‘He's blessed’ she gasped.
‘Indeed he is’ purred Lucia, before she eased herself down to squat on him.
The Professor could only feel heat and pressure on his loins, from the numbing ointment, as Lucia began to pleasure herself. She rode him, against his will, as if he were a wild horse tethered to her saddle. Winston lay still, and watched Lucia take her pleasure of him with a surreal detachment, as if he were separated from his body. He saw her sensuality increase to free abandon as she commanded his body and stimulated herself. With time Lucia’s skin grew brighter and brighter, as her pleasure increased, grinding on him in a frenzy before she cried out in convulsions as light beams shot out from every pore of her body – shining like a mirror ball - scattering the walls with light. The Professor floated above himself but slid back into his body when the sweating figure of Lucia took his face in her hands, letting an orb of light appear in her mouth before she tongued his lips open with a kiss.
In that instant, his body crashed into a tidal wave of pleasure that overwhelmed him till his very soul groaned with ecstasy. Winston gave out a ragged cry as he erupted inside Lucia, rocking the bed, his body tingling with electrified sensations, and convulsing as if an earthquake had shattered his body. Lucia held on and gave a glittering laugh as she looked down at him in conquest.
Lucia waited for all his convulsions to pass before she pulled herself off the spent man who laid limp and dazed. ‘Now I'm ready for the ball’ she breathed to Celeste, while Arcangela pranced about as a dog does when waiting to be fed. Lucia smiled at her: ‘you may clean him, my dear’ said Lucia to the little witch, who sprang to the loins of the Professor, eager and ravenous, and used her mouth and tongue to clean every intimate part of him. When she had finished, Arcangela used her hair, which had become thick and luscious again, to mop him dry. The Professor lay in a stupor, neither willing or able to move. He groaned again, bleary eyed, as another pulse of pleasure ran through his limp and exhausted body. Celeste looked at him with despair.
‘Time to leave’ said Lucia, patting herself dry with a fresh sheet of muslin. ‘Fetch the rods’ she said to Celeste, who then turned, zombie-like, to hand Lucia and Arcangela back their clubs, but this time with some sorghum grass bound to the ends with ribbon - having added the dry grass as Lucia toyed with the Professor. ‘Good craft’ said the sorceress, as she inspected Celeste’s swift handiwork. Celeste bowed before Lucia, and Arcangela scooped up more of the ointment and rubbed it into the brooms before laying them on the floor. Then Lucia and Arcangela spoke over the brooms with a short German spell, and the broomsticks then levitated before they glanced at each other and winked.
The Professor looked on at his abusers, his eyes still dim and half closed, and tried to hurl abuse as the pair mounted their brooms that bore their weight. He failed, his body incapable of speech. The couple turned his way when they noticed his efforts and whispered something incoherent, flicking their fingers at him, before he sighed and passed out again. Lucia chuckled to herself while she looked at the Professor as she floated above him.
‘He’s a fine figure of a man - and very spirited’ she said, before she rubbed off some unguent from the greasy stick, and reached down to massage it into his temples. Lucia spun her locket over his head, whispering another spell, as she floated next to the bed. ‘I want him to see everything’ she said to Celeste, who then nodded and gave a bow. 'Give me my shawl' said Lucia. Celeste obeyed but struggled to look at Lucia as she hovered, diaphanous, like an elemental being before she wrapped Lucia’s crystal covered shawl around her arms as she hung suspended in the air. 'Thank you' she said. Celeste nodded,
'It's an honour, my mistress, Diana.' Arcangela wore nothing but her nakedness and bandanna,
‘Diana, it’s time to go’ she said, and the sorceress agreed,
‘True, it is, Circe’ Lucia replied, before turning to Celeste, 'make haste and open the hatch before the nuns start praying.’ The plain witch obeyed and looked even more pale and ghostlike in the tremulous light given off by Lucia before she went into the side room and wound a crank on the wall to draw back a hatch on the ceiling. The two women hovered on their brooms as the trap pulled open, and the light from a full moon swept down into the room. Lucia and Arcangela looked at each other and cackled like Hyenas, clapped hands with one another and declared: ‘to the ball!’ The pair then glided into the side room, levitated up to the hatch, and sped out as fast as hawk moths into the cool air and silver moonlight.
