A Witch's Night Out - Sex Stories

A Witch's Night Out

... recognized her. A wind extinguished most of the pumpkin's glowing faces, leaving them belching curls of smoke out of their sharply cut mouths. Daniel hunched over, as if trying to hide, but Carol-Anne looked each person in the eye and was pleased to see most of them flinch. It wasn't until she saw the horror on her mother and father's face that she flinched too, though only a little. Her father said, "Carol-Anne, you shouldn't be here." She sat up straight. "You can't tell me what to do anymore." "No, darling, you don't understand: You can't BE here," her mother said, and perhaps it was the urgency in those words that made her turn, just in time to see the man in the black goat mask, its every tiny hair bristling while wetness gleamed at its muzzle, looming over her. Her heart froze. Something awful was about to happen, she knew, but she God help her, she could not imagine what. The man reached out for her, and from the corner of her eye she saw her mother trying to push forward to stop it. It took three men, including Carol-Anne's father, to hold her back. And then that cold, cold hand touched her cheek ever so gently, and she went cold through and through, and sleep came to her, and she did not resist. *** Carol-Anne lay in bed and listened. The downstairs was filled with voices, sometimes talking and sometimes shouting, every few minutes someone new. She'd been in here all day and had no plans to come out now. Thomas had come to check on her once, half-heartedly (he had ...

... not yet told their parents that he'd snuck out with her, although she was confident he soon would), but other than that she'd seen no one. It wasn't until well into the afternoon that her father knocked on the door and sat at the foot of her bed. She glanced at him out the corner of her eye; he looked very old and very tired, in a way she'd never seen before. "Last night wasn't something you were meant to see. It's only for the initiated." "I know the rules," Carol-Anne said. "It's not about that. You weren't ready for it. No one prepared you. You don't know..." He fumbled for words. Carol-Anne realized he was embarrassed. Not for himself but for her, as if he'd put her into some kind of compromising position, which she supposed in a way he had. "You don't know the history," he said finally. "Our families came here hundreds of years ago to get away from persecution. They used to kill people like us: hang us from trees and burn us at the stake, the whole bit. We wanted a place of our own, with a future for our children." Here he choked up, and Carol-Anne looked at him in surprise. He waved it off. "Well, it's done now." "I guess so," Carol-Anne said, her voice flat. In truth, she understood a bit more than her father supposed. She remembered how the awful music had carried her away. It wasn't hard to imagine an older time, when people would seek out a place to let that music and those feelings grow. For a second she could almost accept it, and want it for herself...but the ...