DISCLAIMER: The following is fiction. The content of the story is not representative of 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 that they are depicting but they remain at all times adults. All Rights Reserved © 2023 LITTLESALLY666.

STORY CODES: LGBT themes, Cohesion, Corruption, Young, Rape, Bondage, Sadism, Snuff, WS, Scat, Blood Fetish, Gore, Necrophilia, Beast, Drug use, MC, Black Magic (Obeah/Voodoo), Devil Worship, Demons, Evil themes.

CREATED: 02.04.2013 / REVISITED: 02.11.2023

Diary Of The White Witch 1


The following is based on a true story. It is 1965. Rachel’s uncanny resemblance to the painted image of the infamous Annie Palmer, coupled with her unhealthy sexual interests in the 18th-century woman, named the ‘White Witch of Rose Hall’ is punctuated in the discovery of her diary that is filled with bizarre tales of her sexual wickedness, sadism, necrophilia, and devil worship. Is it all in Rachel’s mind or has she unwittingly awakened something evil – something that is trying to escape an eternity of imprisonment from an ancient voodoo curse?


Rachel Johnson was a perky twenty-five-year-old from the East End of London. The distance she had traveled across the Sargasso Sea to the shores of the Caribbean had been tiring both physically and emotionally; but the excitement of a new adventure, the prospect of a fully paid research assignment, and the contrast between the dull grey skies of London and the bright color of the Montego Bay was just overwhelming.

She had not been in and around Montego Bay even a day and had already heard many versions of the Annie Palmer story. Most told the tale of a young girl born in 1804, orphaned at ten years old, after her parents died of yellow fever, and brought up in Haiti under the wing of a black nanny who had taught her how to use Haitian voodoo. They said she had moved to Jamaica at the age of fifteen and two years later married a wealthy sugar cane plantation owner called John Palmer. It was never stated where her extreme cruelty and perversion had been cultivated, but in an estate with more than 2,000 slaves under her control, and sexually unsatisfied by her husband, she began a reign of sexual debauchery, torture, and murder.

When her husband discovered her secrets – some say he may have caught her in the act, she killed him. Despite standing under five feet tall and being what they called a Béké (white settlers usually of French origin), all the locals feared her. She quickly became known as the ‘White Witch of Rose Hall’ for her black magic, evil deeds, and unquenchable sexual appetite. Annie was supposed to have killed two more husbands, said to be gullible white foreigners, unaware of Annie’s infamous reputation. Each time, Annie became wealthier, and even more perverted… any slave, male or female or child, that she took a fancy to, would be brought to her bedchamber via a secret entrance; and a week or so later after she had grown tired of them, they would be killed in one way or another.

Rachel had been given a small room in the east end of the Rose Hall mansion, which itself was still under some renovations to restore it to its former glory. As she sat out on the balcony, where Annie Palmer would have stood over a hundred and fifty years earlier, she lit a joint as she pawed through her so-called diary of the ‘White Witch of Rose Hall’ and examined the contents that all seemed to support the hideous folklore about her obeah practices of human sacrifice, especially of infants and baby’s of her slaves, to appease the demons that supposedly extended her life or enhanced her beauty.

Even within the grand old mansion itself, it was said that she had converted the underground cellar into a sordid place, where she tortured unwilling slaves and executed them, others described as being designed for her black magic rituals and sexual orgies – complete with round beds and instruments of torture and even bear traps.

Rachel studies the soiled pages of the faded hand-written diary…

“I was just a young girl, no older than ten years. I wanted to stand by the deathbed of her parents, but I was pulled away before I too could fall victim to yellow fever. My African nanny was an exotic Efik tribal goddess called Sadiah. I was still weeping for the loss of beloved my parents when she took me to her bed. As we both lay naked together, this glorious black woman instructed me how to pleasure her using my mouth and fingers between her open legs.

“I loved the smell of her wet arousal and feverishly drank from the fountain of her vagina. Soon, I was addicted to riding upright upon her face; my expression was one of ecstasy as I ground my hairless pussy against the expert tongue of the black female pedophile. With my parents gone, Sadiah wasted no time in introducing me to a myriad of her perverted pleasures – a pre-teen white girl was in much demand and I was encouraged by her and actually began enjoying inflicting pain and cruelty upon my many other young black lovers – for the voyeuristic pleasure of my dark mother goddess.

