The Witching Hour

Nicky Noxville

All my stories take place in a parallel world, very similar to our own, where STI’s do not exist, so my stories are filled with practices that are highly unsafe in this world. I’m not going to say don’t try this at home, but take care of yourself.

All my characters are of legal age, and you should be, too—do not read my stories if you are under the legal age in your country/area. Any resemblance to real persons, locations, or events is entirely coincidental.

This story is brought to you by my wonderful Patrons. I love you guys!

And now, our feature presentation…

“Osbert.  Osbert!  Waken, you silly boy!”  Father’s voice pulled me up from the depths of my slumber.  My eyes opened to reveal him hovering over me, his arms crossed as he glared down at my sleeping form.  “Fields or kitchens, you mustn’t sleep past the cock’s crow, boy.  You are no longer a child to dally all day.”

“I am sorry, Father,” I said, reaching up to rub the sleep from my eyes, feeling the sand fall away from the corners.  “I was dream…”

“Put it behind you, boy, and get thee to the kitchens!”  His eyes slid down my body as I pulled the sheet back.  “And have some modesty in your sleep, lad; nobody wishes to witness thy swelling.”  I blushed and looked down, realizing that I’d pulled off my sleep shirt again; my stalk was standing, proud for all to see. 

I swallowed my whimper of shame and pleasure, but I could not stop the little bounce it gave, nor stop the bead of fluid that escaped to drip back down its length.

 “Get the covered, boy, and get thee to work before some devil comes to steal thy soul away,” he said in a gentler tone, reaching out to clasp my shoulder before leaving the room.  I fell back onto my bed, the straw mattress cushioning the impact.  A few slats of light were making it through the shutters; I reached up and released the catch, pushing the shutter open from my bed to let the morning air and light into the room.  I looked over at my twin brother’s bed.  A scattering of straw had worked its way free of his mattress and fallen to the floor, and his blankets was disheveled.  He was up already, even though he was to work the fields while I helped in the kitchen.

Aldred always was an early riser.  He said that it was always easier to rise when the sun was not yet risen.

I rose from my bed, my manhood casting a proud shadow across the rough, log wall as I walked to the washbasin.  I poured some water into the bowl and leaned forward to splash my face.  I grabbed a rough, linen towel and pressed myself dry, already feeling more awake.  I looked up at my rippling reflection in the mirror that mother bought as a solstice gift for us three winters back.  Even in the dim light, my eyes shone like emeralds, and the light passing through my hair made it seem as fire.  I smoothed my hair, taming the flames, if you will, and started to pull on my sensible, kitchen clothes.  I hesitated when I got to my boots, but mother took issue with bare feet in her kitchen.

“Behold!  He awakens!” Mother said dramatically as I walked into the kitchen, her rolling pin flailing about dangerously.  “I was beginning to believe that it was thy want to sleep the day away.”

“I am sorry, Mother; I did not hear the cock’s crow,” I apologized, looking around to take stock of what still needed to be done.

“I guessed as much,” she said in a rare, gentle humor.  “Now, breakfast is prepared, but there is still much to do for luncheon.  To work with thee!” She shooed me off.  I fell into the familiar pattern of chopping, slicing, and stirring, enjoying the fast-paced work until the dreaded words came.

“To the scullery, lad,” Mother ordered, taking the spoon from my hand.  I groaned as I walked past and felt a sharp slap against the back of my head.  “It was thee who was last to rise.  Perhaps someone else will be scullion tomorrow, if you waken on time.”

“Many pardons, Golda,” Istrid, one of the maids who helped mother interrupted.  “Is this sauce to thy liking?”  She offered a spoon to mother, and a chance to walk away without further chastisement to me.  I appreciated the gesture, and when I smiled back over my shoulder, Istrid smiled back.  I rounded the corner into the scullery, groaning again at the piles of plates, pans, platters, and pots.

I rolled up my sleeves and got to work.

It had to be near dinner time when I finished the last of the dishes offered to me.  I looked out one of the open scullery windows and watched the sun sink behind the barn.  In the distance, I could see the silhouettes of father, Aldred, and the many farm hands who came out from the village each day to help with the work.  Their long shadows stretched ahead of them, seeming to outpace them on the journey home.

