Hubble, Bubble, Toil and Trouble         by: Jennifer Jane Pope

 

Part Three - TOIL

Now, let’s just take a time-out here, shall we, ‘cause I can guess what you’re thinking? Don’t worry, I can and it’s not a magical thing, just headology.

You’re thinking: right, he seems to be taking this all just a bit too much in his stride, sitting in this witchy cottage thing, with an oversexed (formerly oversexed, perhaps), razor tongued old crone, a fairly homelt mother-earth type witch, another witch woman who looks like she’s stepped (flown/driven) off the cover of Vogue, this totally adroable, fifty one year old fairy who looks like Barbi’s sweeter sister, being asked to become a female fairy and go up for - well, I needn’t go over that again.

Oh yes, and an off licence delivery bloke with an infertile wife, who delivers to a cottage in the middle of nowhere, a cottage that’s painted like a bad psychedelic nightmare, yet has a phone line and, for all we know, given Holly’s general wassaname, an Internet connection and all. And I seem to be taking this all just a mite too calmly, is that what you’re thinking?

Okay, you’re right, but the emphasis is on the word "seem". And remember, the wish thing means I’ve got no choice, I’ve drunk enough five star brandy to float an invasion fleet and I’m also desperately in love, magic wish thingy or no magic wish thingy and I can’t handle the thought of a Baker’s Dozen of depraved old warlocks doing things to the girl I want to marry and live with for half a millenium.

Being blunt, with that much stuff to take on board all at once, my poor old cranial contents had probably gone on strike, or, at the very least, a work to misrule. That - and only that, though there’s a lot of "that", when all’s said and done - is my only defence. So, what happened next happened next and I don’t care how you read it, I just don’t think it could have happened any other way, given the circumstances as they were.

I’ll continue ...

Polly brought out this piece of parchment, on which was written, in someone’s bestest handwriting, a sort of contract. I read it - well, I looked down it, but either my eyes weren’t working properly, or else, by this time, the server had severed the connection between them and my brain, ‘cause I couldn’t make bugger all of it.

Doesn’t matter. Important thing is, I’ve got to sign it - and in blood. Mine. By the pricking of my thumbs and all that. Okay, I can make a big enough prick of myself (could!) so what’s one more? Pin, thumb - thumb, pin. Spot of claret, dip pen, write name. All done.

Not quite.

‘Erm,’ Imelda said, holding the parchment between one forefinger and thumb. ‘There’s something else.’

‘Yes?’

‘Well,’ she began again and, for the one and only time, I saw her blush, ‘this is sort of like a sexual contract thing.’

‘Don’t remind me,’ I said. ‘And?’

‘Well, it has to have a sort of sexual seal on it,’ she finished. Aunt Holly cackled as only she could.

‘Don’t worry,’ she whistled, ‘you don’t have to shag her on it.’

‘Holly!’ This was Dolly. Polly couldn’t look me in the face.

‘But,’ Imelda said, ‘it does need something else. Some of your you-know-what?’

‘I know what?’

‘You know?’

‘No.’

‘Thingy.’

‘Thingy?’

‘Oh, for gosmothers sake!’ Dolly stepped forward, stooped over and whispered in my ear.

‘What?’ I almost shrieked. ‘You are joking?’ Four expressions told me they were deadly serious. ‘You’re deadly serious, aren’t you?’ I said. Give me credit, I was starting to catch on much quicker now.

‘A rough deal, I know,’ Dolly said.

‘But someone has to do it,’ Aunt Holly rasped.

‘Shut up, Auntie, you’re not helping.’

‘What?’ I said. ‘With everyone watching?’

‘No,’ Imelda said. ‘In the back parlour.’

‘And I suppose there’ll be magazines, just to get me in the mood. I’ve read about all that.’

‘Bet you have.’

‘Auntie!’

‘Sorry. Gimme another Guinness. I’m sure they’re making these bottles smaller nowadays.’

‘Simon, I’ll come through with you.’ Unfortunate choice of word? ‘I’ll help. It won’t take long, you’ll see. Aunt Polly, pour Simon another brandy, will you?’

Well, it didn’t take long. Imelda saw to that. Call it the magic touch, laying on of hands, whatever, but less than five minutes later we emerged from that little back room and the document had its final, binding seal.

‘What now?’ I asked, beginning (beginning?) to get just a bit nervous now. Imelda handed the contract to Dolly, who scrutinised it carefully, before nodding.

‘Immie knows,’ she said, tersely and suddenly there was one hell of an atmosphere in that room. Imelda took the parchment, rolled it carefully and rubbed it across her breasts. She then made some sort of sign over it, kissed it solemnly and threw it into the fire. The fire that had (or hadn’t?) been crackling away merrily since before we’d arrived.

The flames thought about it for a moment and then got greedy. There was a flare up that was greenish, purplish and bluish, then went sort of dull orange and then, finally died.

‘That’s it?’ That was my voice, but I couldn’t remember telling it to speak.

