocked expression.
  739. ‘Oh no!’ He said. ‘No, please!’
  740. ‘Have a good look, sisters! Is this the first cock you’ve seen? Were you a harlot in a past life? Try to wait before you jump on it!’ Minuet certainly did have a bit of market showman in her.
  741. ‘Dear sister!’ The Mother Superior came forward, struggling hard against her habit. ‘This is my monastery, I insist you allow me administer this pervert’s punishment.’
  742. ‘Mother Superior,’ Minuet spoke in a purr soft as a rose, ‘you’re in no condition to do anything like that.’
  743. A flick of a claw and the Mother Superior’s habit burst along every seam it had, pieces of it falling of her like leafs from a shaken tree. To the woman’s shocked surprise, her underclothing followed suit, exposing her fully. She was a voluptuous woman, with a belly that implied she knew good pie, and she had difficulty gathering all of herself up to hide. She stood, with one arm covering little more than her nipples, her other hand between her legs. Despite that, he could see her wetness glisten in the light.
  744. ‘See? No condition at all.’ Minuet laughed, then turned to the nuns.
  745. ‘Bring the pillory!’ She bellowed with abandon. ‘Bring the whips and paddles, and the candles too! I’ll whip his ass redder than the devil’s!’
  746. The refectory exploded in a cacophony of activity. Nuns rans this way and that, a large congregation of them squeezing through the door to the courtyard, several losing their habits in the process.
  747. ‘I better go help.’ Vedma spoke, and followed the nuns outside.
  748. The other witches made themselves busy as well. Mesuline went off to fetch things with the nuns, Zatha started educating them on proper percussive technique, Oshun seemed to be comparing bellies with the Mother Superior… and discussing recipes. Marian went among the nuns who had lost their habits, talking them out of their hose as well. She really was serious about making that point.
  749. ‘I did promise.’ Minuet paced around him, lightly tracing her claws over his skin, her tail curling around him. A predator playing with prey.
  750. ‘You did.’
  751. She pulled him close, by the dick. Fair enough, there was nothing else to grab him by. She squeezed her breasts against his chest, her belly against his, soft and warm. Every time it surprised him how luxurious her fur felt. He could just about drown in those green eyes. Whenever she turned them on him, it was like there was nothing else. A small purr rose in her throat. Not only could he hear it, but he felt it reverberate into him.
  752. There it was. The rasp of cat tongue on his cheek. Minuet’s strange sign of affection.
  753. ‘Still tastes good. Are you ready for some serious punishment?’
  754. He put his arms around Minuet’s waist, pressing his manhood between her thighs. He felt he could do that, at this point. Minuet’s lips curled in a smile.
  755. ‘Just leave me a bit of ass to sit on.’
  756. Then Minuet was upon him, her lips against his, her tongue seeking his, its spines gently prickling him. Her wet nose and puffy cheeks pressing hard against his face. When she pulled away from the sudden kiss, he was left speechless. A brief gentleness painted her face, then disappeared again behind her sharptoothed smile.
  757. ‘That’s to remind you your ass belongs to me.’
  758. ‘I love you too, Minuet.’
  759. He said it with irreverence, but it was somewhere between joke and truth. Maybe that was the best way to describe what played between him and her.
  760. A choir of nuns made themselves heard, screaming somewhere between joy and lust. None of them seemed concerned, or even to notice at all, that Vedma was levitating the sturdy oaken pillory above the crowd, helper nuns loyally in tow. Right on cue Mesuline entered from a passage, with her own procession of nuns proudly carrying paddles, switches, and other implements. It seemed odd for a nunnery to have so many tools for this purpose, but maybe they needed the discipline. Or maybe the witches had conjured them.
  761. The nuns joined in a procession behind the witches, shouting their wishes, brandishing implements of punishment if they had them. With a flick of the finger Vedma placed the pillory on the podium . The nuns broke out in a cheer, then clambered onto the podium, careless of the fragility of their habits.
  762. ‘Punish him!’ They cried.
  763. With surprisingly solid grips the nuns seized him by arms and legs. One enterprising nun found a grip on his balls but seemed unsure what to do with them, releasing him as the others bore him forward.
  764. ‘Please!’ Jarek shouted, trying to sound sincere. ‘Spare my virgin bottom!’
  765. That was enough for several of the nuns to immediately grope his rear, laughing. One gave him a slap, but she was clearly not practiced. He couldn’t help but break character and let out a laugh. A roar of indignation rose up from the nuns. They pushed him forward bodily.
  766. The pillory loomed before him. Thick, lacquered oaken planks fashioned into the typical device, with a hole for the head and two for the wrists. This one was paradoxically luxurious for an implement of the type, though. Red velvet padded the holes to ensure a tight, but comfortable fit. The same velvet covered a horizontal bar at waist height. Something to rest on, and to prevent him from fleeing the blows. Two leather straps for his ankles completed the thing.
  767. A sharp crack sounded. Minuet strutted forward with her imperious cat walk, one paw in front of the other. She was putting on a show. Her grin shone in the light, sharp, white fangs stark against her black fur. It played off her gilded whiskers, and the gilded tips of the tuft between her breasts. Again she brought down the leather strap against her palm, and like thunder following a flash, the crack of leather on skin ringed above the din of the room. She looked magnificent, in her strange, naked outfit. He took in the sight of her swaying breasts, the soft overhang of her belly, and spied the wetness between her legs.
  768. ‘Prepare him for punishment.’ She ordered, her voice ringing through the entire refectory.
  769. The nuns did as they were told, somewhat clumsily. They wouldn’t have managed if he had struggled, but instead him putting himself in the pillory only seemed like a struggle to the inexperienced hands pawing at him.
  770. The top board pivoted in place, locking him in perfectly. Minuet strutted around like a showman, presenting the bolt to the assembled nuns, then sliding it in place. Nowhere to go, now.
  771. Minuet took his chin in a clawed hand and put her lips to his ear.
  772. ‘Give them a good show, minion. You’re the first proper show of eroticism these girls have seen in a while.’
  773. ‘I can do that.’ He said. ‘But what’s eroticism?’
  774. ‘Sexy stuff, minion. It’s sexy stuff. Now act like I said something mean.’
  775. ‘Oh, right.’ He cleared his throat. ‘No! You witch! You can’t! Leave my celibacy alone!’
  776. ‘I’ll ruin your celibacy and more!’ Minuet bellow to the cheers of the crowd.
  777. The blow landed heavily on his ass, with a resounding thwack. His knees buckled, and the cushioned bar caught him. Hot pain radiated from the impact, and Jarek made no attempt to stay silent. It was liberating, to scream so freely. Was it strange that he had missed Minuet’s cruel touch? His cock didn’t seem to think so, springing to attention as the hot glow spread across his skin.
  778. ‘Yes! Scream for me!’ Minuet taunted, to the cheering of the nuns.
  779. She gave him another blow, lower than the first. He bucked at the pain.
  780. ‘Please! Mercy!’ He screamed.
  781. ‘You shall receive none!’ Minuet said.
  782. Good. He didn’t want any.
  783. Again she struck, hard. He felt the blow through his entire body. Again he screamed hard. The afterglow spread across his cheeks, but Minuet had no patience this time. She snapped the strap against his skin almost immediately once more. Cruelly, she struck the same spot. Jarek did not have to play up his agony this time.
  784. He felt the claws of his mistress on his balls. She grasped them, yanking them back painfully. She dragged the claws of her other hand across his sensitive skin.
  785. ‘Are you beginning to regret your prank yet, little monk?’ There was a sharp edge to her voice.
  786. ‘Yes!’ He said. ‘It was silly and unfair!’
  787. ‘Aha! Then you admit that you deserve this!’
  788. Before waiting for an answer she swung the strap again, connecting with a crack.
  789. ‘Yes! You’re right!’
  790. ‘Then beg! Beg for your just punishment!’
  791. A hot flash of embarrassment flushed Jarek’s face as he tried to think of the right words. Minuet was impatient, though, and she gave him another hard, painful sting.
  792. ‘Beg! Grovel! Show all my sisters the error of your sins!’
  793. ‘I… I deserve to be punished!’ He shouted hard enough for the nuns to hear, and another cheer rose up from them at the confession. ‘I beg you to show me how wrong I was! Give me everything I deserve!’
  794. ‘Only through the redness of your ass shall you be absolved!’
  795. She was really getting into it, now.
  796. This time, she gave him no pauses. The paddle descended on him with one crack after another, the anticipation and sudden shock of pain turning to an almost constant glow, like a trickle of hot water. He gave in to the feeling, as he gave up even the pretense of struggle, bowing to Minuet’s cruel dominance. Every time she struck him, it reverberated through his body. Every time he felt Minuet’s sadistic touch, the faint pleasure after the sting came closer. The rhythm of the paddle became his world.
  797. When the end came, he barely realized it, leaning forward against the support beam of the pillory. He slackened his muscles, panting with exhaustion at having received so many blows. He’d stopped counting long ago. The fiery sting in his ass did not go, however. The hot afterglow was almost as painful as the punishment itself, an oddly satisfying testament to his endurance, and to Minuet’s skill.
  798. He bucked at the sudden, sharp claws dragging tracks of fire across his skin. She squeezed, dragging a pained moan out from him. She admired her work, purring softly.
  799. The weight of the pillory’s top board moved above him. Padded and clawed animal hands took his arms and guided him out and upright. Where the sofa came from, he didn’t know, but Minuet reclined into it, hugging him close, his head between her breasts. There was that very favorite tuft of fur of his, and he buried his face into. Minuet caressed his head and back with the gentle grace of a saint. Less saintly was the way she gripped his cock, erect as a flagpole, between her soft thighs clad in smooth leather, rubbing just softly enough to only give the hint of climax. He trembled and shuddered in her arms, gripping her tightly.
  800. ‘You did well, minion.’ She purred into his ear. ‘You did very well.’
  801. That was all he needed to hear, right now. He kissed the tuft between her breasts, the baying and cheering nunnery forgotten for a moment.
  802. He rested thankfully in her arms, for how long he could not tell. His world was subsumed by that wild perfume of Minuet’s fur, by her hands kneading his back, the gentle pressure of her thighs, and the hot glow of his backside. Minuet nuzzled his hair occasionally, whispering sweet words into his ear.
  803. At least, they were sweet words by Minuet’s standards.
  804. ‘I told you I’d make your ass redder than the devil’s.’ She said as she pressed her snout against him. ‘It looks good on you.’
  805. ‘You have a really nice ass for spanking, minion.’
  806. ‘Maybe I should do this every day.’
  807. Every time she spoke, she rubbed her thighs against him, then released the pressure when she felt him tense for orgasm.
  808. ‘Not yet, minion.’ She would say. ‘Soon, I promise.’
  809. Eventually he felt he had rested enough. He never would have guessed just standing there, receiving punishment, could be so tiring, but the hint of an ache in his muscles spoke the reality of the matter. He pushed himself upright, face to face with Minuet, staring deeply into her luminescent green eyes. Those slit cat eyes that overflowed with mischief and magic.
  810. He smiled sheepishly at her, not able to find quite the right words. The power that exuded from her was intimidating, still.
  811. Minuet’s lips curled into a slight smile in response, and she bent forward to place them on his. He tongue darted briefly into his mouth.
  812. ‘You’re a good mistress, Minuet.’ He said, smiled again. ‘My ass and I both agree.’
  813. Minuet let out a melodious, little laugh.
  814. ‘And you’re a good minion, Jarek. Your ass and I agree. Are you ready to continue? We’ve still got some nuns to nudge into the right direction.’
  815. He nodded. She took his shoulders and pushed him off her, upright, standing up herself as well. Sometimes it was easy to forget she was taller than he was, but now was not one of those times. She put her arm on his shoulder and pulled him close. He rested his head on her shoulder.
  816. The nuns were still raucous, it being impossible to catch more than a few snippets of what they were saying. Most had lost their tight and faulty habits, however. And many of those had discarded their underclothing as well, wearing nothing but their stockings, shoes, and headdresses. There were the obvious fur coats of the other witches among the nuns. The orange coat of Marian between the legs of one nun, Vedma standing like a grey pillar with a gaggle of nuns pleasuring her. Even the cantankerous Zatha seemed to be enjoying herself for a moment, seemingly instructing a small group of attentive listeners on proper masturbation. The entire room seemed in the tentative first steps towards an orgy, only held back by its participants not quite knowing how to have one.
  817. Even the Mother Superior had abandoned the podium, and dignity, and was pleasuring herself with a monstrously large candle. No wonder she had joined the convent, Jarek thought. No human man could please her.
  818. ‘Well, well, well!’ Minuet’s amplified voice boomed through the refectory. The nuns obediently turned their faces, some blushing red at their indecent acts. ‘You certainly seem to have enjoyed our little taste of justice!’
  819. There were the sounds of assent.
  820. ‘Are you repentant of your cruel prank, little monk?’ She asked him.
  821. ‘Yes, very much so.’ He tried to sound sincere, lowering his head reverently, hugging closer to his mistress. ‘Under the eyes of the Lord, I ask your forgiveness.’
  822. Again the nuns spoke over each other, but the general attitude seemed positive.
  823. Clasping him tightly Minuet jumped off the podium, landing gently. The nuns were onto them immediately. This time, however, their touch was gentle. They whispered gentle words of forgiveness to him. They hugged him tightly, pressing their naked bodies against him. Others packed him with soft kisses, on his cheek, on the stinging red of his punished ass, and even on his cock and balls. They thanked Minuet as well, for wielding the instrument of justice, and she shamelessly spread her lips to receive the kisses between her legs.
  824. ‘Now, attention!’ Minuet clapped her hands, and the room fell silent. ‘This poor, little monk is not the only one. There is an entire monastery full of perverted, fat-cocked monks still unpunished!’
  825. ‘Yes! Spank their cocks!’ A shrill nun shouted with worrying enthusiasm.
  826. ‘Darlings, darlings. I can’t do it all on my own.’ He knew that tone of voice, that sharp smile. ‘Who better than to spank an entire monastery than an entire nunnery?’
  827. A wave of realization swept across the room, the nuns wide-eyes, some reaching immediately to please themselves at the thought.
  828. ‘But first, you have to practice!’
  829. ‘She’s right!’ A call went up. ‘Get the paddles! Get the whips.’
  830. Minuet held her own paddle out to Jarek, grinning widely.
  831. ‘Want to show these girls how it’s done, minion?’
