DISCLAIMER: The following is fiction. The story’s content does not reflect the writer’s beliefs, opinions, or attitudes. This story is intended for adult entertainment only. The characters and events depicted in this work are fictional. The author does not condone or promote any unlawful activity, such as is depicted in the story. By continuing to read this work, you acknowledge that you are an adult who wishes to read works of fantasy and fiction for the purpose only of fantasy. All the characters in this story are adults. They may play different ages for the fictional character they are depicting, but they remain adults at all times. All Rights Reserved © 2026 LITTLESALLY666.
STORY CODES: Transgender, Young Ones, WS, Sacrilegious, Witchcraft, Occult, Magic, Supernatural, Shapeshifting, Violence, Snuff.
CREATED: 01.04.2026 (V9)
ART: G. Nic
AUTHOR’S NOTE: More recently, I watched a movie called “The Last Duel” — what interested me in this was the story sequencing. The story involved three key characters and unfolded in three parts — it was essentially the same story but told from the perspective of each of the protagonists — for the audience to judge which was true or false. I loved the idea of delving deeper into the narrative from each point of view. In Misha 2 (Misha’s Story), I wanted to explore how Misha saw things, what she felt, and how she prioritized the elements of her story. In Misha 3 (Kikamora’s Story), it was her wicked, twisted mother’s perspective. Now, in Misha 4 … it’s the Witch Huntress’ turn.
Misha 4 (The Witch Huntress’ Story)
SYNOPSIS OF “MISHA 4”
Evil is everywhere. Its darkness has always been pervasive. And I have been hunting evil all my life. Those that worship the devil, that rape and murder for sexual pleasure, that practice the dark arts, and feed off of the innocent. I had heard the dreaded names “Kikimora” and “Misha” many times in my travels. They had been the elusive ones. I tracked their evil deeds, and the clues had led me to their wicked coven. It was now only a matter of time before the witch and her offspring would meet their end. And I would be victorious.
MISHA 4 — CHAPTER TEN — (2,172 WORDS)
How does one become a “witch huntress”? It’s an interesting question, right? I have been groomed for my role since I was very young. I never knew my parents or siblings. It’s been a gruelling mental and physical preparation. I never knew love. I didn’t have a childhood — just a secret purpose.
From my earliest memories, there has only been discipline and ruthless, persistent training. They have weaponized me. That secret purpose was to “right a great wrong” and to fight against the powers of darkness that I have been told gripped the world around us.
As far back as I can remember, the place where we lived was where I was taught to destroy. It was cold and stark. The food was bland. In my mind, everything was void of color. Just awful shades of dull grey. There was no time for childish games.
The harshness was said to be a Holy blessing. It was God’s training ground for the faithful. As “witch huntreeses”, we were taught that strict obedience was the only way with zero tolerance towards any misbehavior. Otherwise, the punishment was brutal. It was a cruel place with only duty or pain.
I wasn’t even sure of my exact age, as we never had birthdays. We had no name. Just a number. Mine was sixty-six. My elder female mentors never rewarded, only punished. Hour after hour. Day after day. Month after month. Year after year …
… And then I was given my very first assignment. It would be a test. Everything was a test. A test of my faith, abilities, and judgment.
“They are known by many names,” said my mentor, “Sex demons, night hags, enchantresses, harlots, she-devils, sexual vampires, succubi … but collectively, they were all ‘witches’. Their influence can be subtle. They play in the shadows. They are unseen by most, except by those who fell victim to their evil influences, spells, and satanic rituals.
“Yes, they all worshiped the antichrist, the devil. Some even hid in plain sight, parading as religious leaders, as nuns, and healers. But they infected everything they touched. Like a cancerous disease, spreading through the body of its host. A wicked plague that will corrupt everything they touch — unless we stop them. Do you understand?”
I nodded.
xxxxx
I remember it as if it were yesterday. It was Sunday.
My mentor had sent me to an old, dilapidated church that lay on the outskirts of a small town in the middle of nowhere. Behind this church lay a dark, bunker-like building. It was early evening by the time I arrived. I watched three women with a group of youths. The youths walked hand in hand as they led them into the entrance.
I quickly slipped into the back of the group, blended in, and I realized that they all seemed peculiar. Special needs, maybe, mentally handicapped? Then, once inside, I quickly ducked out of sight, into the shadows again, away from the rest of the group.
