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Dragon Sweat: Scroll IV 
By David Shaw (david@f-e-mail.com)

***

A real fairy godmother can make sure you have a ball,
not just go to one. (M+F, fantasy)

*** 

As always, it was the dawn chorus of the birds in 
the trees behind the hut which woke Hal. Without 
having to open his eyes he knew that the very 
first colors of dawn were beginning to stain the 
blackness of the eastern wall through the chinks 
in the planks. Yet, even though he knew where he 
was, Hal's head was still full of the most 
incredible dream of any night of his life. A 
beautiful witch, a shape changing familiar, the 
same beautiful woman kneeling at his feet calling 
herself his slave -- and that was the least part 
of his imaginings! Gregory beaten down in a 
sorcerers' duel, the King's hands burnt off, Hal 
standing under the eyes of the collected nobility 
as Gregory's robe had fallen upon him! What fever 
must he have been in to have culled up such 
madness? 

Indeed, it seemed he had not yet entirely broken 
through out of night fevers for his body seemed 
to be clad in some garment of impossible 
smoothness whilst underneath him was a bed so 
deep and soft that only a god or goddess lying on 
a cloud could ever have known its equal. 

Hal's sleep glued eyelids suddenly broke open. 
Darkness still enveloped the interior of the hut. 
He stretched out a hand and felt around him. A 
pillow underneath his head almost as big as 
himself, a pillow of a softness and depth to 
match the bed he was resting in. His fingers 
touched a thin wooden post rising high above the 
bed, with whorls and twists cut into the surface. 

He must be still dreaming, still far away in 
another world, for how else could he be waking up 
in a noble's canopied bed whilst still inside the 
dragon hut? Perhaps he could no longer tell the 
difference between real and false. But mad or 
bewitched, Hal knew he needed a piss with a 
desperation that made his groin ache with pain. 

He didn't so much get out of the bed as slide 
over the side, like an otter slithering down a 
steep river bank, into the loose straw on his 
hands and knees. The stabbing ends of the stalks 
and the beaten earth beneath them were reminders 
of every other day he could remember since he'd 
begun sleeping in the hut -- reminders that at 
least something in his life was still the same. 
He stood up and shook his head in bewilderment. 
Whatever he was wearing, it felt as fine spun as 
a spider's web and was hanging like a monk's cowl 
around his rock hard cock. He moaned again -- he 
needed to break his locked flesh quickly before 
his bladder burst. 

Something else was moving behind him in the shed, 
something between a shadow and a sinuous 
presence, something which padded more lightly 
than a stalking lynx over and around the piles of 
straw. Hal strained his arms to lift one of the 
sagging doors and swing it open. Josephine's head 
nudged against his back as the gap widened, and 
then she was brushing past him, her wings 
stretching out as soon as there was room enough. 
As the dragon launched herself into a sky 
littered with slowly fading stars Hal seized the 
bucket on the side of the well, dropped it down 
the shaft and quickly hauled it up again after 
hearing a splash below. The chill water inside 
the bucket he slopped over his prick, the sudden 
shock making him gasp and softening his 
stiffness. Within seconds he was standing against 
the hut, resting his forehead on the planks, 
sighing with relief as he let out a stream of 
sharp smelling piss. 

Then he looked down and saw a blur of white 
patterns on the black material ruffed up around 
his wrists. A silky black gown with white 
markings on it? A bed inside the hut? Why 
couldn't his mind wake up with the rest of him 
and simply admit that he'd spend yesterday 
emptying shit pots, in just the same way as he 
was going to spend this day and all the other 
days of his life? 

A drop of piss splashed back from the wall and 
landed in the deep scratches at the top of his 
right leg. Hal gasped at the burning sensation in 
his red raw flesh, cursing Morgana's familiar and 
its claws. Fully awakened now yet frozen with 
shock, Hal stood like a statute, his cock still 
held between his fingers, working through a chain 
of logic he couldn't break. He had the pain, so 
he must have the wound, so everything he 
remembered about that fucking big cat trying to 
claw off his balls must have happened. And if 
that had happened, then every other impossible 
thing he was remembering must also have happened. 
Either that or he completely barking mad, madder 
than a March hare. 

