The Coven
"Lost in the woods on Halloween night, he stumbles upon a clearing where thirteen women conduct their annual ritual. The ceremony requires a male offering—not for sacrifice, but for something far more consuming."
I should have stayed on the main road.
The GPS died somewhere around mile marker 47, and my phone had no signal. Halloween night, middle of nowhere Vermont, and I thought I could find a shortcut through the forest.
Stupid.
By midnight, I was hopelessly lost.
By 12:30, I saw the fire.
The clearing was perfect—too perfect.
A circle of stones. Thirteen hooded figures surrounding a bonfire. Chanting in a language I didn't recognize.
I should have run.
Instead, I stepped on a branch.
"We have a visitor."
The tallest figure lowered her hood. She was massive—easily three hundred pounds, with silver hair that caught the firelight and eyes that seemed to glow amber.
"The forest provides," another said, lowering her own hood. Younger, darker, just as large.
One by one, they revealed themselves. Thirteen women. All of them big, beautiful, powerful. Ages ranging from perhaps thirty to seventy. All of them staring at me with hunger I didn't understand.
"Please," I managed. "I'm just lost. I'll leave—"
"You can't leave." The silver-haired woman stepped forward. "Not now. Not after you've seen the circle."
"I won't tell anyone—"
"We know you won't." She smiled. "Because after tonight, you won't want to."
Her name was Morgana.
High Priestess of the Thornwood Coven. Sixty-three years old, three hundred and forty pounds of ancient power wrapped in curves that defied gravity.
"Every year on Samhain, we conduct the Rite of Abundance," she explained, circling me while the others watched. "It requires a male offering."
"Sacrifice?" My voice cracked.
"Nothing so crude." Her hand found my chest. Pressed against my heart. "The ritual requires... essence. Male energy, given freely to the circle. It sustains us. Empowers us. Binds our magic for another year."
"I don't understand."
"You will." She began unbuttoning my shirt. "By dawn, you'll understand everything."
They stripped me in the center of the circle.
Thirteen pairs of hands removing my clothes. Thirteen mouths kissing exposed skin. I should have been terrified—I was terrified—but something else was happening too.
I was hard.
Impossibly, achingly hard.
"The circle responds to worthy offerings," Morgana observed, her hand finding my cock. "And you, lost traveler, are very worthy indeed."
"What are you going to do to me?"
"Whatever we want." She stroked slowly. "And you're going to give us everything."
The first was Celeste.
Youngest of the coven at thirty-two. Two hundred and eighty pounds of eager curves. She pushed me onto a blanket spread before the fire and mounted me without preamble.
"The circle begins with water," Morgana intoned. "Celeste represents the rivers, the rain, the flowing essence of life."
Celeste rode me like a tide—rising and falling, building and crashing. Her cunt gripped me with impossible pressure. Her breasts bounced above me, massive and hypnotic.
"Give to the water," she gasped. "Give everything."
I came inside her with a shout. But instead of softening, I stayed hard.
"The offering continues," Morgana smiled. "Who claims earth?"
Three women represented earth.
They took me in rotation—one riding while another sat on my face, the third guiding my hands to her body. I couldn't tell where one ended and the next began. Three sets of thighs, three different tastes, three voices moaning in harmony.
"Earth receives all," they chanted together. "Earth takes all."
I came three more times.
Still hard.
Fire was Morgana herself.
She dismissed the others, lowered her robes, and revealed a body that should have been impossible. Massive beyond measure, yet perfectly proportioned. Breasts that hung to her waist, belly that cascaded in soft folds, thighs that could crush stone.
"Fire consumes," she said, positioning herself above me. "Fire transforms."
She sank onto me, and I felt heat—actual heat, not metaphor. Her cunt was furnace-hot, gripping me, pulling me deeper.
"Your essence feeds the flame." She started moving. "Your pleasure fuels our power."
I watched her body ripple above me in the firelight. Three hundred and forty pounds of ancient magic using me, draining me, transforming my pleasure into something beyond comprehension.
"Come for the fire," she commanded.
I obeyed. Over and over. Lost count after the sixth time.
Air was all of them.
Thirteen women, all at once.
I was passed between them like a sacred object. Hands, mouths, cunts—I was touched everywhere simultaneously. Someone rode my cock while others sat on my face, my hands, pressed their bodies against every available surface.
"Air is everywhere," they chanted. "Air touches all."
I was drowning in flesh. In pleasure. In magic I didn't believe in but could feel with every nerve.
"Give to the air," Morgana's voice came from somewhere above me. "Give us your last."
I came one final time.
But this was different. I felt something leave me—not just semen, but something deeper. Energy. Essence. Whatever they'd been drawing from me all night.
The fire flared green, then purple, then a white so bright I had to close my eyes.
When I opened them, dawn was breaking.
"The ritual is complete."
Morgana was dressed again—all of them were. The clearing looked like an ordinary forest glade, no sign of the ceremony that had consumed the entire night.
"What did you do to me?"
"We took what you offered." She touched my face. "Freely given essence is the most powerful kind."
"I couldn't have stopped you."
"Couldn't you?" She smiled. "At any point, did you try to leave? Did you resist? Did you ask us to stop?"
I thought about it. Realized with horror that I hadn't.
I'd given everything willingly.
"What happens now?"
"Now you go home." Morgana pressed something into my hand—a stone, warm and pulsing with faint light. "But you're bound to us now. Part of the circle."
"What does that mean?"
"It means when Samhain comes again, you'll feel the pull. The forest will call you. And you'll come back—willingly, eagerly—to give us everything again."
"Every year?"
"Every year." She kissed my forehead. "The offering is eternal. And so is the pleasure."
One year later
October 31st.
I've been feeling the pull for weeks. The stone around my neck growing warmer, brighter, more insistent.
I told my wife I'm going hunting. Packed a bag. Drove north.
The GPS works fine now. I don't need it anyway—I know exactly where I'm going.
The clearing waits.
The coven waits.
And God help me, I can't wait to give them everything again.