From my hidden vantage point, I had a good view of the entire room. It was set up like a community hall, with a soft seating area and chequered rubber floor matting with a bizarre color scheme of dark red and black. Rather morbid for a kindergarten. There were no windows.
I heard someone lock the doors from the inside.
At first, I thought I had made a mistake. Maybe I’ve got the wrong place?
Observing the three adult women, they didn’t exactly look like a witch. I wasn’t sure what to expect. Their leader was younger than I imagined. Sensual and attractive. Soft, white skin. Long, black hair. A noble neck. She was dressed in a dark, flowing robe. Her eyes seemed to sparkle in the subdued downlighting inside.
Meanwhile, the mentally retardated youths just lounged about, inattentively, as if disinterested in their situation or surroundings.
Their leader in question stood up and walked into the middle of the group. She raised her hands toward the ceiling and began to chant softly. She spoke too softly for me to hear her words exactly; however, I had been trained to lip-read. Strangely, she was speaking in a language I didn’t expect. Her twisted words repeated over and over, as if gathering a bizarrely dark momentum.
“O Seksualni Demoni Tame, izađi i zauzmi ove prazne posude, da bi mračne orgije mogle da počnu!”
[O Sexual Demons of Darkness, come forth and take possession of these empty vessels, so that the dark orgy may begin!]
Before my eyes, it seemed her chanting was having a profound effect on her young audience. Transformational. Instead of their slow, inattentive, and languid movements, they all became suddenly agitated and highly animated. It was as if something or someone was stirring inside of them — possessing them both physically and mentally.
They began to immediately undress. More like ripping their clothes from their bodies and wildly kissing each other, mouth-to-mouth. I could see their eager tongues wriggling back and forth between each other.
Now all naked, I could see their young cocks were all hard. Their young cunts were slick with sexual wetness. They wasted no time, as they began touching themselves and each other, deviantly and salaciously. They’d all started to masturbate, licking and sucking at each other’s excited sex organs. Some of the boys began fellating each other. Some of the girls were gripping one another, scissoring on the floor, their juicy cunt holes together. As they all begin to fornicate wildly, like a sexual whirlwind, surrounding the three witches.
I was in complete shock. No, I was horrified. I had never seen anything like it.
“O Seksualni Demoni Tame, izađite i pokažite mi svoju odanost, dajte mi svoje obožavanje, zadovoljite me, zadovoljite me, zadovoljite me!”
[O Sexual Demons of Darkness, come forth and show me your devotion, give me your adoration, pleasure me, pleasure me, pleasure me!]
The witches’ long gowns fell from their shoulders. It felt as if I was watching them in slow motion. Without their clothing, they all displayed their alabaster beauty and complete nudity beneath. They were firm-breasted, with large and full blossoms. Their nipples were hard. Their waists were narrow. And their stomachs were flat and slightly muscular. Below, their groins were all completely hairless.
I had begun to shake in disbelief. My eyes were drawn to their gaping vaginas, above which their clits stood outwards, like the horn of a demon. It looked completely unnatural. Deformed. Like enormous protrusions against their modest frames.
Of course, I knew then that these were the phalluses of witches.
I watched in horror as the leader grabbed one of the smaller boys, lifting him effortlessly above her huge appendage, as she began to ram her phallus upwards into his delicate bowels. The boy’s body seemed to dance upon her fleshy spike, shaking like a helpless rag doll. His guttural cries were animalistic.
That’s when the witches began to transform even further. From angels to demons. Their faces were distorted into grimaces of ugliness. Distorted. Mutated. Less and less feminine with every second that passed. More and more sinister with every thrust that their leader took into the screaming boy. She was now almost unrecognizable. No longer the woman, but more monster. A sexual demon.
That’s when I stepped forward. My instincts took over.
”Ko si ti, jebote?” screamed the ugly witch angrily in complete surprise.
[Who the fuck are you?]
I didn’t answer.
And without another thought, my blade pierced her demonic throat. Like a red flash, her blood sprayed outwards from her neck as I sliced right through her neck. The other witches screamed as her horned head fell backwards from her shoulders. With a thud, it landed onto the floor. In the same instance, her ugly body sank (together with her boy lover), in slow motion, to the ground before me. Dying. Dead.