Hal looked up at the mountain peaks looming clear 
and sharp against the dawn's advancing red 
banner. No, if madness it was, it was still 
lodged inside his head refusing to go away. 
Especially the madness that was Morgana le Fay. 
With sudden decision Hal pulled the robe up over 
his body, over his head. He walked back to the 
well, laid the robe gently on the surrounding 
wall, then dropped the bucket and hauled it up 
again, brimming to the top. Nearby was a crude 
table, made of trimmed branches split in half and 
lashed together with strips of leather. 

Hal put the bucket down on the table, leaned 
forward, pushed his face deep into the icy water, 
letting it claw at his cheeks and eyes. Air 
bubbled out from his mouth, out of his nose. His 
body tingled from the shock. He stood up, eyes 
still closed, lifted up the bucket and sluiced 
half of the contents over his naked body, gasping 
and grunting as shivers spread out from his 
spine. 

Hal reached inside the leather bag hanging from 
the side of the table and took out a scrap of 
soap and a rag. As he soaped himself he decided 
he wasn't mad after all -- so why was he suddenly 
smelling hot bacon and freshly baked bread? 

He picked up a wooden mug hanging beside the bag 
and sluiced the last traces of lather from his 
skin, then began to rub himself dry with a piece 
of sheepskin. A gentle breeze curled cold fingers 
around his balls as he wiped them. The wind 
didn't bother Hal, but the aroma of freshly 
prepared food mixed in with the moving air 
continued to tease and puzzle him. Wherever it 
was coming from, the source was very close. Hal's 
eyes moved downwards, onto the washing table. 
Next to the bucket a square shape had appeared, 
square and white at the top. It was still too 
dark to see exactly what it was but there seemed 
to be a arch above the square shape. Hal touched 
the shape with gently exploring fingers -- 
wickerwork. A wickerwork basket with a carrying 
handle and a pure white cloth tucked over the 
appetite arousing contents of the basket. So who 
had carried it here? 

"A good morning to you, Master." 

Morgana! Standing with a few paces of him, yet 
still cloaked in the darkness so that he could 
only see her outline. As tall and wide as a 
Icelandic warrior and yet reminding Hal of a 
swan, somehow graceful even when not moving. 

"Your dragon, Master. Does she dance every 
morning?" 

Hal looked up, far up into the sky, where the 
rays of the sun were beginning to fan out above 
the peaks. Alone in the shining heavens was a 
tiny shape, twisting and turning on silver wings 
set on a silver body. Morgana's word was well 
chosen. Josephine did seem to be dancing, 
although he'd never thought of that of it that 
way before. 

"No, not every morning, though more often of 
late. But only in the last few months. She never 
did it before. She would flap her wings like a 
cock when the sun rose, but not fly. And 'tis 
only when she flies so high and so early that she 
takes that look of polished steel on her skin. I 
know not why, though I've tried to find out." 

"Eat, Master, before your food cools. Unless you 
would have it served at a breakfast table in the 
castle by servants." 

"No need for that." 

No need at all for anything but the food -- he 
was ravenous. Hal's hand moved towards his robe 
to dress his nakedness, then checked itself. What 
might happen if he should accidentally soil it 
with grease? A robe woven with magic was clothing 
which might take revenge for such disrespectful 
treatment. So Hal stayed in his state of nature 
as he seized meat in one hand and bread in the 
other, one and the other hand raised 
alternatively to his mouth as he reveled in the 
quality of the food. Meat and the best of rich 
wheat ground bread! A whole basketful of it. The 
King himself wouldn't be eating any better. 

Morgana suddenly laughed and Hal felt a shiver 
that owed nothing to damp skin stroked by a cold 
breeze. It was unlikely that Argud was eating 
anything at all this morning. And there was 
nothing at all about Morgana which promised 
anything good from any laugh of hers. He looked 
warily at her with shreds of bacon fat hanging 
from his lips. 

"Well, Duke Merlin, there is much work to do 
before I can present you to foreign courts as a 
diplomat and a courtier. Especially in improving 
your table manners." 