“Sadiah was no nanny. It had been a complete sham. And my parents did not perish because of the fever. She had taken the job and poisoned my parents for access to their daughter, the young and beautiful little Annie. Together, the black voodoo goddess and I, her white sex slave, would fornicate and worship demons, especially the evil demon she called Erzulie. In those early times, I knew little about what they did for her, but Erzulie was important. She even created a shrine that she told me would protect us. But despite the protection of the evil demons, there were others, equally interested in the young child–power black men wanting to drink my blood and sacrifice me for the powers of my spirit. So we left the shores of Haiti bound for Jamaica – for Montego Bay, where we would be out of their reach.

“I so much enjoyed my mother goddess and was encouraged at the age of fourteen, where I killed my first baby, suffocating it beneath my vagina as I violently masturbated against its helpless little face, covering its nose and mouth, drowning it in my juices. Sadiah had proclaimed it a very special occasion and after we had both masturbated with its dead body, we had eaten the child together, and she boiled the bones. The mother goddess made me a decorative bone necklace that I wore whenever we had sex and carved its thighbone into an exquisite bone dildo.

Rachel gasped at the graphic content of the foul document. She had half expected it to be a simple chronic of events; or maybe a woman’s historical account of feelings and emotions; maybe even a brief mention of things that she could counter-check … but this was simply bone-chillingly vile; a shockingly malevolent journal of an obviously evil twisted girl with a nefarious reputation. Rachel poured herself a stiff drink and continued reading.

“I learned the art of black magic – I could make any grown man or woman kneel before me; with an evil chant take them as my lovers; and by poison or hex, make them die within seconds of my displeasure. It was an immense sense of power. It was during my seventh year, that Sadiah deemed it was my time to be wed and her influence brought a rich landowner to my side. His name was John Palmer, the owner of Rose Hall, and a wealthy estate and a sugar plantation of some two thousand nigger slaves. John Palmer was an obedient man, loving, and kind, but boring in bed. I tried to return his affections, even to find love for him, but I found myself quickly tiring of his hapless and arduous attempts to please me.

“I had caught the eye of a young black overseer called Takoo, who was hungry for power and influence within the estate and we struck an accord. Within Rose Hall, there were many secret passages, one which led directly under the property and up into the master bedroom – it was meant as an escape route for the master and mistress of the house should the occasion be necessary. Takoo willingly did my bidding; first I would entertain a single slave boy for a night or two for some simple sexual delights, whilst my husband was otherwise detained. It was an entrée of sexual intercourse and oral sex. But soon I began to slip my husband a mild sleep potion so that my nocturnal entertainment could be more interesting.

“During the morning lineup, I would inspect our magnificent niggers before they were sent out into the fields for hard labor. I would take my time, and enjoy selecting the more attractive ones, but more often the ones with more generous genitals – I loved nigger cock, the larger the better. That didn’t mean that sometimes I would also favor another woman and even a young boy or girl. Takoo helped me keep my activities secret and I rewarded him well. I never forgot the lessons of my mother goddess – her Obeah had been very powerful and she had taught me well.

“As our marriage began to bore me my need for more violent sexual pleasure grew. I knew it was time. I wanted this to be a special occasion, and when I went to administer my husband’s nightcap, I deliberately gave him a lesser portion – he would rouse, catch me in the act and I would kill him. How I looked forward to it – the look on his face when he sees me with slave cock in my mouth, rectum, and fanny, filling me with their delicious nigger semen.

“It happened just as I planned. He opened the door and screamed out loud, firstly thinking that I was being forcibly raped … Takoo held him in his powerful arms while I continued to pleasure myself with three of the largest black cocks on the plantation. I took my time making each of them ejaculate over my face. I laughed at John, as the semen dripped from my mouth. He cursed me as a slut, a slave whore, and a demented bitch … I told my lovers to strip him naked, so that I may watch while they humiliated him and made him into a black cock slut. I masturbated watching Takoo and three men take turns in sodomizing him … then I slit his throat in our bed. I lay naked in the bloody sheets and brought myself to orgasm.

“Of course, I couldn’t allow the three slaves to live either, if word got out that I had murdered my own husband, there would be others eager to annex a young petite girl like me, who supposedly knew nothing about the administration of a rich sugar estate. Each of my lovers, with the exception of Takoo, received the reward of death the next day. I had each beheaded in the main courtyard as punishment for the death of my loving husband. I was free at last. Free to explore my most depraved of sexual fantasies. There were those who thought I was easy prey until the stories of my black magic powers and my inhuman cruelty to wayward slaves became well known throughout the island… they called me the White Witch of Rose Hall.”

