Mart 29, 2021

Three Witches

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There are many groupings of three powerful women throughout mythology, literature and art, and for good reasons. Close your eyes and think about the women who define you. There’s the woman who gave life to you. And the woman you love. And finally, the woman who gives you that last embrace as you tumble into the womb of forever nothing.

The three young women were witches and proud of it. Most of the students at the small Washington State collage knew it. The three were always together and seldom washed. Their hair was long and stringy and sometimes matted. When bare legs were glimpsed beneath long flowing dresses they were seen to be thickly covered in hair.

They must have been hippies you think. But no. Everyone on campus had been spooked by their sudden appearances or disappearances at any place or time without anyone ever seeing them come or go. At dances the three would move to a different rhythm entirely in a way so weirdly seductive that jaws would drop in awe and hunger. But woe to anyone who tried to break in on the group. They would be met with icy stares and the circle would close iron tight.

They were three and only three. No one had ever seen any of them alone. And no one had ever been drawn into the group even in the most casual way. We couldn’t even figure out where they lived. A yurt in the forest was the best guess.

Oh, a hippy, lesbian manage-a-trois you say. Closer perhaps. But every guy who had their life together had caught glances of longing from one or another of the three. Glance back at her though, and you would be wilted by stares from the other two. It was such a mind fuck.

There were rumors of a coven and dead animals splayed out in weird ways and circles painted in blood but this was always hearsay and I never saw it. To add to the strangeness while the rest of us struggled for our B averages none of the three ever dropped below a 4.0.

You can imagine my surprise when I walked into my advanced literature class the first day of spring semester and there they were huddled together in the front row, the three of them hunched weirdly over a single desk. Casting a wary eye at the three the professor went over the syllabus. We were going to tear deeply into the lives and work of Shelley, Keats, Coleridge and Wordsworth while keeping an eye on the visual arts of the time.

I liked the subject and was already well read in each of the poets. And the professor was sharp enough to keep us all on our toes. And we all worked to go a little bit deeper into our poet’s work and lives. But as the class progressed something truly amazing happened. All three of the girls were not only better prepared than anyone else on a level all their own. None of the rest of us came close. I took this as a bit of a challenge and quietly did a lot of extra work on the side. But I couldn’t compete. Their quiet, understated commentaries would be as smooth as fourth drafts and insightful in ways that would make our jaws drop. I tried to figure what critics they were reading but just drew a blank. Their words and ideas were all their own.

Then it happened. We were talking about Keats’s “Ode to a Nightingale” a poem I loved so long and read so often I had memorized it without even trying. One of the three started talking about “fading away into the forest dim” in the most inspired and lyrical language I had ever heard. To this day I have no idea what she said but I found myself instantly and almost violently possessed of an intensity of crush beyond any I had ever felt before. And I didn’t even know her name. None of us knew any of their names and not for lack of trying. Hell, they were huddled so closely I couldn’t even tell which of them had spoken.

Lying in bed that night I felt like a transformed person. Earlier in the day I could have reeled off the names perhaps thirty-five women on campus I had more than passing sexual interest in but now all of them seemed as shadows. My whole being thrummed toward that one unknown speaker who talked of Keats’s poem as if from the inside ankara escort the poem itself. That night I tossed and turned and thrashed as with a strange new heat. I tried to masturbate but climax did nothing to ease the physical ache I felt for her. I masturbated again thinking of the girl but she was hauntingly faceless mid the crouching three. It was maddening.

The following morning, I was distracted and a bit disheveled but I made it to my English Class. The professor was finishing up on Keats’s Ode but I couldn’t really focus. In front of me the three heads bobbed together. Then I the professor badly misquoted a line and I found myself speaking the line correctly aloud. The professor, just a bit sarcastically, asked if I would like to finish the stanza. I replied I wouldn’t but I would be glad to recite the whole poem. I really had no idea where that idea or arrogance came from but I had said it and was now stuck. The professor asked me to proceed, so I shut my eyes and began to recite the poem.

Now here is the really weird thing. Just as the girl had spoken about the poem as if inside it I had the same feeling of being inside the poem when I began reciting. It is almost as if I wasn’t speaking at all and yet I heard my own voice but a bit lower, slower and more sonorous than it had ever been before. Stanza by stanza I made my way through the poem, feeling every nuance as if each was a facet of my being.

