It was almost dusk by the time the last traveller arrived. Together they were twelve, perhaps the most powerful witches in the Kingdom, gathered for the first time in a generation. The meeting had been arranged years ago, when dark times seemed to be looming and when the witches would soon need to gather their strength. They could see the future, the villagers whispered, and when they prepared for trouble, the world would profit by heeding their example.

Food was served. Huddled, dark forms in pointed, black hats devoured the soup, chunks of meat and round loaves of bread. Some spoke, catching up with friends not seen for decades. Others chewed in silence. Some were impatient, but refreshment was important, they knew. Soon, the witches would exercise their greatest powers together, and the world would change.

The meal was cleared away. Around the fire, under a brooding evening sky, the witches sat and prepared for the Reading. A voice of incalculable age, laced with an evil rasp, began.

"To those who have travelled far, I extend my gratitude. We gather at an auspicious time." There was a mumble of approval, like the quiet clucks of night-time hens. "A great change is upon us. New forces gather, and our order loses its strength daily. We must make plans."

Another murmur, some cackles of agreement. "Our sisterhood will come under its most grievous attack. The monsters of the church are arrayed against us. Already, the pangs of defeat have wracked us all, and we must only expect more".

They had all heard about it. Burned, they said. A tall stake driven into the ground, firewood strewn about it, and the witch lashed to the stake and burned alive. The screams. The stench. How could they, these so-called 'men of the cloth'?

"Christianity teaches forgiveness and charity, but their forces have massacred our sisters, driven them out". Loud yells of indignation from the gathered dozen. A rising anger gripped the coven, soon to be channelled into action and revenge.

"Sisters, we must ensure the survival and protection of what we hold to be good. We must prepare for the future. Our movement must go underground." Some cries of disbelief, but begrudging agreement. It was the only way. "We will perish and so will our secrets and practices. This must not be!" she intoned, wailing high over the shrieks and jabbering of the others.

She waved for silence, which was instant and total. "Sisters, tonight we shall ensure the passing-on of our knowledge. We will create a reliquary, one which shall remain safe through the ages and until the end of time. A book, created in fire, written in blood, sealed with flesh and bound with our solemn oath - never shall the time of the witches be ended!" With a flourish of her robes the witch stood and, wreathed in smoke, emerged holding a black leather book. "Come, my sisters! Strengthen our future! Let us create the mightiest book ever written!"

The witches dashed forward with a cacophony of shrieks and howls. Bolts of lightning shot across the sky, illuminating evil, low, dark clouds which formed witch-like faces, sneering and laughing, heads thrown back, crooked noses casting shadows.

A semi-circle formed, with the head witch holding open the book on the ground. From her fingers came red sparks which engulphed the book. The witches stood back to admire the new cover, in their own language, in Latin, the language of aristocracy and the church, and the fast-emerging secular languages of the Britons, Normans and Teutons. All would have access. All would know.

The head witch showed the way. Each witch would give of her secrets from her most secret place. Kneeling over the open book and lifting her robes, the head witch was handed a broomstick. Jeers of mirth and approval pierced the night air. Mounting the broomstick, the witch first slid the polished wood between her thighs, parting the thick tangle of black curls, gyrating her hips to bring her sacred button closer to the ancient wood. The witches roared. They watched, chanting and stomping their feet as the head witch leant back and aimed the tip of the broomstick into her body. "Our survival! Our future!" she chanted, and they took up the words, repeating in a spiralling chorus which reached a crescendo as she slid the broomstick into her ancient, soaking cunt. They were cheering as she tensed and orgasmed over the polished wood, a thick spurt soaking the pages beneath her. Another splashed over the stick. Quickly, witches were darting forwards to smear the cunt-juice onto the pages. Before their eyes, writing in all four languages appeared, first indistinct and confused, then crystal clear. It was a spell. The magic was working!