  832. He only nodded. Yes, he did. He’d only wielded one of these in Agathe’s dream, but he could remember the weight, the turn of the wrist, everything. With his own butt still sharply stinging, he felt a perverted longing to share the feeling.
  833. The nuns, for their part, presented themselves eagerly. They practically thrust their pale, naked asses at him for the lesson. He swung the paddle with force, drawing forth pained screams from his students. Around him arose a chorus of rhythmic slaps and cracks, and the yelps of pain and pleasure following them. Nuns eagerly looked on over his shoulder, taking in the technique. Then took the paddle for themselves, and practiced on their naked peers.
  834. Minuet glided among the congregation, giving pointers here, examples there. She showed them as well what she had done with him. The tenderness when the punishment was over. She hugged and stroked nuns with red asses.
  835. The other witches joined as well, except for Vedma, who sat watching from the side. Just as well, Jarek thought. He could scarcely imagine how far a nun would fly if Vedma tried spanking one.
  836. By the time they were done, there was not an unspanked nun in the refectory. They rested, panting, in each other’s arms, fondling each other’s bottoms.
  837. Claws he knew all too well by now seized him from behind, pulling him against Minuet’s velvet furred breasts, her nipples poking in hard contrast. Sharp teeth nibbled his neck with a soft growl.
  838. ‘There’s something we need to do, minion.’ She purred.
  839. Without waiting for an answer she pulled him by the hand down a corridor, up narrow stairs, another corridor, and with a swift kick to a door, into a room. It was a simple room, with a desk, bookcase, closet, and a decent sized bed with a crucifix watching over it.
  840. ‘What are we…’
  841. Minuet practically threw him onto the bed.
  842. ‘Oh, so that’s what we’re going to do.’
  843. Minuet crawled on top of him, licking his thighs, his balls, his stomach, and then his face as she went, one cruel rasp after the other. She came face to face with him, licking her lips like a hungry animal. Which she was.
  844. ‘You’ve got something I need, minion.’
  845. ‘I’ll give it happily.’
  846. With a wide, gleaming, hungry grin Minuet sat up, then turned, dragging her tail over his face as she did. She held her ass over him, tail lifted. What a lovely big butt she had. So lucky he was, to be treated to a view like this. Framed by and straining against the white leather of her indecent outfit it enveloped his world. The gospel of ass, he remembered. He was a worshiper.
  847. As she dripped wetly onto his chest, Minuet reached back and spread her cheeks.
  848. ‘Tongue. Ass. Now.’
  849. The command was barely necessary. Jarek seized her hips and pulled her down on his face, plunging his tongue deep into her, covering the world entirely in the soft fur of his mistress. A hint of salt prickled his taste buds, the smell of musky fur, the warmth of her spilling over him. He thrust his tongue as deeply as he could.
  850. ‘So good.’ Minuet moaned. Then she laughed and batted at his erect cock.
  851. ‘Look at how hard you’re getting from licking a cat’s ass! Pervert!’
  852. He tried to answer, but only something muffled came out, owing to his position
  853. ‘You’re so cute when you’re talking into my ass.’
  854. She moved forward, but he kept a tight grip on her hips, pressing his face deeply between her cheeks. A clawed hand took his cock, while another squeezed his balls tightly. He moaned at the sudden pressure. Minuet wiggled her hips in pleasure, giving a little giggle.
  855. Then he felt her sharp teeth and rough tongue take him into her mouth. She bit, cruelly, running her tongue up and down his shaft. She squeezed and tugged his balls just a little bit too hard. To her great pleasure he moaned every time as he licked and kissed at her.
  856. When she lifted off him, he didn’t quite know if he was ready to face the world again. Everything seemed better under the suffocating pressure of her posterior. His chest had been inundated by her wetness, and from the predatory look in her eyes as she glanced back at him, it was obvious what she wanted.
  857. She rolled to the side of the bed, one paw beside his head, the other leg arched over him, giving him a direct view between them. With two fingers she revealed the pink under her black fur.
  858. ‘You wouldn’t fuck a cat, would you?’ She teased.
  859. He reached for her, but she jumped off the bed, giggling.
  860. “Help! Help! This pervert is trying to fuck a cat!’ She leaped across the room away from him as he drew close, until he had her pressed up against the wall in a corner of the room. She put a leg around him and pulled him close.
  861. ‘You’ve caught the cat. What are you going to do with the poor animal?’
  862. He stood on his toes to place a gentle peck on her nose. Then he place a hand on her hips and guided her onto him. As he was poised to enter her, she put a hand on his face, and looked him deeply in the eyes. Her expression was curiously soft.
  863. ‘You’re not tied up now, minion. So there’s something very important I have to ask of you before you take me.’
  864. Then the softness disappear again under the fanged grin.
  865. ‘Just don’t be gentle.’
  866. He thrust deeply, plunging himself into her in one move. She threw her head back with a deep growl, clenching herself around him. Her other leg wrapped around him, suspending her with only her grip and the wall behind her. With her weight pressing down on him, he went fully inside her time and again. He kissed her soft breasts, driven wild by the smell of her fur. Finding her nipples beneath the fur he suckled, and gently bit them, as she so often did with him. In return he felt her claws dig into the skin of his back, her fangs on his neck. Every time he thrust, she clenched tightly as he battered her like a castle’s gate.
  867. They fucked with wild abandon. Soon, the position against the wall was not enough. They moved to the desk, where Minuet bent over and he took her from behind hard enough to issue a satisfying slap against her ass. She dug her claws into the wood of the desk, scratching out deep gouges while moaning and growling. As he rutted against her, he brought his hand down in a resounding crack against her ass in a sudden payback for the painful glow of his own ass. Minuet yelped, then laughed between her moans.
  868. ‘More, minion! Do it again!’
  869. He slapped her ass again and again, with every thrust. Minuet moaned, screamed, growled, and purred at his harsh treatment. He fucked her half onto the desk, making her come wetly, only to pull her off again and take her again.
  870. Eventually the desk groaned and cracked under their movement. He flopped wetly out of her, and they both took a rest to laugh, and to kiss in a moment of gentleness.
  871. They moved to the bed once more, Minuet on her back, her legs pulled up. As Jarek slipped into her, she put her paws on his face. He kissed the pads under neath, and the fur between them, as she kneaded in a slow, involuntary rhythm with her toes. In this position he could thrust the most deeply he had ever done with her. He battered her pussy like a wild man, and she clenched so hard every time he pulled out he thought she might keep him there. Her moans turned to little yelps now every time he rammed down into her.
  872. It was because of the paws, he was sure, that he came. He loved those paws. The climax came sudden as his muscles tensed in a natural response. He buried himself as deeply as he could as he spurted inside her. Minuet wrapped her legs around him, her arms around his shoulders, and pulled him as closely as she could, claws locking him into place.
  873. ‘Give it to me, minion!’ She shouted in a deep growl.
  874. The release of an entire night of teasing, and a nun spanking orgy to boot, spurted into her. She gave short purrs in time with his ecstasy. A soft, pink glow showed under her fur, and in her eyes as well. The magic.
  875. A deep tiredness came over him when he was done, and Minuet hugged him close, nibbling his ear. He rested like that for a while, still inside her. An odd sort of comfort, so intimate, in such a contrast with their wild fucking that under no pretense could be called “making love”.
  876. ‘I’m proud of you, minion.’ Minuet whispered softly.
  877. ‘Thanks.’ The words came thick, almost slurred, through the fatigue.
  878. ‘I mean it. I’m going to be sore for days.’
  879. ‘That’s good?’
  880. She laughed. ‘Yes, it’s good! What do they teach you boys? What’s the use of fucking if you can’t feel it?’
  881. That was a good point, really. No denying it.
  882. When his strength returned he pushed himself upright, out of bed, looking for something to clean himself with.
  883. ‘Look.’ Minuet called.
  884. He did. She was lying there with her legs wide. She put her fingers inside her, spreading herself wide, semen with its magical, pink glow dribbling.
  885. ‘Completely messed up. Again! Look at what you did to my poor pussy!’
  886. He had to admit, there was an allure to Minuet’s obscene gesture. The crassness of a woman opening herself so obviously to a man was purely sexual, but she did it so flippantly it was almost a joke. In fact, she wiggled her hips with a wide grin as he looked.
  887. He gave her a mock bow. ‘All in a day’s work for a cat fucker.’
  888. ‘Animal abuser.’ She came up to him and kissed him, long and lovingly.
  889.  
  890. When they returned to the refectory the nuns had, quite literally, been whipped into shape by the other witches. Presently they were busy wrapping themselves in bed sheets, curtains, and even the occasional burlap sack. It wouldn’t seem a comfortable material to wear, but what Jarek heard one nun confide to another was that this was exactly the point. It made her positively excited. So much so that she asked for a candle to be passed her way.
  891. He knew where that was going.
  892. ‘Sisters! We are prepared! By the grace of God, it’s time to get our retribution!’ The Mother Superior spoke from the podium. She had a curtain wrapped around her, suspended from only her ample bosom.
  893. A raucous cheer went up from the assembled nuns. Brandishing their whips, paddles, spoons, and other bottom-searing instruments they raised their arms.
  894. They certainly meant it, Jarek thought. Those monks wouldn’t know what hit them.
  895. ‘Follow me! To the monastery!’ The Mother Superior pointedly strode out of the refectory, her charges following closely behind whooping and cheering.
  896. The procession of nuns pushed their way out with no hesitation and proceeded down the road like something out of a farce, headpieces fluttering in the wind, makeshift gowns often secured by hand, their tools thrust fiercely skyward. On they went, like a band of reavers on the march, leaving Jarek and the witches standing at the gate. When they reached the main road, they broke into song. No doubt one of the more fiery Psalms.
  897. ‘Why aren’t we going with them?’ Jarek asked. He’d never deny that inciting the nuns into a spanking orgy wasn’t fun, but it seemed they were going to miss out on the main act.
  898. ‘We will.’ Vedma spoke. ‘Should be good show.’
  899. ‘But we won’t.’ Minuet said.
  900. ‘But why n…’ Jarek’s sentence was cut short by the crash of a large rock landing right beside him. If he were wearing shoes, he would have jumped right out of them.
  901. Vedma leapt onto the rock, as did the other witches onto their chosen implements, all of which had arrived in less worrisome ways.
  902. ‘See you at the party, Minuet! You too, Jarek!’ Mesuline piped, and flew off.
  903. ‘Spank a monk for me! And don’t forget to sit on their faces!’ Minuet waved them off.
  904. Wait, it was the depth of winter. Snow piled up on the sides of the road. And he was naked, as a gust of wind reminded him. Why wasn’t he cold? And for that matter, why weren’t the nuns? He glanced over at Minuet.
  905. She said nothing.
  906. ‘Why am I not freezing right now?’
  907. ‘Magic.’ She said.
  908. Ah. She did have a similar spell on her broom.
  909. ‘The nuns too?’
  910. ‘Yup.’
  911. ‘They could have just worn coats.’
  912. ‘Oh minion, where’s the fun in that? Look at them! The moment they try anything their tits are going to fall out all over again.’
  913. He did look, but the black and white ribbon of nuns was now too far away to see anything meaningful. Not a tit in sight. The sounds of song carried clearly through the crisp winter air.
  914. ‘What do you have in mind that makes missing out on naked, angry nuns a good idea?’
  915. ‘Have faith, minion.’ She bared her fangs in a hungry smile. ‘Or do I need to break out the paddle again?’
  916. Jarek rubbed his sore, naked ass. He’d present it to her again without question.
  917. ‘What makes you think I wouldn’t want it?’
  918. Her smile grew wider. ‘Don’t tempt me.’
  919. Jarek didn’t really know where to go from there, so he just reached out and scratched Minuet’s soft belly, fingers ruffling the fur. She gave a deep purr at the gesture, then took his hand in hers.
  920. ‘It’s time for the big show, minion.’ She said.  ‘Can you feel the magic?’
  921. There was a prickly feeling on the edges of his experience, waves of warm energy radiating across his skin. Had it been there before without him noticing, or was Minuet drawing it out in him?
  922. ‘Whoa…’ He said.
  923. ‘You’re charged with some powerful stuff.’
  924. ‘Wait…’ He furrowed his brow. ‘Am I a witch, now?’
  925. Minuet shrugged. ‘Maybe sort of. Try lifting that rock.’
  926. Indeed, she pointed at a small rock lying by the side of the road.
  927. ‘Sure, Minuet…’ He eyed her. ‘How?’
  928. Minuet shrugged again, this time clearly for effect, rolled her eyes. ‘Sheesh, newbies… Just imagine your mind is a hand, and pick it up.’
  929. That wasn’t much help. Nevertheless, Jarek resolved to give it a try. The situation had gone fully weird a long time ago. He stared at the rock like it owed him money and tried to imagine a hand picking it up.
  930. Nothing.
  931. He stared more intently, like the rock owed him money and had spent it on ale. The hand in his mind grasped the rock as if it owed him money, had spent it on ale, and had a throat. He kept it up for a little longer, too. Right up until he began to feel silly.
  932. Nothing.
  933. Again.
  934. ‘Keep trying, minion.’
  935. It was hard to deny the fluffy witch. Once more, he turned his attention on the rock. If his eyes were drills, they would have gone through the rock, and through the earth itself. The hand in its mind’s eye gripped it hard enough to pulverize it.
  936. Then he felt the velvety softness of Minuet’s fur on his back, her breasts pressing against him. One clawed hand gripped his ass firmly, eliciting a sweet pain. The other hand grasped his cock and squeezed. Sharp teeth bit his shoulder, her cruel tongue rasped his neck.
  937. The rock wobbled.
  938. ‘You did it!’ Minuet abandoned her seduction to giddily bounce from one paw on the other, jiggling breasts and soft belly. She clapped, but the sound was oddly muffled owing to those quieting cat paw pads.
  939. Jarek looked back at the rock. It was boringly static once more.
  940. ‘I did? I guess? It didn’t feel like I was doing it. Are you sure you didn’t help?’
  941. In a somewhat disappointing decision Minuet stopped celebrating.
  942. ‘Of course I helped, silly minion. But I didn’t move it for you.’ She crossed her arms. ‘Seriously, you think I’d just give it a tap like that? Here, look.’