Chapter 14
The Witch's Ball
Midnight: a clearing in the Tuscan countryside
T he Professor slept and dreamed: and found himself in the air behind the two witches in flight, high above the houses of Florence moving at great speed. Diana shone with her silver skin and the crescent moon in her hair, and Circe focused her attention on the view ahead, with her bandanna of woven gold the only thing to tame her brunette locks that billowed out behind her. The clouds raced past as the women flew on, high above, and over the river Arno. Within minutes the witches, who steered their brooms with grace, had cleared the boundaries of Florence and passed the Fortezza da Basso and headed for the fields beyond.
As they glided further into the countryside, the pair waved at a flock of geese that flew towards them in formation: ‘where do you fly to?’ Diana shouted out to the approaching birds,
‘We fly to The Great Swamps of Babylon to rest, and feed our young’ honked the leader,
‘One of them is tired’ shouted Circe, who then stretched out her arm toward a young goose that trailed behind its family.
‘We cannot look back’ honked the leader, so the little witch turned her wrist to lift the air under the struggling bird, which helped it catch up with its siblings and parents; a honk of thanks came back as the formation flew on.
‘Tell me what herbs you find there when you return to us in the spring’ Diana shouted after the flock, ‘I know some traders in Baghdad.’ The leading geese gave distant honks back that they would. Diana smiled to herself and looked forward to the return of all the migrating birds - for they had some of the most interesting stories to tell - they brought her news of the world.
‘Lake Surreale is near, Diana’ said the smaller witch, ‘everyone will arrive soon’,
‘Yes, I think I can see the lake now’ Diana said, as she gestured to a bright reflective spot on the horizon that looked like a shard of mirror surrounded by trees. The Professor floated behind, in spirit without his body, while the witches descended as they approached the lake. As the women slowed their flight and lowered altitude, the Professor observed a multitude of torches lit below: some burned with a green flame, others with orange, blue, or pink. They lit up the trunks of the birch, oak and willow trees that flanked the edges of the small lake and made them glow with colour. The witches slowed their approach yet more as they drew closer to the enclosed field, with grass kept short by the day grazing of goats and sheep.
As Diana and Circe descended the air grew warmer below them, heated by the torches, and mushrooms sprouted upon damp wooden stumps in the longer grass nearer the trees of the isolated woodland. The Professor could see from his vantage point, as the witches drew closer, that many guests were arriving in the clearing.
Men and women of different ages and some much younger guests had arrived using varied means of transport. The Professor could see a middle-aged woman wearing a splendid diadem studded with jewels, and a long white silk cape, arrive saddled on the back of a huge rooster with a bit and bridle in its beak. A teenaged boy, wearing a blue silk bandanna and a black body stocking, held onto the woman’s bare waist. The pair exchanged glances, as they lowered behind the trees: ‘I’ll have words with her’ said Diana, as the pair jockeyed off their brooms, and wedged them into the lower branches of an olive tree. In unison, they said: ‘bleib gelegt’ (stay put) in German, before they prodded at the brooms to be sure they were fixed and well behaved.
Once satisfied their transport was secure t
he pair walked past several other brooms like theirs but with different coloured ribbons or fabric to tie the sorghum grass: each witch or warlock expressing their preference or style. Some chose to ride metal pokers, or bits of broken furniture, most of which were wedged into tree branches and hung at jaunty angles. Diana and Circe stopped a short while to point and titter at a greasy leg of salted mutton, and a black hoofed Spanish ham, used for transport, wedged into the branches of an oak tree. They joked that there would be some good cooks among their number that night. More guests could be seen arriving as the witches walked through the trees and toward the clearing.
Many couples, opposite and same sex, walked hand in hand as they emerged from the trees at the opposite side of the grassy expanse. The murmurs of conversations and a sense of anticipation rippled through the night. A gang of six women and three men arrived at the gathering each upon the backs of gigantic cats, almost the size of horses, which came up the clearing to the south of the lake in great leaps and bounds over bushes and grass, as their glamorous masters clung to their fur.