Incredulous as it all sounded, Rachel was hooked. She couldn’t get enough. Was it the effects of reading the diary or the drugs? All she knew was that her pussy throbbed beneath her short skirt and she felt a desperate need to masturbate. Among the strange assortment of artifacts, she found the actual bone necklace that had been mentioned in the diary, and looking further she also found the carved femurs, not one but several of various sizes. Holding one of these fowl objects in her hand, she could feel a strange energy and attraction to their dark creation that screamed to her… to push it inside her needy cunt.



Rachel put aside her research for the day and hurriedly retired to the privacy of her room. She smoked another joint, taking long drags, and in between drank more scotch. Though she was feeling extremely horny, as she lay down on her bed, she fell almost immediately into a drunken-drugged sleep … dreaming of the evil Annie Palmer …

… She road majestically upon a large black stallion into the cemetery … she felt her wet vagina press against the bare back of the beast as she rubbed her erect clitoris back and forth against the coarse hair of the horse’s body. It was night and the thumping of voodoo drums, screams of witchery, and lewd moans of perverted ecstasy filled the air around her. The ritual seemed to be already in full swing as dozens of naked slaves danced around an open grave, while others carried a shiny black casket of the recently dead. The cemetery was ablaze with sulphuric torches. She dismounted, her bullwhip in her hand and a cut-throat razor in the other – cracking the whip loudly as she screamed,

“Dance you fucking niggers, praise the devil!”

Her long robe was open from the front exposing her boyish flat chest, shaved cunt, and waifish white body beneath. Her appearance was in sharp contrast with the black sweating bodies of the chi-chi boy dancers, whose faces were painted ghoulishly with white skulls as they thrust their hips back and forth, masturbating each other in time to the urgent drumbeat. A female dancer was hung beneath the belly of the black stallion, while others guided its penis and encouraged the animal to penetrate her.

A black shiny coffin was brought forward and the lid removed to expose the naked corpse of her dead husband. A naked young ten-year-old boy climbed into the coffin, on top of the body facing its feet, and pushed his penis into the open mouth of the corpse; then he lay down taking the rigid penis of the freshly dead into his own mouth. The overseer lay down along the stone grave – his cock was enormous, the largest in the group. She mounted him allowing the head of his organ to penetrate the lips of her wet cunt shouting out to her dead husband.

“Watch me fuck my nigger lovers; your soul now belongs to me and the devil!”

Rachel’s eyes opened abruptly. She was aware of her vulgar dream. She found herself lying naked across her bed. It was still night and completely dark inside her room and it took a couple of minutes before she realized exactly where she was. The local marijuana was powerful stuff. She reached over in the darkness and fumbled for the bedside lamp switch.

The lamplight filled the immediate darkness. Her head was pounding and every part of her body felt tender. Rachel recalled the vivid dreamlike cemetery and immediately felt a return of the rush of perverted excitement she had experienced. It had been so lifelike. So surreal? In the dream, she knew she had been Annie Palmer, the ‘White Witch’ …

Getting up from the bed, she toyed with the bone jewelry. Nervously she placed it around her own neck. Though it was just an inert decorative object, actually an ugly and unsightly tribal item at best, the thought of its origins gave her an unexpectedly dark thrill. She looked at herself in the old antique Chippendale mirror, running her fingers over her flat boy-like breasts, making her nipples stiffen at her touch.

Upon her arrival at Rose Hall, she had remembered how the gaunt-looking domestic helper, Chemzira, had commented about Rachel’s resemblance to the infamous Annie Palmer; though she had been dismissive at the time, looking at the old oil painting hanging in the morning lounge, she could see what she meant. There was a strong physical resemblance between her and the woman painted as Madam of the Household.

She hesitantly retrieved one of the bone phalluses from the box of bones… obscenely carved into the cylindrical shape of a life-like penis, from the bulbous crown, slightly tapered from the top to the base that still remained in its original bone-shaped form. This was obviously not from a baby or infant, but maybe from a child of about five years old.