Hal felt his face crease in puzzlement until he 
could swallow the food in his crammed mouth and 
answer. 

"I, a courtier? I think you speak in riddles to 
make mock of me. Though I know that King Argud 
named me a Duke so that I could go with Josephine 
to any place where she might find a mate. I 
believe he wanted me to be of some rank to 
negotiate with foreign nobles for stud rights for 
a male dragon, if there be such a thing in 
captivity anywhere." 

"That is true, Master. You were to control the 
dragon and I was to control you. And when we had 
found a male dragon we were to bring back eggs 
enough to breed fighting dragons for Argud. Then 
he would defeat the Empire." 

It was Hal's turn to laugh. "Yes, something of 
the same sort he said to me as you were fighting 
Gregory. Even with the portcullis between us I 
dared not tell him what I thought of his madness. 
Fight the Empire! As well try to knock down 
yonder castle with a straw. No, none of that 
madness for me. I seek no foreign courts, nor 
fancy ways." 

"And what about Josephine?" 

"Josephine?" 

"Why do you think she is flying so high, and with 
such coloring? Is it not clear that's she's 
displaying herself thus every new day in the hope 
of finding a mate?" 

"Oh." 

Hal blinked and looked upwards again as Josephine 
begin a long spiral earthwards. Again, what the 
witch had set had put his mind along a new path, 
but seemingly a true one. If a dragon wanted to 
be seen by another dragon what better way than to 
fly high at the start of each day and cavort in 
the brightest of light in a blazing silver coat. 
If there was another dragon with forty leagues 
looking skywards. . . another dragon. A pang of 
regret closed around his heart. 

"But there are no more dragons, I'm sure of it. 
There haven't been any dragons since the old 
legends were written." 

"Perhaps. But you found one, Master. How did that 
come about?" 

Hal hesitated. This was something he had never 
told anybody before, for it was not a story which 
any mere turd hauler could tell without being the 
butt of a thousand jests. 

"I had a dream. About a great tree with red and 
white leaves. The red leaves were as bright as 
blood and the white leaves like fresh snow. Then 
I woke up, in the middle of the night and a gale 
of wind was blowing, so strongly I thought the 
roof would blow off my family's hut. And then I 
heard a faraway noise in the forest, a sound like 
a big tree being blown over." 

The first beams from the climbing sun to find a 
gap through the mountain passes fell across 
Morgana's face. On her tresses of black hair, on 
her perfectly shaped high arching eyebrows, on 
dark lashes which somehow seemed to curve up at 
the corners in a way he'd never seen on any 
woman's face before. But most of all the beams 
fell on two golden sparks set deep between the 
dark lashes: eyes which reflected the sunlight 
like crystal shields. Eyes which saw everything 
but showed nothing. The words stuck in Hal's 
throat as he struggled to continue his account. 

"Yes, Master? What then?" 

"It -- it seemed strange, to dream of a falling 
tree and then to awake and hear one toppling over 
in the forest. I got up and went outside the hut. 
It was a full moon and the tree tops were bent 
over by the howling wind like reeds in a river's 
flood. I picked up a stick and laid it in the 
direction the wind was coming from. I thought the 
noise had been blown along by the wind so that 
would be the way to go to find the fallen tree. I 
didn't know why I wanted to find it. I went back 
to my bedding skins and back to sleep. I thought 
it wouldn't matter to me any more in the morning. 
But somehow it did. I woke up early and it was so 
calm there wasn't a leaf fluttering. But I went 
in the direction the stick pointed." 

"I walked a long way -- or at least, I walked for 
what seemed a long time. There were lots of 
bramble patches, rotten tree trunks to scramble 
over, a swampy area. I tried to use the sun to 
keep going in the right direction. I had a large 
sack of rags I tied to branches to mark my trail. 
I had a axe as well but I was frightened to use 
it to cut guiding cuts on the trees in case a 
bear or a pack of wolves heard the noise and came 
after me. I was getting very frightened at how 
far I'd gone into the forest and I'd almost run 
out of rags when I found the tree I'd heard 
fall." 