I, then, turned on the other two witches. They all met a swift and bitter end. Everyone was screaming around me. It seemed the witches’ spell had been broken.
xxxxx
Over time, I had become less sensitive to the horrors that I had observed. Was I merciless? Yes. Was I infallible? No. Only, more recently, I had been sent by my mentors to track a group of witches in the foothills. The villagers had reported their children missing. Even a young baby.
The location was an abandoned cemetery, surrounded by the forestlands, where many of the tombstones had fallen, and the ivy-covered crypts were left open to the elements.
”Sixty-six,” said my mentor, “As the four witches perform their dark ritual, they each kneel naked, facing one another. One at the north, one at the South, another at the east, and the fourth at the west. There will be the aroma of Black Copal, used to evoke the darkest aspects of the Queen of Demons, Lilith. The witches use an occult suffocation technique to extract the living spirit from their young victims.
“Their selected offerings are usually as young as possible, most times, infants or babies stolen straight from the crib. Illuminated by black candles made from the fat of previously sacrificed babies, these vampiric witches place the naked child on the floor between them, in the middle of the Sigil of Lilith. Remember your lessons about the demon, Lilith — she is the night hag, the Queen of Evil, that steals babies, and uses them to enhance her wanton sexuality.
“The poor child will be confused, crying, and usually stressed by their libidinous behavior,” she continued, “Then, these evil witches take turns. They squatted over the young one’s upturned face, blocking its mouth and nose, with their gapping, slimy vaginas, as they thrust back and forth. They start off with short periods of suffocation, and gradually the intensity and duration increase with every change.
“As they take turns, the other three witches chant blasphemously and masturbate themselves furiously. It seems that their orgasms intensify as the child weakens, and their climax comes when eventually their sacrifice dies,” added my mentor to her graphic depiction of their ritual, “You must stop these evil creatures that prey on the weak and helpless, and kill them all, without hesitation!”
Actually, I had studied their evil ritual in detail. It is one thing to be mentored about a subject, but that doesn’t prepare you for when you actually witness it.
When I arrived, I heard the muffled cries of their sacrificial one. I heard the evil chanting and sexual groaning of the white-skinned witches. I could even smell their sexual arousal. I saw their sweating nakedness, their erect, horned clitorises, and the vulgarity was awful.
I felt my hands shake, and I tried to calm my nerves.
The witches were all preoccupied with their depraved endeavor, far too sexually excited, to notice my proximity.
“O Lilith, božice pokvarenosti, daj nam svoj mračni blagoslov,” they chanted loudly.
[O Lilith, goddess of depravity, give us your dark blessing.]
Was I too late? It seemed their victim, a young girl, may have already been dead. One of the witches was still crouching on her haunches, over the girl’s twisted body that was covered in their vaginal discharge. The other three naked witches had their fingers of one hand thrusting into their genitals, and the fingers of the other wrapped around their horned cock-clits.
“O Lilith, božice pokvarenosti, uzmi ovu žrtvu za svoje seksualno zadovoljstvo!”
[O Lilith, goddess of depravity, take this offering for your sexual pleasure!]
I immediately jumped forward and attacked them. My blade sliced through their vulnerable necks, and I quickly killed the first three naked witches. Their bodies fell to the ground where they had been kneeling.
But, as I turned to kill the last of the four witches, she looked into my eyes, grinned, laughed at me, and then literally vanished into thin air.
xxxxx
No, I was not infallible. I watched the witch disappear before my eyes.
This dark magick of sex, death, and invisibility was only the tip of the iceberg. My mentors even warned me of the seductive nature of the witches. Had witchhuntresses fallen before? Most certainly. Some were killed in the most horrific ways. Some were even seduced to the dark side.
“How did the witch just vanish?” I asked.
“That’s a good question,” replied my mentor, “There is much that we don’t understand about the dark arts. They can be very powerful and unpredictable. They draw upon the very powers of the devil himself. That’s why your training has been so severe. I have heard of this trick before. How it is done, well, we can only guess … just like the way they transform themselves into creatures of deviant sex. How can they extend their lives — living for centuries — looking as young as they did when they were teenagers?”
“They can do that?” I asked.
“They can even reverse the ageing process … vanity can be more than a venial sin! Theirs are mortal sins. They must be destroyed. Each and every one of them!”
xxxxx
MISHA 4 — CHAPTER ELEVEN — (2,136 WORDS)
I had traveled to every remote corner of the world. Always in darkness. Always incognito. Nobody knew my name. Only my mentors, and they only referred to me as Sixty-Six.