‘That’s it, sweetie,’ Dolly said.

‘And?’ I asked.

And ...

Everything suddenly went black.

 

Part Three - TROUBLE

Well ...

Of course, I came around again and I’ll spare you the usual stuff about groggy, refocussing eyes, dry mouth, thundering stuff in the head, sicky tummy and confusion.. But only because it wasn’t like that.

Just as suddenly as the lights went out, they came back on. I sat up, my brain didn’t go on a collision course with any part of my skull’s interior and I felt fine. Right up until I looked down at myself.

And then ...

Well, I bloody well screamed! Screeched would probably be a better word. Yes, sure, I was supposed to be expecting all this - and I was, sort of - but actually seeing it, well, it’s sort of something that nothing can prepare you for.

It was my body, but it wasn’t. It was my body, because every time I moved it, every little squirm against the carpet, I could feel it the way I’d have felt it before.

Except ...

I had this much bigger bum. I could tell that, even without looking and I couldn’t have looked anyway, at least, not right then, ‘cause my eyes were rivetted - no, welded! - on these two things just below my chin. If I’d had any lingering doubts up ‘til then, I mean, if I’d harboured any thoughts that they were all talking a load of old cobblers, these two beauties were guaranteed to see them off.

Beauties? That they were, or they would have been, if they’d been on any other chest than mine. Beneath my weight, my newly upholstered rump squirmed a bit and then I peered down through that valley and saw another one and I damn nearly passed out again. I heard myself groan, except it didn’t sound one little bit like me.

‘Oh shite, what have I done?’ That didn’t sound like me, either, except I knew it was. I sounded like a cross between Immie and Aunt Dolly.

‘Simon?’ Immie was kneeling next to me, her arm about my shoulder and she was kissing me on the cheek. I turned and looked at her, but there were tears in the way, mine and hers.

‘Immie?’ I broke wind, but that was nerves and we’ve all been there. Unladylike? Maybe, but I was scarcely in practice, was I? ‘Oh, Immie, what’s happened to me? I never thought ...’

‘It’ll be okay,’ she whispered, fervently. ‘It’ll all be changed back after.’

‘God!’ I whispered. I heard someone cough, nervously, possibly Aunt Polly, but I wasn’t looking and, quite frankly, not interested. ‘Immie, I’ve got boobs!’

‘I know, my darling,’ she said, soothingly. ‘But they’re very pretty.’ She reached out one hand and touched my left nipple and it was like being electrocuted. No, it was like what I thought being electrocuted would feel like. I jumped and my back arched in spasm.

‘Oh!’ Immie chuckled and kissed me again.

‘Feels nice, doesn’t it?’ she said. There was no way I could remain homest with her and deny that, so I said nothing. Well, nothing as a direct reply.

‘And I’ve got a -’

‘Minny,’ she said, firmly. ‘Call it a minny. And that’s quite pretty, too.’

‘But,’ I said, noticing this for the first time, ‘it hasn’t got any, you know?’

‘Pubic hair,’ the unmistakable voive of Aunt Holly crackled through. ‘Saves a lot of problems, that. How do you get rid of unwanted -’

‘Yes, we know.’ That was Dolly. ‘Shut up and let’s go through and put the kettle on. Leave them together for a few minutes.’ I sort of heard the three sisters leaving, but only sort of.

‘Immie?’

‘Yes?’

‘I love you.’

‘I know, darling. I love you, too.’

‘I’m scared. And confused.’

‘Yes.’

‘Immie.’ I paused, trying to find the right words. ‘Will it hurt?’

‘A bit, first one. That’s a fresh little minny you’ve got there.’

‘Virgin.’

‘Yes.’ I turned and looked into her eyes. They were big, green and very concerned. ‘You could still back out of this.’

‘No. I gave my word and I’d rather it was me than you.’

‘You’re very brave.’

‘No I’m not. I’m near on peeing myself. Where’s the loo?’

‘Through the back.’ Hesitation. ‘You know you’ll have to sit down?’

‘Don’t remind me. Immie?’

‘Yes, my darling?’

‘Why am I naked? What happened to all my clothes?’

‘Not sure. I think they’ll come back when you metamorphose again.’

‘Oh, is that what it’s called? What if they don’t?’ Now, that was stupid, because my original clothes were just about the least of my problems at that point in time. Immie, however, to her credit, sort of understood my confused state.

‘I’ll buy you the bestest pair of designer jeans, trainers, shirt and anything else you want,’ she breathed. ‘Anything you want, it’s yours.’

‘I suppose you can just magic them up, can’t you?’

‘Me? No, but Auntie Dolly probably could. Problem is, they start to dematerialise after a day or so and they won’t stand up to even the mildest wash cycle. Something to do with magnetic fields from the washing machine motor and if you go anywhere near a microwave oven or a mobile phone ...’

‘Bad news?’

‘Unless you’re a confirmed nudist, yes.’

‘Bit of a bugger, then?’

