EXTRACT FOR
Wytches
(Miranda Birch)

Carole pulled the car over by the field she had chosen. It was just right. Not visible from the road, quiet, secluded, a grove of oaks, grass, and a clear view of the sky 



She was wearing a normal skirt and blouse, with her wytch's mantle over it. Martin had made a sarcastic remark about the mantle, but she hadn't got rattled. 



She had performed some preliminaries already, not that Martin had noticed. Now she took the first small step. 



"Take all your clothes off please, Martin." 



"What... out here?" 



"Yes, darling, out here." 



He just stared at her. Carole sprinkled the essence, and repeated the words. She felt decidedly silly. Sure, it worked in the group, in the coven, all girls together; but surely that was all auto-suggestion, hypno- whatsit... it couldn't really be....? Oh, bother, get on with the ritual! 



Meanwhile, Martin felt -- funny. Nothing wrong, as such, just... 



"Sorry, what?" he said, slightly slurring his words. 



"I said, take all of your clothes off please, Martin," Carole repeated, calmly. But her heart was beating hard. 



"Y-yes, yes... of course," Martin murmured as though in a dream. 



He began to unbutton his shirt. Carole continued to chant the words under her breath, gradually getting louder and louder. Martin glanced at her quizzically, as though she had said something and he hadn't made it out, then dropped his gaze and went on with undressing. Carole gathered each item of clothing as he dropped it and put it in the special bag. It wouldn't do to leave them out here, they had to be kept for the special ritual burning. 



Martin was stark naked now. He stood, looking vague, as though he was somehow not in control of himself. But then of course he wasn't, not any more! 



"Kneel there please, Martin," Carole told him. 



Again she took care to sound calm, collected. Miriam had warned her specifically about this. Make everything sound as natural as possible; because after all, Magick is a part of nature, it's not anti-nature. Carole tried hard to still her fast-beating heart, and remain in the moment, that was important too. So, here is here, and now is now, and here I am, in a field, 



She closed her eyes a moment, then opened them and centred herself. Here she was, was standing in a posture of magickal invocation, a Mystress of magickal forces. And Martin -- very soon to be slave martin, her slave martin! -- was kneeling naked in front of her, peering up at her uncertainly, but not protesting, not struggling. Good! 



Now, the correct position -- or is it too soon? Doubts assailed her again. Oh, well, what's the worst that can happen? The spell will fail, and I'll have to try again another day! 



She muttered the incantation again, then said: 



"Back straight, please, and legs wide apart. No, even wider than that. Yes, that's it. Oh, and hands on top of your head please." 



Oh, he looked so sweet and helpless, blinking up at her like that! What a bod he had on him, too. It would be nice, seeing so much of it in future! 



Now, here's the hardest part. He has to ask for it. He has to ask for it all! 



"My name is Wytch Carole..." 



"Your name is Wytch Carole..." 



"Your name is slave martin..." 



"My name is slave martin..." 



Carole was disrobing gradually as she danced in a slow circle around him.