Over the decades, my kills had clocked up to the point where I no longer remembered every one of them.
I had heard the dreaded name “Kikimora” many times. I knew that it was associated with a legendary creature, a female spirit in Slavic mythology. The Kikimora was known to be either a “bad” or a “good” spirit, depending on her influences. She could be seen in many forms, as a youthful girl, pretty and alluring, but also a depraved demon that was neither female nor male, but both at the same time. She was the head of the snake. A demon of demons. Killing her would be a challenge, but it would significantly damage their evil influence.
There was word of a secret coven somewhere in the distant hills. The rumor was about a monastery of nuns that was not only cruel and wicked, but had long abandoned any worship of our Abrahamic god. Instead, they all followed the darkest of ways of Occult sex, witchcraft, black magick, and devil worship.
They were led by the Kikimora, who preyed on the weak and the vulnerable with her sexually exploitative ways and practices. It was rumoured that the sisters of the monastery would deliberately become pregnant, only to offer the unborn to the sex demons they worshipped.
Many of the witches would use the toes, fingers, feet, legs, and even the entire arms of their captives to satisfy their itchy, perverted, hungry cunts, fucking themselves on their victims’ limbs during their depraved orgies — whilst their sisters danced naked around bonfires in the middle of woods — as they offered their sacrifices to the devil.
These stories filled my heart with disquiet and dismay. How could such evil go unpunished? There would need to be a day of reckoning. So, I promised to find this “Kikimora” and to destroy her coven once and for all.
However, my pursuit was suspended, and things changed when I was given an assignment to gather an important relic — or so it was called. This relic had significance to the witches, and it was felt at the time that my intervention and acquisition of this blasphemous object would be damaging to their evil and twisted cause. Of course, I accepted the task without hesitation.
”Sixty-six. This will be a difficult task. You will need to infiltrate the coven. You will need to appear as a willing acolyte to get close to the relic. Killing will not be the first objective. You will see and experience things that will be offensive and depraved, but you must focus on the task at hand — you must acquire the relic and bring it to us. You must do whatever it takes to get close to those who have possession of the relic. You understand?”
Of course, I understood. Or so I thought. But how to infiltrate a coven? This wasn’t the usual track and kill process. This would require stealth and a more subtle approach. What exactly was this relic? What was its importance to the witches? I had many questions. But, as in most of my assignments, the details were rather vague. I would have to figure it out for myself.
”The relic must be retrieved and brought to us. You understand?” she affirmed, “By any means necessary. Start by making discreet inquiries with the locals. They fear these witches, but will not quickly divulge their secrets in fear of retaliation. Your cover must be that of a wealthy woman seeking to support their so-called monastery, in return for their gift of eternal youth, as if unbeknownst to their true carnal nature.”
”What exactly is this relic?”
”You will know it,” she replied cryptically, “When you see it.”
The locals did live in fear. In Slavic folklore, evil witches are often referred to as “Verma,” meaning cannibalistic witch hags. This ancient term was associated with their harmful, sexual, and demonic powers, distinguishing them from those who supposedly used “white magic” as a gift. Others used terms like “veshtica” or “veshterka,” which carried a dual meaning of skilled, wise women, but also malevolent sorceresses.
I was to take the train to Cluj-Napoca. From there, I would begin the journey deep into the forest foothills, to a village known as Valea Stinsă (“The Faded Valley”), and from there to my ultimate destination, Fântâna de Lumină (Monastery of the Spring of Light). A blasphemous name, I thought, knowing the true nature of their wickedness.
My assumed identity, of Madame Jennifer, would use the back story of being a wealthy widow, of the Late Lord Jennifer, an aristocrat from the Eastern provinces. I would pose as a naive woman with a particular interest in the mystical sciences and the supernatural, seeking vanity, beauty, and pleasure. It was a sketch of someone who could be manipulated and corruptible. Easily parted from her wealth for the price of her own vanity. Hopefully, it would gain me entry into their secretive world. Would I be able to pull this off? Would they see through my disguise? Would they suspect that I was the witch-huntress? That remained to be seen.
xxxxx
So, the stage was set. The locals proved predictably unhelpful. They seemed guarded and wary of everything. Even with my assumed identity, I was looked upon with distrust. Their fear of the witches had paralysed even their morality. It was somewhat frustrating, but I needed to be patient.