  943. She made a simple gesture, then another. The small rock started glowing, bubbles forming on its surface. The snow near it melted away, the withered grass underneath even erupting in flame. By magic, the rock turned liquid, then flowed into a shape. An erect cock, complete with balls.
  944. Of course.
  945. The material cooled and settled, having turned to a smooth, glass-like texture. Finally, the stone cock climaxed with a spurt of flame, causing a small grass fire around it.
  946. ‘That’s how a witch moves a rock!’
  947. ‘You didn’t move it. You just turned it into a burning dick.’
  948. ‘Details.’ She shrugged. ‘The thing I’m trying to make clear here is that you did it all by yourself. With just a little help from me. It’s still sex magic.’
  949. ‘Wait. You mean I can only use it if I’m horny?’
  950. ‘Looks like it.’ Minuet seemed much too pleased with that fact, baring her sharp fangs in a worrying grin. ‘Lucky for you, I’m attracted to potentially magical village perverts.’
  951. She put her hands on his shoulders and locked her emerald eyes on his. ‘Try again.’
  952. Then she squated down before him and took his cock in her mouth, playing her prickly tongue along his shaft. His knees initially went weak at the sudden affection, especially when she playfully nibbled with her sharp teeth. However, having grown somewhat used to cat blowjobs, he quickly focused on the task at hand. Energy crackled at his fingertips, and copying the sort of gesture he had seen Minuet use so often he pointed at the cock-rock and ordered it into an arc over the horizon.
  953. The result was somewhat less impressive, but fly it did, shooting off through the air, bouncing off a tree, and plopping down into a bank of snow.
  954. ‘Whoo-hoo!’ Jarek thrust his fist into the air in victory. Magic at his fingertips, cat witch on his cock, maybe life was good.
  955. Minuet, for her part, took notice, and let his cock flop out of her mouth.
  956. ‘Very good, minion! We’ll make a witch out of you yet!’
  957. He looked down at her smiling face.
  958. ‘You’re just going to leave me like that?’ He gestured to his still erect cock.
  959. That typical predatory look came over Minuet’s face. She rose with a growl. Jarek felt the pricks of claws on his cock, and she pulled him against her with a forceful tug.
  960. ‘Patience is a witchly virtue, minion.’ She teased his tip against the wetness between her legs. ‘Trust me, you’ll need your energy yet.’
  961. Maybe he was asking too much. Signaling his understanding, he kissed the tuft of fur between her breasts. She responded with one hand on his head, ruffling his hair, and a gentle squeeze from the other.
  962. They stayed like that for a moment, until Jarek liberated himself from his fluffy bit of heaven.
  963. ‘You’re the mistress… mistress.’ He left a pause to consider his awkward way of putting things. ‘Where do you need me and my energy?’
  964. ‘One last trick, minion.’
  965. With a gesture Minuet conjured a door, right there on the road. This one was the most opulent yet. A large, double-sided monstrosity thick with exotic decoration, all of it gilded or, if it was even more opulent than he thought, solid gold. The winter sun gave it a hard, blinding glare.
  966. Minuet looked at him side-long. ‘You should get dressed.’
  967. Before he could respond Minuet levitated him into the air, tumbling upside down. From this strange perspective he saw a blur of color from the nunnery’s gates, which he realized was his princely garb. The hose shot onto his legs, followed by boots, the caftan on his arms, with the sash coming last. With another gesture Jarek was sent spinning at a dizzying speed, the sash wrapping itself around his waist. That done, she set him back on his feet, somewhat shaken.
  968. ‘Wait, aren’t you for…‘ Jarek had no time to finish the sentence before the headdress plopped onto him from above. ‘No, I mean the codpiece.’
  969. ‘Not in fashion where we’re going.’
  970. Then she flung open the heavy, golden doors. A blast of hot air escaped through them. At first, Jarek thought he was looking at another scene of the ball. He was met by the sight of a bathhouse, though that simple explanation did not do it justice. There were pools and fountains, a high ceiling held aloft by delicately carved pillars, walls covered by geometrical mosaics, and not a piece of metal in sight that did not have the warm gleam of gold. But it were the women that caught the eye, cavorting naked in the water, or lounging on lying benches by the sides. One or two of them were even reading. All of them were dressed in what Minuet had told him was silk, but it were the delicate shoes with their curved tips that made the realization coalesce in his mind.
  971. This was a harem. Not that he knew what they looked like, but he had heard the lurid stories from condemning priests, knights errant, and well-traveled charlatans alike. Now he looked more closely, and indeed, he could see large men with curved swords on their belts in the shadows. Eunuchs, no doubt.
  972. Minuet seized his hand and pulled him forward.
  973. ‘Remember, minion. You’re a prince!’
  974. With a heavy slam the door closed behind them.
  975.  
  976. They stood in the shadows, sequestered in an alcove half hidden by a delicate, decorated curtain. The air within the building was heavy with warmth and humidity, infused with the exotic smells of perfume or incense. In terms of feeling, they were as far removed from the cold winter air they had left behind as they were physically. Jarek was now further from home than he’d ever been, though the shock had slightly worn off with it being the third time he could say that in a day. Two days? It was hard to keep track of time when you’re out cavorting with witches.
  977. ‘What do you think, minion?’ Minuet purred in his ear.
  978. ‘Impressive building to keep a bunch of harlots in.’ He shrugged, and immediately received a cuff to the back of his head.
  979. He turned to the bewitching source of his anguish, and saw her point. Where Minuet first wore a strange, leather outfit, she now wore something more suited to the environment. More suited, and absolutely bewildering. Silk as emerald as her eyes covered her breasts, but the thing fabric left little to the imagination. The loose, billowing hose only covered her legs, her modesty very poorly guarded by a very narrow loincloth. So thin was the fabric as to provide only titillation, turning any observer into a voyeur by the simple virtue of having working eyes. A veil covered her snout, but it really was only the concept of a veil. Her eyes shone fiercely above it. All of it was bordered with heavy golden decoration, including a number of tiny bells which chimed as she moved. The tight strap of the hose and loincloth made the soft curve of her belly stand out. He knew her long enough to guess that she definitely did it on purpose, and as far as he was concerned it was also definitely the right choice.
  980. The sight left Jarek breathless for a moment. He counted himself lucky to be with a woman who could amaze him with a simple change of clothing.
  981. ‘That good?’ Minuet smiled and swished her tail. A soft chime betrayed the presence of bells.
  982. ‘My God, Minuet! Could you have any less mercy for my heart? Or my dick?’
  983. Minuet issued a small giggle. ‘Watch it, minion. You’re growing eloquent. And you know I have no mercy for your dick.’
  984. He had no idea what “eloquent” meant, but it was probably good.
  985. She stuck out her arm, like a gentleman offering to escort his lady. ‘Shall we? There are some people who’s worlds need turning upside down.’
  986. Jarek took his mistress’ arm. She brushed aside the curtain, and they stepped into the light. The light jingle of bells accompanied them.
  987. They walked along the colonnade that ringed the large room, at a languid pace, in the manner of someone who is exactly where they’re supposed to be. Gentle sounds of splashing came from the pool where the women bathed. They conversed in a language so strange Jarek couldn’t even imagine where it might be from, accompanied by sophisticated, soothing music from two of the women who were playing delicate instruments. One of them plucked a harp, while the other worked some sort of lute with a bow.
  988. All the riches of this palace, of the rich silken garments, all the gold, the mosaics, everything, were only a backdrop to the beauty of the women themselves. Whatever a man’s tastes, he was sure to find the woman to sate them, here.
  989. The entire scene was a civilized version of the mad scenes at the ball. It made him wonder whether that was the reason Minuet had selected this place for her mischief. Whatever the case, this was sure to be the calm before the storm. The witch on his arm would see to that.
  990. As they passed one of the tall windows that cast light into the space, Jarek stole a glance. The city lay there with the weight of ages, beyond the palace grounds. A city of whitewashed and yellow brick buildings, shining in the sun. They were densely packed together, winding streets running between them. Tall, narrow buildings with many windows lined a square with a fountain. A road led into a covered bazaar, a collection of colorful stalls in its shade. Another jewel of this city sat on high ground, a gleaming, shining dome held up by vast arches, thin towers standing on its corners. Another palace?
  991. They passed, and the sight was gone. Had Minuet corrupted him so that he cared to see more of the city than of the women? Perhaps. None of the women were cats, or witches.
  992. Moving in the open, they were beginning to be noticed. Glances and murmurs of the women came their way. More worryingly, the large men with their curved swords were moving. Slowly, soundlessly, they came their way. One moved along the colonnade to block their path, two took up position by the pool. A quick look over his shoulder confirmed to Jarek that two more were trailing behind them. They took up no threatening posture yet, but he could see practiced hands calmly resting on the hilts of their swords.
  993. ‘Uhm, Minuet?’
  994. Before them, between them and the eunuch coming to meet them, gilded double doors swung open. A figure entered, and the eunuch immediately went to one knee, his head bent low. The reason for this was obvious. The man was dressed in a manner much the same as Jarek, with silken hose, shirt, and headdress. Decorated with golden thread, jewels of all sorts themselves held in golden fittings, he sparkled in the light. Even the knife on his belt could probably buy a village. He was a lithe figure, with a strong chin, sharp eyes, a slightly crooked nose, and a mustache that was surely his and his barber’s pride. He was followed by a set of similar figures, all young and rich, though surely not as glorious as their host.
  995. The prince’s eyes wandered to the eunuchs, then to Minuet and Jarek. They widened in shock, and he began to speak a sentence in that strange, guttural language.
  996. Minuet, however, reached out. Smoky, pink tendrils shot from her fingertips, penetrating the forehead of the prince, and of his guests. Magic. Could he see it now, because he was capable of magic of his own?
  997. The eyes of the prince immediately softened. He barked an angry order to the men with their swords, and they scurried back to the edges of the room. Looking at them, he threw his arms wide and spoke in an altogether more friendly tone.
  998. ‘Yeah, I still can’t understand a word of it.’ Jarek said.
  999. ‘Oh, prince Jarek. You really have to keep up with your languages.’ Minuet mocked, then snapped her fingers.
  1000. As the prince was mid-sentence, Jarek gained a sudden understanding of what he was saying. Rather than the man’s speech being somehow translated, it was Jarek who could now speak his language. A strange prospect, given that he didn’t even know what it was called, until he would try to say it.
  1001. ‘… enjoying yourselves already, my dear guests. Pray, be kind, remind me who you are. For some reason… it has slipped my mind.’ He gave a small nod of the head. As much of a bow as anyone was ever likely to get from someone like him. ‘Forgive me.’
  1002. ‘Might have something to do with last night.’ One of the other guests said. There was a brief chuckle from the group.
  1003. Jarek, for his part, dug into his memory to earlier in this crazy night, if it was still a night.
  1004. ‘I’m Jarek, prince of Taklamakan.’ In return, he gave a short bow of his own.
  1005. From the look on his face, the prince was as unfamiliar with Jarek’s fictional kingdom as he himself was. Which was a relief. It would be a terrible inconvenience to tell tall tales of the place if people knew what they were supposed to be.
  1006. The prince turned his gaze toward Minuet. His eyes traveled up and down her figure no less than two times, as brazenly as someone who had never been told no in his life. She flicked her tail to chime its bells.
  1007. ‘And your lovely companion? Not one of mine, unless I’ve had more of a lapse than I feel comfortable with.’
  1008. ‘Minuet, my lord. Pleased to make your acquaintance. I’m prince Jarek’s…’ she gave him a glance, with piercing green eyes and a sharp smile behind the veil, ‘… royal concubine.’
  1009. What the hell was a concubine? Did it involve sex? It probably involved sex. The safe bet with Minuet was that it involved sex.
  1010. ‘A lucky man to have such a fine woman.’ The prince said.
  1011. Jarek smiled at that.
  1012. ‘It’d be more accurate to say she has me.’
  1013. The prince gave a polite laugh. He turned to the other guests. ‘The prince of Taklamakan is well familiar with the ways of women, it seems! Come, let us enjoy this afternoon!’
  1014. Within a short while the group was lounging by the side of the pool, sitting or lying on benches of frankly ridiculous softness, their pillows decorated in excruciating detail. The entire harem was summoned for the occasion, with more women of dizzying variety coming forth from other places. They bore golden plates stacked with meats, exotic fruits, and strange, flat bread that seemed like something straight from the Bible. Accompanying this were pitchers, golden as well, of wine, water, and a steaming concoction that Jarek had never seen before. It gave off a strong aroma, and as the other guests gratefully took reception of it in delicate earthenware cups, he could see it was pitch black. Not feeling quite that adventurous, he held out an arm for a goblet of wine. A pleasant tune rose up from women who had gathered their instruments.
  1015. Strange concoction aside, Jarek took heart in the fact that this display of riches seemed like just another village feast compared to the wonders he had experienced in the forest clearing.
  1016. The way they were seated provided a good view of the pool, which seemed to be somewhat the point. Several of the harem women were still swimming, more for the benefit of the onlookers than for the exercise itself. A Moorish woman drifted by lazily on her back, ample breasts on full display. A ginger-haired woman with alabaster skin was involved in a play fight with a woman with olive skin, splashing water, giggling, wrestling in a curious display of femininity. The servant girls, for their part, were complimented on their looks by the guests, with an occasional errant hand confirming the point, though there was none of the groping one might expect in a city tavern. The restraint had more to do with the presence of the prince rather than moral virtues, Jarek suspected. It wouldn’t do to disrespect his property, and he had no doubt these women were his property.
  1017. He took no part. Leaning comfortably back on his bench, Minuet draped over his lap, he idly caressed her fur as he would with any cat. And she purred, as any cat would. Conversation was surprisingly banal, if with a royal tint. The men were speaking of horses.
  1018. ‘Jarek of Taklamakan.’ The prince spoke to him, and he briefly stopped scratching Minuet until an annoyed flick of the tail reminded him he should continue. ‘What sort of horse do you prefer?’
  1019. Damn. He knew nothing of horses.
  1020. ‘A working horse.’ He said, to the puzzled glances of the men.
  1021. ‘A working horse?’ One laughed. ‘How do you expect to win a battle on a working horse? How do you expect to feel the wind in your hair? Is life in Taklamakan so simple?’
  1022. Jarek dug deep to say something smart, swishing the wine in his goblet, worth a small fortune, to buy some time.
  1023. ‘Working horses haul the harvest. Working horses haul stone for city walls. Your thoroughbred may run fast, but my working horse builds a kingdom.’