One by one, the shrieking hags mounted the book, prepared their wizened openings for the thickness of the broomstick, and slid it home, and each one orgasmed spectacularly over the parchment. Dribbles of juice were quickly collected from the stick and applied to the pages in turn. Dozens were filled in this way. One younger witch even managed to come thrice over the book, burying the broomstick deep in her stretching twat. Another slid the sodden wood into the hot opening of her anus and came magnificently, an arc of wetness glistening through the air and forming an entire chapter on invisibility spells. Smearing the soiled wood on the page, another chapter appeared, on spreading diseases of the gut. The witches were helpless with mirth and mercilessly ribbed the 'Darkest Witch', as they called her.

By dawn, the book was full. Many of the witches had orgasmed more tonight than in the rest of their lives combined. Some were sleeping. Others danced around the fire, alone or in groups. The head witch finished her last orgasm, more cream oozing from her reddened fuck-hole, and completed the index with her last drop. She then fell to one side, spent but elated. Their order would live on. The future was not as bleak as some predicted. Our ways are safe. A low cackle spread around the fire as the book was closed. "Thank you, my sisters. Our work here is done."



Becca slumped into her usual chair while the others filed into the classroom. Morning lessons were normally quiet, until the class managed to wake itself up. Most were drinkers, a lot were stoners, some did more. An exciting bunch to teach, one of the college staff had euphemised. No two lessons alike. Constantly surprising.

Yeah, right. They were a big bunch of fuck-ups, and they knew it. Art & Design College? What the hell did she know about design? What did she care? Sure, she'd been making her own clothes for years, and loved it, but these people were insane. All theory and history and other such bullshit. Jut let me do what I'm good at, and get out of my way.

Will shambled in at the back of the pack and took his seat. Now there, Becca mused, was someone even weirder than me. She was on the fringes of the complex social experiment that was her class. She liked a few of them, but they were wary of her. Perhaps it was the black eye shadow and purple-streaked hair. Or her clothes. Some thought she was a misplaced genius. Others reckoned her for a freak, like all the other 'pain' types, so called because it was all they talked about. Or, at least, there was that South Park episode about Goths, and that's what they said. Few took the trouble to find out more. A bunch of fuck-ups, was about right. But Will was different.

He looked at her sometimes, as if he was about to speak to her, but it never happened. Jesus, he was shy. But how was he supposed to shine among these characters? Like a tired old donkey among young monkeys or pandas at the zoo. No-one was going to pay any attention to him while there were antics to be enjoyed. Right now, for example, some frat-boy scuffle was going on while one guy had his pants around his ankles. The teacher marched in and quietened them.

She'd done her assignment, of course, researching the aesthetical aspects of the Victorian Age. They knew how to design back then, sure, but who the fuck would wear this stuff these days? The women were persecuted with stupid corsets and great big bustles to make their asses look bigger. Why should I be following that bullshit? She turned in her paper with a sigh.

Class progressed as usual. 'The transmissions of information from the notes of the tutor to the notes of the students without passing through the minds of either'. That was pretty good, she'd always thought. These old hacks have taught these courses a million times and they want to teach them as little as I want to take part in this charade. Increasingly bored, she doodled in her sketchpad.

Will was undressing a stunning blonde. Her ripe tits sprang forth from her unclasped bra, begging for attention. Her shaven pussy, beautifully pink, waited for his eager cock. A deep kiss before penetration, and then the long, slow slide of his eleven-inch erection into her waiting.

Becca woke up when the class bust out laughing. What the hell? The tutor was giving someone a bollocking and they were loving it. Ah, Will. Not again. Last week he'd been caught reading some trashy novel under the desk. This time it was a porn mag, nothing too strong by the looks of it, in between the pages in his folder of notes. In fact, there were a lot more titties than notes in that folder. What an idiot.

The class took its time to settle down and the lesson soon ended. Will was getting a lot of flack about the porn, and shone bright red with embarrassment. Becca made her way out as usual, trying to give him some kind of supportive glance. But, with the eye-shadow and the low, drooping fringe, it probably just looked weird. Leave him alone, you bastards.

Will quickly gathered his books and stumbled from the room. Motherfuckers! Its enough that I get caught by the tutor. Why do you always have to make me feel like that? Does it turn you on? When you jack off, I wonder, do you picture the pained expression on my face as you jam home another witty remark, sprinkled with the inane giggles of your friends? Well, fuck you all.

