Witch Trial

by S.B.

Tags: #dom:female #f/f #f/m #fantasy #supernatural #witches

In the late 1600s, Young Alicia Flanagan is put on trial in the city of Boxtroth, accused of witchcraft, but something far more sinister may be at the root of it all.

This story results from a special request/commission by tagggg. Please enjoy.

Believe it or not, magic is real, and so are the rumors of a war raging for the heart and soul of Humanity for countless eons. You may have heard a few, tales of two opposing ideologies squaring off in the night. On one hand, the defenders of the supremacy of male birthright, and on the other, the worshippers of the Divine Feminine, determined on eroding their false sense of power and creating the foundations of a perfect Femdom society. They are Brothers and Sisters locked in a game of chess. Sometimes, the pieces move, slowly. Sometimes, they do not move at all. There are occasions though when events unfold in unexpected ways, turning an impasse into an unlikely win or an untimely defeat.

This is the story of one such pivotal moment, a simple tale that is anything but. This is a story of the Brotherhood of Proud Men, and the Witch Coven of the Crimson Robe.

* * *

City of Boxtroth, 1693,

Alicia Flanagan entered the tribunal, hands tied behind her back, and fresh cuts stretching from her curved forehead to her plum cherry lips. At age twenty-three, the olive-haired beauty with medium-sized breasts that looked good on any dress, and a peculiar birthmark shaped like a devil’s horn on her left clavicle, was the first woman in ages to receive the “honor” of being called a “living incarnation of Evil”. The illustrious Mayor Robert Flanagan, her foster father, and known to all for his never ending parade of flamboyant attires had chosen her to be the battered face of his new power play, a feat that would secure his rightful position as the undisputed leader of all.

“You’re a witch!” He had said one beautiful day, instructed by those he served without hesitation. Besides being a cunning politician, the good old Mayor was both a Brother and a Father, two titles only given to true zealots.

“You’re right,” Alicia replied, a confession that, more than elicit surprise, made him rub his hands with glee. There stood the perfect opportunity to further control and dominate the sheepish mass of minds, just like they had foretold. The young woman was arrested on the spot and beaten to the ground until the spectacle of mass propaganda was put together. In a little over twenty-four hours, the stage was lit, the curtains spread wide open. Fiction was about to play the role of Justice.

“Good people of Boxtroth,” the Mayor began, his thunderous voice echoing along the walls of the ancient church now turned into an improvised court of law. “It is with the greatest of sorrows only a father figure can experience, that I am forced to dishonor my beautiful adopted child, Alicia Flanagan, for she is none other than a concupiscent temptress, a practitioner of the Dark Arts, a witch. I’ve ignored the obvious signs for a long time but now that your crops are dying and the river running through the city threatens to turn red again, I can no longer turn a blind eye to the fact that the cause for all your afflictions has always lived under my roof. I’m ashamed of my own fouls yet confident that, once her guilt is proven and balance restored via her lawful execution, we shall find the prosperity we’ve been missing once again.”

A round of applause intertwined with loud whistles and exaggerated foot stomping caused the main chamber to tremble. The gullible populace was as excited as it could be to blame it all on the female scapegoat, not so long ago one of the most esteemed members of the community, and now a pariah everyone wanted to spit on. Behind the Mayor, sat three Councilmen wearing black long shirts with a silver buckle strapped around their waists. Two of them were also Brothers, and the other was the most simpleton of simpletons, whose only job was to nod and corroborate the decisions they made. Alicia kept quiet while her surrogate father talked, a hint of a smile blooming in her lips. She was enjoying the show.

“Although I know the weight my word carries with you,” Robert continued. “I don’t expect you to believe in what I’ve just told you based on it alone which is why this will be a fair trial, with fair testimonies and fair witnesses. However, I’m certain they will only prove the veracity of these proceedings for the truth can’t remain hidden for long, and foulness can’t forever cloak itself under a veil of beauty. Let this fair audience begin by bringing forth the first witness.”

It was Matthew Stillwater, caretaker of the Flanagan Estate for over twenty-years. The late fifties man was as God-fearing as one could be, never leaving the house without her mother’s old cross hanging from his elongated neck and he had horrible stories to tell about spiraling lights in the dead of the night coming out of her bedroom, combined with the sounds of uncanny incantations that made his knees tremble.

“I could feel my will becoming intoxicated by her words,” he said. “It was terrifying.”

“Thank you for such a powerful yet dreadful account, Matthew, and may your soul remain safe from evil influences,” The Mayor said before summoning the next witness, one of Alicia’s closest friends.