  1024. Laughter rose up again, more well-meaning, this time.
  1025. ‘A smart one, this one.’ A man held his goblet aloft. ‘To building kingdoms!’
  1026. Cheers went up as they all toasted to their kingdoms, real or otherwise.
  1027. ‘And she, then?’ The prince gestured to Minuet. ‘Not a working horse, I take it?’
  1028. ‘A working cat.’
  1029. Could they see she was a cat? He hadn’t taken notice of any sort of magic she’d cast in that respect, though the fact that nobody was scrambling around or gathering the Saracen equivalent of crucifixes was enough of a hint that their senses were impaired. At any rate, the comment puzzled them enough that all eyes were on him and Minuet, now.
  1030. ‘What does your cat work at, then?’ The prince spoke. ‘She seems lazy as a cat. Have you brought her along only to lie in your lap?’
  1031. At that, Minuet rose from her position, perching on the edge of the bench in a position that looked like she was ready to pounce, the prince nought but a mouse to her.
  1032. ‘What would the prince have this cat do, then?’ She purred sweetly.
  1033. ‘Can the cat dance?’
  1034. Minuet sprang upright, gliding through the air just slightly longer, and landing just slightly softer than was natural.
  1035. ‘Can the cat dance? The cat can dance, my prince!’
  1036. She paced silently between the lounging men with her one paw in front of the other cat walk, accompanied by the soft chime of bells. She passed them slowly, with a sway in her hips, ensuring they all took notice of her.
  1037. ‘Your woman speaks for you. Is she always this indolent?’ The prince asked.
  1038. ‘Yes.’ Jarek shrugged. If only the prince knew how Minuet despised the proper ways of society. If only he knew the liberty she had already taken with him.
  1039. Before the prince’s point could be taken any further, Minuet clapped her hands with an amplified boom. A serving girl dropped a plate in surprise, and set about cleaning up the mess under profuse apologies.
  1040. ‘Girls! Give me music! Something with a bit of tempo, if you please.’
  1041. After some confusion the women found their wits and instruments, starting into a jaunty tune. Their music permeated the atmosphere, drawing the attention of anyone who hadn’t been looking yet. Women in the pool leaned against the edge, the women with trays and pitchers kept their eyes on Minuet even as they moved and bent to serve their delicacies. From the corner of his eye Jarek could even see a eunuch take a sly step forward for a better view.
  1042. Minuet struck a wide-legged pose, raised her arms above her head, and started her dance with a wiggle of her hips, sounding her bells in time with the music, ever faster as the rhythm rose. The attitude of the men softened. They smiled, nodded, and clapped to the rhythm of the music.
  1043. As the music took off in earnest Minuet swayed this way and that, tapping her paws on the floor to ring her bells, swishing her tail to do the same. She shook her shoulders to make her breasts bounce, the thin top riding up to gradually reveal more of her nakedness to the uproar of her audience. Again she put her arms in the air and moved her hips as if grinding against a lover, undulating her stomach in a way Jarek hadn’t known was possible. The noblemen clapped and roared like men gone mad.
  1044. But she wasn’t done yet. During a lull in the rhythm she swayed her way to one of the men, turned, and gave him a full view of her naked ass, shaking her hips in time with the music, the many bells sounding their golden chimes. Quite the sight, Jarek knew from experience. The man agreed, as his hand went up for a touch.
  1045. With a sudden hiss Minuet batted at the probing extremity. Claws out, she drew blood, to the roaring laughter of the other men.
  1046. She moved on to the next man. With force, she planted a paw between his legs. He startled, then relaxed as Minuet’s swaying breasts made him realize he was still whole.
  1047. The next, she passed by with a caress to the cheek, first with her hand, then with her tail. For the one beside him, she moved to sit in his lap, then whirled around to admonish him with a waggling finger.
  1048. All the men got a similar treatment, even as she still kept her chiming bells in tune with the music. They all got a view, or a touch, but nothing more than that.
  1049. Eventually, after passing all the other, she came to the prince, who sat lounging back expectantly. Minuet went to all fours before him, crawling toward him an animal. Growling, she climbed on top of the prince, only barely keeping from touching him. In a brazen display she took his hand and placed it firmly on her ass, while her other hand drifted between her legs. Where the men had been loud before, now they were silent, their eyes locked on both. Finally, Minuet took the prince’s head with her free hand and moved her face to his, emerald eyes full of lust, mouth half open in anticipation of a kiss.
  1050. As sudden as a thunderclap on clear sky, she wiped the lustful expression from her face, to replace it with  her wicked, fang-toothed grin, eyes cold and predatory. Before the realization fully dawned on the prince, she launched herself backward with a powerful kick of her legs, sailing through the air in a perfect backflip. She landed lightly, with only the softest of sounds, and looked at the prince once more, whose expression of joy was now replaced with a hard glare. She giggled, and bounced over to where Jarek was sitting.
  1051. Oh boy, she was up to something.
  1052. Yes, there was that look of mischief in her eyes. There was no time to inquire about what she planned to do. As soon as she got close, she gave him an insistent push with a paw, putting him on his back on the bench. He made one last attempt to say something, but found it quickly muffled as Minuet lowered her ass onto his face. With her characteristic wiggle, she made sure she was well seated.
  1053. Yep. Here he was again. Enveloped in the softness of her posterior.
  1054. ‘Lick!’ Minuet ordered.
  1055. He didn’t really need the order, but he loved hearing it. He let his tongue glide along her skin, savoring her taste. And with his tongue, he penetrated her. On top of him, she moaned loudly, her moan turning into a deep purr he felt reverberate throughout her entire body. Simply performing the act itself stirred his loins. He was filled with that strange, filthy warmth that was a cousin to shame.
  1056. There were the distant sounds of shock from the men gathered around them, but Jarek didn’t care. There was no reason to fear them, or to respect their sensibilities, or to see them as equals in any way. If this shocked them, perhaps they ought to just sit, watch, and learn.
  1057. They asked a pointed question, though he could not hear what it was.
  1058. ‘The prince will explain when he’s done.’ Minuet moaned with overt pleasure.
  1059. Time as a concept had been tenuous at best, the past night, but it disappeared entirely when the world was subsumed by Minuet’s soft behind. He kissed and licked her for as long as he pleased, trying to draw forth ever more enthusiastic purrs and moans. Her wetness dribbled down his chin in a lovely mess. As her sounds of pleasure reached a crescendo, Jarek felt a sudden burst of wetness soak his shirt. Her purrs ceased, and he could feel the steady rise and fall of her heavy, tired breathing. He felt lightheaded himself from the effort. She hadn’t even touched his dick, yet he felt spent, at least for a while. There was a funny intimacy to letting her rest where she sat after she was done, something that sat in between sex and a hug. If they were alone, he’d never ask her to get off. Eventually, though, it was time to rejoin the world. He gave her rump a gentle push, and she let herself drop to the side, lying messily and inelegantly on the couch.
  1060. He was met by stares of faces in shock, a sneer of disgust on the prince’s face.
  1061. Jarek coudn’t help but crack a smile at the sight. ‘What’s wrong?’ He feigned innocence.
  1062. ‘She commanded to lick her ass!’ One of the man said. ‘And you did it! You allowed her to use you as some sort of… chair with a tongue!’
  1063. ‘It’s a lot of fun.’
  1064. ‘It’s uncouth, and unseemly that you would do something like that under my roof.’ The prince’s tone was calm, but he could not hide the smoldering anger.
  1065. ‘It tastes great.’ Jarek shrugged.
  1066. ‘It’s debased and degenerate. How could you call yourself a man?’
  1067. ‘Look…‘ Jarek wiped a drop of Minuet’s wetness from his chin, ‘… Minuet, could you please show them your ass.’
  1068. With a wink Minuet stood, turned, and bent forward, jutting her ass towards the men with a jingle of bells, tail lifted high. Two recoiled involuntarily as if expecting an attack.
  1069. ‘Is this not a glorious ass?’ Jarek asked as he lovingly scratched the fur of Minuet’s butt. ‘Is this not an ass that makes men wild with desire?’
  1070. No response. They were probably expecting him to pack it in under the combined force of their disapproving stares. No such luck. He took a handful of Minuet’s ass and made it jiggle.
  1071. ‘How can you call yourselves men if you’re afraid of a woman’s ass?’ He gave the exemplary ass a slap for emphasis. ‘What is there to fear?’
  1072. Miraculously, his argument worked. Where first only brazen anger and indignation painted their faces, now Jarek could see the distinct presence of worry and apprehension.
  1073. ‘He’s mad.’ One of them whispered.
  1074. Minuet decided it was no longer time to be an argument for ass, straightened herself, and paced in front of the group of noblemen, slapping Jarek in the face with her velvety tail as she turned. The bells jingled.
  1075. ‘Oh, I know what it is, dear gentlemen.’ She stared down her muzzle at them. The calm threat in her voice was clear. ‘You’re afraid! You fear your balls will shrivel if you don’t adhere to your silly rules. So powerful you are, yet you stop yourself short of the simplest pleasures. It’s weak, my esteemed prince. You can’t even will your own tongue to go where it pleases.’
  1076. ‘Enough!’ The prince exploded, his once well-kempt mustache bristling. ‘I will not be insulted under my own roof! Guards! Toss these two in the dungeons! And not together, either!’
  1077. With a burst of motion the hitherto placid eunuchs sprung into action, advancing on them with long strides. Balls or not, these were big guys, and Jarek didn’t think he could even one of them in a fair fight. Or an unfair fight, seeing as the old boot to the balls wouldn’t cut it. And they had swords. Not real swords, but they’d still hurt.
  1078. He remember his little lesson. He’d just stuck his tongue up Minuet’s ass, the smell of her sex was still in his nose, and his loins still burned with lust. That should do it, right? He concentrated on the closest eunuch and imagined a push with everything he had, thrusting his hand forward.
  1079. With a yelp the eunuch was thrust backward, tumbling head over hills, his sword clattering onto the stone floor. Women screamed, men cursed.
  1080. ‘Magic!’ Someone yelled.
  1081. ‘Well done!’ Minuet beamed.
  1082. Now fear replaced anger on the faces of the men. Minuet relished it, advancing on the group with threatening strides, extended claws clicking on the floor. For every step she took towards them, the men took a step back, looking just short of breaking into a full run.
  1083. ‘Congratulations! You’ve found us out! We’re witches, full of magic and malice… and we’re here to fuck your world!’ She laughed. “Why am I even bothering? You’re not going to remember a thing!’
  1084. Having properly scared the shit out of everyone in the room, Minuet jumped into the air and defiantly stayed there. Jarek could feel what she was doing, like a low hum, then a rumble issuing forth from the earth and sky themselves. A crackle of energy that made his hair feel like it stood on end. The witch’s eyes glowed with a pink light. She gestured furiously, chanting in an otherworldly language. It sounded like she spoke with two voices, three, then four. The air took on a pink tinge, shockwaves of magical energy emanated from her, increasing in rapidity and intensity, rattling chandeliers and churning the pool. It was hard to keep to one’s feet in the face of them, and noblemen, harem women, and eunuchs were crawling away from the floating sex witch as fast as their hands and knees would carry them.
  1085. Then the spell reached its peak. A massive blast of pink energy found its center with Minuet. It washed over everyone in the room, bathing it in a warm glow. It didn’t stop there, either. Outside the windows Jarek saw the wave wash over the rest of the city, leaving a gentle, pink residue in its wake. The room was left with only the sound of water sloshing against the walls of the pool.
  1086. Minuet landed elegantly on her paws, not a care in the world.
  1087. ‘Damn, minion. I’ve been sitting on the one for a while. Feels good to finally get it out.’
  1088. ‘Jesus Christ, Minuet. It’s magic, not a turd.’
  1089. Minuet shrugged. ‘If you’re a waste witch, those two are the same.’
  1090. For fuck’s sake, he didn’t even want to know.
  1091. ‘What now? What have you done?’ He asked.
  1092. ‘Now,’ Minuet plopped her big ass down on a lying bench and waggled her paws at him, ‘I’ve earned a paw rub. And what I’ve done is make everyone a little more agreeable.’
  1093. If there was one thing Jarek loved about Minuet, it was her paws. And her ass. And her raspy tongue. And all the rest. Needless to say, if Minuet wanted a paw rub, Minuet got a paw rub. The answers would reveal themselves soon enough.
  1094. She was already purring happily under the pressure of his touch, subconsciously kneading his lap as he massaged her tired paws, when the people in the room started collecting themselves. They had the air of a hangover about them, looking around the room in confusion, making sure they were where they thought they were. Their glances passed over them, taking them in without anger.
  1095. He was most of the way done, tracing the edges of Minuet’s pads with his thumbs, paws arching in pleasure, when the worst of the recovery seemed to be over. Women were moving to clean the mess the shockwaves of Minuet’s spell left behind. But curiously, the men and eunuchs were helping, sweeping up spilled food and drink like common scullion maids. Once they were done, they congratulated each other on a job well done with jovial slaps on shoulders, and a toast.
  1096. The cause of the mess didn’t seem to worry them much. No questions were asked, and when women hurried in with new trays and pitchers, the entire thing seemed forgotten. The prince and his party ambled to the semi-circle of benches and resumed their lounging.
  1097. ‘You know how to please a woman, Jarek of Taklamakan.’ The prince said.
  1098. ‘Yes, he does.’ Minuet answered. She pushed a paw in his face, and he gave it a light kiss, between the pads, where it tickled.
  1099. ‘I’m… interested in pleasing women.’ There was a tinge of doubt in the prince’s voice, as if surprised at his own words.
  1100. ‘Enough women around to please.’ Jarek said, letting his glance glide over the many harem women present. In them, too, there was a change. They carried themselves with more confidence, more assertiveness.
  1101. The prince followed Jarek’s eyes with a timid look of his own.
  1102. ‘Quite right. Ladies… ‘ He stood, and performed a bow, ‘… what would please you?’
  1103. Conspiratorial looks shoot back and forth between the women, sly smiles forming around lips, until one stepped forward, a curly-haired, olive-skinned women with a powerful build and dusky eyes, naked breasts swaying freely.
  1104. ‘You’ve been the boss of us for so long, my lord. I think it’s high time you submit to us for a change.’
  1105. ‘Ah, a marvelous idea!’ The prince beamed. ‘Yes, we just saw prince Jarek give an outstanding demonstration. If it pleases you, I offer my face as a seat.’