He half-walked, half-jogged home to escape the morons, but they were done with him for today. Only so much fun to be had from one incident, and besides they were picking on Becca as she walked to her car. She was kind of cool. A bit freaky, but different in an interesting way. Ah, hell, she was cute. Kind of. Hard to say.

He walked into a tree. Becca was reaching her car and trying to brush off the remaining pair of idiots making wise-cracks about Dracula or some shit, while Will shook his head clear and ambled off the three blocks to his parents' place. She drove past and he was sure she waved. Or maybe she was adjusting the rear-view mirror. Hard to say.

Door opened, and slammed, bag down in the corner, straight upstairs. His folks would be at work until 6, maybe later. After the hassles of his day, he loved these couple hours of quiet. Normally he would take the opportunity to jack off in an innovative way. With no interruptions he could indulge a couple of his hobbies - jacking to old Buffy episodes, jacking to Shakira on MTV, you name it. Yes, he'd tried the American Pie thing - although his was Fruits of the Forest - but had never found porn channels on his TV. Thank God for the Internet.

He knew all of the best free porn sites and spent a lot of time with them. His personal collection of movies and pictures was very impressive. He had even bought a new hard-drive to contain it all. Selecting one to jack off to was normally not difficult. He had favourites. He picked that fantastic German one where the two chicks with shaved heads get fucked by two or three guys, then they come all over their heads and faces. The girls smear it around and lick it up in deep, French kisses. Awesome. Will came just as the girls started kissing, their mouths dripping with semen.

A quick shower and time for today's random search. Every day he would string together a couple of words, or a short phrase, and bang them into Google. His resolution was to learn one thing thereby. Yesterday had been 'shortbread castle' and he had learned a great deal about Scotland. Today was easy.

'Defeat your enemies'. Maybe the magic of Google could illuminate a revenge method. Maybe he could get his own back on those tossers at college. Maybe they'd leave him the fuck alone.

The top result was an Ebay listing. Huh?

He tried again with 'Vanquish my foe' and exactly the same thing happened. And again with 'shatter the evil ones'. Mystified, Will clicked the link with a shrug.

The layout was all too familiar - he'd sold his massive baseball card collection and a bunch of 1970's comics. The proceeds, in today's Age of the Collector, had nearly financed his first year at the college. This was a book of some kind, listed in English but in four languages, according to the description. 'Of unknown origin'. Cool! 'Mysterious, ancient text'. Sounded like a bunch of bullshit. But, he had rules to follow. Besides, it was only 0.01 and shipping was free, so he clicked the mouse and made the payment.

Later that evening, after jacking off resplendently to the latest Charmed episode, he fell into his deepest ever sleep.



Becca tried not to punch the dashboard in frustration, knowing that they'd see it. Motherfuckers. It didn't take much - any individuality, any personal flare, just being a little bit different was enough to have them surrounding her like a pack of hyenas, thrilling at her discomfort. She heard their laughter ringing in her ears while her knuckles went white around the steering wheel.

Becca was 19 and had owned her own place for six months. A very timely inheritance from a rich and impressively elderly grandmother had provided the funds, with enough to decorate as she preferred. It was her bolthole, her hideaway. Nothing could hurt her in her own place.

Becca was particular about her routine and the way she kept the house. It was permanently immaculate. No piles of dirty laundry on the floor or unwashed dishes in the sink. Her mother had taught her to be house-proud and to keep things in their place.

One of the reasons she was so tidy, Becca learned after a while, was the sheer volume of marijuana she smoked. Some people get giggly, some get sleepy, some become at one with the Universe. Becca became happy, creative and incredibly neat. Homework done after a couple of big bong hits was inevitably A-grade material and she loved nothing more than enjoying the intricate references thrown off by tidying her apartment. The place gleamed.

Becca had little homework tonight, so she relaxed with some TV. Buffy was a major favourite, along with a bunch of stuff on the Sci-fi channel, Alias and the Daily Show. She rolled and lit a strong joint with herbal smoking mixture - she hated tobacco - and lit a couple of incense sticks to counter the strong scent of skunk. South Park got finished at 11pm. Bed time.