However, my discreet inquiry did garnish the interest of a young nun, visiting the Faded Valley, supposedly there, in the village, to purchase goods for the orphans of their monastery. Her name was Sister Mamuna. She appeared to me as a young and fresh-faced woman, dressed in her simple black wimple and habit.
“Madame Jennifer,” I turned to the sound of a sweet, young voice, “Forgive me for eavesdropping on your conversation, but I heard that you seek the wisdom of a sorceress. Is that true?”
I was dressed in the finest of Barguzin sable, the most sought-after variety of Russian sable, famous for its deep, chocolate-brown color with subtle silvery hairs. Around my neck, I wore a thick Russian Rose gold necklace with a traditional Orthodox cross, and Rose gold rings on almost all of my fingers. I dripped with wealth, status, and privilege. Ostentatious, I looked distinctly out of place in the humble village market.
“Well, yes. I mean, I have a reticent interest in the mystical arts,” I replied to the novice nun.
“The secrets of the fountain of youth and everlasting beauty?” whispered Sister Mamuna.
”I am more than happy to make a very generous donation to the establishment that may support …” I paused, “… My curiosities.”
”Maybe we could retire to somewhere more private?”
The young nun ushered me back towards the nearby inn where I had secured lodgings. Once inside, I brought her to my room. It was modest, but the warm fireplace felt welcoming. My fur coat was much too warm. I removed it. I noticed how Sister Mamuna’s eyes watched my every move, like a hawk. She had asked the staff to prepare some hot refreshments that she had brought with her, and we sat together.
The drink was unusual. At first, I felt a different kind of heat. A tingling heat that seemed to be concentrated in my loins.
”My apologies for my clandestine behavior, Madame Jennifer,” said the young nun, “These are more dangerous times. Talk of mystical arts, the craft, and sorcery can garnish the unwanted attention of those who see it as evil. There are those among the villagers who fear the Lamia. The eater-of-children. A Baphometic succubus witch. All hearsay, but they are very superstitious.”
”The eater-of-children …” I said, pretending nativity.
”Myths and hearsay, of course,” she added to reassure me, “But I do know of some wise women, who, for the right price, may assist you in your curiosity,” she used my words, “I mean, your search for … eternal youth … if that is what you seek?”
No, it was the relic that I was after. However, this led did seem to get the ball rolling. Maybe this young nun knew where to find the coven or was a way into their dark underworld. Or maybe these so-called wise women knew something of the witches, of their secrets, and how I could penetrate their perverted coven.
”You seem wise beyond your years,” I complimented her.
“Or maybe I appear younger than my years,” the nun answered.
She smiled sardonically at me and removed her habit to display her youthful body.
”See what magick can do,” the nun boasted.
I was surprised that she wore no underclothing beneath her gown. Her body was alabaster white — like marble — and without her shapeless habit, her lean body appeared almost preteen with small breasts, a flat stomach, and was completely hairless around her vagina.
“If you knew my true age, you would begin to understand the power of sorcery. That one can remain or even reverse the appearance of age with this ancient magick.”
I was completely stunned for a moment as my eyes roamed freely over her body. I hadn’t expected such a glorious sight. My loins tingled unexpectedly in a way that I knew was sinfully envious. To covet the naked flesh of another was simply a great sin. Why had my training not prepared me for such impure and concupiscent thoughts that directly contradicted the Ninth Commandment?
“Why don’t you touch them?” she asked, moving directly in front of me.
She was talking about her delicate bosoms. ‘Walk in the spirit, and you shall not fulfil the lusts of the flesh.’ But, as much as I tried to calm myself, my hand couldn’t help but cup the shape of her right breast. Her nipples reacted to my touch, hardening and lengthening before my eyes. I was aroused. I knew I should be. But I could deny the salaciousness of the moment.
“Suckle upon them. For they are filled with the elixir of eternal youth.”
My body seemed to dance to her every command. I found my lips wrapped around her right nipple, whilst my hand caressed her left breast. I began to suckle upon it greedily. Its strange fluids began to fill my mouth to the point where I had to swallow.
“Yes! You can feel the dark magick of my sorceress at work. Your body craves only that which only a sorcess may fulfil. Come now, don’t be shy. Kneel before me.”