The riders brought the cats to a halt, and the felines then stooped to allow them to dismount, before the animals quenched their thirst at the lakeside with whiskers as long as oars, which dipped into the water as their vast tongues lapped at the lake’s edge.
The new arrivals drew some admiration from the other guests, for their bold entrance, as the Sabbat assembled, more than a hundred strong, around a large fire lit within a stone circle in the middle of the clearing. A man and woman began to beat out a rhythm on their leather drums, and a group of satyrs began to play on their wooden pipes, which drew spontaneous cheers from the crowds as they mingled and spoke with one another. Several smaller fires, of different colours, were lit around the larger one, as meats roasted above the flames and cauldrons were put to boil as guests tossed various ingredients into the vats - to give enchantment or add flavour.
The crowd grew to almost two hundred as the witches and warlocks chatted, flirted and laughed with one another, some began to dance, while their familiars occupied themselves or took rest near the trees. The sound of voices and music thronged in the air spiced with the scents of cooking and the mingling of bodies. Diana and Circe picked up some drinks, poured into fine glass or gold goblets, which had appeared on tree stumps used as low tables. The liquids shone in the moonlight as the witches sampled the beverages.
'The drinks are flowing tonight’ said Circe, with throaty pleasure, before slurping at her drink.
‘Indeed they are' said Diana, taking a sniff of the liquid before she sipped, 'what are you drinking?’
‘I’ve no idea' replied Circe, 'but it tastes good.’ The two witches crossed the clearing as guests milled about, and they made their way toward the witch that had arrived on her rooster. They had to pause their advance as a large centaur, at least seven feet at the shoulder, crossed their path and eyed the pair up. Circe gave a coquettish glance over her goblet in the centaur’s direction as he passed, fury chested and broad shouldered. The ground trembled as he walked past, snorting his appreciation of what he saw. Circe followed the centaur with her eyes, holding his gaze while he strode on - as he left a scent trail of sweating horse and man. Diana tutted under her breath,
‘Be careful, Circe’ said Diana, ‘centaurs can be aggressive.’
‘I know’ said Circe, craning her neck, ‘I’ve never tried one before: but that one… that one looks like a stud.' Diana raised an eyebrow and sighed,
‘You’d be sore in the morning my dear, sore in the morning.’ Circe scoffed and took a deep swig from her goblet, tossing the cup aside, before she stooped down to pick up another drink. More guests arrived using branches, rods, or whatever came to hand: one court musician had greased his violin to get there, and then used his bow on the instrument to accompany the tune of the satyrs. More rode on the backs of hares with long ears and bright amber eyes or bridled toads and foxes. Every arrival was adding to the atmosphere.
One, obese man, whom many suspected to be a clergyman, had chosen to arrive on a hairy pig and got the first big laugh of the evening. The hefty pair had flown through the air like a furry pork ball, and landed on the ground with such a thud that both man and pig broke wind with a reeking gust - much to the amusement of those that saw and heard them. Diana and Circe threw their heads back in laughter, before continuing their advance towards the side of the woman who arrived by rooster. A few of the guests took pains to present themselves to the witch wearing the diadem and white cape.
The pair were just about to tap the talking witch on her shoulder when a very mature man, not to be upstaged, with an immense silver beard grown to his knees, then arrived on the back of a unicorn with two shapely women - young enough to be his granddaughters. The Sabbat turned to applaud the warlock and two women who sat perched on the magnificent beast. When all eyes were looking the beast reared up, hoofed at the moon, and uttered an ethereal whinny that echoed around the clearing above the music. Its passengers slid off its well-groomed back to rounds of applause. The dazzling unicorn then cantered to the lakeside for a drink next to the cats, before joining a group of centaurs that greeted the beast with joyful slaps on its back.