  1106. Again the women exchanged glances, and smiles. Though lacking pointy teeth, Jarek thought he could recognize much of Minuet in those grins. Predatory, and dangerous. The way the women took tentative steps in the prince’s flanks, took up position behind him, was reminiscent of wolves stalking prey.
  1107. ‘Perhaps…’ The dark woman said, ‘…but first we need to make our new relationship clear. How shall we do that, my prince?’
  1108. ‘Spanking!’ It was Minuet who piped up, altogether too loud. ‘Spank his ass, spank his cock, twist his nipples, tie him up! Make him beg!’
  1109. Then she let her voice drop to a low purr, and fixed her piercing eyes on the prince. ‘Wouldn’t you agree, my prince? Wouldn’t you say the true mark of a man is how he bears punishment?’
  1110. The prince gulped, then spoke. ‘You have a remarkably wise concubine, Jarek of Taklamakan.’ A look of greater confidence washed over his face, and he turned to the woman before him. ‘Yes, that is how it shall be. I desire your cruelest touch.’
  1111. At once, the women of the harem burst into activity. Several descended on the prince, and his guests, disrobing them in a fervor. Others flew out of the room, only to return swiftly with whatever they could find. Ropes, belts, whips, candles, all manner of things. The debauchery started in almost an instant. The prince over a woman’s knee, receiving resounding slaps to his bare ass, uttering seemingly heartfelt gratitude for every blow. His guests were not spared, either. One was taking slaps to his balls from two of the women, in between yelps giving remarkably accurate advice to add more effect. Another had a woman urinating in his mouth, even as he had his hands tied behind his back. Where first this place seemed a tame approximation of the ball, now it made a more earnest effort.
  1112. Jarek moved his hand up Minuet’s velvet fur leg to caress her inner thigh. ‘Want to have some fun of our own?’
  1113. ‘It would be lovely, minion. But we should return. We’ve already stretched time like that guy’s balls.’
  1114. Indeed, the man she indicated had no less than two golden pitchers suspended from his family jewels, achieving an impressive length out of it, just as one of the women was poised to show him the business end of a belt.
  1115. He wasn’t an expert on the matters of magic, nor the strange way time flowed on this day. Or night. Whichever it officially was. Minuet was already padding to the edge of the room, towards the colonnade, and he moved to follow.
  1116. She paused by the window. Jarek came up and put his arm around her waist. As he peered out to follow her gaze, he saw what was so interesting. At first, nothing really seemed to be amiss. Then, he spotted a couple on a rooftop, fucking with wild abandon in broad daylight. In the streets, he saw people throwing off their clothing, running through the streets chasing each other. Men and women fucked in the streets, as did women and women, and men and men. Sure enough, at least one person down there had found a paddle, and was gauging the technique and power of all women that passed him by.
  1117. ‘That’s… that’s quite the party down there.’ He uttered.
  1118. Minuet flashed him a grin. ‘They’ll be talking about it for years to come.’
  1119. They stood watching for a few more moments to the sounds of the mounting debauchery behind them, until Jarek felt the rasp of an affectionate, little lick on his cheek.
  1120. ‘Time to go.’
  1121. With those words, Minuet cast a lazy gesture to make a door appear in the wall. This one, he recognized. The double doors of the mansion where the ball was being held.
  1122.  
  1123. Minuet made a sweeping gesture with both arms, swinging open the doors. She strode through with a confident gait, one paw in front of the other, a slight sway to her hips, and a more pronounced sway to her tail, bells ringing with every step, every swish.
  1124. The ball was still the cacophonous orgy they had left behind. Even more so, if that was possible. The main hall had now fully given itself over to the disregard of social convention that magical society apparently demanded. Every other person, or being, was fucking. Those that weren’t were drinking, eating, or playing music. Many people were doing several of those things at the same time. In one glance he saw a woman with strings clamped tightly between her nipples and labia, cruelly stretching both, being played as a harp. Another, a cat-like witch with golden fur, pleasuring herself with fruit, before handing it out to hungry revelers in the room. She would have been one of the normal ones, if it weren’t for the size of the fruit, and the prickly exterior of some of it. Even a man painting a scene of debauchery with only a small brush inserted in his prick. He was quite good, Jarek had to admit. The entire room was engulfed in the sounds of flesh slapping against flesh, moans, shouts, yelps, and roars of the revelers, the strange, otherworldly music they played melting together in one bizarre medley. The smells of sex, food, drink, even the painter’s paint came together in a sweet, cloying atmosphere thick enough to wade through.
  1125. Even in this absolute mess of a room, people took notice of Minuet. The crowd parted before her like the Red Sea before Moses. Jarek followed close behind, lest he suffer the same fate as the Pharao. Though, he’d be drowning in something other than water.
  1126. At the end of room, on its dais, still stood the golden, stone-studded throne begging the attention of anyone who so much as glanced in its direction. Light seemed drawn to it as if by magic, and it probably was, reflecting it fiercely back to its onlookers. The wealth witch, Lucretia, that belonged on it, was nowhere to be seen.
  1127. That fact had not escaped Minuet, either. Her confident strut had slowed to more of a self-assured amble as she casually let her eyes glide across the room, ears swiveling with vigor. Jarek quickened his pace to join by her side.
  1128. As he neared, the floor beneath his feet began to wobble. He paid it no mind, ascribing it to the presence of magic all around him. But he could hardly ignore it when the floor swallowed his leg like a treacherous bog, sucking, bubbling, trapping him fast. There was but time to let out a panicked yelp, tug at his leg, and realize that the rest of him was sucked down with force. When he called for Minuet his voice was robbed by the floor, seeping closed over his head.
  1129. Was this the end of it? Just like that? Swallowed by the floor in some nameless mansion, in some nameless city? It hardly seemed like it, Jarek reasoned. In the first place, he was still considering the nature of his situation. No pearly gates, or hellfire. No angels with harps, or demons with pitchforks. Only darkness like warm porridge around him. And in the second place, he was tumbling, if it could be called tumbling. His head was moving downwards, performing a forward roll like the world’s slowest acrobat. It was common knowledge that dead men did not move.
  1130. Somewhere between the shock wearing off and boredom setting in, the need for air made itself known. He didn’t want to try to breath the stuff around him.
  1131. When his head had just reached the lowest point of his tumble, and was again rising upwards, the floor-porridge parted below him. He gulped in the fresh air, only to have it knocked back out of him as he landed.
  1132. Soft. What he landed on was soft.
  1133. First, he took an earnest breath to replace the one stolen from him. Then he blinked at the light, which was not bright at all, but infinitely brighter than the total absence of it he had just experienced. Squinting, through the fingers of a shielding hand, he could see he was not alone.
  1134. Then, he heard.
  1135. ‘So kind of you to join us!’ A woman’s voice crooned.
  1136. There was no mistaking it. He had only heard it once, but that poison hidden under manners was something he had only heard from one person. The wealth witch. Their host.
  1137. With redoubled effort he blinked the offending light down to acceptable levels. Yes, it was her. Shining golden dress hard to look at. But by her side was a more worrying sight. The other woman, visibly salivating through a mouth of broken teeth. Her one good eye, under her single eyebrow, regarded him with… what? Hunger? Lust? Nothing good.
  1138. He choose to turn his eyes to a corner for the time being. This was no decorated room they were in. In fact, it was more of a dungeon. Rusty manacles still hung from the brickwork. The question of what a soft bed for him to lie on was doing here only added to his mounting worry.
  1139. ‘It’s nice to get away from the old ball and chain for a bit, don’t you think?’ Lucretia still spoke like a knife in a velvet scabbard.
  1140. ‘I like shy boys.’ The ugly woman spoke, slurring her words more than he remembered. Was she drunk?
  1141. ‘Why so quiet, dear Jarek? Cat got your tongue?’
  1142. The ugly woman let out three heaving laughs at the joke, vomiting her mirth forth into the room, followed by a belch that reverberated off the walls.
  1143. Impressive. But she was certainly drunk. The smell of sour wine wafted out from her.
  1144. Time to get up. With her eyeing him the bed probably wasn’t the best place to stay. As he swung his legs over the edge, he found them immediately swing back. Lucretia’s outstretched hand left no real doubt over the cause of this. He tried to sit up, but the witch pressed him back down onto the mattress.
  1145. ‘Why don’t you just stop fucking around and tell me what you’re doing?’ He said.
  1146. Lucretia pouted, planted her hands in her sides. ‘Jarek. Can I call you Jarek? Or do you prefer your cute, little nickname? Minion, I’d forgotten you were but a simple bumpkin. No manners. No manners at all.’
  1147. She raised her hand and Jarek felt a solid slap across the face, skin burning where the ghostly hand of the witch’s spell touched him.
  1148. ‘I can do much worse than that. Show some respect.’
  1149. Jarek said the most logical thing he could thinking of.
  1150. ‘Fuck you!’
  1151. The witch reached out with another gesture. A warmth rose up under Jarek’s skin, a feverish sensation that made him sweat. The warmth rose to the heat of a summer sun, then kept rising to something approaching fire. It didn’t stop.
  1152. Jarek screamed. He tried not to, and kept his silence longer than most men would have. Icy hotness crept under his skin as if the world were an executioner’s poker. There was no respite of burned nerves, here. The witch kept him like that for a short while.
  1153. She let him go. He lay out of breath, soiling the sheets with slick sweat.
  1154. ‘I won’t kill you. I want you to know that.’ Lucretia crooned. ‘But you’re going to do what I say either way. It’s up to you how much it hurts while you do.’
  1155. ‘So what the fuck do you want?’ Jarek panted.
  1156. Lucretia nodded to her companion, who’s gaze had not left him. At this signal she began undoing her dress.
  1157. Oh, fucking great.
  1158. The body she hid under the cloth was no more agreeable than the parts of it that stuck out. She stripped the dress down her chest, revealing patches of scraggly hair, oily skin covered in an angry rash, lopsided, empty sacks of breasts with a brush of hair around the nipples. She shrugged the dress off her hips, showing that the hair between her legs had staked full ownership of her lower belly and inner thighs. Despite her ample body hair, her labia managed to dangle out from the forest, hanging as low as her knees, thick and swollen, slick with her juices.
  1159. Then the smell hit him. Rancid milk, a cesspit in summer, discarded fish waste. He coughed.
  1160. Lucretia noticed.
  1161. ‘Bella doesn’t like to bathe.’ She said. ‘She feels it’s a detriment to her natural beauty.’
  1162. ‘That’s true.’ The troll of a woman slurred.
  1163. ‘I’ve fucked worse.’ Jarek lied.
  1164. At that Lucretia let out the most civilized laugh, like chiming golden bells. With a quick gesture she struck the clothes from his body. With another, she summoned a brush and paint, sending it gliding over his skin.
  1165. He’d seen Minuet do this. It was when they just met, when they were…
  1166. Oh no.
  1167. ‘You’re being to bond us?’ He shouted.
  1168. Lucretia clasped her hands. ‘He can think! You like smart men, don’t you, Bella?’
  1169. The naked goblin nodded.
  1170. ‘You should be a minion to a real woman, you silly, little man. Not to some… cat.’ Lucretia said.
  1171. ‘But I’m already bonded! How the fuck does this even work?’
  1172. The golden witch shrugged. ‘We don’t know. But we can’t advance witchcraft if we never try, can we?’
  1173. A wet, slimy smile crept over the red, swollen lips of Bella. She stepped towards the bed in a wide-legged gait, grossly engorged labia swinging.
  1174. With a rumble the door to the dungeon buckled, with another it was ripped off its hinges and barreled into the advancing Bella. She shrugged off the blow like a knight in armor, only stopping to cast an eye at the source of the sudden violence.
  1175. Through the settling dust, from the dark corridor, strode a black figure with shining claws, sharp, flashing fangs barely hidden by provocative silk. A low growl rumbled through the room.
  1176. ‘Minuet!’
  1177. At the sight of his mistress Jarek moved to jump upright, but with another gesture from Lucretia he was pushed back, his arms pinned above his head, his legs spread to provide ample access to his manhood. The troll Bella still came for him.
  1178. Minuet made to pounce. Lucretia gave another gesture, this one complex, requiring both hands. As Minuet leaped, she bounced off a shimmering force in the air. Answering with a witchly gesture of her own, the magical shield was revealed to encompass the part of the room where Lucretia was, but also where the bed and Bella were.
  1179. ‘You bitch! You know I’ll get through!’ Minuet hissed, fangs bared.
  1180. ‘You will, dear colleague. But first Bella’s going to show you there’s more to making a minion than flapping your tits around like a slut.’ Lucretia spoke with an utmost confidence.
  1181. Indeed, even as Minuet had widened a hole in the shield to poke a swinging, clawed arm through, Bella was upon him, crawling onto the bed like a hog in filth.
  1182. She went straight for the goods, gripping his cock with a clammy hand.
  1183. ‘Not ready yet.’ She slobbered, gobs of saliva dripping onto Jarek’s chest. ‘Don’t you worry, sweets. Auntie Bella will get you nice and ready.’
  1184. Christ almighty, she even squeezed his cheek like an aunt.
  1185. ‘Do you like my ass, sweet boy? You like my ass, don’t you? You’ll be good to me, I’ll be good to you.’
  1186. What do you even say? Would she do it if he said no? Or if he said yes? How did this creature work?
  1187. The truth was, she didn’t wait for him to answer. Instead she swung around with all the elegance of a three-legged cow to give him a view of her posterior.
  1188. Jarek found himself in the deep, dark depths of the exact opposite of his mistress. The hairy trench of Bella’s crack wafted a smell like a carcass, clumps of… ugh, dangling as she made to lower onto him. He turned his head in disgust, and desperation.
  1189. There, by the shield, Minuet had seemingly given up her efforts. She caught his eyes, drowning him in her emerald gaze.
  1190. No matter how it went, no magic would be able to keep him for her. He was sure of that. He’d suffer this humiliation, and that would be it.
  1191. But then Minuet moved. She licked her lips with her long tongue, let a breast slip from her top. With a finger she teased the nipple out from her fur, gave a light pinch and pull. In a swift motion she raised her leg against the wall, with her other hand parting the fur between her legs, her lips, soft pink contrasting with velvet fur.