And I was on my knees. I’m not sure when I undressed, but I was aware of my nakedness. My body shuddered beneath the nun’s legs as she guided my face towards her slimy, hot hole. I had never experienced this level of helplessness before. I was unable to refuse. My mouth was open, and my tongue began to feverishly lick at the young nun’s nubile vagina. My face quickly became saturated in her sexual juices. And at the same time, my own fingers found their way into my own hungry vagina.
”Mmmm, that’s it. Lick me there. Masturbate. Mmmm … suck me. Suck my clit … Taste my juices,” groaned the young nun as she seemed to relish my behavior.
Her hand held the back of my head, guiding my mouth to exactly the places she wanted. Her body moved like the serpent in the Garden of Eden. It felt impure. Dirty. Raunchy. Yet, I couldn’t deny my enjoyment. She pressed me down onto the rugged floor and squatted over me, rubbing her oily slit back and forth across my face, as I continued to masturbate myself.
xxxxx
I awoke, as if from a deeply refreshing sleep. The nun was gone. I felt a little foolish at first. But as I washed myself in the bathroom, I noticed the change. To my complete astonishment, my skin looked tighter, more vibrant, even younger than I could remember. She had changed me, subtly, but noticeably.
I quickly dressed and was about to leave when I saw the handwritten note left on the table. It simply said that “they” would contact me and I was to bring my “generous donation”.
I’d somehow become detached from my assignment. The relic. The witches. It all came crashing back. Had I achieved my first objective? My body remembered how it felt. Not so unpleasant. No, I had felt a kind of euphoria through our unexpected sexual exchange. It was something that I had not planned for. But I had been told to use any means possible. These words seemed to relieve my religious conscience from the sinful actions of my body.
xxxxx
MISHA 4 — CHAPTER TWELVE — (2,234 WORDS)
It didn’t take long. It seemed the plan to pose as the wealthy widow must have worked. The nun who had instigated my first sexual experience, Sister Mamuna, met me and brought me to their monastery in the distant hills. She’d covered my eyes during the journey to somehow protect the secret of their exact location, but I had observed every twist and turn, creating a mental map in my finely-tuned mind.
The place seemed to have that familiar sensation of evil and darkness. I knew that sensation well. I immediately knew that this was no holy sanctuary for the innocent and the meek, but a place of sex, death, and devil worship. Instinctively, my mind readied itself for killing, but I knew the priority was to gather the relic. The relic was the key that I must obtain. The relic was the mission.
“Madame Jennifer, you will meet our Convent Mother, Sister Kikimora,” said Sister Mamuna, “She will initiate you into the power of sorcery. You will regain your youth. You will age more slowly. Even remain in a suspended state of feminine beauty for your entire lifetime. That’s what you want, right?” I nodded, “And … you have brought your generous contribution?”
”Of course,” I lied.
There was that name. That dreaded name. Kikimora. The witch of witches. The head of the snake. Was it the same? A possible coincidence? Could it be that I had found her at last? The monster. The child-eating monster. The one they called Verma. The living Baphomet. The changling, both masculine and feminine. The evil mother.
”Ah, this is Sister Morena and Sister Misha,” she said, introducing me to two more sisters, “This is Madame Jennifer, she has travelled far to find us, and to seek out the fountain of youth.”
I could see that their resemblance was obviously familial. Sisters by blood. Sisters by disguise. Witches hiding in plain sight, pretending to be Sisters of the light. Sister Morena and Sister Misha moved gracefully forward. Each kissed my lips softly as we embraced. A test? I didn’t rebuff them. It could have been taken as a kind gesture, but I felt their twisted lust. These evil creatures were going to die, and I was their angel of death.
”Let me bring you to our Convent Mother,” she said, “She awaits us in our secret place.”
xxxxx
The secret place appeared more dungeonous with dark stone walls. A steep staircase descended into the gloom. Diabolical in design. Demonic in character. Dedicated to the profane. A place of skullduggery and perverse sexual indulgence. Painted images in “pseudo-religious” settings depicted pornographic depravity, and Sigils of demonology covered every wall. There was a huge canopied bed covered in black satin sheets and a huge roaring fireplace that appeared to be the vampiric mouth of an evil demon.
“Welcome, Madame Jennifer,” said the enigmatic nun that I took to be, no other than, Sister Kikimora, the convent mother.
“Thank you for agreeing to meet with me,” I said.