‘’Fraid so. But you won’t have to worry about that sort of stuff. I’ll buy you real stuff, anything you want.’

‘I just want you.’

‘And I just want you.’ Pause. ‘You still sure?’

‘No, but I’ll do it. For you.’

I sat for several seconds more, contemplating my navel and a few novelties above and below it.

‘Immie?’

‘Yes?’

‘Are these tits bigger’n yours?’ She leaned around me.

‘Yes.’

‘Oh.’

‘S’alright. I’m not jealous. Can I touch them again?’

‘Do you want to?’

‘They’re very pretty.’

‘Oh, you’re not ...?’

‘Never have been, but this is different. We’re engaged.’

‘Yeah. What’s mine is yours, that sort of thing?’

‘And mine are yours,’ Immie said. She cupped my right breast and then bent right over and kissed the nipple and something happened, something right deep down inside me and everything went wobbly.

‘Oh my!’ I gasped.

‘Oh you, yes!’ she said and straightened up again. ‘Yipes, but something’s happening here. If only there was more time.’

‘There isn’t,’ I said, looking towards the clock. It said a little after ten and I didn’t need telling that midnight was the cooking hour and there just had to be a few more details to be sorted. There were.

‘Listen, Simon.’ Aunt Holly’s voice sounded somehow different, as she stooped over me. I was wearing this sort of spidery web, multi-coloured (except trying to identify the individual colours was like trying to plait sawdust) swirly gown thing, that seemed to make all my female bits look more naked than before I’d put the thing on, and I was sitting, or half laying, on the sofa.

‘Listen, young man,’ the eldest witch said, speaking very earnestly, ‘this isn’t going to be easy and for all the crap and stuff I give out, don’t think I don’t appreciate and recognise bravery and honour when I see it.’

‘Eh? You mean me?’

‘Well, you’re the only "come fuck me" bint in the room at the moment, so I reckon it must be,’ she said, grinning. ‘Now, stop being dense and listen.’

‘I’m listening,’ I assured her.

‘Right, now you have to understand some rules,’ Aunt Holly said and her voice somehow sounded a lot younger. Not really young, but more like Dolly’s, only not so cultured.

‘Okay,’ I agreed. ‘Fire away.’

‘Firstly,’ she said, ‘the warlocks will know that you’re only a girl temporarily.’

‘They can tell?’ I asked. She shook her head.

‘No, but we have to tell them; that’s in the rules.’

‘The rules,’ I repeated, dully. ‘Of course.’

‘We also have to tell ‘em of your relationship with Immie, to prove we’re honouring our side of things.’

‘Tell me something,’ I interrupted. ‘Say you hadn’t honoured your part of this bargain, what would happen?’

‘We’d all be evicted. Prenderghast’s lot are the rightful landlords of all these woods.’

‘There are other cottages, other woods,’ I suggested.

‘Sure,’ she agreed, ‘but if a witch loses her ancient family home, she also loses her powers. T’d be worse for Immie. If she can’t return here regularly, she’d just start aging like a human and I don’t mean starting from now. Thirty years in one go to start with and then -’

‘What about you? Same thing?’ She raised an eyebrow.

‘Pile of bonemeal overnight, once it kicked in.’

‘Oh.’

‘Good fertiliser for the rhubarb, but not much good for anything else,’ she said.

‘But they wouldn’t, would they? Evict you, I mean. Not their own kind.’

Aunt Holly looked shocked. ‘Young man,’ she said, acidly, ‘we are not their kind. Witches are witches and warlocks are warlocks.’

‘I thought warlocks were male witches.’

‘Then you thought wrong, sonny Jim,’ she almost spat. ‘Male witches are male witches, pretty rare, I’ll grant you. Warlocks are a decidedly different kettle of fish. Anyway, stop distracting me. We don’t have much time left.’

‘Sorry, go on.’

‘Right.’ She licked her lips, as if to moisten them. ‘Well, as you know, they each get one dip at you, so to speak and they can keep going ’til they come, but then that’s it. Next man up, so to speak.’

‘I’ll know if they come, will I?’ All right, silly question, girls, but this was just a bit new to me, wasn’t it? Aunt Holly grimaced.

‘Leave all that to me,’ she said. ‘I’ve had enough centuries of experience to know what’s what.’

‘What will you do?’

‘Well, I’m the sort of umpire in all this and when I say time’s up, then it’s up.’

‘Provided they’ve actually -?’

‘Yes. Provided they have.’

‘That’s in the rules.’

‘In the rules,’ she confirmed. ‘Now then,’ she went on, one eye swivelling independently towards the clock, whilst the other remained fixed on me (that’s a witchy thing, too and bloody disconcerting, first time you see it done!) ‘Thirteen of the sods, despite what I said earlier, now that’s quite a challenge, ‘specially for a virgin, though I’ll give you a balm to use, once Prenderghast has proved your virginity and taken it.’

‘He gets first dibs, does he?’ Aunt Holly nodded.