Hal noticed that although Josephine was still 
circling downwards she was doing it over the 
castle, as though she wanted to make sure nothing 
unusual was happening there. The nothing, 
perhaps, being a crowd of nobles in full armor 
getting ready to make a dawn attack on the dragon 
hut. The dragon was clever, clever, and once 
again he wondered what had happened to the rest 
of her kind. Probably they had been hunted to 
extinction when some human had found the same 
secret of dragon sweat's power to arouse lust 
that Hal himself had discovered. 

"And then you found the egg -- just one?" 

Hal hastily summoned his wits back to answer 
Morgana's insistent questions. 

"Yes, inside the earth that was in the middle of 
the tree's roots. Only one. I took it and came 
away. I was frightened and had much work to do in 
the castle, so I came back as soon as I'd picked 
up the egg. And I hid it away in a pile of dung 
where it would get warm. But I never thought 
anything would hatch from it." 

"And yet you told nobody?" 

This was no self professed slave talking, this 
was a master addressing to an inferior. A 
sorcerer talking to an apprentice, mayhap. But 
Hal had no interest at all in seeking a dispute 
with the witch in whatever role she wanted to act 
out. That would have been as sensible as jousting 
against an armored knight with a pea pole for a 
lance. 

"I'm a shit carrier. I don't have anybody to talk 
to. And if I'd told anybody in my family about it 
they'd probably have boiled the egg and eaten 
whatever was inside it." 

"But after the dragon hatched you showed the King 
where you'd found the egg?" 

"Yes. I had to and the rags were still on the 
branches to show the way. Hundreds of men were 
sent into the forest and dug all around the tree 
but they found nothing." 

"What about the leaves on it? Were they as you 
dreamed them?" 

Hal shook his head: "No, they weren't red and 
white, just green. It was only an ordinary beech 
tree. A high one before it fell, but there was 
nothing different about it from all the other 
beech trees in the forest." 

"Red and white, red and white," the witch 
repeated, apparently thinking the matter over. 

The bar of light across Morgana's face had 
slipped further down. A nose, not snub, but 
nearer that description than any other, high 
cheek bones, a touch of gold in the lobes of 
close set ears, the gleam of the earrings 
matching that of the witch's eyes. Eyes that 
never seemed to blink. 

Behind Morgana's brooding figure, Josephine had 
flown away from the castle walls, apparently 
getting ready to land outside the hut. No longer 
silver, now she was dressed in casual day wear of 
light green with traces of yellow along her 
flanks. Hal knew enough about the dragon to know 
she yearned for something, and now he could guess 
well enough what it was. How long had he himself 
stared helplessly at desirable girls who only 
laughed at him? How much worse for Josephine, 
with no other dragon at all for company, let 
alone to couple with? 

It was a thought which matched the final 
illumination of the bottom part of Morgana's 
face. Small and pouting lips, a dimpled chin, 
full cheeks. Somehow she reminded Hal of a young 
maid sulking over some childish tiff. Which led 
to a further and worrying thought. 

"Chelinde and Caelia: where are they?" Hal asked. 
"Are they all right?" 

"Certainly, Master. They're with their mother. I 
sent them home because I could not risk you 
coupling with them now, as I'm sure you wish to 
do." 

"Mmm." 

Hal hadn't thought at all about settling back 
into that big soft warm bed with the soft warm 
bodies of the sisters on each side of him. But 
now the suggestion had been made -- wait, what 
had the witch just said? 

"You can't risk me having a fuck?" Oh Odin, was 
he going to end up as frustrated as Josephine 
again? 

"Not just yet. We have a powerful spell to cast 
today -- no, you have a powerful spell to cast. 
To strip Gregory of his powers and lock him out 
of this world." 

The bread inside Hal's stomach seemed to be 
swelling, as if still in the oven, growing and 
pressing against the walls of his stomach. 

"I can't do anything against Gregory -- I'm not a 
warlock. You may be stronger than he is but I'm 
nothing." 

"Which is what you'll stay unless you take 
another adept's power. There is only so much 
magic in the world. None of it ever disappears, 
none of it ever appears. The only work to become 
a worker in magic is to take over the hoarded 
power of another magician. I can help you conquer 
Gregory but you must play the vital part in the 
ceremony." 