“Osbert,” Istrid’s voice echoed through the scullery.  I looked over to see her smiling at me from the doorway.  “Golda says it is time for thee to clean thyself up for dinner.”

“I thank thee, Istrid,” I replied politely—mother was probably listening from around the corner anyway.  “I shall see thee at supper.”  As I walked past, she slipped me a blackberry tart, one of my favorites, along with a second smile.  I kept the tart hidden from mother on the way past, though I had no doubt she knew where it went.  Mother somehow always knew where every morsel vanished to, and to try telling her a lie was sheer folly.

Barely ten minutes later, we all found ourselves seated at the large, wooden table in the dining room, where all meals were served.  We ate quietly, enjoying the relaxation after a long day at our various labors.  A gentle breeze made the candles around the room flicker, but the bright light of two full moons illuminated the room when candles grew dim.

“Two full moons tonight, wife,” Father broke the silence, speaking down the length of the table to where mother sat at the other end.

“Aye, husband,” she responded warmly.  “The light should keep the devils away this night.  There will be few shadows deep enough from which to work their mischief.”  I looked over at my twin brother, Aldred.  The tales of devils were always his favorites.  He didn’t look back at me, continuing to eat in silence, but his hand came to rest upon my thigh, squeezing gently.  The contact sent a wash of heat cascading through my manhood, driving it to full stiffness within my breeches.

For a moment I was not sure if he noticed, and then his fingers began to snake their way into my pants.

I glanced over at him again, chewing another bite to keep my mouth occupied, and watched him calmly eat his meal, his face betraying none of what was going on beneath the table.  With the only sounds the quiet chewing of the dozen people at the table, my own struggle not to moan became all encompassing as Aldred’s fingers wrapped around my stalk and began to caress it.

Slowly.

Gently.

Rising.

Falling.

Expertly crippling me with pleasure where all could witness my shame.

“Osbert, son, art thou well?” Father asked, and all eyes turned to me.  I was sitting there, frozen, my body wracked by wave after wave of pleasure from my own brother’s hand.

This is an infernal act, I thought, but I did not care; Aldred’s hand felt too good upon my manhood.

“Osbert,” Mother joined in.

“I am fine!” I squeaked, jumping in my seat.  I quickly brought my fork to my mouth, not even sure what I was eating as I focused on the sensations my brother was giving me.  This was all so new to me, and never before had he done such a thing to me at table, but I could not deny the pleasure he was giving me.

“Aldred!” I squeaked quietly, his ministrations bringing me near the edge.  “Oh, brother, wilt thou break my arrow at table?”  He gave my manhood a final squeeze and withdrew his hand, using it to pick up his dinner roll.  He glanced over at me with a mischievous grin before taking a bite.

It took me the rest of the meal to quiet my arousal, and even then it was only because I ate slowly and was one of the last to rise from my seat.  When I reached our room, Aldred was already asleep, light from the twin-moons pouring through the window and falling across his exposed flesh, muting even the flames of his red hair.

I sought my bed, and I waited…

“Osbert,” Aldred purred at me, rising from his bed and leaving his underclothes behind.  The sound pulled me out of my half-sleep, and I watched him rise, the familiar ridges of his naked body familiar to me; they were the same as my own.  My swelling was returning, even as I watched, and I could sense more than see his smile as he crossed to my bed and knelt beside me.

“Art thou ready, Osbert?” He crooned softly.  It was like leaning into my own reflection, and then our lips met.  His tongue and mine fought instinctively for control.  As was right, he won the war.  I melted between my brother’s flesh and my straw-stuffed mattress.

“Aldred!” I gasped.  “What is this?  These sensations, they—” He leaned in and cut me off with another kiss.

“Be still, dear brother; ‘Tis the light of the twin moons working their magic upon our flesh,” he chanted.  “Our blood is stirred by the light of those auspicious orbs.  The night has come, brother.”

“T-this night?” I squeaked.  “Be thou sure?”

“There will be none better; art thou certain of thy decision?  Does doubt cast his dark shadow upon thee?”

“Nay, brother,” I reassured him.  “I wish to follow thee; I wish to serve thy Lord and learn His mysteries.”  I could feel my manhood throbbing between my thighs.  Long had we been planning and waiting… For this night.