‘Seniority and age,’ she said. ‘And that’s another thing. We might have misled you just a little bit.’

‘Oh?’ Stomach performs cartwheel.

‘Yes, you see they may be old, and four of them are a bit decrepit, but the others, well ...’

‘The others are all built like middle weight boxers and hung like stallions, let me guess!’ My new feminine voice went up another octave and a bit, making the row of crystal wine glasses on the dresser start to vibrate. Aunt Holly raised a gnarled finger.

‘Calm yourself,’ she said. ‘I wouldn’t go that far, but they do look younger and fitter than their ages, same as we do. I closed my eyes and began to have all sorts of weird mental pictures. Gave a whole new meaning to the term "Line Dancing".

‘So,’ the old witch continued, pursing her lips, ‘there’s a couple of things we can do here.’ She produced a tiny bottle, not unlike the one her sister had given to Ron the Delivery, except it was dark yellow, uncorked it and handed it to me.

‘Drink that down,’ she instructed and I obeyed, without even thinking. It tasted a bit like home brewed beer, but with just the hint of cinnamon.

‘What is it?’ It was a bit late to ask that now, but I needed to know.

‘Sort of female viagra,’ she replied, taking the empty bottle back. ‘In a few minutes, this will start to feel a little less, well -’

‘You mean it’ll turn me into some sort of nymphomaniac?’ Those glasses were rattling dangerously again.

‘No, nothing quite that extreme,’ she said. ‘It’ll just relax you and sort of help make you forget you aren’t really a female. Make it easier to accept what would otherwise be an ordeal.’

‘It’s going to be that, anyway,’ I pointed out.

‘Hard work, sure,’ she agreed, ‘but now we come to the last part and maybe the most important. They have to do it standing up. You know,’ she said, as she saw my eyes wandering, ‘knee tremblers. Your back and front can’t touch the ground, though your hands, arms and knees can, so they can do it doggie fashion. They can also ask you to use your mouth on them, but they’re not allowed to make a meal of it, if you get my drift.’

‘Well, aren’t I the lucky one there!’ I exclaimed.

‘Shut up,’ she said, ‘and pay attention. You’ve had sex as a man, so this shouldn’t all be foreign stuff to you. You can shorten all this with a bit of feminine wiles and cunning.’

‘Why not just use magic?’ I stopped. ‘Against the rules?’

‘Do shut up, you silly child. You can touch them anywhere you like and even dig your nails in. You’ll see how long they are now. ‘Cept you can’t gouge and you can’t bite, well, not in the tenderest vital bits, anyway. A bit of wildcat in heat stuff is okay and it’ll bring ‘em off quicker and get you out of there all the sooner.

‘You can also do the same usually if you just stroke their balls and then squeeze ‘em a bit, wriggle your arse against their stomachs, if they’re doing it from the rear, or play with their daft little nipples if it’s the other way around. You’ve also got a set of muscles down there,’ she added, nodding to my mistily visible female sex, ‘that can wreak the most havoc.

‘It takes practice, usually, but that potion I’ve given you will help a lot, so just start getting into the habit of clenching. A good set of muscles can reduce a man to jelly in seconds.’

I was just starting to get the beginnings of second thoughts at this, but then a funny thing happened. The idea of feeling a man’s erect penis in side me for the first time suddenly began to appear interesting. Vaguely, I registered that the potion must have begun to work, but now my thoughts were on other things, so that when Holly added, almost as an afterthought, that Prenderghast actually got two goes with me, which they’d somehow forgotten to mention earlier, it didn’t seem to concern me as it should have done.

‘Lastly,’ Aunt Holly was saying, ‘if you can overbalance any of them, so that either your bum, shoulder blades, stomach or boobs touches the grass, they have to stop. Hips count, too, but not shouderblades, for some reason, so just hope none of ‘em thinks about playing cat’s cradle with you.’

Fourteen, I mused, idly. I can do that, gissa job!

‘But if you do overbalance ‘em, make it look like an accident. There’s nothing in the rules specifically against doin’ it deliberately, but knowing Prenderghast, he’ll try to call foul.’

Fourteen!

Aunt Dolly appeared in the doorway, dressed now in a long black dress and cape and carrying a real pointy hat, on which were inscribed several curious symbols. Her facial makeup seemed a lot paler now, too.

‘Ready?’ She did her sleight of hand bit and produced a pair of high heeled shoes, like see through slippers, the sort of thing that you’d think of as being Cinderella’s glass slippers, except they had very high heels indeed. She stooped, slid my feet into them and fastened the tiny clasps.

‘I won’t be able to stand in these, let alone walk,’ I complained, but my new body seemed to adapt to the extreme footwear without complaint and I found I balanced and moved, not just easily, but gracefully, the guazy dress swirling about my knees.

‘You look very pretty.’ Immie was standing in the doorway, smiling. I tried to smile back and, to my surprise, managed it.