Again, as often of late, Hal was completely 
baffled by the turn of events. 

"What is it that you think I can do?" 

"You must take over a spell I shall cast, make it 
your own, and then blow on it as if it were a 
burning twig until it has become a mighty fire. 
And there is your bellows waiting to be used." 

Now there was another smile on Morgana's face, an 
even more twisted one than usual. She held her 
hand up, palm outward, and a flicker of sunlight 
seemed to turn in midair, as if hitting a mirror, 
falling directly onto Hal's groin. He stared down 
in horrified fear of seeing his most precious 
possession suffer the same awful fate as Argud's 
hands. But his cock was still there, and not only 
present but stirring as if it could draw energy 
from the sun like Josephine. 

"Oh, Odin," Hal muttered. 

He wasn't thinking about anything to do with 
girls, he was thinking about how much breakfast 
was left in the basket. Well, all right, just a 
quick thought about sharing that big bed in the 
shed with Caelia and Chelinde, a very, very quick 
thought, but that was all. He lifted his eyes, 
tried to pretend the rearing head and neck down 
there was nothing to do with him. But the warmth 
and the tingle coming from the witch's palm -- by 
all the gods and trolls, that wasn't pure 
innocent sunlight. It was like water laced with 
dragon sweat. Was that what the witch was doing, 
letting him know she had seen through his 
childish tricks? 

Morgana lowered her hand, the ray of light faded 
away, but his cockstand was still up and sniffing 
the wind as keenly as before, as if hunting for 
the scent of a hot cunt. 

"Master, do those scratches from Ymir's claws 
still pain you?" 

"Yes." 

"Then sit on the well wall and spread your legs 
so I can apply some salve." 

Hal threw the damp sheepskin on top of the wall 
and perched his skinny buttocks on it. As the 
witch moved closer he stared at her face, and 
then at her long fingers as she lifted a tiny pot 
up into the light and touched the contents of the 
container with their tips. His hard cock stayed 
as firm as a scepter resting in a monarch's lap. 
Those long fingers and those lightly smeared 
fingertips pressed down gently between his balls 
and the top of his leg. At their touch the pain 
from the scratches faded away as if by magic -- 
well, yes, by magic. And Hal's manhood quivered 
with raging lust on his boy's body. 

"Is that better, Master?" 

By Gwal's beard, she smelt sweeter than flowers 
and mead and new mown hay. The lightest of the 
witch's caresses had him quivering like a hunting 
hawk seeing prey. He wanted above all to seize 
hold of her with both hands -- except that he 
wanted even more to keep his hands. 

"Master, I would tell you something and then ask 
you a question. You understand?" 

"Yes." 

His voice sounded to Hal's ears as if it came 
from a throat which was being slowly strangled. 

"Very well, then listen. Every magician has only 
so much power available. If they would cast a 
spell which needs more magic than they have 
within themselves they must use what is known as 
free magic. This free magic is spread loosely 
throughout the world as finely as . . . as . . . 
" 

The witch nodded towards a patch of grass beaded 
with drops of water that glittered in the newly 
minted sunlight. 

"Why, as finely as dew in the morning. To gather 
a powerful amount of free magic together and 
control it needs a special attraction." 

"An attraction?" 

One set of fingers kept moving with his groin. 
Two others slowly nipped the very tip of his 
shaft's helmet. Hal gurgled like a baby. 

"An attraction. In the same way that a smear of 
jam attracts wasps. Is that clear?" 

Hal grunted and nodded his head. 

"And Gaunt Gregory almost spoke the truth when he 
said that mortals fucking each other made magic. 
What he really meant was that mortals fucking 
each other attract free magic like jam attracts 
wasps. Free magic which can be used by a skillful 
adept to enhance his or her own magical strength 
in casting powerful spells. Do you understand all 
that?" 

The fingers which had touched his cock's eye 
moved further down, fluttering as lightly as 
thistledown against Hal's rampant snatch rammer. 
He sucked in air and tried to prove he was 
listening. 

"Does it make any difference how many couples 
there are?" 

Morgana's free hand cupped his balls and squeezed 
them gently. Hal hoped very, very much it had 
been the right sort of question. 