“My brother,” he kissed my left cheek.  “My priest,” he kissed the right.  “My lover,” he kissed me on the lips; almost chaste, if not for the lingering.  “Rise and follow me.”  He stood and went to the wardrobe, leaving the right door closed to avoid the squeaking hinges as he reached in and pulled out our cloaks.  He tossed one to me and draped the other over his shoulders.

“Should we not dress?  What if we are discovered?” I questioned, unsure.

“Relax, brother.  The witching hour approaches, and all are abed.  Rise, shroud thyself, and follow.”  He padded over to the window on bare feet and climbed out.  I rose from my bed, my swelling leading the way, and threw the cloak over my shoulders on the way to the window.

I followed Aldred to a clearing in the woods.  As far as I knew, I had never been there, but Aldred started pulling candles and blankets from hollows in surrounding trees, arranging them in the clearing.

I watched.

Before long, he had spread out the blankets and cleared a circle around them, taking his bearings by the stars above and arranging the candles by some celestial measurements. 

“If thy heart is free of doubt, enter the circle,” he crooned, his voice distinct, yet seeming at one with the wind, and the scraping of branches.  I took a deep breath and stepped forward, the cloth of the rough blankets soft in comparison to the rough leaves.  Aldred began to move around me, slowly, tracing strange symbols into the loam as he spoke in a tongue that had never before crossed the threshold of my ears.

When he had completed his rotation, he turned to face me, letting his robe fall.  The twin full moons bathed his body in pale light, the ridges of his muscles casting harsh shadows.  I took a deep breath, trembling beneath my cloak—whether from nerves or excitement I know not.  He too two steps forward, reducing the space between us, and then he cast my cloak to the ground.

Cool night air washed over my enflamed flesh; my swelling brazenly exposed in the moonlight.  Aldred stepped forward again, his face, though identical to mine, bore an expression that I could not name.  He embraced me, his flesh burning against mine, and kissed me again.  I was helpless to fight it, nearly melting as his tongue established his dominance once more.

“Art thou ready?” He whispered, pulling  back only slightly, his lips brushing against mine as he spoke.

“Yes!” I gasped.  He embraced me again, and the world started to turn.  I seemed to float in the air, untethered but by his lips and body, and then felt my back upon the blankets.  He pressed my legs apart and knelt between them, leaning in to kiss me once.  I looked up at him, the twin moons shining in the sky above him, surrounded by a sea of stars.  He lifted a vial full of some clear, oily substance, and poured some across his palm.  He rubbed his hands together, crossed his wrists, and my vision went black as he lowered his hands toward my face.

I could smell the oil on his hands, and it began to arouse something inside me before he even touched me.  His fingertips met my temples; I gasped and arched my back.  His fingertips trailed down my cheeks, leaving a streak of oil behind, and then he uncrossed his wrists by tracing his fingertips across my lips.  I could taste the oil, infused with unfamiliar, bitter herbs.  His hands slid down, over my jaw, down my neck… His hands spread to trace his fingertips down the side of my torso to my hips, and then reversed direction, tracing my collar bone. 

He moved down my chest, swirling oiled fingers over my nipples in slow, sensual circles.  He traced my stomach, and as I looked up at him, everything seemed brighter, as if there were suddenly twice as many candles burning.  The moons framing his ecstatic face seemed to ripple with rainbow colors, and the light of the stars seemed to intensify.

I wasn’t cold anymore.

He smiled at me, and his hands continued down, parting to trace the inside of my thighs.  Everything stopped for a moment, save the swirling of light and colors that was growing more intense.

I could feel my swollen stalk throbbing in the air, wanton, needy.

“Ahhhmmmm, brother!” I crooned as his fingers closed around my shaft, testing my conviction with the palm of his oiled hand.  His hand slid up, he squeezed harder, and then he slid back down, slowly exposing the tip of my stalk to the moonlight, making it glisten all the more after coating it with oil.

More fingers descended between my spread legs and slid into the crack of my ass.  Again, my back arched, and I gasped, trying to hold my tongue, exposed in the woods.

“Guuunnnnnhhhhhhhh!” My guttural moan ran though the forest as unfamiliar sensations swirled over my hole.  Aldred had never done this to me before.