There was silence when I finished and then to my shock there was applause. This was not a class where people applauded ever and I just felt strange and a bit out of body and awkward as I looked toward the front of the room. And there it was. One of the three (I knew absolutely it was my girl) broke from the huddle and shot me a glance. It lasted less than two seconds but the bonding as I stared back was unmistakable. I know you. I love you. I want you. Then the circle closed again, inviolate, huddled. Three as one.

The next month was a blur. I kept mostly to myself. I had no interest at all in any other women. My grades slipped a bit. I lost weight. I would have periods of fierce arousal but could only think of her and when I would masturbate it was as much for relief as pleasure for every time I would imagine her close the circle would close and she would be swept back into her perverse huddle of three.

One day a rumor went around the school that the young head of the theater arts program was staging Macbeth. Somehow, she had persuaded the three witches to be in the play. I found the rumor riveting, though didn’t really believe it. Upon learning there was to be an evening rehearsal at seven, and in spite of my doubts, I made my way to the performing arts center. To my disappointment there was a cancelation note on the locked front door. The director had taken sick and this week’s rehearsals were cancelled. I started to turn away when I heard women’s voices coming from the auditorium. I strained to listen:

Fair is foul

And foul is fair

Hover through fog

And filthy air.

It was my three. My heart pounding, I tried another door. Locked. I tried a third and it swung open. There they were rehearsing and did they ever look the part. One of them had turned a single spotlight upon the stage and the minimal effect was riveting. I knew in the spotlight they could not possibly see me as I strode almost possessed through the darkened auditorium toward the stage. In spite of my invisibility and quiet as if on cue all three went silent the same instant impossibly staring toward me through the glare of the spotlight and into the dark.

Turning again toward each other the three gathered in their huddle. To my amazement the girl, my girl, walked a few steps forward and removed her shirt and raised her arms. I had never saw anything as beautiful. She was thin, pale, clearly unwashed and with think tufts of arm pit hair, but her face and eyes radiated something so alluring and lovely and inviting I simply could not speak. Her ample drooping breasts were alabaster white escort ankara and I could feel my mouth ache with hunger as I stared at her long thick nipples. Her belly was pale to and quite flat though soft in a way that made me ache to press against it.

Staring at me through the dark she slowly and with the grace of a dancer unwound the wrap of her long, flowered dress. It fell to her feet. There was no bra. There were no panties. She stood naked in the spotlight before me. I drew in my breath.

I thought I had found paradise as I slowly walked toward her. Suddenly and without warning the other two started chanting as one, in a voice piercing, animalistic and a bit menacing:

You can love three but you can’t love one.

three can love you but you’ll come undone.

Love means the dying of all you were.

And the imprinting of three on all you are.

I didn’t want three. I didn’t even want to fuck my girl. I wanted to take her by the hand and lead her out of there. I wanted to talk half the night and then gently kiss and talk some more and twine lives. But it was not to be. I climbed the stage steps and then moved to her side so our faces were both in the half shadow of the spotlight. I looked at her and reached my hand out to touch her face. Inexplicably I started to cry a bit and told her I loved her but she put her fingers up to my lips and said

“You never can speak or I’ll go away”

Then suddenly we were kissing, my body pressed against her, and for an instant we two were alone and one in the world. But then to my permanent heartbreak her two cohorts perversely leaning inward and pressing against my love and I hissed in unison:

You can love three but you can’t love one

Three can love you but you’ll come undone.

And suddenly the other two were peeling of their clothes and ripping at mine.

The hours that followed were the strangest of my life. And I hardly have words for any of it. I know this much. They were a coven and her love for me had somehow threatened ranks. I know this too: their walpurgisnacht was about both fulfilling and purging that love forever. And I know this: Whatever witches do in on the deep rich fecund loam of the dark woods it is different from anything anyone suspects. It is done in the dark to keep it private. Somehow, I was both cursed and blessed to be a part of it and live to walk on. It is about desire and heartbreak and gathering earthly powers. It is a reclaiming of all we are and a rejection completely of the world that labels this beautiful and that ugly on superficial ground. It is a saying yes to the body and the bodies chthonic powers. It is saying yes to orgasms that are floods and kisses that get bloody. But I ramble.

