Chapter 2

Bathsheba's lust to dominate the male was emphasised by the way she hurried him from the car, her zest and his bewilderment exciting Agatha as she gripped his hand lest he should escape her clutches, and strutted urgently to the door of her leafy and isolated 18th century cottage; its tumbledown mystique adding to Arne's sense of submissive foreboding as he was led under the small porch, Agatha behind him smiling and with arms crossed. He felt that the whitewashed walls adorned with ivy and wisteria were leaning over him, their arms of dark foliage snaking out like tentacles, and the black door which swung open on being unlocked by it's dominant resident seemed like a mouth ready to swallow him. Batsheba's heels clattered on the dark grey stone floor of the hall as he was taken in, and Agatha followed, taking great pleasure in closing the heavy oaken door with a bang, and sliding two large bolts home to add spice to his feeling of capture.

'There! We shan't be disturbed while you're introduced to our order of things.' His eyes took in the low beamed ceilings as he was walked through the hall, past a kitchen with the usual modern appliances and a lounge, which though a little dark due to the quaint leaded light windows and abundant foliage above and around it, was furnished in typically modern fashion. Bathsheba grinned as they passed a staircase painted white and adorned with pictures of flowers, then climbed two steps to a door beyond it which separated the rear of the house.

As she opened it his nose was hit by the sweet smell of incense, his eyes by the darker decor of a large room which was furnished as though by the original inhabitant of the house, and Agatha then bolted this one closed too. She leaned her back against it, and both women inhaled deeply, making their breasts rise to feel the excitement of their erect nipples; the male who had already shown his submission would now be dominated satisfactorily in preparation for a fate he was blissfully unaware of. Bathsheba sneered at Arne whose eyes showed the willing expectancy of submission that she knew so well and made her cunt moisten so; her arousal was extreme for this one, he could not know the reason that added such spice to her excitement, and she would take the utmost pleasure in teasing him to his fate. She lifted her head and grinned cruelly.

'No going back now. Strip!'

Arne's erection pulsed as his eyes flicked about his surroundings while he undid his clothes, the pictures in the room first catching his eye; many more black and white depictions of the scenes of witchcraft he had desired, women in regal black standing proud and haughty, and a recurring theme was one where males in a short white smock knelt by them or was led amongst them. A golden pentacle glittered from one of the broad black beams which crossed the low and sagging ceiling, illuminated by the sun through a leaded rear window which looked out on a large enclosed garden. An ominous tall post stood centrally and cast its black shadow between tall thorn and ivy clad walls, the trees from a dark copse waved over the end wall, completing its atmosphere of hidden confinement.

His exposed cock stood erect as Agatha sauntered to the window in her long dress, and let it drop, before removing her blouse and underwear; her breasts, hips, and thighs creating an appealing feminine silhouette. Bathsheba discarded her jacket and stepped out of her skirt as she moved to a tapestry drape which covered a side wall. She stood smiling at him and removed her bra and panties, then turned and swept the drape back to reveal a dark oaken staircase set in a recess in the wall. Agatha moved close to him and stroked his back, laughing softly as Bathsheba took a leash and collar from a hook at the foot of the stairs.

'Kneel for your superiors, we'll see you collared now.' He dropped to his knees and felt the warmth of the women's flesh as Bathsheba smartly buckled the collar with some impatience, Arne looking at the two sumptuous cunts wet with arousal and sniffing the air, his cock boning. Bathsheba tugged his leash, leading him on all fours as Agatha teased the back and arse she would soon whip with her nails, his anus tingling as he was led to the dark staircase.

'You are very privileged to know this part of the house, most males are dominated at the front of it, only those of special interest to me wear the collar and feel these stairs. The collar to which the leash is attached is very old, it's only replaced on certain occasions; many males have felt the command of the leash through that collar over the years, and then taught to show the strict respect that our order demands.'