As Rachel held the bone phallus in her hands, she thought how Annie would have been quite an anomaly among the white slavers. Firstly she had been a woman, a strikingly attractive, but petite and frail-looking woman, similar to Rachel’s physique. There would have been many who thought of her as a Béké and an easy target … all eager to rape her, kill her, steal away her estate … these were wild times with little or no rule of law, yet she ruled Rose Hall with an iron grip and was feared from East of Savanna-la-Mar to west of Kingston.

The bone cock felt warm to the touch. Again that feeling of holding something in her hand that had been created from such evil means was shocking but at the same time undeniably sexually arousing. How had she killed the child? Maybe she slit its throat, drinking the blood in a ritual sacrifice? Had Annie used the opportunity to summon the demons that she worshiped? What had she received in return for the nigger child’s life?

Rachel trembled all over as she rubbed it against her nipples making them instantly hard as nails; then rubbing down her stomach until she reached her gushing pussy; she immersed the tip into her wet juices and then brought the obscene object to her mouth, tasting herself upon it. Is this what Annie would have done? Yes, she thought, this is exactly what evil Annie would have done. She looked at herself again in the full-length mirror. Annie would have masturbated frequently with them, as her sexual appetite was never sated … Rachel watched herself as she began to push the head of the eight-inch bone dildo into the entry of her wet cunt, her lips parting across its smooth bone surface.

She pushed another couple of inches deeper into her wet pussy, twisting it so that it further aroused the inner walls of her fuck tunnel … Annie was a sex addict with a taste for the black slave cock … Rachel imagined she was fucking a nigger dick … Yes, she could quickly develop a taste for the same!

She watched herself in the mirror as the bone dildo moved in and out, bringing her a perverted thrill … she imagined herself as Annie Palmer in the basement of Rose Hall.

… It was richly appointed with all manner of carved and painted erotica … the art of demons, a large canvas depicting the rape of an angel by nigger-black demons, their erect phalluses penetrating the angel’s every orifice. She was naked, reclined upon a silk-covered French provincial-style daybed. The objects of her affection were a troupe of three young black slave girls, each about twelve years old, all dressed in elegant embroidered silk garters with fine white silk stays. How delicious they all looked. It was ‘la revue nocturne’ … she wanted these sweet young things to dance erotically for her entertainment – to shake their little black tooshes … to act promiscuously for her … strip and maybe touch each other … yes, playfully frot and fornicate with each other for Annie’s perverted delight. She felt herself get angry and frustrated when one of them showed a lack of participation in her sexy little game. Time for punishment; as retribution she had the other two young whore girls restrain her on the round bed as Annie defected over her face – making her eat Annie’s nasty shit!


Rachel had inquired about the story of Annie’s death. It had been a black magic stand-off between her and her own black overseer, who had concealed from her his true abilities in obeah and voodoo magic for fear of being killed because of it. It was said that he had killed her and then died himself shortly after the attack. This was retribution for the death of his daughter and her fiancé, whom Annie had taken a fancy to. Unlike her modus operandi, she had used him for sex and killed him in the same night – some hinted that maybe he was unwilling to bed her, as he was betrothed to another … in love and therefore uninterested in appeasing his evil mistress’s sexual advances. The battle was described like a scene from a Harry Potter movie – good magic versus evil magic. As good triumphed, Annie’s body was quickly placed in a hexed coffin and entombed in a black magic prison for eternity.

Skipping forward to the last of the written pages, she pondered over one of the last entries in Annie’s journal.

“Today, I killed a handsome young stud. I had taken him as my new lover, but he rebuffed me, so I hexed him and watched him die. He held his head and screamed, then frothed at the mouth and riled on the floor in agony … He’d angered me with his refusal to pleasure me. I mounted his corpse and had my bliss in the stiffness after death. I will now kill his lover … that damnable daughter of Takoo. He must understand that it’s I who must be pleased – that nobody may refuse me! EVER! Not even his kin. I will have her pleasure me before I cut her throat and drink her blood … and her youth and beauty will replenish mine!”

This was the very last entry — nothing after that. The unmarked tomb was certainly there at the rear of the Rose Hall mansion. Had she fought with her lover Takoo after killing his daughter’s betrothed and threatened to kill his daughter? Had they both become victims of their evil magic? Was she still alive in death – held a prisoner for eternity as the legend had described? Alone around her grave, she imagined the hexed body was this evil enchantress – held by powerful black magic. Rachel had on one hand grown to despise this wicked villain of Montego Bay; but on the other, she felt a strange kindred spirit that made her loins tingle with sticky wetness. She needed a strong drink and more Jamaican weed. Unfortunately, she had run out of both.