She and I stood now naked in the glare of the spotlight. She came to me and pressed against me. I felt the entire length of her body against mine as if every inch of our touching were a rapturous merging. A lot didn’t make sense. Her hairy legs pressing against mine felt fiercely strong even though they were skinny. Her nipples, erect and long, seemed to burn my skin as our chests mashed. Our kissing moved from hungry to savage to almost wolfish tearing. I tasted blood and I didn’t mind a bit. My cock was throbbing and crazily erect. I buried my mouth in her hairy underarm and practically drank in the elixir of her earthy scent. She reached for my cock guiding it between her legs. She was soaked. Her thick bush dripping with excitement. Her scent wafting up as a beautiful earthy mixture of the rank of a week unwashed and dripping desire and old piss. It was the best thing I had ever smelled.

I could not enter her as I needed to while standing and so helped her lay down upon the stage. She drew her legs up and open for me. But the moment I began to enter her sloshy hot wetness the other two witches grabbed my arms and pushed me upon my back. My girl straddled me and for a moment I felt only the bliss and awe of entering her wholly and deeply sliding into her soaked heat with all the love and ankara escort bayan hunger of my heart and soul and loins. I was home and meeting her wild and deep and beautiful eyes and thrusting up into her was the happiest I had ever been.

One of the three then whispered something furious to my girl and I saw her face collapse into a mask of despair. But just for an instant as a cold, even icy blankness come slowly over her eyes. I shut my eyes for a second and shook as if trying to wake from a dream but it was no dream. I was losing her even as my engorged cock was filling her depths.

One of the others stood over my head then knelt down to straddle my mouth. I wish I could say I hated it but I didn’t as she ground down hard upon my open mouth. I could feel her open up outrageously wide as she fucked my mouth hard and pushed outward from within trying to push her insides into me.

My cock was still inside my girl whose eyes had frosted over as the witch straddling my mouth pushed out so hard the warm insides of her cunt unfurled around my mouth and tongue in a partial prolapse. My mouth had never been so deep inside someone and thrusting my tongue out it as I suckled inward I swear it brushed the smooth curve of her uterus. She was grinding down harder and harder when suddenly her body began to convulse and I gulped feverishly as gush after gush of her climax filled my mouth and throat. Then I felt her whole body relax.

When she again stood up I looked toward my girl but now it was the third Witch riding my cock with my girl standing over me. I didn’t understand. She lowered herself to my face riding it in a ferocious taking way moving over me pressing down and out but with her ass as much as her cunt. As my girl’s rectum grew sloshy with her wet and my saliva I plunged my tongue inside while suckling with my lips. Then back to her cunt as she ground down against my mouth and began climaxing.

She was soaked but didn’t squirt but I kept softly sucking as if to draw the core of her being into my mouth. She sat perfectly still after as if frozen upon my mouth. Then first with a few squirts and then a hard stream that went on and on and on baptized me from the inside out with perhaps a quart of the warm piss of her inner being.

After gulping down all of her wet as if it had been a drug I started to get dizzy. As I drifted, one witch after another took turns sucking my cock. I felt blissful and the entirety of my being was becoming my cock as one after another they plunged their mouths down gag-deep, the head of my cock pushing into their throats.

Suddenly wave after wave of raw, acute and consuming pleasure flowed out from my core to the tip of my toes and the top of my scalp. I was shaking and crying out. Unhinged, and turned almost inside out by the intensity of pleasure I began to grow faint as if flowing into a dark ocean. Then my love was again upon me and alone and kissing me beautifully deeply, then ever more fiercely till I again tasted blood. She looked at me once, her eyes again soft, loving, even oceanic and said “I love you”. Then I passed out.

It was dawn when I woke. I was alone on the stage. Naked. Bleeding from my mouth. Smelling of cum, and ejaculate and piss and sweat and arousal. I shook my head in wonder and stood up and slowly gathered my clothes.

I did not return to classes for a week and when I finally walked into Honor’s English I was late. As always the three witches were huddled in front facing the lectern. My love turned to me and loud enough for the whole class to hear, quoted Keats:

And this is why I sojourn here,

Alone and palely loitering

Though the sedge is withered from the lake

And no birds sing.

Then she turned away from me and I cringed believing it was forever and I knew I was undone. Slowly though I felt a growing sense of earthly (dare I say witchy) power welling up from inside of me: a new force, a new power, a new joy. I smiled inwardly a bit, Knowing this earthly power would serve me well.

It was their gift to me. Their imprinting. Her imprinting. Then, in an instant to my surprise, she turned and smiled at me one final time. I smiled back, loving her with every fiber of my being. Then we both turned away and we were done.

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