The staircase turned an angle, and led to a large room where the incense burned most strongly, a large bed took pride of place centrally, though the dark purple walls were beset with manacled frames, a pentacle above each, where guests could be displayed or tested. The beams of sunlight from the skylight windows cast their rays through the wafting incense, the scent soon to be displaced by that of the women's rich arousal as they worked on Arne's submission. His eyes were drawn to a white silk smock which hung on display close to the bed, his thoughts returning to the pictures downstairs, his balls tingling. Bathsheba noted his gaze toward it, and grinned at Agatha before tugging his leash.

'You'd have to be very special indeed to wear that for me; that's a privilege you'll have to earn. You do want to wear it for me, don't you?' Arne could not know it's significance, but knew from the pictures below that it would see him involved with their rituals.

'Yes ... yes, I would love to wear it ... Mistress Bathsheba.' She pulled the leash tight and Agatha put her hand across it too, feeling the connecting tension to their prize, both women then closed their eyes and sighed; he had granted their wish, and would wear the smock within a week anyway, but would know their pleasure in earning it just the same.

Bathsheba passed the leash to Agatha, and Arne watched spellbound as she moved slowly to the bed showing him her shapely legs and arse with sublime feminine poise, then gracefully kneeling upon its end, spreading her legs slightly and leaning forward to allow him a glorious view of her cunt and arsehole.

'Come!' Agatha tugged him forward, and his cock poked rigid as his face was brought up to worship the sight and scent of her powerful femininity. He sniffed uncontrollably, overwhelmed with the deliciously erotic aroma, held close on a leash and yearning to be dominated.

'That's it, you have a good sniff of the excitement you're responsible for.' Agatha laughed cruelly and let the leash drop, walking either side of the bed and lighting an array of candles on a shelf which went the length of the end wall. She took a large black silk napkin from a drawer and lay it centrally on the bed, making Bathsheba pant with anticipation and edge her arse backwards.

'Lick my arsehole!' Arne gratefully obliged, his tongue lovingly accepting the musty tang of her hot pucker as she slipped a finger through the glistening folds of her cunt. His cock dribbled pre-cum as he watched Agatha take some white cord from a draw, then smile sternly at him as she lifted a long black whip from it; Bathsheba's anus clenched on his probing tongue as she moaned with the pleasure of her first orgasm, the sight of the whip she'd use on him, bringing her off delightfully. Panting with pleasure, she moved forward, taking his leash and urging him up to the bed. He was laid down with the black napkin under his cock and belly, the two gleefully binding his ankles and securing his arms to the top corners of the bed.

Bathsheba took the whip and flexed it as she swept her hair back, nipples poking hard from her breasts as she relished seeing the bound male writhe in pain. Agatha giggled as she slipped onto the bed and lifted his head to sample her arousal, lifting her legs high and treating him to the gape of her mature cunt and arsehole.

'My turn. You get that tongue deep into my arsehole; we'll loosen it up with the whip, then you'll disclose all your interests nicely for us, before you leave your mark on the silk.' She sighed as she pointed her toes at the ceiling and pulled his face into the warmth of her crotch, his tongue slipping into her tight anus obediently as his nose sniffed at the spice of her cunt while she rubbed her clitoris vigorously. His eyes strained to see Bathsheba as she put one hand to her hip and flexed the braided whip, his anus tingling at her cruel smile.

'Now you'll know the price of admission to our order. You'll feel the kiss of five strokes in honour of the points of the pentacle, then you'll be allowed confession before the next.' Her cunt swelled with sadistic pleasure as she watched his body quiver and squirm in the bondage, then unleashed the whip, gasping with effort as it cracked home. Arne's face was not allowed to leave the haven of Agatha's crotch, and she moaned with pleasure as his muffled cry vibrated through her as the lash wrapped about his flesh. He writhed in agony, his ankles pulling vainly at the tie which kept his body outstretched and vulnerable, his fists clenched above his manacled wrists. As soon as the searing pain left him, he was made to enjoy the next; Bathsheba flexing her entire body, her breasts rippling deliciously as the lash made it's mark on his flesh, the pain enhancing his submission as he was broken.

Agatha moaned and sighed as she enjoyed his tears, groaning in ecstasy as he jerked and humped at the bed on the fourth stoke; her orgasm intense as the fifth stroke had him crying like a child. The sweet pain and humiliation only fuelled his inner submission though, and his cock which remained rigid was stimulated as he humped at the mattress; he was brought to the edge of coming and yearned for the sixth stroke. Bathsheba panted as she knelt on the bed and lifted his head to savour his distress.

'Now tell us why witchcraft is of interest to you ... besides your weakness of being dominated by a feminine society; you're hiding something, I know it.' Though she knew full well of the link he had found to further his dark interest in the power of a matriarchal society, she would have it revealed from his own lips, and savour whipping him for it. Agatha sighed as she recovered from her first orgasm, she too, anxious to use the whip on him. His broken voice pleased them as he squirmed on the Mattress, aching to come.

'I ... I found a family link ... it somehow drew me ... to knowing more... ' Bathsheba cut in, not wanting him to reveal too much before they had both had the pleasure of tormenting him. She moved from the bed and drew the whip back.

'So! Related to a witch maybe? If so, you'll understand why this pleases me so!' She quickly punished his flesh with five more vigorous strokes, each crack of the braided leather whip delivered with the hidden spite and utter contempt she held for the male who would know the significance of the white shroud within the week. Agatha clasped her thighs about his head, and sneered as he writhed and thrust his cock at the silk with each biting kiss of the whip. Again, his deep and sensually perverse enjoyment of the whip was ended abruptly, leaving his pulsing cock on the verge of spending. Bathsheba passed the whip to Agatha, and Arne was once again treated to the stimulating scent of Batsheba's cunt, the fresh arousal brought on by her pleasure at whipping him, lapped at eagerly by him as his tongue slipped in the warmth of her bulging lips while she held his face to it and sighed.

'Ooh yes! ... Now! Let's have it ... Who is it that has brought you to us to know the pleasure of our dominance?' Arne's cock boned and slipped in the liquid warmth of his pre-cum against the silk as he prepared to know the whipping that would inevitably allow his submissive release. He knew the origins of his bloodline would result in Agatha's justifiably venomous application of the whip.

'Not ... not a witch ... it's a Matthew ... Matthew Hopkins I'm related to.' Bathsheba grinned at Agatha who stood impatiently, lusting to use the whip, and feigned ignorance.

'Matthew Hopkins... ? The name is vaguely familiar somehow; who might he be?' Arne's anus tingled as she held his head back and stared into his eyes, her own filled with a mischief that ensured he would spend most plentifully.

'He ... he was known as ... the Witchfinder General.' Bathsheba continued to stare into his eyes as a cruel smile enveloped her face.

'Whip the seed from him Agatha. I want to watch his eyes as he spends, and spend he will!' Arne did not disappoint his new Mistress as Agatha unleashed the whip with utmost gratification, feeling the whip snatch at his naked flesh, and watching him buck in submission at each snaking cut. Bathsheba kept his head high and sneered with satisfaction as his face contorted while his whole body tensioned against the bonds and he gave up his seed to the silk after just three lashes. Arne's mind was sent into a blissfully ecstatic rapture as he focused on Bathsheba's cruel smile, his cock jetting spurt after spurt of hot semen to the silk in total defeat as the whip had him know his place; he wanted to die for her, and his wish would soon be realised.

The two women stroked his body after releasing his arms an pulling them back to tie them to his ankles, allowing him to rest on his side and recover before gagging him. Bathsheba gently felt the raised weals on his buttocks as Agatha folded the black silk with the evidence of his submission.

'We'll show this to the other women at a ritual we have to attend tonight, they'll be so pleased to meet you when you're ready; I wish I could take you for display as my pet right now, but you have to be broken properly first. I may bring a few of the younger girls back with me, they are always keen to assist prior to being ordained, and I know you'll appreciate their company.' Agatha grinned as she blew out all the candles but one, which illuminated the white shroud.

'I do so love the fertility trials, and the others will be so pleased when we show them the silk and tell of whom it's from.' Arne wriggled onto his front when the two had gone, and humped his erecting cock at the mattress as he enjoyed the bondage and wondered how the shroud would feel. He would know soon enough.