‘I see Cinderella is ready for the ball,’ Aunt Polly said, hurrying in past her godsdaughter, wrapped in a cloak similar to Dolly’s, but with her own hat already on her head. being that much shorter than her younger sibling, she could pass under the door lintel without fear of knocking it off.

‘Balls, plural, more like,’ Aunt Holly said. ‘She reached behind the sofa and produced another hat and cape, which she donned without further ado.

‘What about me?’ I asked. ‘I’ll freeze out there? This dress is all very beautiful, but you could shoot peas through it.’

‘I’ve got a cape here for you,’ Immie said and I saw that she was holding up a pale yellow, velvety looking garment. ‘You’ll have to take it off for, er, you know?’

‘Yes, I do know,’ I said, but I was still smiling. ‘Probably have plenty to keep me warm by then, though,’ I smirked.

The clearing was set about ten minutes walk further into the woods and, as we approached through the thinning trees, the flickering firelight told us that our adversaries - my adversaries? - were already waiting for us, gathered beneath the overhanging branch of the single tree that dominated the otherwise empty grass circle.

During the short journey, we had said little, but Immie walked next to me, our hands firmly locked together, mine now only the same size as hers, or thereabouts. Occasionally, she squeezed gently, as if to transfer courage and her support. What really needed support was my new breasts, which bobbed and swayed alarmingly at every step I took.

I knew which one of the black garbed figures was Prenderghast without the need for introductions. He stood head, if not shoulders, above his companions and high, distinguished cheek bones, a firm jaw and, I saw, with a little flutter from my stomach, a very well muscled body. Well, I thought, as Aunt Holly went over to do the preliminaries, at least if I’m to lose my virginity, he looks like a man worthy of the task.

Aunt Polly walked to one side and found a tree stump on which to sit, which she did, her hands clasped before her on the handle of her walking stick, which she planted firmly into the grass. Immie and I stood, side by side with the reassuring figure of Aunt Dolly, who seemed to be watching the proceedings with some amusement.

‘He won’t like it,’ she said, out of the corner of her mouth. ‘He won’t like it, not one little bit, sweeties, but he knows he can’t do a thing about it.’ The tall warlock was talking in a low voice, his features wrinkling with displeasure, hand gestures confirming Dolly’s summation.

‘The rules,’ I mumbled, dreamily. I could hear Immie counting out loud, quietly.

‘Yep, all thirteen,’ she confirmed, in a loud whisper.

Fourteen!

‘You know about Prenderghast’s bonus rights?’ she asked. I nodded.

Yes, fourteen.

‘The rules say twice, at his discretion, but that’s just a formality. No warlock can resist the chance of a free shag with a fairy, not even a temporary one.’

‘It’s frustrating,’ Aunt Dolly murmured. ‘I could whip up a little something contagious that’s give ‘em a few weeks on antibiotics, ‘cept it’d be nastier still for Simon.’

‘You mean Celeste,’ Immie said. I looked at her.

‘Celeste?

‘Yes, that’s your fairy name for tonight. Can’t call a pretty thing like you Simon, anyway.’

‘Wouldn’t seem right, I suppose,’ I sighed. ‘Celeste. Yes, it’s a pretty name.’

‘Suits you very well, sweetie,’ Dolly smiled and I saw that she was not being ironic. ‘Bracing up?’ she asked. I nodded.

‘How much longer before -’

‘Not long.’ Immie squeezed my hand tighter. ‘Look, they’ve both got their rule books out now.’ Both Holly and Prenderghast were holding small booklets and peering closely at them by the light of a candle held by one of the other warlocks.

‘You did this to us before,’ Prenderghast said, his voice suddenly rising, so that his words carried clearly now. ‘One hundred and forty seven years ago, if my memory serves me well, and it does. I say there’s a barring clause that prevents using a substitue twice in the same quarter millenium.’

‘Bollocks!’ Now Aunt Holly’s voice had risen to match his. ‘If it was the same substitute, maybe, ‘cause the rule states we’d have to get your agreement, but there’s nothing about how many subs we can use overall. And, if you read those bloody runes carefully, my bad man, you’ll see there’d be nothing to prevent us offering Imelda to begin with and bringing on Celeste at half time, or anywhen else, for that matter!’ I felt myself stiffen and Immie, too.

‘Course, that ain’t goin’ t’happen,’ the old lady said, fiercely. ‘Otherwise, why go to all this fuckin’ trouble in the first place. Thought you had our godsdaughter for the takin’, you dirty old man. met your sort before.’

‘You can say that again,’ I heard Dolly mutter and for an instant, her cool facade dropped and she giggled, girlishly. ‘She could chew him up and spit him out as boot polish, even now.’

‘Then why doesn’t she?’ I asked. Dolly let out a little coughy sort of noise.

‘Because,’ she said, ‘if a witch does that with a warlock, he can insist on the same thing again every anniversary, except when she’s a virgin witch on her first night, as it were. Besides,’ Dolly added, Prenderghast has got more sense, Holly’s past her look-by date and it has to be a virgin, witch or fairy.’