Canterbury, like a lot of the other rusty corrugated shantytowns, was quite the antithesis to the glamour, color, and commercialization of the ‘Hip Strip’ of Montego Bay. Rachel had ventured there because she had been told that this was the best place to score. She knocked lightly on the dilapidated door and waited for an answer. The door opened slightly as the occupant looked out at Rachel suspiciously.

“Sorry … I am looking for Ngozi … I was told she would know where I could score?” asked Rachel coyly.

“Aren’t you dat reporter from overseas?” asked the gaunt-looking black woman, dressed in traditional Jamaican clothing.

“Yer … look am I in the right place?” replied Rachel, trying to cut the small talk.

The black girl beckoned her inside.

“I am Ngozi. Come, let’s get out of the afternoon heat – then you can tell me what is it that you need. They said you look like her. I didn’t believe it until now.”

Remarked Ngozi as she rifled in a drawer looking for something … presumably the weed.

“Not sure that is seen as a positive thing, right?”

“Oh no, they are all so superstitious. The old-obeah-ones don’t like it at all. Come back from the dead! Escaped Takoo’s spell! That’s what they are all saying. Slit your throat – that’s what they’ll do, given half a chance.”

Ngozi retrieved a large leathery pouch filled with marijuana. She put a small amount into a plain envelope and sealed it.

“Ten dollars enough?” asked Ngozi with bright white teeth.

“Make it twenty – if you can tell me about Takoo’s spell?”

She held the note aloft. Ngozi snatched the cash.

“Powerful magic. Old black magic. It had to be for Takoo to overcome the White Witch. She was evil, very evil. She had the favor of the demons on her side. Some say that it was Erzulie herself, who looked over the White Witch. Carved the thigh bones of sacrificed children into tools of masturbation to exercise the souls of those she had ritually killed and partially eaten … to manipulate the dead for her own pleasure and for the pleasure of her demon goddess … her grave is hexed, centuries ago – she is trapped in there for eternity – her wickedness sealed and her punishment forever.”

“Do you believe in this mumbo jumbo?” asked Rachel cheekily as she admired Ngozi’s dark skin and gaunt physique.

She wondered what her nipples would look like beneath her thin clothing; what her pussy would feel like; or what her anus would taste like … Rachel shook her head … she simply couldn’t believe the way she was thinking? Maybe the sex magic was rubbing off on her?

“I have seen many crazy things … like the desecration of cemeteries, sex with the dead, animal and human sacrifice, even watched them drink the blood of babies … all to appease the appetite of demons.”

“Have you done these things?”

“I practice some black arts … but I do it to protect myself. Attitudes toward my kind here are very extreme.”

“Your kind Ngozi?”

“Well, they call us the batty-boys or chi-chi – and they would kill me for sure if they weren’t afraid that my retribution beyond the grave, that they fear would inflict them and their families for generations to come.”

“What exactly is chi chi?” asked Rachel.

She liked the look of this scrawny black bitch.

The girl parted the folds of her long patterned dress to reveal, beneath her feminine exterior that between her legs hung a long flaccid cock. Rachel was shocked at first. Speechless. She did not believe it was possible. The chi-chi girl laughed, having wanted to shock the silly little white girl … and getting a reaction to her androgynous body.

“Truly beautiful,” remarked Rachel.

Again Ngozi laughed, but this time in surprise. Now it was her turn to be shocked as Rachel knelt between her legs and began kissing and licking her flaccid member. Ngozi’s cock stirred immediately and filled with the blood of passion. In seconds, her giant black cock punched upright from her lap. Rachel looked up and grinned widely as her mouth had already engulfed the huge black mushroom head and her small hands gilded up and down the iron-hard shaft.

“You! You’re as promiscuous and wanton as the White Witch herself!”

Ngozi’s hips rocked back and forth against Rachel’s lips … it was obvious, besides the initial shock of Rachel’s willingness, she was enjoying the attention her cock was experiencing. She moaned in appreciation of Rachel’s oral pleasuring; then bucked violently as Ngozi’s semen gushed from the tip, burning as the quantity of her ejaculation forced its way down Rachel’s throat, out the sides of her mouth and even out of her nose. Rachel choked but continued to eat as much of her semen as she could.