The young Daniel Hawthorne was the only son of the town’s blacksmith, much to the man’s chagrin for he possessed none of the skills necessary to carry on the family business. Daniel was nineteen and a virgin in anything other than proper sexual intercourse. All the boys knew how much he loved to take it in the ass, with his mouth coming in second place. Despite his own libidinous nature, all the older women adored him for the striking resemblance to her late mother, the finest healer that had ever lived. They expected much from his ways with herbs and other natural implements but what he loved doing the most was brewing male potency tonics to sell under the counter. The Mayor was one of his most trusted clients.

“Remember a few weeks ago when old Matthew babbled nonstop nonsense like ‘the Goddesses are coming for us all’?” He asked. “Alicia was there when his tongue became unclean. It’s obvious she cast a spell on him. because he refused to satisfy her lewd desires. She’ll do the same to all of us if you don’t put an end to her wickedness today!”

More applauses, with a few boos and rotten pieces of fruit flying across the church. The squashed tomato left a giant stain on Alicia’s beautiful brown and white corseted dress. It was a good thing she was restrained, otherwise she could use the foul juices to cast a curse on them all.

“Dreadful, I know,” the Mayor proceeded with the charade backed by the three Councilmen in their wooden seats. “It’s dreadful to hear these accounts knowing extra vigilance could have prevented them and yet, despite the fairness that guides us, it’s becoming increasingly clear that young Alicia is nothing but a devilish tool!”

“I’m sure the only devil in this room is you, father,” Alicia said out loud.

“Did she…? Blasphemy!” the audience shouted, feverish voices amplified by unnatural hatred. “Kill her! Kill her now!”

“Be silent, witch! You have no permission to address this court!” One of the Councilman noted while the other two motioned their agreement, sweaty palms facing downwards.

“And why not if it’s as fair as you say it is?” she grinned. “Am I to assume your concept of fairness does not include giving the accused the chance to speak for herself to repel these atrocious claims?”

“There’s nothing to repel when you yourself have already admitted being a witch!” The Mayor said.

“That is true. I am a witch, and the Coven of the Crimson Robe sends its regards to you all!” Alicia replied, tapping her left foot. The ropes binding her turned loose and slithered away as if they had been hissing snakes all along. Everyone gasped and shuddered, suspended in the realization they had just witnessed a real display of magic. Alicia smiled at them, a dancing fire emerging from her fingertips. “One moment, please.”

She rubbed the burning nails on her open wounds cauterizing them immediately. The residual scar tissue blackened and fell off, leaving no mark behind. She did the same to the rope burns on her wrists. “Well then… where were we?”

“Seize her now!” The Mayor commanded. “Don’t let the witch perform any more of her foul tricks.”

“Not so fast,” Alicia said, raising both hands in the air to create a powerful energy barrier around her. “It’s not nice to interrupt a Lady. You’ve had your chance to talk. Now, I shall have mine.”

“How’s she doing this?” Peter Mahoney, the oldest Councilman, muttered.

“There must be others of her kin inside the room,” the Mayor whispered in reply. Sweat dripped from his frowned forehead as he scoured the mass of men and women who had gathered for the trial. There was a fleeting impression of a crimson robe right next to his beloved wife, and another by the front door. He blinked, and the impression faded. Panic build up inside the chamber, but the imminent upheaval came to a standstill when Alicia talked again.

“Fear not, good people of Boxtroth, for unlike what they have told you, we are here not to doom, but rather enlighten. For far too long, you’ve been the victims of a foul deed, an experiment orchestrated by a sinister group of men who stop at nothing in their quest for absolute power. Your crops are dying and your rivers are being poisoned because of said experiment, but the worst part is that you too are dying or, at least, a part of you, is These men have been keeping you sedated, submissive, using panic and mass hysteria as tools of your undoing. The good news is that you can be free. Our Coven is here to offer you this freedom.”

“The spawn of Satan lies!” Matthew Stillwater shouted. “Her notion of freedom is to enslave us all!”

Alicia produced a vial filled with a semi-transparent purple substance and made it spin in the air.

“You are already slaves except you don’t know it. Or perhaps some of you do, deep down inside. They have tampered your water supplies, corrupted your dreams and memories, not by magic, but through science. You’ve been drinking this for the last ten months and, as a result, men became more domineering and aggressive, and women meeker and meeker. But not anymore, I say! People of Boxtroth, heed my warning and renounce the chemical and mental shackles they’ve imposed upon you!”

“Silence!” The Mayor screamed only to be the one muzzled. A wave of bliss traversed the stagnant air and, upon contact with his cracked lips, caused them to glue to one another. He tried to gasp, but no sound came. The only thing he felt was the energy tendrils of the spell gliding down his throat and wrapping themselves around his genitalia. The sudden sexual outburst almost made him lose his balance and kneel before her.