‘Oh.’ Somehow, I was actually beginning to understand these rules a bit now and they made a sort of sense. Almost logical, really. Not quite, but almost. meanwhile, the two greatest living authorities on the rules were still engaged in intellectual combat, centre stage - or centre clearing - and it seemed like Aunt Holly was winning.

‘Okay,’ Prenderghast’s voice boomed out, ‘bring the little slut over here and let’s look at her in some light. Oh, not so little, I see,’ he said, as I stepped forward, still holding Immie’s hand. ‘And not all that’s the shoes, boys,’ he chuckled. He was right, for although this new body was smaller than my original one, it was still quite tall, perhaps three inches taller than Immie.

‘We like ‘em tall, don’t we, boys,’ he said, mockingly.

‘Nice tits, too,’ said a voice from the dark ranks at his back.

‘’N pretty.’

‘Goblin lips,’ said another - I think. I mean, I think that’s what he said.

‘Turn her round!’

‘Yeah, gissa twirl, sexy!’

‘Show us yer arse. Blimey!’

I’d begun to spin around, very slowly and provocatively, showing myself off brazenly, and without, to my vaguely registered surprise, any embarrassment whatsoever. I completed a turn and stepped forward, planting my high heeled feet deliberately.

‘Right,’ I said, ‘you’ve seen me, so I think it’s only right that I should see what you’re made of. Show us your cocks, boys!’

‘Atta girl.’ That from Aunt Holly. ‘Bunch of bloody cocktail sticks, this lot. Well!’ she snapped, placing her hands on her hips. ‘You heard what the lady said.’

‘That ain’t no lady,’ came a snigger.

‘Drop ‘em, you lascivious bunch of pig stickers!’ Holly truly roared. An acorn or two fell out of the tree and landed amongst them, further confusing their ranks.

‘Well, here’s mine, darlin’,’ one more adventurous of the warlocks said. He stepped forward, opening the front of his robe and pulling down the baggy black boxer shorts he was wearing under it. I saw he looked about thirty something, but his weapon wasn’t going to match that, not even in centimetres and not even once it was fully awake. Six inches -fifteen centimetres - maybe a wee bit more, but not much. Nothing supernatural there, I thought and felt a slight surge of disappointment.

The next one looked more promising. Half erect already, he might muster eight inches, at a push, and the third looked like he might go an inch better. But that was as good as it got. Nine more cocks, sixty inches total between them, the longest probably under eight inches.

‘Is that it?’ I said, tossing my head and flailing golden curls in all directions. It hadn’t been that long five minutes ago, surely? Oh, don’t be silly, I told myself, it must have been. You just had too many other things to think about ...

‘’Ere, she shaves her twat!’ a voice cried, having retreated to the anonymity of the main body again.

‘Looks like a bit of a goer,’ said another. ‘You sure that’s not a real, well -’

‘Yeah, she looks real enough to me, Pren? The old crone’s not having one over on us, is she?’

‘You call me an old crone again,’ Aunt Holly spat, jabbing a finger towards the featureless line, ‘and I’ll spell you so your balls make bell noises every time you walk.’

‘Can’t do that,’ said a different voice. ‘Against the rules.’

‘Try me?’ Aunt Holly stared into the gloom. ‘As long as I don’t do it before the rites over and the bargain sealed, I can do anything I like with you lot.’

‘Can’t.’

‘With most of you, anyway,’ Holly said. ‘You only think you’ve got real power. There’s only one of you here got that and it ain’t you, sonny fuckin’ Jim, so shut your rabbit, or you’ll find out.’

‘She sounds like she means it, Joe,’ a different voice again said. ‘Wouldn’t push me luck, not if I was you. Besides, the other sister’s over there. No, not the old sort, the tall one.’

‘And? Should I tremble in my bootees, or what?’

‘You spend too much time in your bloody archives,’ the other voice said again. ‘Dunno what sort of world you live in, Joe, but it ain’t the real one, that’s for sure. The tall sort is only a half sister. She’s a Fitch.’

‘Oh fuck!’ A pause. ‘Sorry missus, no offence.’

‘None taken.’ Dolly’s languid drawl slid through the night air like a beautiful, venomous snake.

‘Buy yer a drink after this, if yer like.’

‘Joe, your pushing your fucking luck. Be warned.’

‘Not at all,’ Dolly said, her voice dripping sweet acid. ‘I’d be delighted. In fact, you can all buy me a drink, boys. I drink Bollinger, by the bottle. Oh, don’t worry, I know the pubs won’t have any round here, but you can just give me the money and I’ll get it later. Now, if you like, just in case I forget about your kind offers in all the excitement.’

‘Fuck you, Joe,’ muttered one of the earlier speakers. There were a few more grunts and groans and a general rustling of capes, interspersed with the sound of bank notes being counted.

‘Ah, sweet music of the night,’ Dolly purred.

‘Got change of a fiver, Mick? Smallest I’ve got on me.’