Restoration work on the giant Georgian-style Rose Hall was now well advanced. The building had been painstakingly revitalized, as were the inner gardens and interiors to their former splendor, with mahogany floors, interior windows and doorways, paneling, and wooden ceilings. The walls were once again decorated with the finest silk wallpaper printed with palms and birds, ornamented with chandeliers, and furnished with mostly European antiques.

During the day, when the workers were there, she would sit with her portable typewriter, clicking away, enjoying the comfort and luxury of the Queen Anne chairs in the morning room or taking in the view from one of the many vantage spots, either on the balcony of the great hall or outside in the gardens themselves.

As soon as the last of the workers had left, Rachel would walk the halls of the great mansion, dressed only in a chiffon robe. She had found solace beneath the great painting of Annie Palmer, where she would sit upon the lounge and read her diary, masturbating slowly as she returned to the section that she had not yet completed.

“The days and nights without a husband to keep me in check became a blur of one sexual encounter to the next – ever-increasingly more severe in their sexual perversity…When I was not riding Takoo’s enormous penis, I was with a succession of slave lovers that I selected from the ranks. When I was done with them, I would have them slaughtered in front of me. The bloody cruelty had become one my greatest of pleasures. Hearing them beg for mercy only incited me to find more evil ways to kill them and to consume them unto my beloved demons and myself were sate … for a while.

“I had taken a fancy to several young effeminate boys, and after about a week of constant sex, I had intended to castrate them all as part of a graveyard ritual. It was a ritual that I called ‘mounting of the horse’ and it involved a trance-like demonic possession dedicated to bringing forth, Erzulie – the black Madonna, the lesbian goddess, one of my favored demons, so that we may perform perverted sex acts with each other in the flesh – I had selected a young girl to bewitch, to be the blessed vessel for the goddess to cross over from beyond the endless darkness. I had placed her in a trance and laid her naked in the coffin. I then climbed in on top of her, so that I faced her feet and placed my wet cunt across her open mouth. Takoo beat his enormous penis whilst the boys danced around us.

I called her name “Erzulie… Erzulie… Erzulie… Erzulie…” over and over.

I leaned forward lapping at the girl’s vagina as her possessed body began to buck like a wild horse. Soon her tongue began to burrow its way into me, it felt longer and thicker than any human tongue that I had ever felt inside me before … I knew at once that it was Erzulie … it filled me like only Takoo had ever … I climaxed over and over on Erzulie’s cock tongue.

Rachel looked up from the yellowed pages. The diary talked of a dark and sinister spirit world that seemed to overlap with ours – that only witches and warlocks, like Annie Palmer, had access to … was it all in her mind? Had she simply gone completely mad? Was the diary a flight of fancy or a tall tale maybe to scare the children? It was easier to be dismissive than to accept … but everything she had encountered since her arrival in the shores of the Caribbean, spoke to her of this seething underbelly of twilight subsistence.

“All the perversity and the dark sex magic … this was to come to an interlude, as I found the coffers dwelling and the financial needs of the estate that I had neglected during my sexual conquests, needed to be attended to. It was in this that I sought the assistance of my new husband. He was an English gentleman by the name of Stuart Gregory Miller who had not long arrived on the shores of Montego. He knew nothing of my reputation, and I bewitched him with a tonic, that found him on bended knee proposing a marriage before our third encounter. It had been after a long afternoon carriage ride, back from the Port of Kingston, that he had made his wishes known. He never suspected the black magic that I had weaved around him – his affections pulled by the puppet strings that I controlled.

“He was certainly more interesting than my first husband, and his wealth more than adequate to save me from financial ruin. He too had a taste for some bizarreness within our bedchamber and for a while, it amused me so to indulge in these strange things. I was not sure if it was an English tradition, but the black pages that attended him at bath time did seem to have an arousing effect on his libido, and seeing that I had no objection to him sharing these initiate wash times with his black pages, he soon invited them to join us in the bedroom.

“But as the days, weeks, and months draw on, I so longed for more vile and perverse entertainment. It was during an intimate moment, will be was engaged in anal sex with a young boy that I slit his throat. I killed them all … the four pageboys all met the same fate that night and I had Takoo dispose of the bodies the next day. The official story was that my late husband had become homesick and had died at sea on the return leg of his journey. In Montego, few believed it, but those who feared me kept their opinions to themselves.