  1192. He knew what to do.
  1193. His hands were held, so were his legs, but he had one appendage that was unbound.
  1194. With the force of desire, his cock jumped up, rock solid, even as Bella bore down on it. She only had time for a satisfied gasp as Jarek willed every bit of magic he could muster to crackle at its tip. He felt it bubble and flow through him, coming to a glow at the end of his cock.
  1195. Then he thrust his hips.
  1196. The force hit Bella square in the mouth, propelling her against the ceiling with a crack, then landing with the dull thud of fat hitting brick. Any desire to violate him was properly expelled from her, owing to her snoring unconsciousness. Lucretia spun around, mouth agape.
  1197. ‘You… you’re a witch?’ She gasped.
  1198. Jarek forced a smirk.
  1199. ‘I’m a bitch witch.’
  1200. With a growl Minuet was upon the wealth witch in a bounding leap, claws flashing. They collided in a blur of black and gold, yelling, growling, hissing, rolling from one end of the room to the other. Above the steady stream of curses, and an equally steady stream of screaming, claws ripped through cloth and flesh alike.
  1201. ‘Bitch! Bitch! Bitch bitch bitch!’ Minuet forewent originality for sheer density.
  1202. Eventually, the storm of angry cat subsided. Minuet rose, leaving Lucretia scrambling into a corner, bloody rags barely sticking to ravaged skin streaked with claw marks.
  1203. ‘You can’t do this!’ She spat. ‘You can’t attack the host!’
  1204. ‘Oh, but my dear host, you attacked me!’ Minuet mimicked Lucretia’s tone. ‘Your shield gave me a nasty bump on the head. Very irresponsible, to cast that in the path of an innocent witch.’
  1205. Finally, fucking finally, Jarek got his ass off that nasty bed, and made sure to give Lucretia a nasty glance as he came to Minuet’s side.
  1206. ‘A man witch. Ridiculous.’
  1207. ‘Bitch, watch your tongue.’ Minuet said. ‘I’m a cat, and I will take it from you.’
  1208. Lucretia opted to simply pout, crossing her arms. If her wounds hurt, she did not show it.
  1209. ‘You went too far, Lucretia.’
  1210. ‘Your… stupid antics cost me a lot of power, Minuet. Did you expect me to just take it?’
  1211. ‘Are you talking about that little spell I cast?’
  1212. ‘You fucked the entire economy of the region! I have interests there!’
  1213. ‘Whatever.’ Minuet shrugged. ‘Your little trick cost you your invite for next year.’
  1214. Lucretia let out a haughty laugh. ‘You? You little cat whore, host the ball? Did you let him fuck your fuzzy ears and pulp your brain?’
  1215. The expression on Minuet’s face changed. No rage, no anger, not even pity. Just the blank expression of those explaining simple things to stupid people.
  1216. ‘The largest mass lust spell, ever. The largest orgy in North Africa, ever. That’s not even considering the results.’ She blinked. ‘Bitch, I have won.’
  1217. Without a further word she offered Jarek an arm, which he took. With long strides, they left the wealth witch, their most gracious host, to stew.
  1218.  
  1219. Their power walk exit really was only for show. Once out of sight, Minuet conjured a door.
  1220. For all the magic pomp and dressing, the party was winding down just like any other. The room matched the feeling, looking like nothing more than an upscale tavern. The tables and chairs were decorated, the bar lacquered and smooth, the drawn curtains expensive, but the way the patrons lounged was identical to people everywhere. Slumping in chairs, nursing drinks, prodding at plates of comfort food. Sure, half of them were naked, and many not even human, but the aftermath of the ball was much like that of the many evenings Jarek had spent in the village tavern. Well, aside from kettles and bottles ambling between the tables, providing the once-revelers with their solace.
  1221. Minuet, arm still locked with his, seemed none the worse for wear. Was this normal? She had sharp claws, and knew how to use them. Did she dig them into other witches often? Or was this just her demeanor? That unflappable cat personality? A normal cat could fall off a roof and walk off like it had planned to do exactly that.
  1222. But then, what was normal when you were a witch? She’d shown him wonders he’d never have dreamed of.
  1223. ‘Minuet?’ He slowed his pace, waiting until she turned to him. ‘I should thank you for what you did back there. I’d be… in a dark place without you.’
  1224. A smile curled around Minuet’s lips. Not her usual cruel, fang-toothed smile. A gentle smile, given with an arched eyebrow.
  1225. ‘I recall you doing most of the work, minion. You and your magic cock.’
  1226. ‘It wouldn’t be magic without you.’
  1227. ‘And you wouldn’t have been here without me.’ She pressed close to him, whiskers tickling his face, fur his chest. ‘Make no mistake, I still expect adoration. I don’t expect you to deny yourself to give it to me. I’d never have broken that barrier if you hadn’t shot Lucretia’s lackey across the room.’
  1228. ‘With your help.’
  1229. ‘Yes, my help, minion.’ She came closer, her arms around him, breasts pressing siftly against his chest. ‘But by your own power. Don’t thank me for something you did by yourself.’
  1230. ‘Minuet…’ What should he say? ‘…I can’t just forget about feeling grateful.’
  1231. Now that smile returned, even if just slightly, tips of fangs peeking out from under thin, black, animal lips.
  1232. ‘Maybe you should just feel grateful for something that makes sense.’ Claws slid from fingertips where she held him. Her tongue flicked from her mouth, rasping his cheek. ‘How’s that?’
  1233. He smiled, felt his face go red. ‘Thanks, mistress.’
  1234. ‘You’re cute when you’re bashful.’ She giggled, then tugged at his arm.
  1235. It was obvious where they were heading. Around one of the tables huddled a group of animal women, bare fur showing through scandalous ball wear. The coven, giving a rather half-hearted attempt at recovering from the party. Though, in the case of Vedma that still meant nibbling on a joint of meat that’d feed four men.
  1236. ‘Girls!’ Minuet exclaimed, arms upthrust, launching in a bouncing trot. Every witch received a hug. Even Zatha, who needed some encouragement.
  1237. As he came closer, the eyes of the witches fell on him.
  1238. ‘Changed into something more comfortable, did you? It’s good. I like it. Stylish.’ Zatha spoke.
  1239. Jarek looked down, and saw her point. He’d walked out of the dungeon without spending a moment of thought on his clothing. The wealth witch had probably torn it, anyway. Through no real fault of her own, it was just really damned hard to stay clothed around Minuet. He was bound to forget about it at one time or another.
  1240. What did he have to feel strange about? He’d fucked every single one of them. Nothing here they hadn’t seen before.
  1241. ‘Thank you.’ He said with a light bow. ‘It feels like I’m wearing nothing at all.’
  1242. There was a polite chuckle from Marian, Mesuline, and Oshun. Vedma gave a loud, singular laugh. With that, Jarek pulled back a chair and sat. As soon as he did, a kettle pondered towards him, brimming with roiling oil. It reached in with a net and retrieved a… sausage? One with a breaded crust. Whatever it was, he held his plate out for it.
  1243. ‘Be careful with that, or you’ll burn your mouth. I have uses for your mouth.’
  1244. Minuet had found a chair, and plopped her big ass down onto it, by his side. She gave the coven a look, and a grin.
  1245. ‘I’ve told you girls how good Jarek is at eating ass, haven’t I?’
  1246. ‘Oh no, not at all!’
  1247. ‘Do tell!’
  1248. ‘Leave no detail unsaid!’
  1249. Maybe he should have seen something like this coming. Nevertheless, he fidgeted in his chair and poked at his morsel for a bit.
  1250. For her part, Minuet launched into a retelling of their adventures after they had left the monastery. She made it sound a bit more grand than it had been, and lingered for quite a bit on the part where she pressed her ass down on his face. According to her, he was a true virtuoso of the tongue. How deep he thrust, how he kissed ass in a way to rival renowned lovers, how the aristocrats had reacted with what was surely hidden jealousy.
  1251. Perhaps he was beyond true embarrassment at this. Even so, perhaps it was also for the better that the table hid his rising erection.
  1252. In return, the witches recounted their own adventure with the nuns and monks. The procession had taken them through several villages, where the nuns had made it clear in no uncertain terms that it was quite Godly to give naughty men their dues. Some women even joined, in a fervor driven by righteous, heavenly justice. Others began to recall spankable offenses the men in their lives had committed.
  1253. The monks hadn’t known what hit them when the procession wound its way up to their monastery. Foolishly, they opened the gates right away upon seeing the poorly dressed nuns. With a little witchly help, the nuns found the monks easy enough to overpower. While they initially denied any involvement in the crime, the application of some persuasion to the buttocks quickly uncovered their guilt. The fact that those who did confess found the nuns’ breasts, butts, and pussies pressed into their faces and onto their cocks might also have had something to do with it.
  1254. Monks and nuns were, understandably, not all that experienced at having sex. Despite that, their flailing their genitals at each other seemed to please them well enough. The witches had left them there, still lying resting in naked piles over each other. But not before absconding with every habit in the monastery. Fair is fair, after all.
  1255. ‘So, do you think you have won?’ Mesuline asked Minuet when the tale had run its course.
  1256. ‘I do! Our most gracious host even congratulated me herself.’
  1257. ‘I do not believe.’ Vedma rumbled. ‘Lucretia is bitch.’
  1258. ‘OK, you got me.’ Minuet shrugged. ‘What she really did was try to get revenge by bonding Jarek to her lackey.’
  1259. The witches fell silent at that, a flicker of seriousness showing behind their smiles.
  1260. ‘You stopped her, right?’ Oshun asked.
  1261. ‘He did!’ Minuet pointed with a sudden finger. She pointed so well that her finger tip poked Jarek’s cheek.
  1262. Gasps and laughs rose up among the witches. Fair enough, Jarek thought. They didn’t know he was capable of magic, let alone powerful dick magic.
  1263. ‘He shot her right in the face! Pow! The bitch hit the fucking ceiling, I swear!’
  1264. ‘Lucretia? I do not believe this also.’
  1265. ‘No, Bella. She was trying to cuckold me, but Jarek wouldn’t have any of it! He sent her flying across the room!’
  1266. ‘And then you took out Lucretia?’ Mesuline asked.
  1267. ‘I gave her the claws.’ Indeed, Minuet flashed her claws out from her fingertips and swatted at the air in pantomime swings. ‘Banned the bitch from the next ball, too.’
  1268. The witches chuckled among each other. Maybe him being attacked by the wealth witch was a stroke of luck, of sorts, because it gave Minuet enough ground to dump her ass in the moat.
  1269. ‘If I understand it properly…’ Zatha spoke, idle gaze on the contents of her goblet. ‘…your minion has earned a bit of a reward.’
  1270. ‘Oh yes.’ There was a predatory hint to Minuet’s voice.
  1271. A clawed hand shot out and seized his cock. With a hard tug, he was pulled upward.
  1272. ‘Goodbye, girls! Let’s meet for some eye of newt soon!’ Minuet chimed, waving with her free hand.
  1273. ‘Wait! I haven’t even touched my sausage-thing!’
  1274. ‘I’ve got a taste for a different sausage-thing!’
  1275. With those words Minuet pulled him away, through the room, through a conjured door. It opened up on a view of the mansion’s garden, marble stairs leading down to their waiting vegetable-carriage. There were no revelers in the dark this time, the sun cresting over the horizon, bathing the entire scene in a golden glow.
  1276. The sun’s rays glinted off golden rings. It was the doorman, the Moor with the wealthiest cock known to man. He bowed as they passed.
  1277. ‘Congratulations, Minuet.’ He rumbled simply.
  1278. ‘The same to you, on your new ring.’
  1279. The Moor cast a glance at Jarek. ‘Seems I’m not the only one with a taste for witch cunt.’
  1280. Jarek simply shrugged in passing as Minuet pulled him towards the carriage. Not just towards it, she pulled him right in, and only then let go of his cock, leaving him to stumble to the floor. This was definitely the longest distance he’d ever been dragged by his dick.
  1281. With a quick gesture the bronze cock-steeds beat their hooves and lifted the carriage into the sky. Jarek, just scrambling to his feet, immediately lost his balance once more, crashing onto the couch ass-up to the laughter of his mistress.
  1282. ‘How about that reward?’ He asked once he had asserted himself right side up, gliding closer to Minuet, hands outstretched to hungrily ruffle her glorious pelt.
  1283. The answer came in the form of a paw to the face, pressing him back.
  1284. ‘Oh minion, you didn’t think it was going to be that easy, did you?’
  1285. The joke was on her, Jarek thought. Her paw alone was already more than any sane man could wish for. The soft pads, the downy fur between them, the sharp claws poking only barely out of their slits. He kissed that paw, and counted himself lucky that he could.
  1286. ‘Hard already, huh?’ Minuet asked. He could hear the fangs in her voice.
  1287. There was the light touch of her other paw on his manhood. She let her toes stroke up from base to tip, then closed them around the head of him. The delicate fur under her paw tickled him almost immediately to climax, if it were not for the pinpricks of extended claws bringing a sudden sting.
  1288. ‘You really love my paws, don’t you?’
  1289. He nodded under the pressure of her paw. ‘I love everything about you.’
  1290. ‘Awwww! That’s so cute!’ Minuet mewled.
  1291. She pulled her paws back and crawled halfway on top of him. With one hand she seized his cock and pressed the head of it into the fur and fat under the overhang of her belly. Such a soft, vulnerable place.
  1292. ‘Even my fat gut?’
  1293. Jarek laughed at that. What a joke.
  1294. ‘There is not a woman alive who wears a fat gut as well as you do.’
  1295. ‘Did you just call me fat?’ She bared her fangs in a smile, emerald eyes blazing. Her free hand shot out to grab his nipple, and she twisted hard as Jarek groaned at the punishment.
  1296. ‘And my cruelty? Do you love that, too?’
  1297. ‘One of your finest features!’ Jarek gasped. Yes, by God, did he love her cruelty. Being at the mercy of a woman like Minuet was unlike anything in the world. Nothing had made him ever feel as wanted, as belonging, as being a plaything in her sharp-clawed hands. Every mark she left on his skin was proof of it.
  1298. He pulled her closed, fur caressing naked skin, one hand stroking the base of her tail, her face close to his.
  1299. ‘You’re my mistress.’ He whispered into the fuzzy triangle of her ear. ‘I trust you, cruelty and all.’
  1300. With reverberating purr Minuet let her raspy tongue glide over his cheek, her claws drag along his dick.
  1301. ‘Then trust that I have something in store for you, you disgusting pervert.’