‘Eh? I told you you didn’t live in the real fuckin’ world, Joe, now I know I was right. Lady said Bollinger. That’s champagne.’

‘S’only like sweet cider ...’

‘Pillock.’

‘Kick his arse for me Ben, you’re nearer. Three tens, Joe. The brown ones.’

‘That’s his underwear,’ sniggered someone.

‘Fuck you.’

‘Fuck yerself.’

‘What a useless load of woolly headed, half-witted, yokels you lot are!’ Ooops! That was me. What the hell was I doing? That couldn’t be me, could it? Yes it could.

‘Pay the lady the money and let’s get on with this, shall we? It must be nearly midnight.’

‘I make it five minutes to.’

‘I’ve got ten to.’

‘You’ve got a cheap watch, you mean. I told you not to trust that Thomas Hardy bloke. Looked shifty.’

‘Yeah, I thought that. Two guineas for a watch that loses a minute every forty years. Bloody crook. I’d give him Jude the piggin’ Obscure if I were you, Tren an’ I wouldn’t do it under no greenwood tree, neither.’

‘Will you rabble shut up!’ I snapped, holding out one slender arm and, as if by magic, they did. Well, almost.

‘Sorry.’

‘Ahem!’

‘Yeah, sorry.’

‘Mutter.’

‘What?’

‘I said, "Me too", sorry.’

‘That’s better,’ I said, when they were finally silent. ‘Now, we all know the rules and Mistress Lanesend is quite right about them. So, you either get me, or it’s back to whatever holes you’ve all crawled out from for tonight and reaquaint yourself with man’s best non-canine friend.’

‘Eh? Wasser onabout?’

‘Wankin’.’

‘Oh.’

‘Wouldn’t know about that sort of thing.’

‘Bollocks!’ They were off again.

‘Yes, bollocks,’ I said, firmly. ‘As you’ve all been so kind to demonstrate, I’ve seen you all have them and a sorry looking load of plucked chickens they look like.’ I should have said this earlier, but warlocks, for whatever reason, depilate their genital regions.

‘The question is,’ I said, ‘are you going to make use of them, or just talk a lot more of them.’

‘Whoar! She’s a sharp one.’

‘Dominant, too. I like a dominant woman.’

‘Maybe she’ll whip you, if you beg nicely.’

‘Perverts!’

‘Wanker!’

‘Am not, too!’

‘Badger shagger!’

‘I told you that in confidence!’

‘There was a little vole and ‘e ‘ad a little hole ...’

‘Rabbit, rabbit, rabbit, rabbit ...’

‘Bunny, bunny, bunny ...’

They were like a load of great unruly kids. Nothing to be scared of at all. Schoolboys, with schoolboy humour. I actually felt sorry for them.

‘Shut it!’ I drew myself up to the remaining height I possessed. ‘I’m sure there’s something in the rules about time wasting and a few of you are heading for red cards, my lads.

‘Told you she was dominant!’

‘Stow it!’

‘I’m not going to warn you again. Any more of that and you’d get more fun out of screwing a sex doll than you will out of me.’

‘His has got a puncture anyway, miss.’ See, told you they were like schoolboys.

‘You!’ I snapped, jabbing a finger in the general direction of the last voice. ‘Yes, you. Mr Puncture. Step out here, where I can see you.’ More shuffling and at this point it suddenly occurred to me that Prederghast had remained silent throughout all this. I cast a sideways glance towards him and saw that he was leaning against the tree trunk, arms folded, tears of laughter rolling down his cheeks. One rather skinny and short warlock shuffled into the firelight, stooping low as if to make himself as small as possible. or so I thought.

‘You,’ I said, jabbing him full in the chest with one of my newly aquired talons - sheesh, it was an inch long now! - ‘You are an ignorant, cheeky, insulting, dirty minded -’

‘Don’t forget lazy, miss!’ A glare towards the huddle silenced that one.

‘- cowardly, stupid and chauvinistic little pig,’ I finished. ‘And those are probably your good points. Stand up straight when I’m talking to you.’

‘I am standing up straight,’ he muttered, his face reddening.

Oh.’

‘His mother was half dwarf, miss.’

‘Thank you,’ I said. ‘Let him speak for himself. He seems to have plenty to say usually. How tall are you?’ I’d been so busy focussing on penis size earlier, I hadn’t really noticed the dimensions of the bits they were attached to. Quite how I could have missed this one.

‘Four feet eleven, miss.’

‘But he’s brought a box with him, Miss, so he’ll be able to manage.’ I decided to ignore that and the low chorus of sniggering that followed it.

‘What’s your name?’

‘Nigel Halfditch, Miss.’

‘His brother’s called Doug, and he was on short time,’ someone quipped, but from the accompanying chorus of groans, I guessed it was a joke they’d all heard before. Probably centuries before.

‘And how old are you, Master Halfditch?’

‘Erm, one hundred and seventy one, Miss.’