‘Good evening to you, sisters’ said the caped witch turning, before Diana could touch her, ‘that was quite some entrance’ she added, with grandeur, tilting her head towards the most recent arrival - the complement not intended for the pair. The diamonds of her diadem and white cape caught the light - she looked like an empress. All three witches then looked at the bald and bearded man as he walked off arm in arm, towards the roasting food, with his comely, and organza wrapped companions.
‘Indeed that was, Hera’ said Diana, looking on before the witches exchanged dry kisses with each other: Hera acted as if the pair had perfumed themselves with manure. Diana paused to study Hera: ‘and that’s quite a pair he’s found for himself' she added. A silence fell between the three witches. Their bodies did no move. Diana took another sip from her glass and followed the new arrivals with her eyes. She then turned her shoulders away from Hera. Circe tapped the rim of her half empty glass before she looked at the ground. No one spoke.
Hera looked Diana up and down, as she waited, and smirked before she made her reply. ‘Two village twins from Prato, so I’m told’ said Hera, with a waft in the direction of the two women that arrived with the old man,
'I see, thank you' said Diana,
‘I’m sure your famous tinctures help him keep "up" with those two beauties.’ Diana had narrowed her eyes before she chewed back her smile.
‘I’m sure you’d know’ she said, ‘you’ve bought enough of it for your needs.’ Circe took a long slurp from her cup, as her eyes shifted between them. Hera pouted and sucked at her teeth,
‘We all have our needs… I hear you’re no different - though I give my men a choice’ she said and glared at Diana as her silver skin glowed in the moonlight. Diana took in a deep breath of air as a sinew rose in her neck. She pulled her crystal studded shawl over her shoulders before she crossed her arms. Diana's face then set like a papier mache mask.
‘While we’re on the topic of needs, Donna Maria Barolo, there is something I need from you: may I remind you that your account is outstanding.’ Hera scowled,
‘Don't bore me with your money talk here, and how dare you use my Christian and mule's name while at the Sabbat - people could be listening.' Hera's eyes shifted as she scanned the crowds, 'most of us come here to forget our husbands - or enjoy another’s.’ Circe raised her glass in salute at Hera’s statement, before Diana cut her a look. The glowing sorceress shifted her stance. ‘You have no respect, have you not eyes in your head?' the witch continued, 'I’m Hera tonight’ she said, sweeping at her cloak to reveal Peacock eyes painted onto the underside of the white silk. ‘I wouldn’t be calling you Lucia "Borghese", in front of others, "Diana", even if you owed me a fortune.’
Circe listened with intent, not used to hearing her mistress criticised - or her la
st name. Diana pouted, her fingers digging into her arms, but spoke again:
‘Fair enough, suit yourself’ she said with blank expression, ‘but your account is long overdue, and you know it. I want you to pay me after Mass, the Sunday after next: that’s almost two weeks from now. If you don’t pay, I’ll have to stop my dealings with you.’ Hera scoffed, but Diana carried on, wagging her finger ‘it’s a long, long, boat ride to the Far East on your own to get what I have to offer, Hera. Your rooster can neither swim in nor run on water. Bear that in mind the next time your lovers are lying exhausted next to you.’
Hera grimaced at the threat, but nodded. Circe dried her cup with her tongue before she took up another drink, and a bite to eat, that passed on a tray held by a handsome youth wearing a toga. The smaller witch ogled his buttocks as he passed, before she scanned the wider area, while she drank and ate, and made mental notes of males she liked in the jostling crowds. Diana also surveyed the area, between stilted small talk with her client, as she sipped at her drink. Diana looked about but made mental notes of who owed her money, and the fresh business she could drum up from the eclectic gathering.
Hera then made a gesture to catch the eye of the youth with the blue bandanna. He left his friends, and before long he stood next to her: ‘meet my son, Giacomo’ said Hera. The silver skinned sorceress tilted her head in welcome, and the youth bowed. ‘Giacomo, this is Diana, the famous woman I told you about.’ Diana’s expression softened, ‘it’s his first Sabbat.’ The fifteen-year-old smiled, and complemented Diana on her beauty before he used his charm to engage her in pleasant conversation.
The Hermeporta Beyond the Gates of Hermes Page 22