  1302.  
  1303. For the rest of the flight, he was on paw duty, kneading Minuet’s needy paws to perfection. Occasionally, without warning, she teased him with sharp claws tracing his cock, or a soft paw to the balls. Despite her imperious attitude, his view from the floor made it very clear that soon she would want more than just a massage.
  1304. Simply imagining the things she must be cooking up beneath that confident glance was enough to keep him at attention.
  1305. Though he had no view out of the windows, eventually the wide, banking turns it took signaled their arrival at their destination. With a plummet that convinced him his stomach wasn’t entirely where it ought to be, they descended, until finally coming to a stop. With a gesture Minuet flung open the door of the carriage, then held out a hand. No sooner had he taken it than she jumped through the opening, taking him in a light glide out of the carriage and into her lair.
  1306. They landed on that strange carpet, with the “B” woven into it. The broom room, with its traveling equipment and its exotic maps. And below, the bedroom.
  1307. Without a word Minuet padded down the stairs, Jarek in tow. Not even halfway down he felt magic crackle around him, lifting him off his feet and tumbling in the air. With a gesture Minuet launched him forward to land heavily in her bed down below. Her heart-shaped bed, with that indecent portrait of herself at the head. A bed made for fucking.
  1308. As he had somewhat extricated himself from the sheets, Minuet had already thrown her harem garb off, standing on the stairs naked. Light played at her midnight pelt, showing the curves of her breasts, hips, and belly.
  1309. With a growl, she pounced, arcing through the air like the predator she was. She caught him with her claws, pinning his arms back. Her teeth were on his throat, fangs playing at the vulnerable, exposed skin. Her growl rose, then subsided. Rather than a killing bite, there was the rasp of her tongue.
  1310. ‘You’re dead, minion.’ She whispered. ‘You’re mine. You’re my prey, and I’m going to eat you.’
  1311. ‘But I taste terrible!’ He laughed.
  1312. ‘Not so!’ Her tongue flicked out, dragging over his chest. Jarek bucked slightly as she caught a nipple with her barbs. ‘No, this tastes very good. I’m going to eat it all!’
  1313. Purring loudly, she let her delicate nose meander down his body, sniffing like an animal. Sharp claws followed, leaving light trails. Another barbed lick trailed over his belly, followed by a sharp nip.
  1314. ‘Ow!’
  1315. She went further down, claws raking over his belly, grasping and kneading in a lethargic rhythm. With a sudden shock of wetness, velvet fur, and wiry whiskers she nuzzled his cock. She pressed her face deep between his legs, soft nose and fur tickling, sharp teeth menacing under parting lips. He felt himself grow as she did so.
  1316. ‘I think I’ve found the main course…’ She said from behind his erect manhood.
  1317. This was where her delicate teasing ended. A clawed hand clasped his balls firmly and squeezed hard, sending a wave of pain radiating out from Jarek’s nethers.
  1318. He gave an approving groan.
  1319. Now she carefully nuzzled his cock, gauging his scent, the sensitivity of the skin. Her eyes locked on his as she put her tongue on the base of his shaft, letting it rest there for a moment. She was letting him know what was coming. She was relishing his expectation. The corners of her lips curled as she trailed her barbed tongue slowly up, his cock twitching at the rough touch. Briefly she took the head of it in her mouth, in a moment of wet warmth, just to let her teeth scratch as it flopped out.
  1320. ‘You like it when it hurts, don’t you?’
  1321. ‘I love it when it hurts.’ He answered.
  1322. She let his balls lie in her hand, giving one a light squeeze, then the other. With her other hand she took his cock in a languid up and down stroke, the tips of her claws emerging as pinpricks. It was only just enough to be titillating, an affirmation of the power she held.
  1323. ‘I want you to beg for it.’ She spoke softly as she let a sharp nail run over the tip, drawing a light trail.
  1324. A feeling of warmth washed over Jarek. There was something wonderfully scandalous about having to ask her to make use of her power, even as she held the most sensitive part of him in her cruel claws.
  1325. ‘Please, mistress.’ He said, heart thumping in his throat. ‘Please hurt me all you want.’
  1326. ‘Not good enough!’ Minuet growled.
  1327. Her claws bore down like clamps, putting his balls to a painful squeeze. Jarek groan and trembled at the punishment even as she put his cock again in her mouth and let her fangs play over the skin, then gave a bite. Not enough to puncture the skin, but enough to hurt and leave a mark.
  1328. ‘Try again.’ She gave his balls a sharp tug.
  1329. ‘I beg you, mistress!’ Jarek shouted. ‘I deserve punishment! I deserve spanking! I deserve the whip!’
  1330. The pressure let up.
  1331. ‘That’s more like it.’ Minuet purred, sweet as honey. ‘I’ve got just the thing.’
  1332. Light as anything, she jumped up, regarding him from a wide-legged stance. Between her legs glistened the wetness of arousal. With a flourish of a hand, something came flying off from somewhere, hovering over Minuet’s outstretched hand.
  1333. It was a simple length of lacquered wood, decorated with flowery golden patterns, with a small hole in the middle. He had no idea what it could be useful for, but judging by the imperious smirk on Minuet’s face, she did.
  1334. ‘Put your legs up. Show me your balls.’ She said, twirling the thing in the air.
  1335. Without hesitation, he did as told, pulling his knees towards his chest, raising his ass up, testicles exposed, still tender from Minuet’s treatment. What a vulnerably position to be in, with such a powerful witch lording over him. She brought the wooden tool down. With a squeeze of smooth lacquer on his balls it slipped on, a touch of wood on his upper thighs. Minuet gave a gesture, and the thing squeezed down, trapping him.
  1336. ‘You can put your legs down, now.’
  1337. Again, he did as told, returning to his previous position. But there was a sudden, painful tug on his balls. The thing clamped on pulled them with it was he tried to flatten out. He yelped in surprise and rolled on his side as he couldn’t stop the momentum. Involuntarily his hands shot out to feel at his trapped testicles, but he couldn’t even reach them as they were stretched back.
  1338. The bed jiggled as Minuet jumped up and down, giggling and clapping.
  1339. ‘Your first time in a humbler! It’s so cute!’ She chimed.
  1340. Jarek tested the limits of his bonds. He could understand the name. Assuming a normal, straight-legged posture was perhaps not impossible, but it would be a painful, delicate thing. Walking normally would be completely out of the question. At least, not without some practice. And if he knew Minuet, he was going to get it sooner or later. More worrying, the thing was completely solid. Magic. He wouldn’t be able to get it off on his own. This was one more mark of Minuet’s ownership of him.
  1341. ‘I love it when you struggle. Let’s have more of that.’
  1342. She made a gesture, and there was a tug on the device. Slowly but surely, it was rising up, levitating by witchly power. Jarek could do nothing but rise with it. He couldn’t get to his feet normally, and ended up in a strange pose on hands and feet, sticking his ass as far up as he could, limbs trembling in the effort. Minuet, being the cruel mistress, let the humbler rise just a little bit further, dragging a dull pain out of Jarek’s poor balls.
  1343. ‘You’re so vulnerable like this.’ She purred as Jarek felt the sting of claws on the taut skin of his nuts.
  1344. It was true. She could do anything horrible she pleased, especially with those claws. He knew she wouldn’t, but the thought that she could made him feel helpless. The warm fire of arousal grew at the tip of his cock.
  1345. Leaving him in his precarious position, Minuet plopped down heavily at the head end of the bed, sitting with her legs spread in a posture that demanded worship, a hint of wet pink visible between the fur. Worship Jarek was more than ready to give. No, worship he longed to give, unquestioned and unprodded.
  1346. With a snap of her fingers, she let the humbler free. Jarek let his arms and legs buckle with a sigh, landing heavily. He crawled into position, then looked up in his mistress’ fierce eyes for permission.
  1347. ‘Very good. But I don’t want you to use your tongue just yet.’
  1348. ‘Anything you say, mistress.’ He answered, though disappointed he wouldn’t get to taste her so soon.
  1349. From somewhere in the room she summoned a veritable parade of tools, flying in a procession in the air, passing in front of Jarek’s face. Whips with various numbers of tails, paddles of various sized and materials, straps, belts, crops, canes, even common kitchen spoons and aristocrat hairbrushes. A parade of pain, and he knew where they were going to strike.
  1350. ‘My butt’s still sore.’ He said, pleading somewhat, suddenly remembering the dull sting still left in his rear.
  1351. ‘All the better. I want to make you scream, minion.’ With two fingers she spread her lips, revealing the glistening pink between her legs fully. ‘Here. And the gods help you if I feel tongue.’
  1352. He clasped his arms around her hips, and her glorious ass, pressing himself firmly into her. She was so warm, so soft. Wet fur tickled his cheeks, her sex already dribbling down his chin. There was still the hint of her taste, maddening though it was that he could not drink of her fully.  He relished every part of her that slipped past his lips.
  1353. Without warning she brought down the first implement. Unprepared as he was, he screamed fully, the sound muffled by her pussy. His legs kicked without command, the humbler tugging his balls. Minuet locked his head strongly between her thighs as he groaned. A deep purr rose up from her, reverberating throughout her body.
  1354. With the second smack, it was clear what she was doing. She used a different implement. A smaller one, concentrating a harsher pain in a smaller spot. Again, he screamed. And again, he bucked his legs, torturing his balls with a stretch and pull. Minuet shuddered briefly, and hugged his face closer into her open pussy with a cute, dainty squirt.
  1355. She cycled through the implements at random. Jarek found he could hardly prepare for which punishment he would face. Every time he screamed, it was earnest and unrestrained. The device on his balls pinched and tugged every time. Even when he anticipated this, Minuet simply moved it with her magic, twisting and pulling with giggling abandon.
  1356. There were the meaty thwacks of paddles and straps, that set his entire ass ablaze. There were the small implements, that hit like a cattle brand. But eventually she arrived at a thin cane. It stung like liquid fire, the pain lingering in a long welt. He screamed long at that, tears welling up in his eyes, settling in a long groan as his balls ached at his involuntary struggling. For the comfort, for the closeness of her, he dug himself deep into the pink warmth of her, letting her flowing, squirting juices run into his mouth as she shuddered and purred in pleasure.
  1357. Was it a strange thought to have now, that he realized how he loved Minuet? That she could do this to him, and he wouldn’t dare to ask her to stop?
  1358. Minuet noticed his torture. She brought the cane down again, harder, painting another welt on his tormented flesh. He cried without shame, digging his fingers into her fur. Again, and again she brought it down, faster and faster, keeping him screaming without end as she set his ass afire, his balls sore at the tight pinch of the humbler. She grew wetter with every stroke, soaking his face and the bed beneath them. She trembled steadily, breathing quick and shallow.
  1359. Then she touched the cane to his balls with a sharp crack. Jarek felt a sudden lightness in his head as he screamed, the world seeming to slip from him. A sudden splash of wet hit his face. He clung on, to consciousness, and to his mistress.
  1360. She did it again, tracing another line of fire on his swollen, most sensitive parts. And again he screamed until he had no air left to scream. Minuet shuddered fully across her body in a deep purr, she tightened the grip her thighs has on his head as she came in spurts, soaking his face, spraying her sex into his waiting mouth.
  1361. With that, she relaxed her muscles and lay back, panting. There were the dulls sounds of objects falling around them. She’d let them go, no doubt. Jarek felt the touch of her hand, gentle and caring, ruffle and tussle his hair. She was petting him like he would a cat, even scratching him behind the ears.
  1362. The fire of punishment was not gone, however. The sharp lines of the cane lay over the dull throb of the rest. The two strikes to his balls were the worst of it. He wouldn’t be sitting normally for a while. But he relished it. For now, it was a good excuse to rest, his face still between the legs of his mistress, wet from pleasing her. Was there anything better than pleasing her so? For the future, it was a reminder of his devotion to her. Of her devotion to him.
  1363. After some time of just lying there, letting Minuet play this his hair as they both rested, the pain grew into a natural presence. He found the soft nub of Minuet’s clitoris, and gave it a light peck of a kiss, eliciting a giggle delicate as a glass bell.
  1364. ‘Did I do well?’ He asked, looking up into eyes like emerald stars.
  1365. ‘Oh, minion.’ She stroked his cheek. ‘You just made me come with your voice. Yes, you did well.’
  1366. Jarek arched an eyebrow. ‘I didn’t serenade you. I screamed into your pussy. We were touching, face to pussy.’
  1367. ‘Still counts.’ She shrugged. ‘Do you think it’s strange? Screaming into a witch’s pussy?’
  1368. He weighed that questioned for a moment in his mind, going over what he knew, what he’d done, what he’d heard about. All of the horror stories of the church’s priests, all of the bawdy tales that came out after a night of drinking. Then, after a painstaking evaluation, came to an answer.
  1369. ‘Yes.’
  1370. ‘Good.’ Minuet flashed her fang-toothed smile. ‘Burn me at the stake if I ever become normal.’
  1371. They rested for a short while more, Jarek this time taking the opportunity to kiss the luxurious mound of her belly and to let his hands knead her fat ass.
  1372. ‘You really like that thing, don’t you?’ Minuet asked.
  1373. ‘Your belly? I do.’
  1374. ‘The other one.’
  1375. ‘Your ass?’ What kind of question was that? ‘Minuet, words can not describe how much I love your ass.’
  1376. Mischief curled around her lips, whiskers jutting forward. Behind him, the tip of her tail flicked.
  1377. ‘Want to put something else than your tongue in there?’
  1378. He was shocked for a moment.
  1379. ‘Sodomy?’
  1380. ‘I like to call it buttfucking, or anal, or beating up my ass like it owes you.’ She shrugged. ‘What’s wrong?’
  1381. ‘Well…’ Jarek stalled his response. It seemed a little odd to say, but it was a conviction practices by years of low village culture, ‘…it’s degrading. I don’t want to…’
  1382. There was a burst of laughter from Minuet.
  1383. ‘You think anal is degrading?’ A cruel smile sat beneath sharp eyes. If ever she looked like a cat playing with a mouse, it was now. ‘I’m going to have to remember that. If you’re going to feel guilty about it, you’re definitely fucking my ass. And hard, too.’
  1384. If the screaming orgasm had left her tired, there was no trace of it now. With vigor Minuet jumped to her feet, and off the bed.