Sister Kikamora smiled and turned back to the others.
“Leave us, Sisters, I wish to talk with Madame Jennifer … alone.”
The others quickly receded and left the room. I heard the heavy door close and lock behind me. We were alone in her secret chamber. The monster’s lair. Sister Kikimora moved effortlessly between the space between us until she was right in front of me. Her movement was unnaturally fast and quiet with the elegance of a gazelle.
Her face looked beautiful, ageless, with smooth skin and sparkling eyes.
”I know why you are here,” she said casually, “I know you seek the relic. And I know you’re not Madame Jennifer … you’re a witch-huntress.”
I was momentarily stunned.
“And I know you have come here with the intent to kill me.”
Why was I so surprised? We were still alone. My finger itched to take my concealed knife and plunge it into the throat of my adversary. To kill the provocateur. But I didn’t. I just couldn’t.
”You seem to know many things,” I replied.
”I wouldn’t be much of a sorceress if I didn’t,” Sister Kikimora responded.
She stealthfully stepped behind the wide table to one side. Upon which was placed an ornate wooden box.
“Before you decide to kill me, maybe I should share with you … the relic you seek …wouldn’t that be a coup? Kill me and get the relic … all in a day’s work?”
She had my attention.
“Maybe your mentors never told you exactly what the relic was or its purpose. Don’t you ever wonder why they would want something that is, most definitely, unholy and unnatural?”
She had a point. They’d said only that I would know it when I see it. I didn’t have any idea what the relic was or what it was for, or even why my mentors should want it so desperately. I decided to play nice (for the time being).
“All of your life, you have been sold a sad and narrow narrative,” the witch-sorcress continued, “That witches are all inherently bad. We all do evil things. We all corrupt the innocent. We’re all depraved … we have sex with one another … we pleasure ourselves at the expense of the meek and the weak-willed. I kill and eat babies as if they were chickens. Am I right?”
I frowned. Yes, it was true. But that was the point, right? That’s why we killed these evil-doers — to protect the meek and the innocent. Didn’t we?
“So, where is the damn relic?” I said plainly.
“Ah, straight to the point. I like that. However, it isn’t as simple as that. The relic is useless without the conjuring. The right kind of sexual magick must be applied. And that would most definitely be an Occult magick. To grasp the relic’s true power and influence, you would need to give it something of yourself to it … otherwise it will never be yours to take back to your mentors.”
“Tricks! Lies! Deceit!” I spat.
Sister Kikimora began to laugh.
“Indulge me, maybe?”
She opened the heavily carved wooden box that lay upon the table.
“Undress,” she said.
To my astonishment, I found myself compliant. I was naked before the sorceress in no time. Undressed, I had nowhere to conceal a weapon. No element of surprise. She undressed too. Her body, like Sister Mamuna’s, was remarkable. So pale, thin, and youthful — again, I felt an inappropriate sense of envy, covetousness, and even a tinge of jealousy for her timeless beauty.
Then, I looked at the contents of the black-velvet-lined box. Inside, there was a crucifix. It was unlike any crucifix that I had ever seen before. Its blackened metallic shape looked demonically designed such that each of the tips of the crucifix was fashioned like a phallus. The depiction of Christ was one of complete nakedness. His loins conspicuously erect, aflamed with sexual passion. A diabolical crucifix intended for blasphemous masturbation. The devil’s crucifix.
Sister Kikimora lifted it up and held it inverted before my eyes.
”Look upon it,” she muttered, “And tell me … what do you truly feel?”
I didn’t answer, for what I felt I couldn’t express in words. What did I feel? I knew what I should have felt. Disgust. Revolution. Repulsion. But that would be a complete lie. My loins tingled in the most unholy of ways.
“Go on, hold it in your hand, my dear,” Sister Kikimora encouraged.
Her sly smile told me that I was the mouse and she was the cat. Whatever plan I had was now in jeopardy. However, the relic was within my reach. The warm metal tingled as my fingers touched the surface of the obscene thing. My fingers eagerly touched the engrossed cock of Christ inappropriately. The small hairs stood up on the back of my neck. I felt myself begin to sweat from an internal heat. My brow was wet. Why was I so hot? My breathing became short and harsh. My vagina was on fire. I felt my vaginal juices flowing down the inside of my legs.