Becca masturbated every night before sleeping. It was a little routine, like her homework or tidying. She had four sex toys which she alternated, without ever developing a real favourite. Tonight was the turn of a thick, pink dildo which she lovingly lubricated with KY, knowing that her tight pussy would need some assistance to accommodate its girth. She rubbed herself assuredly, knowing the quick, effective ways to turn herself on.

Images crowded her imagination. Big, thick cocks dripping precum. Two girls French kissing in the shower. Dracula smiling coldly and saying 'I want to fuck you, baby' in the sexiest voice. The dildo slid up into her vagina and she came gloriously, whimpering into the bedsheets, stroking herself further, onward, up to a higher plain where she and The Count were touching, licking, playing . fucking.

Becca gasped loudly.



Breakfast was suffered in a half-awake silence, jamming down cereal and coffee to get himself awake. His father worked at a nearby paint factory while Mom was a cashier at the Safeway. Neither had a lot to say to each other these days, and their son was more of a mystery than ever before. Gobbling his cereal silently, he made no show of moving when the doorbell rang. 'Courier post for you. Please sign here'. Someone else not in the best frame of mind this morning. 'Damn, this thing's heavy. It says here its a book. Feels like a dozen of them!' His Mom dutifully signed and clunked the book onto the kitchen table.

'Package for you, dear', she said brightly. Without a word, Will seized the parcel, grabbed his schoolbag, and was out the door. She clucked disappointedly for the ten thousandth time as the slam reverberated through the house. Her husband just hated it when she did that.

It wasn't often that Will had something to look forward to in his day at college, but he was fascinated by this book. Four different languages? It was heavy, too, maybe eight or ten pounds. But it didn't look all that big and heavy. His curiosity grew all morning and mushroomed as he dashed to the bathroom in the morning break. Whatever this was, his classmates already had too much insight into his literary preferences, and this was no time to bring more attention to himself. Besides, it was cool to have some unique old book. If he could understand any of it.

'Out of the way, dickweed', as Will was shoved against the male bathroom doorframe. What a jerk. Probably just shot his load in one of the cubicles and is feeling all manly and strong. Probably a faggot, Will reasoned. Certainly a fuckstick.

Will took a seat in the last cubicle among an astounding array of graffiti, comments, adverts for casual fucking, phone numbers and the usual cock cartoons. Will pulled out the book and took a look at the cover. Turning it was almost difficult, it was so heavy. The cover was a dark leather, with gold embossed text which said "The Book of the Witches' Hour", also in some kind of French and maybe German, and Will guessed that second one was Latin, but what the hell was this language at the top? Arabic maybe? Thai, or something?

He opened the book. It immediately felt a lot lighter, no more than an atlas. The frontispiece repeated the multi-lingual titles with an elaborate black border with shrunken vines and roses in black ink. Cool, Will chuckled to himself. The border, he saw, continued throughout the book, but there were no two pages exactly the same.

And what was on the pages caused Will's jaw to drop.

'Spell for the Causing of Pregnancy. Take several drops of the blood of the intended pregnant female, two drops of cow's milk, a ground moth-wing and a drop of witch's blood. Intone the following incantation .

'Charm for the protection of the Witch. Boil together pondweed, camel hair and rattlesnake's venom.

'Potion for the quick restoration of the manly power.

A whole chapter entitled, 'Methods of Creating Fire' which did not once mention matches or a lighter. Four detailed pages on bringing back the dead. Three chapters in different aspects of divination, using crystal balls, tea leaves and dice. Potions which could make someone fall instantly in love with you. Others which could kill them with half a drop on the skin. Still others which would trap the mind of the victim, leaving only an obedient husk. Spells for starting storms, whipping up the wind, breaking a drought, melting ice and boiling water.

What in the name of fuck was going on?

Will lost track of time completely as he thumbed eagerly through the book. 'Reversing the Aging Process' he largely skipped. 'Sexual Potions' he devoured hungrily. And 'Transfiguration' sounded most interesting. But when he reached 'Vengeful Acts and Deeds' he really began to pay attention.

'The Witch shall need one object belonging to the victim, and the more important or meaningful the better. Personal items or heirlooms are recommended. A likeness of the victim is also an advantage. Place these two objects on the left palm and intone: