Content Note: Mind control, dubcon, supernatural, historical witch hunt.
Tonight is The Night. This one night of the year, one night every thirteen months – where a month is counted as 28 days, the period from one full moon to the next. For over 300 years, every thirteenth full moon is The Night.
This is the place where they hanged me as a witch, where I have been held ever since as a cold, insubstantial spirit, helpless, devoid of touch or sensation and trapped to witness the aching passage of time around me. The place where there used to be a marker, where there used to be a memory of what was done here to the women who stepped out of line. The memory has faded, replaced by this bright, gaudy era where things that were once considered the stuff of arcane magicks now seem commonplace and mundane. So many clothing styles have come and gone, so many people, so many new ways of doing things.
They built a place on my grave, my gallows. They call it a “Traveller’s Lodge” but they compress the words into a single, shortened version. It is like an inn or tavern, but larger and less joyful. But people still come here, they stay one night and move on, journeying not just this country, but to others far and wide, by means that still seem beyond imagining to me.
And once every thirteen full moons, is The Night.
I yearn through those thirteen months for touch, and sensation, and pleasure. I long to feel a body and breath and heart. And every thirteenth full moon, I can.
Business trips were the worst. Alison hated them with a passion, but her boss, Herbert Barthener, relied on her organisational skills and command of the day-to-day minutiae, and never went on a trip to negotiate a deal without making sure she was there too. Although he insisted they share rooms to save on expenses, he understood boundaries and maintained a professional distance all the time. There had been times when, accidentally, she’d glimpsed him half-naked on these little jaunts, and to be honest, she wouldn’t have minded if he made a move. A few times at home, she had fantasies of it happening, of them somehow misjudging their alcohol intake and somehow they ended up touching, caressing and leading on to more and more intimate embraces. It was safe to dream of, because it would never happen.
He always let her shower first. She could hear him, now, just finishing his own wash. She sat down on the edge of her bed, the bedside lamp the only light remaining. She felt so tired, and so strange. A sudden chill ran up her spine and her body looked different. She couldn’t explain it. It was like a subtle filter had shifted over her eyes. She felt her nose twitch, as if there was some scent she was catching. And she watched in horror as her hands moved, of their own accord, to unbutton her pyjamas.
A body! And, I can smell him so close, a man to share it with. A man to enjoy! This body aches to be touched in the way I ache to be touched, its owner almost a stranger to the pleasures that saw me cursed and murdered. I know she wants it, that is the key that unlocked my power. Already we breathe deeper, I arch her back, lift her chin, we bite our lower lip, oh yes! It feels so good to be back in a body.
“Alison! Are you feeling alright?” Herbert stood in the bathroom doorway in his own pyjamas, dark blue in contrast to Alison’s pale pink. She willed herself to speak but nothing came out. Instead, one hand drifted idly to her nipple and she stared at her own fingers circling the soft teat, aware of the slight shiver of excitement the touch added to the fear racing through her mind.
“Well, okay, Alison. I guess we all have a need from time to time. Just try to be quiet, okay?” Herbert pulled back the duvet and started climbing into bed.
He wants me, I can smell it. His cock is twitching. I can hear it. He needs me, he wants this body. I can taste his thoughts, the countless times he’s denied himself because he told himself it was wrong. This is so delicious: spicy, sugary, temptation. I make my body moan softly – a natural reaction, i can feel it inside her too, but it’s my reaction now. All mine. Oh, I do it quietly. I don’t want him annoyed at her. But I know he hears. I know he can feel his cock stiffening for me. I guide these fingers downwards, sliding them under the strange pantaloons my host wears, down towards the pudenda. The source of my hungers and my woes.
Alison didn’t understand what was happening, was too stunned even to resist. And it felt good, so she just watched as fingers that were hers but not hers slid under her pyjama bottoms and started to stroke her labia. She felt her face flush hot and red as this mysterious self-violation produced arousal and her fingers touched wetness glistening around her opening. She heard Herbert’s breathing slow and deepen as he settled onto his bed. In a daze, she stood up and tucked her thumbs in her pyjama waistband. In a move she had never done before, and barely even dreamed of, she bent at the waist, slowly folding her head towards the floor and dragging the pyjamas down the backs of her thighs, down her calves, displaying her bottom to her employer. It seemed like a dream as she stepped out of the pyjamas and turned to slide back the covers on Herbert’s bed to reveal to her horror a cock standing proudly to attention.
“Alison! What are you doing?” Herbert gasped.
She straddled his hips, her right hand spreading her cuntlips and her mind shocked to feel her nipples hard and jutting. She felt like some lewd caricature of herself.
In a voice she’d never used, lascivious and greedy, her throat flexed and her mouth opened, her tongue and lips formed words that were not her own. “I know you want this. I want it too. Don’t resist.” her hand moved from her cunt to his cock, her fingers curling around it. It was so long since she’d had a boyfriend, she’d forgotten how hot and fleshy and textured they were to touch. She didn’t want any of this, and yet the fascination aroused her, and she knew it was her own reaction, not the force that had taken her over. She was turned on by touching, by stroking, Herbert’s cock.
“We mustn’t, it’s inappropriate -“ Herbert’s breath caught as Alison’s thumb stroked the underside of his cock.
“I won’t tell if you won’t,” the same lewd voice promised from Alison’s vocal cords.
She yearned for Herbert to stop this, to refuse, to push her away, to do anything to prove that he didn’t agree. But he just lay there, staring up at her, drinking in the curves of her bosom with no attempt to disguise his lust. Had he really fantasised about her like this every time they went away? Were such thoughts racing through his mind whenever he saw her in the office or when they went away? The notion appalled Alison, even as she remembered she had entertained such thoughts about him from time to time.She watched from inside herself as her hands rested on the pillow either side of Herbert’s head, her boobs swinging temptingly above him. She felt her cunt slide down to engulf his cock and she moaned – yes, that was her own voice, not the imposter in her body – as she felt it fill her up. It was so long since she’d fucked, she’d almost forgotten how good it felt to have a living, pulsing, hot thing inside her, not her smooth, trembly vibrator.
But, for it to happen like this, with her body controlled by something else – it was horrible and yet – and yet, she could feel it all, feel the arousal, the desire, stirring in her own bosom.
Oh, the delight! The need! The ecstasy! My one night of carnal pleasure in a year of barren, unanswered desire. I want it all, I want it now, but I have to wring every ounce of bliss from the night that I can, I cannot give in to the desire to hump like a bitch in heat – not yet, anyway. So I ride him, slowly, savouring every infinitesimal moment, every sensation I can draw from the time. I will take him slowly this first time. I have the whole night and I have her whole body, and his. I will make him rise again and again for me to enjoy in every way I can. What care I for their professional lives? This is my one night, The Night, and I will take it as mine, using these two as only I know how.
Because the curse is not the denial. The curse placed on me that binds me to this lace, and this night, is not to be devoid of form and unable to take pleasure. It is the continual renewal and reminder. It is this one night. Each time I promise I will not indulge and each time my need, my desire, my torment is too great and I seize the chance and condemn myself to another thirteen months of burning and futile lust, at the end of which, I make another person fall from their own morals.
The Devil came to me, as I hung from the gallows tree, and like a fool, I took His bargain.