‘Ever had sex before?’

‘Erm ..’

‘Well?’

‘Three times, yes.’

‘Three times,’ I repeated. ‘Let me guess, every forty nine years, right here in this clearing?’ I sighed. ‘That must be very frustrating for you.’ I meant that, genuinely. He looked such a forlorn little chap, standing there, clutching his box in the folds of his robe.

‘I’ve got a low sex drive. Miss,’ he said, by way of excuse.

‘That’s because it’s nearer the ground than everyone else’s.’

‘Right. That man. Out here as well.’

‘She’s very good at this, Immie,’ I heard Dolly saying, just behind my shoulder. ‘She could earn a fortune out there in the bad real world. Keep going, Celeste, sweetie. You’ll have ‘em eating out of your hand in a minute.’

‘Or somewhere else! Heh-heh!’ I hadn’t seen Aunt Holly moving, but she had circled around and now come up behind me and I sensed Polly had also joined my little entourage. I also sensed they were enjoying this as much as Prenderghast was.

‘You,’ I said, to the slightly balding warlock who had joined Nigel Halfditch. He looked pale and what little hair he had was thin, gingery and wispy.

‘Name!’ I felt like a headmistress.

‘Erum.’

‘Speak up,’ I commanded. He looked confused.

‘No, that’s his name, Miss,’ someone volunteered. ‘Mistle Erum.’

‘Well, Master Erum,’ I said, ‘you will go to the back of the queue. Thirteenth in line. Master Halfditch here will be second, behind Mr Prenderghast. I assume it’s okay for me to select the running order, apart from your good self, that is?’ I raised my eyes across to Prenderghast, who waved a hand to signify that it was.

‘Oh, miss,’ Mistle Erum whined. ‘I was last last time. It’s all, well -’

‘And how do you think it will feel for me, you selfish little male piggy, eh? Like a wellington boot full of cold custard after it’s had someone’s sweaty foot in it all day, I expect. Don’t expect any sympathy. Get back in line.

‘Now, anyone else got any smart-arsed remarks?’ I challenged them. One hand went up.

‘Yes?’

‘Why’s Halfditch got second dibs after the boss?’

‘Because I said so, ALL RIGHT? Next question?’ there wasn’t one.

‘Splendid,’ breathed Dolly, into my left ear. ‘What a jolly topping show, old gel. Couldn’t have done better meself.’

‘An’ that’s sayin’ somethin’-’

‘Holly!’

 

The risk of a second bout of quarrelling breaking out, this time behind me, was averted as Prenderghast decided that it was time for him to take charge of the proceedings. He strightened up and strode across to stand beside me, making me feel suddenly very small.

‘Right then, chaps,’ he began, ‘what do we all think? Do we accept Mistress Celeste as a suitable subsitute in tonight’s proceedings?’

‘Ooh! Mistress! That has a real ring to it!’ A gesture from Prenderghast dissuaded them from another round of babbling. Almost.

‘I’m in.’

‘Not yet you ain’t. bags I before you, this time.’

‘Me too - in I mean.’

‘I’ll have some.’

‘Yeah, well, beats badgers any -’

‘You promised, you bastard!’ Another gesture and order was restored properly.

‘Mistress Celeste will select the order,’ Prenderghast said. ‘She’s entitled to five minutes rest between each session, as it were and she will choose from the remainder each time during that period.’

‘She gets fifteen minutes at the half way stage,’ Holly prompted, from the side now. ‘And anyone tries to join the line again, I’m not so old I can’t count to twelve. Unlike most of you lot, I don’t stop when I reach the end of my fingers and thumbs, right!’ A general mumbling at that.

‘And you gets a maximum of ten minutes foreplay only,’ the old witch continued. ‘Once you’ve actually penetrated, ahem, then it’s as long as it takes. Overall time limit is dawn, but with you lot I don’t think that’ll come into it.’

‘I can’t wait to come into it ...’

‘Very funny, I don’t think.’

‘Lads, lads!’ Prenderghast silenced them again, but the shifting eyes told me they’d rather it was me doing the bossing about. ‘You all heard that and you all know the ground rules.’

‘Put simply, no ground,’ Holly added. ‘Any grassing and that’s it. Go off and finish yourself in the bushes, but don’t expect leniency.’

‘Right then,’ the chief warlock said, smiling down at me. It really was a very pleasant smile - for a warlock. ‘It seems we are in unanimous agreement. I was very impressed, Mistress Celeste, very impressed indeed. Now, if you’d care to step over to the tree with me, we can begin. Sorry about the lad’s behaviour.’

‘Forget it,’ I said. ‘They obviously don’t get out much.’

‘Not much, no,’ he agreed. ‘Difficult really. There aren’t many places you can take them back to a second time.’

‘I should imagine not,’ I said, conversationally. ‘Must be hard work for you, keeping them in any sort of order.’ he nodded, sighing.

‘My life’s toil,’ he said. ‘My life’s toil.’

* * *

 

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