“Ahhhh, I see you feel it … after all!” she said, looking very pleased with herself. “It is rumored that it was fashioned from the nails that were used to crucify your Nazarene,” the witch disclosed, “Now, don’t be shy. Grasp it firmly. You know exactly where it needs to go.”
The witch was masturbating as she watched me. Helplessly, I held the awful thing against myself. It seemed to hum against my skin with a vulgar life of its own. I wanted to scream. But was it from pain or pleasure?
“O Lilith, božice pokvarenosti, daj nam svoj mračni blagoslov,” she began to chant.
[O Lilith, goddess of depravity, give us your dark blessing.]
I was beginning to shake uncontrollably.
“That’s it. You know what you need. Do it. Yes. Don’t hold back. The relic’s power is too strong to deny. You can no longer resist its lust. Lavish it with kisses. Lick it. Kiss it. You must fuck yourself with it. Push it into your greedy, wet cunt. Feel the pleasure of the devil’s cock inside you. Fuck your cunt and ass with it. Give yourself to your true god of the witches!”
I was helpless. No, that was a lie. I was excited like nothing I had ever felt. It was as if my very calling had brought me to this point. I did exactly as she’d instructed. I kissed it. Licked it. My wayward lustfulness would not be sated without pressing the warm metal cock-crucifix inside my drooling vagina and itchy anus.
xxxxx
After returning, I had arranged to meet with my mentor privately. I had only told them the truth. That I had returned with the relic. It had been the mission. What I hadn’t told them was about an encounter with Kikimora. I left that part out.
What was I going to say? I mean, could I tell them about how the unholy power of the relic had instantly consumed me? Should I have disclosed that I felt drawn to my nemesis? The name Kikimora no longer filled me with dread. Now, I could only think of the lust. That after touching the relic, there seemed to be something very wrong about being a witch-huntress … as if I had failed to understand the real truth … I had been shaking and convulsing … not in pain, but in a bizarrely orgasmic state — like a drug that once taken, can never be untaken — addictively changing my perceptions forever.
Without even realising, I found the relic was already buried in my hot, wet cunthole — I mean, right up to the hilt. Quivering, I found myself on my knees before her, as she began to transform … in the way that I had seen other witches do … but this was different … more personal … it was not about her, but about me.
We were no longer alone. The three sisters had returned. All completely naked and highly aroused. I was speechless as they pleasured themselves and each other. The two twins, Sister Mamuna and Sister Morena, were obviously female, but the younger one, Sister Misha, was something else — a transexual.
They looked upon me, no longer as a witch-huntress (an enemy), but as one of their own. I was gasping for air. My heart raced like never before. My mouth was filled with Kikimora’s phallic clit. Long and hard, it slid back and forth in my open mouth. My lips wrapped around its hot flesh. I tasted her salty discharge as Kikimora fucked my face.
“Tell me,” said my mentor, “What happened when you escaped with the relic? How did you manage to evade them? Is that the relic in the box?”
So many questions.
My mentor seemed impatient as I tried to collect my thoughts.
“The relic, it seems, has no value,” I lied, “Without the occult enchantments … it’s just an ugly relic.”
My mentor quickly opened the box. She seemed eager to see it for herself. She stared at the dark metal crucifix shaped in its unholy, phallic shape.
“A … A blasphemous thing!” she whispered as if nervous, yet excited, “Sixty-six. You may go. You’ve done your job. I will handle this matter from here.”
And with that, I was quickly dismissed. I had failed to tell her that touching the relic would trigger an unstoppable reaction. I had failed to warn my mentor of the relic’s true corruptive purpose. Maybe I figured that my mentor should know. Maybe it was above my pay grade. Maybe I was just fulfilling Kikimora’s wicked plan.
Regardless, I wasn’t planning on staying long. I took the train back to Cluj-Napoca that night. From there, I would begin the journey into the forest hills to the Fântâna de Lumină (Monastery of the Spring of Light). My mental map knew the way. The witches knew I could not stay away.
I would leave no trace behind. I would be invisible as they had trained me to be. I knew that Kikimora would be waiting for me at the isolated monastery. There was much to learn about the occult pleasures of witchcraft. I would be young, beautiful, and highly preverted. And then there was the gathering of all their sisterhood. The night of nights. As the profane ritual of the “Nunta din Umbra” was just about to begin.
xxxxx
THE END? OR SHALL WE CONTINUE?
xxxxx
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