It was getting hard to think.

It was getting hard to control myself.

It was… So hard…

I watched him pour more oil into his hands, and then run him down his own body, wrists crossed over his eyes as he moves down from the temples, uncrossing to coat the lips, and continuing down, down, down…  I watched his hands swirl and glide over his swelling, identical to mine, as expected. 

He leaned in to kiss me, and the world spun again.

I was looking up at the moons, the stars swirling beyond them, their light rippling through rainbow shades.  I felt something pressing against my hole and gasped, looking down to see my brother guiding me, hands on my hips, my legs straddling his body.

He pulled, and his swelling began to enter me, aided by the oil that was tingling upon my flesh.  The churchmen had spoken against such things, called them shameful, but as I felt myself part for him, felt him sliding into me, I questioned for the first time: why?

I looked into my brother’s eyes; never had I felt so close to him, felt such love for him; that couldn’t be wrong.  Every part of my being was screaming at me that this was right.

He pulled a  little more, my legs sliding father apart on the blanket as he slowly planted his stalk inside me.

It was so hard to think, and so easy to feel.

His hands pressed against me in resistance as I tried to push myself down faster.  I didn’t know why, but it was my want to feel the entirety of his swelling pressing against my insides.

My thighs quivered.

My hips rocked.

I was powerless to quicken his pace.

After an eternity, our bodies were pressed together.  His hands stayed on my hips as instinct took over.  I tried to rise, to wiggle, to ride, but his hands held firm.  He pulled, muscles tensing, and held me tight against him.

“Be not quick to finish,” he panted up at me.  “We yet have work to do.”  I groaned and threw my head back in ecstasy, my back arching.  My eyes widened as I witnessed the storm of light overhead.  The moons were spiraling, multiplying, swirling… Behind them, the stars swirled, split colors, and multiplied.  The candlelight surrounding them seemed suddenly to be a storm of fire.

“Brother!” I squeaked.

“Contain it!” He gasped.  “We seek the gate!”  His back arched, his hands squeezed, his swelling pulsed, as did mine, and then everything stopped moving.

Everything froze.

My vision faded away.

“We are one.”

I opened my eyes; it was a battle, as if I had never opened them before.  I blinked in the warm light that filtered down through the green canopy of the strange woods I found myself in.

“Welcome, Osbert,” Aldred said, and I turned.  He was standing there, smiling, naked, aroused.

“Unh!” My voice seemed to echo in two worlds as a spike of pleasure made it through the frozen detachment that was keeping the pleasure from overwhelming me.  “What is this, brother?  I know not this place.”

“We have stepped beyond the gate, brother.  We have entered the lowest of the heavens… Or perchance we are merely reaching through…  Either way, it is in this place that I made my pact, and it is here that thou shalt make thine.  Come.”  He began to walk, weaving between the trees, his feet leaving deep impressions in the soft loam.  I followed, drifting after my brother. 

It felt like I was floating.

I looked around me, the detachment from my pleasure freeing my mind to think.  I had never seen such trees before, even the shape of the leaves unfamiliar.  We came upon a clearing, and Aldred paused.

“I will guide thee to my master’s book.  Many of the books here might call out to thee; heed not their honeyed whispers.  Many would do the harm, save thy signature for my master’s book.”

As we walked, I could feel the pleasure intensifying, outgrowing the detachment that had kept it at bay.  Again, I moaned in two worlds. My eyes darted left and right as I followed Aldred, and the air was full of whispered promises.

Sweet promises.

Dark promises.

Promises of riches.

Promises of long life.

In this place, all my desires could be fulfilled.

“Here, brother!”  Aldred indicated a dark, black tome with arcane symbols set into the cover in emerald-colored stones, each of which shone like a little green star.  Sitting on the stump beside the book was a quill and an ink well.  I reached out and took up the quill, and the book swung smoothly open as I dipped the tip into the midnight black ink.

I looked at the page and saw my brother’s name there: Aldred Saerson.  The tip of the quill hovered over the book, and I took a deep breath.

This was everything the churchmen had warned us against.

This was the dark stories told to us as children to make us behave.

This was everything I wanted.

My turn to sign had come at last. I touched the quill to the page and began to make my mark upon it…

To be continued?

Copyright 2020