“He was not the only one. Wealth can be very seductive; and the more I had, the more I wanted. Having dispensed with my second husband and assimilated the wealth of his estate by virtue of a legal counsel, Mr. Roger McMasters – whose fine legal talents were well rewarded for his rapid and discrete services. I once again enjoyed the passions of my grand estate by day riding out across its endless fields of sugar, cotton, and tobacco, and at night riding a divine sampling of the finest slave cock that I had acquired. His name was Winston Lawrence (the Third) III. He claimed to be of royal bloodline and his coffers were substantial. Worth a king’s ransom it seemed. It was a simple and quiet ceremony that was unfortunately too soon for any of his family to join in the celebrations. We lived in marital bliss for months.

“Winston travelled frequently, and I of course filled the emptiness of an array of perverse sexual encounters. And each time upon his return, once again played the role of the loving and submissive wife. I think it was the game that I enjoyed more than anything. I am sure it could have gone on this way for many more months, only, he cut his trip short to return to an unfortunate sight that befell him, as he entered our bedchamber unannounced.

“The room was quite bloody by the time he arrived as I had grown accustomed to the taste of human blood during sex as I found it an aphrodisiac … horrified at the sight of the two young girls impaled upon my spiked bedposts raining their severed arteries over me and my slave boy lover – I was faced with one choice. Poor Winston opened his bowels in his clothing before I cut his head off … and then I killed by slave lover to end the quartet.”

Rachel closed the diary. Every page she devoured made her shake and perspire. She walked around a while before finally feeling the calmness to stretch out on the lounge. She had been smoking a lot and the accumulative effects made her restless at night and extremely horny all of the time. She thought about the chi-chi girl, about her long black penis and how it felt fucking her deep in her cunt pushing upwards against her cervix; and then how she’d enjoyed the foulness of its taste after it had been in her bowels. Annie Palmer was definitely having a subliminal effect on her judgment and her sexual desires.

Rachel was about to don her skimpy translucent gown when she decided to take a walk in the gardens naked. Maybe go down to the tomb of Annie Palmer. Her head buzzed with the drugged high. She needed the night air. Taking the grand sweeping staircase, even in the semi-darkness, she knew the mansion now very well.

The gaunt-looking domestic helper, Chemzira, had remained behind after her day’s work, she had intended some mischief of her own, when she noticed the naked reporter out of her room, making her way downstairs. Chemzira followed her in the shadows as she walked to the rear of the mansion, under the full moon.

Rachel was not sure why she felt the desire to be near the dead, but she did. Her sexuality seemed to be on overdrive tonight and touching herself near the grave of the White Witch; Annie Palmer seemed to be such a turn-on. She touched the stone grave expecting it to be cold to the touch, but it was surprisingly warm … maybe the long heat of the day, had made the flat gravestone feel so inviting to lay upon. Rachel lay across the grave and began to masturbate herself. It felt incredible. Drug-induced finger fucking … she groaned lewdly in the still of the night.

Chemzira watched and touched herself. She too had recently felt the urge … a very strong urge … but had been far too fearful to perform such a lurid act of desecration … but somehow, watching Rachel, the spitting image of the white whore witch, masturbating upon ‘her own’ grave … it seemed ritualistic, almost homage to the evil perverted one! Chemzira was herself practiced at the black arts, and reaching into her cloth bag, brought forth a long black snake. It lay listlessly across her palms, spellbound to do exactly as she wanted.

Chemzira stood naked upon the tombstone, looking down upon the body of the young masturbating reporter, as she wriggled haplessly in boundless ecstasy over the bones of the, “White Witch of Rose Hall”.

“Erzulie …” she hissed.

She looked upon the dark naked body of the housekeeper standing over her.

“Erzulie … I am thirsty, come now urinate into my mouth … let me quench my thirst upon your bodily fluids …”

Chemzira pushed her pelvis forward over Rachel’s face and with her finger pressed against her urethra, guided her warm pee across Rachel’s upturned face … opening her mouth to catch the yellow shower, rubbing luxuriously the overflow over her tiny breasts and upper body … as the flow slowly died to a just a dribble, Rachel’s mouth closed around Chemzira’s labia, lapping up the last of her salty dew, sucking eagerly at the black woman’s erect clitoris bringing her too to orgasmic delight.