  1385. ‘Come here, you puritanical pervert.’ She taunted, jutting her ass towards him, waving it around in a weird dance. Like the Saracen belly dance she had demonstrated, but with her ass. An ass dance. She jiggled her cheeks, swaying her hips in a slow rhythm, tail tracing a pattern in the air.
  1386. Dutifully, he crawled to the edge of the bed. As he stepped off, the limits of the humbler made themselves know. He could hardly stand up, and not without pain and careful movements. Only with effort could he make it to Minuet, his punished balls throbbing with every small, calculated step.
  1387. Minuet stopped her taunting to smile at his obvious discomfort, and to retrieve one of her shining, magical bottles from a shelf. Without fanfare, she dumped its contents on his waiting cock. It stung mildly.
  1388. ‘Lubricant.’ She said. ‘And cock growing juice.’
  1389. Sure enough, the sting grew more pronounced. As did his cock, swelling up to a prodigious size. Nothing monstrous, thankfully, but if he felt reserved at putting his regular sized cock to Minuet, this wasn’t helping.
  1390. ‘You’d better not hold back. I’ve got a thing for that.’
  1391. ‘Like wha…’ Jarek could not finish his sentence for the sudden strike on his ass. A trail of fiery pain forming into a welt. His hands shot to his ass. ‘Ah! Damnit!’
  1392. That fucking cane again. It hung in the air, waggling at him with menace.
  1393. Relishing in her cruelty with a smile, Minuet turned and bent forward against a bookshelf, her ass stuck out towards him. She parted her ample cheeks with one hand, revealing that hairless track between them, and that pink star, tight and perfect, contrasting with fur dark as the night, the gleam of the magical chandelier framing her like a painting.
  1394. ‘Enough bumbling, minion. You know what to do.’
  1395. He edged closer, the humbler constricting tightly. Grabbing his swollen cock, he prodded her waiting orifice gently, taking in her warmth with his slick tip.
  1396. Minuet would have none of it. The cane cracked down sharply, and with a yelp Jarek jumped forward, pain tugging at his balls. Warmth enveloped his cock as he entered her with a jolt, her ass clamping tightly around him. She let out a growling moan.
  1397. Another crack sounded, painting another welt on Jarek’s punished rear. She urged him deeper into her. He could scarcely believe she took him so easily, especially in this state, with how tightly she fitted around him. It was a miracle, or more likely magic, that he didn’t come instantly. Almost, he swooned at the sheer feeling. He could not help but cling tightly to her, his hands finding her pendulous breasts, the soft hang of her belly.
  1398. As he moved back for another plunge, she almost didn’t seem to want to let him go, her ass stretching, clinging to his cock.
  1399. Before he could make the decision for himself, the cane came down again. With a shout, he plunged deeply, drawing a loud growl from Minuet, her ears flat against her head. Again, he felt like he was on the verge, but it wouldn’t come. Minuet wanted a hard fucking.
  1400. So he resolved to give it to her. Any trepidation he had gradually disappeared with every thrust, every crack of the cane, every painful stretch against his restraints. With the sopping wet, obscene sounds of filthy sex that came as he moved in and out of her, her hole straining to take him. Soon they both groaned and moaned without care for dignity. Wild animals. Her, certainly, but now him as well. With his hands he groped hungrily, without care for delicacy. He took her breasts bodily, squeezing hard, finding her nipples, pulling and twisting. He took her love handles for exactly the reason they were named, slamming into her with the leverage they provided. He rubbed her belly, too, and the nub of her clit below it. He sniffed her long locks as if they were the most intoxicating flower, and bit her fluffy neck as she so often did with him.
  1401. Sweet payback.
  1402. As he thrust, she gyrated her hips, shuddering with pleasure. Wetness dripped from between her legs, twice gushing in heavy spurts as she purred loudly, slicking the floor, tinging the room in the smell of sex. She moved in rhythm with him, crassly shoving her ass back as he thrust, pulling away from him as he did. And above it all were the cracks and thwacks of the cane, drawing a picture of pleasurable pain on Jarek’s rump. He was above screaming, now. It was only an accent to Minuet’s ass.
  1403. It was harder because of her magic, but he did feel himself grow close to orgasm eventually. Minuet realized it, too. Suddenly he found the humbler unmoving, stuck fast in the air. At the same time Minuet let herself fall onto him, taking him entirely in one move, pressing him against the magical restraint as surely as if he was backed against a wall. Not a hair’s breath of him stayed outside of her as she greedily took him, wiggling her ass to take more with low, hungry grunts and growls. Once she had all of him, she moved her butt this way and that, putting a delicate pressure on him, manipulating his cock with the inside of her ass.
  1404. Christ, she was good.
  1405. It would have been impossible to keep himself any longer. With a strong clasp, he seized her ass, pressing her down. And with heavy spurts, he emptied his poor, tortured balls, coming deeply into her, gasping as he did so. Tingling coolness spread across his body, his cock remaining in the delicious warmth of cat ass.
  1406. With a sigh, he finished. Then he fell backwards on the floor, vacating his mistress’ ass with a plop, as she released her magical grasp, the sting from his punishment making him wince. From where he was, he looked up to her, right at her ass, as she stood there, body heaving with heavy, gasping breathing. His semen dribbling in a stream from her ass. He had fucked her obscenely open, winking in time with her breathing, as pink as her pussy.
  1407. Honestly, he couldn’t help himself. Pure lust still bubbled within him. He had to get his.
  1408. With a hungry growl of his own he rose up and thrust his tongue in her gaping hole to a surprised yelp. It was so filthy loose, now. He could take in so much of it. There was the taste of himself, a scandalous thing, but also of her. They mingled in a way that was just so goddamn dirty he could almost get hard again that instant.
  1409. ‘You’re… you’re licking my ass right now?’ She asked, normal composure cracked by surprise.
  1410. ‘Yes, I am.’ He answered, though it went unheard because his words were somewhat impeded.
  1411. ‘That’s disgusting!’ She shouted as her ass trembled at his touch. ‘I love it!’
  1412. So did he. It was impossible not to love her ass.
  1413. Like that, he finished her. She came to lie besides him, on the floor, with errant pillows summoned to support them, arms around each other, the restraining device finally undone. He idly scratched fur, and she idly batted at his flaccid cock. Still a cat, after all.
  1414. ‘How did you like your reward, minion?’ She said in a deep purr that carried through her body into his.
  1415. ‘Pretty good.’ He smirked.
  1416. Minuet gave an extra hard bat at that. ‘You may be the filthiest fuck in the world, minion, but you’ve no way with words. My ass is completely gone. I won’t sit right for a week.’
  1417. ‘You’re one to talk.’ He said, trying to ignore the sting in his own behind. ‘Don’t you have a salve for that? Besides, that’s good, right?’
  1418. ‘It is good. That’s why I’m not using the salve.’
  1419. She leaned in for a kiss, then. A true kiss, their lips gently touching, her tongue probing carefully for his. A long kiss, too. Then she curled in his arms, putting her head against his chest, and lay there.
  1420. He thought she fell asleep. Maybe he fell asleep, too, as he continued fingering her pelt. As they lay in silence, he tried to take stock of his situation, but found he could not. Too much had changed for him to have any frame of reference. He’d certainly never be able to look normally at a nun ever again. The village was so far gone as to be near a distant memory. How would the people there, even his friends, understand what he now knew? How would he understand them? It still lay there, unchanged under its winter’s blanket, with only Agathe dreaming of a bigger life. A more perverted life. He really did hope their little trick would give it to her. But for a witch, even the seasons that ruled all normal life disappeared with the simplest of gestures.
  1421. This was something he had to resolve. With a tug on an ear, he revived Minuet. She regarded him with sleepy eyes, and a flick of the offended ear.
  1422. ‘What do I do now, Minuet?’ He asked simply.
  1423. ‘Keep hugging me.’
  1424. That, he did.
  1425. ‘I mean, in life. With life. Whatever. How can I go back home, with what I’ve seen?’
  1426. At that, she undid herself from his hug and sat up. She stretched and yawned, showing a maw of sharp teeth and a long, curling tongue with vicious barbs. Then she fixed her eyes on his.
  1427. ‘Do you want to go back?’
  1428. ‘I… don’t know. You’ve shown me so much of… everything.’
  1429. ‘You can go home anytime you want.’ Then there was hesitation in her voice, her eyes wandered off to inspect the distance. ‘I could… take away your memory. Put something else there…’
  1430. ‘No!’ He surprised himself with his own voice. ‘I don’t want to forget you, Minuet. You’re one of the best things that ever happened to me.’
  1431. What a cheesy line. He meant it, though. The cruel, domineering cat had stolen him from a forest path without asking, treated him like a fucktoy to draw maps of pain across his skin… and he’d wanted all of it. She’d drawn things out in him he’d barely known were there. Things he’d put away in fear of disappointing himself with his own dreams.
  1432. A pall fell over his mood, he cast his eyes away from her.
  1433. ‘But I’m just some village… boy. I can till soil and reap wheat. What sort of use do I have in your world?’
  1434. ‘Oh, minion…’ Now she took his head in her hands, lightly planted her thin animal lips on his forehead. ‘You haven’t forgotten about your magic, have you?’
  1435. He shrugged. ‘But that’s just the ball, right? Something you put into me?’
  1436. A twinkle shone in Minuet’s eyes.
  1437. ‘It doesn’t have to be.’
  1438. ‘What?’
  1439. ‘Do you see any apprentices around here? I can’t spread the gospel of ass all by myself.’
  1440. He was silent for a moment.
  1441. ‘You’ll make a witch out of me?’
  1442. A grin slowly crept over Minuet’s face. ‘With your own grimoire, hat, broom, and all the ass you can handle.’
  1443. But…’ He didn’t know why he’d even protest, but still the complaint rose to the surface, ‘…what do I tell my friends? My family?’
  1444. ‘A filthy rich lady took a liking to you, and hired you as a servant.’ With a hand she pinched his sore butt. ‘A cruel lady who punishes you for every tiny mistake.’
  1445. With a sigh, he drew her into a hug, pressing fur against bare skin. Her breasts against his chest.
  1446. ‘I think I’m going to make a lot of mistakes.’
  1447.  
  1448. A bell let out a merry chime as the door swung open. The workshop sat on a cobbled street, between two wealthy townhouses. All walks of life passed by the colorful leaded windows and carved oaken door, and certainly all in the city knew where to find it, but the wares could only be afforded by those who preferred quality. All the work was done on the premises, but the storefront itself was calmly civilized. The wares hung from pegs along the walls, the smell of soft, well-tended leather permeating the air. Riders’ crops, coachman’s whips, restraints for animal and man alike. People came from far to sample the mistress’ wares, or to place an order. The ones she enjoyed the most were the people who wanted one good item. One with a satisfying crack, the ideal length, weight, and balance. One they would reserve for the cherished skin of a husband or wife. Or lover.
  1449. As Agathe hurried to the storefront, emerging from a door behind the counter, the customer was already running gloved fingers over a short whip with a mean sting. One of Agathe’s favorite designs. She was a dusky woman, dark of hair and eye, with sharp cheekbones and thin lips. Tall. No, more than that, she bore herself with confidence, riding boots clicking on the wooden floor in a way that near demanded deference. Time had taught Agathe not to assume at appearances, but the woman did have the timeless look of the mistress.
  1450. ‘Good day, madam.’ She greeted.
  1451. ‘Good day.’ The woman spoke with a haughty tone. ‘I’ve heard things about your little shop. They say you have a way with leather that is lost on most men.’
  1452. Definitely a mistress.
  1453. ‘They flatter me in the hopes of discounts, madam. I let my work speak for its own. Here…’ She gestured to the wares, ‘…we sell from inventory, but our best work is done to order. We take all… desires into account.’
  1454. A conspiratorial smirk played over the dusky woman’s lips. She had understood Agathe’s point. They spoke the same language
  1455. ‘I seek something for my servant.’
  1456. Agathe smiled back. ‘An unruly sort?’
  1457. ‘Quite.’ The woman said. She still fingered the short whip. ‘I think something like this would have the appropriate sting.’
  1458. ‘A good choice, madam.’ It truly was. A short whip of braided leather had the impact area of a cane, but with the type of leather and construction could be made to vary in weight and flexibility into a true instrument of precision for the intended hand. ‘Can I assume you will be placing a personal order?’
  1459. ‘You can. But even so I very much would like to test a few swings of it. Perhaps some of your others as well.’
  1460. ‘Very well, madam. I’m sure your servant would happily oblige.’
  1461. With a gust of outside air, the door swung open once more with the chime of its bell.
  1462. ‘That’ll be him now.’ The dusky woman said.
  1463. Agathe, however, was dumbstruck. Through the door strode a fantasy of yesteryear, and in what condition. The man of her dreams, from when they both still lived in the village. Jarek. Older now, as was she, with a sophisticated confidence in his gait. Not to mention the clothing. The embroidered coat and soft boots were not something either of them had ever thought they could aspire to. But here he was. As was she.
  1464. He smiled as he saw her.
  1465. ‘Agathe. I’m glad to see you’re doing so well for yourself. You’ve met Minuet?’
  1466. She hadn’t even introduced herself to the madam. So silly. However, when she turned to do so there was no longer a dusky woman. Pointed ears poked through a pointed hat. Slit, green eyes peered out from a black, furred face. Sharp fangs shone in a hungry smile. Whiskers jutted forward. And in the corner of her eye, a tail flicked.
  1467. It stood to reason. These animal witches often knew what they were doing, in regards to leather. Her eyes went back to Jarek. In league with a witch, then, was he?
  1468. ‘I’m going to enjoy watching her test this thing on you, Jarek. Could have let me a go at it before you left.’
  1469. The cat witch leaned forward.
  1470. ‘Actually, we were hoping to test it on you.’
  1471. A tingle started in her loins at the thought. After all, these animal witches knew what they were doing. And given that Jarek was with her, so did he.
  1472. ‘Bolt the door and follow me.’ She said, before leading them both to the back, undoing her skirts even as she walked.
  1473. The shop stayed closed for the rest of the day, and the day after. They would end up testing more than just the one, and not only on Agathe. Above the screams of agony and joy, there was laughter, and the sharing of stories. Jarek told her of the night Minuet took him, how she had revealed the seed of perversion in him. He told her of the ball, and how he had done the same for her. They slept together, the three of them. And they definitely placed a detailed order for Agathe to work on, which she would do with a great deal of mirth. But most importantly, there was one other thing.
  1474. An invitation.
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