The population was torn between horror and astonishment. A farmer threw a pitchfork against Alicia but it ricocheted in the rippling shield before hitting the floor with a clang. A few others dashed for the nearest exits, discovering them locked. They were sealed in.

“We’re all going to die,” someone bawled.

“No one will die,” a woman’s voice echoed. Alicia recognized it right away and turned around. It was Janice Summers, her handmaiden since the age of ten, and the one responsible for teaching her the secret ways of the Coven. Her customary green dress had disappeared, a simple illusion to hide her true vestments. Crimson looked better on her, anyway. “The Coven is not your enemy. The Brotherhood is. Alicia allowed herself to be captured at my behest so we could gather you here. We are proud witches and servants of the Divine Feminine and this is the time of your liberation.”

“Janice is a witch, too?” a mass of confused voices mumbled. The situation on the inside was close to explode so the other members of the Coven in disguise made themselves known. There were ten, strategically placed inside the room, with Alicia at the center. A once invisible combination of earth, salt, and ash, materialized with them, forming a magic circle like no other for the ultimate conflagration of Power.

“Chemistry can be overcome by magic and magic can make you see the unseen within you,” Alicia said. The suspended vial flew past the terrified Councilmen and splintered against the wall, burning the ink away. She motioned the other Sisters, and the room shone red.

The visual phenomenon that followed was hard to describe. For every ten different people, there were ten different versions to what was going on. Some claimed they saw a massive pulsating rose irradiating from young Alicia’s body and touching everyone else at once in a single burst of light. Others described a mass of crimson clouds hovering over their heads before raining down in a deluge of delight. Muffled moans were everywhere, and orgasms rioting from inside out.

The women came to realize their clothes were becoming tighter, urging them to open their blouses, raise their dresses up high. Hidden legs revealed their splendor, proud bosoms inched forward. It was a breath of fresh air that made them smile once more. As for the men, the sensations unleashed were twofold: increased arousal and sensitivity in every region of their dripping bodies, and a reverent fervor filing their eyes as they gazed upon the wonderful ladies they had mistreated for so long. Not all of them were Brothers, but they would all be united in the single purpose of promoting the will of the Feminine in the days to come.

Janice and Alicia rejoiced when the spell phased out, the stringent odor of the Brotherhood’s brainwashing drug fading with it. The older woman reached for her protégé to plant a languid kiss on her eager lips. “You did well, my dear. I’m proud of you.”

“How proud are you?” Alicia asked, eyes twinkling. “Proud enough to worship me right here and now?”

“Tempting but there’s something we must tend to first, don’t you think?”

“Ah yes, dear father…”

The two witches moved towards the Mayor, now shivering with ecstasy from the top of his glistening bald skull to the tips of his hairy toes. He was in no different state from all the other men, their minds betrayed by their bodily urges, foul desires of masturbation and undeserved ejaculation. His mouth quivered, his chest wobbled, his cock hardened. It would always do that at the sight of crimson.

“You’ve gone too far this time, Brothers,” Janice said. “You left us no other choice than to put an end to your abomination once and for all. We know you have a base of operations in the vicinities of Boxtroth. You will tell us where it is right now.”

“I… I don’t know what you’re… talking about…” Robert Flanagan retorted.

“It’s funny you think you can lie to your superiors,” Alicia intervened. “Don’t worry, dear father. Unlike your ways, femininity is just because it’s right, and you’ll grow to worship the feet that walk over you as a man should. The women of this city are already seeing the light, and many will be fine additions to the Coven. In time, you’ll worship them, too.”

Robert sank to the ground, a single tear rolling down his left eye. It was the product of a mix of sadness and joy, kneeling at the threshold of devotion. Once a slave to false ideals, he had received a chance of redemption under the Coven’s watchful crimson eye. Deliverance had never felt so contradictory, and yet so overwhelming.

The other Sisters gathered near them and watched in glee as the newly awakened manifestations of the Divine Feminine brought the horny males to heel. A wet pussy flashed inside the church, followed by another, and another. Unworthy tongues stretched out to greet them. Torn clothes flew across the room, perfect bodies singing in unison.

It would be a night to remember.

((I hope you had fun with this little tale. I always do when writing. Want to have more fun with me? Support my site - https://www.sbspellbound.net - through my patreon page - https://www.patreon.com/sbspellbound - and it can be yours, because you’ve yet to see everything I can create. Feedback is always welcome at my e-mail address, too: sbstories@hotmail.com. Thanks in advance.))

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