“Erzulie…” she hissed again, “Erzulie … make me like you… make feces over me, so I may be black of skin like you … Erzulie … make Annie your high priestess … release me … bring me forth from this dark place, so I may once again indulge in the pleasures of the flesh … I await you … Release me …”

Rachel’s body moved by invisible puppet strings … a dance that would bring about an evil awakening. She lay back down across the gravestone as Chemzira stood over her torso … the aroma of waste filled the air. Chemzira recognized the black magic at work around them. This was a ritual to break a curse … the White Witch stirred beneath them … she could feel it … the demon inside willed them to perform for her … to exercise the hex that held her for centuries against her wicked will … it would be her, the humble housemaid that would break the hex … the witches gratitude would be immense … wealth, power, youth and beauty beyond her wildest of dreams … she could feel it fill her up as she loosened her bowels over the one to be offered. The white girl that so closely resembled her mistress in the painting. The witch must have willed her to be here and had called upon Chemzira, to complete the black magic spell.

Chemzira grunted as a long dark turd slid from her anus. The perfume of bitterness struck her nostrils, as she barred downwards over the white whore. More waste fell in soft chunks across the girl’s chest and she smeared it over her torso, down across her stomach, and over her mons.

“Rub it on your face. Taste my bitterness,” instructed Chemzira, “Eat my ass and lick me clean!”

Rachel did her bidding. Chemzira bucked in orgasm, again from the sheer vulgarity of what she had done. The long black snake awake in her hands and she guided its hissing head towards Rachel’s vagina, as she reversed her direction to face Rachel’s feet, she lowered herself upon the face of the white witch as she feed the snake between Rachel’s open legs. Her thighs were smothered in her own waste as she rocked back and forth across Rachel’s face, the pleasure intensified as she watched the snake enter the girl’s prone body. First its head and then slowly the length of its long slick body ingested upwards inside the white girl. The gravestone creaked beneath them and then began to vibrate.

As the last inch of the snake disappeared inside Rachel’s body, Chemzira bucked at the pressure beneath her, the girl’s tongue, now deep inside her wanton cunt, thickened and lengthened beyond that of any young girl she had ever sat upon … the tongue cock filled her, pushing upwards through her womb.

Chemzira screamed with pain as the thing inside her impaled her, burrowing upwards, fucking her intestines as blood coughed from her mouth …

“Erzulie … be merciful … I am the one who has come to set you free …” she cried.

Suddenly the cock tongue erupted from within her throat and pierced through her open mouth … no longer able to scream, Chemzira’s body quaked from venom and black semen!


Rachel awoke. She had blacked out again. She had only vague memories — she had a feeling that something extremely bad had happened, but she wasn’t able to remember what. There was a commotion outside the window. People had gathered in the mansion gardens. It looked like the local police were also there. She dressed quickly. She really needed to take another shower, as she smelt awful … but she had to find out what all the trouble was about.

Downstairs, it seemed the attention was at the rear of the property, around the old tomb site of Annie Palmer. Between the throng of people, she could see that the flagstone of the grave had been desecrated. Vandalism she thought. No there was something else. There was a body covered in a black plastic sheet.

There was a face she recognized. Ngozi. Ngozi returned a nervous look and stepped warily closer.

“The housekeeper. Dead. Awful thing!” Ngozi whispered.

“Murder and vandalism?”

“Murder looks like ritual death. And the flagstone, pushed upwards … like something was trying to get out.”

“Oh my God!”

“And where were you last night? Didn’t you hear anything?” Ngozi asked.

She was definitely keeping her distance.

“What you think I had something to do with this?”

“I can smell the black magic on you. Even if you can’t … I better be going, only evil will come of this … the hex is broken … the White Witch is free …”

“This is all too much. You think a corpse did this?”

“No. You did Annie. I will not be crossing you, Madam. Forgive me and I will be on my way – you will not be seeing me again.”

Rachel stood and just watched Ngozi move off into the crowd. She did not look back. She had called her Annie? She needed a drink and smoke. A splinter of a thought or a repressed memory crept into her peripheral … where is my overseer … what had he done to me … he will pay for this …


To be continued?


If you have enjoyed this story or would like to offer praise to the author, who is always hungry for encouragement and affirmation, please email xpanther2019@protonmail.com