"Well done, master, well done indeed!" 

Thank you Fria, thank you, Hal's mind whispered 
in secret triumph within his head. 

"Yes, the more humans that are fucking each other 
in the ceremony, the more powerful the 
incantation. And the harder they fuck, the more 
free magic is harvested. But if it sounds easy to 
arrange such a thing, learn better. For the human 
couples must be doing it out of genuine passion 
for the free magic to gather around them. Paid 
whores can go through the motions but with no 
real feelings, and the males who tup them know 
they are only dealing with tavern drabs. There is 
no real passion to be had with such scum. Decent 
couples in a sober condition are oft times 
ashamed to perform in such a ceremony, even if 
forced into it at sword point. And to overcome 
such scruples with wine deadens the senses of the 
mortals and makes them poor attractors of free 
magic." 

Morgana's right hand slipped out from his groin. 
Fingers still smeared in grease gently encircled 
the base of Hal's proud tower. "So, Master, can 
you guess now what the question is that I would 
ask most urgently of you?" 

A fingernail of the witch's other hand scratched 
behind his balls as if they were a cat's ear. 
Hal's legs trembled as his mind raced. Talk or 
try to keep the secret? No, it was too late for 
secrecy, unless he was much mistaken. Morgana 
already knew much and had perceived more yet. 

"Is it about what happened in the shed 
yesterday?" 

"Oh, wise Master! O upright Master! How truly you 
speak. Yes, I would know what spell was used in 
your dragon's lair. Those two chits were sent mad 
with desire, I was put near to melting with lust 
and those soldiers did things to each other when 
we three females were no longer there that I 
would never have believed. Was not the power 
which affected us all so much somehow held within 
the water of the trough?" 

A gradual tightening of the fingers, a small but 
forceful tug, the scratching fingernail digging 
just a fraction deeper. As a questioner, Morgana 
was in a class of her own, even before she 
started hurling lightning bolts around. Well, 
true, she wasn't in the same class as Sir 
Tarquin, the Royal Torturer. Not yet anyway, but 
Hal had no doubt that it could be arranged if 
that was what the witch felt was necessary to get 
the answers she wanted. 

"Yes. It was in the water," Hal admitted. "There 
was dragon sweat mixed in it." 

"Dragon sweat?" 

The witch's fingers had stopped moving, her eyes 
were staring into Hal's as if seeking the very 
depths of his soul. Like a cat, there was no 
telling what was going on the other side of such 
eyes. 

"Dragon sweat?" she repeated. 

"From Josephine. From underneath her wing roots. 
It began trickling out very slowly about two 
months ago. I found out that if I mixed it with 
water anybody who even had a drop of that water 
touch them went completely off their head -- 
totally fucking mad, I mean. They'd tup any 
breathing thing within reach or wank themselves 
into exhaustion. The stuff is more dangerous than 
a ghost spider's venom." 

Morgana looked as stunned as if somebody had hit 
her with Thor's own hammer of the Gods. And then 
a smile even more brilliant than the rising sun 
spread over her face. 

"By the Great Ones themselves, this is the 
greatest discovery in sorcery for a score's score 
of years! To be able to collect free magic as 
easily as netting eels in a trap . . . " 

Morgana's voice trailed away as her eyes 
continued to glitter at Hal as if deciding 
whether to kill him like a mouse in a eagle's 
claws now she had plucked his great secret. He 
was also in great pain because her grip around 
his prick had indeed tightened like that of a 
bird of prey. Eventually he was forced to squeak 
in protest as if he was indeed a mouse. 

"Master, forgive me. I was lost in my dreams." 

The smile had returned, even wider than before, 
though the glitter in the witch's eyes remained 
unchanged. But at least Morgana's fingers were 
playing gently with him again. 

"Master, have you any notion of how important 
this dragon's sweat is? No, of course not, how 
could you? But hear me when I say we can now 
become the most powerful adepts of the black arts 
in the whole wide world. And I at least have many 
debts to repay with such strength. And you, a 
stripling, a mere emptier of filth buckets, have 
had this gift bestowed on you by the Great Ones 
themselves. Is this not all strange beyond belief 
itself?" 

"Yes." 

Saying yes to whatever a witch suggested was a 
natural instinct for self preservation. Just as 
natural as it was to agree with anything any 
woman said whilst she was pulling him off. But 
then Morgana took her hands off Hal's quivering 
cock, to his great disappointment. Perhaps she'd 
been expecting a more intelligent or enthusiastic 
answer. Whatever that might be. 

Morgana produced a bright red ribbon from 
somewhere inside her leather jerkin, an 
incongruous affection set against such warrior 
garb. He watched in fascination as she tilted her 
head back, shook her long black tresses, then did 
that thing that only woman can do at the back of 
their heads, securing the loose hair with the 
ribbon. Hal's mouth went dry as he saw Morgana's 
lip flicker between her pouting lips, as if it 
were a threatening snake seeking prey. Outside 
the shed Josephine had settled on the grass, 
wings fully stretched out to catch the sunlight, 
her eyes watching the scene at the well. 

"Master, do you know what a coven is?" 

The woman moved closer, her sweet smell in his 
nostrils again. 

"I've heard it's a group of witches come together 
to work their magic." 

"Not necessarily witches. If a warlock wishes to 
draw free magic into himself he may take a dozen 
women of any kind he chooses and assemble them 
under the rules of Actaeon, the horned god of the 
forest. Actaeon's rules allow him to declare the 
meeting of such women and himself a unique coven, 
to meet once and then to part forever. And the 
male adept appoints himself the Magister, the 
leader of the coven for the meeting." 

Both of Morgana's hands were sliding up the 
inside of Hal's legs. He had never felt such 
smooth palms in his life. But even as his body 
stirred with pleasure the boy's mind was wishing 
that Morgana was wooing some Ice Warrior in the 
frozen North, far, far, away. 

"Then the Warlock -- the Magister -- will join 
the female members of the coven together with a 
fascination spell." 

"A fascination spell?" 

"It joins together all the minds of the twelve 
females. Sometime called a glamor spell. A circle 
cast sunways around the group, beginning and 
ending with the Magister." 

"So what does that mean?" 

If this was his first lesson in magic, Hal was in 
a class of his own already and it was the dunce's 
class. 

"Why, Master, tis simple enough. Twelve women in 
the room, enchanted, and whenever you touch one 
of them, they will all feel it. Like this." 

Her fingers touched each side of his erection, 
stroking it softly. But even that treatment 
failed to take Hal's mind from the image she had 
conjured up. 

"They'd all feel whatever I do to any one of 
them?" 

"That's right, Master. So if you sheath this 
proud sword into one of the covendom's female 
scabbards they all share the feeling together -- 
and the free power garnered from all twelve women 
flows to the Magister. To you, Hal, to use as you 
will." 

"But . . . but I thought it was necessary to have 
couples to attract this magic." 

"That is one way. But if the adept can do all the 
fucking himself he can directly channel all the 
free magic to himself. It's much the best way to 
perform the ceremony, provided the Magister can 
make love as a coven master should. And with this 
magic wand you have here to wave around and some 
dragon sweat to arouse the females -- well, you 
should be able to work miracles, Master. Magical 
miracles." 

Now the witch's fingers were tickling and rubbing 
and stroking, somehow all at the same time. Hal 
grabbed at the top of the wall to prevent himself 
from toppling backwards into the well as he began 
to bounce up and down to Morgana's timing. 

"This method . . . this way of doing it you talk 
about, with twelve women and one male. Can it 
really work?" 

Morgana smiled with a freshness to match the 
sparkling air of the morning itself: "Of course 
it will work, Master. We witches even have a 
technical term for it in teachings of sorcery -- 
we call it cutting out the middle man." 

The witch laughed, bent forward, rested her hands 
on Hal's thighs and put her lips around the war 
bonnet of his prick. From around the back of the 
dragon shed a cock crowed to greet the rising 
sun. So did Hal. 

THE END 

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Please keep this story, and all erotic stories out of
the hands of children. They should be outside playing
in the sunshine, not thinking about adult situations.

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Kristen's collection - Directory 37