Michitaurus and the Witchy Women Part 2

[Part 1 Here](https://www.reddit.com/r/sexstories/comments/1anozih/michitaurus_and_the_witchy_women_part_1/)


***Why do my Part 2’s always run long? Anyway, bear with me, quality smut is on the way. This story descends into sex, sex, sex. And weirdness.***

Here’s what google told me about Mabon: it was a minor holiday which took place on the Autumnal Equinox, to celebrate the harvest bounty. Nowhere did it mention sacrificing a blonde, big-dicked man to the gods. And I looked really close.

I wasn’t sure what to wear. My Robin Hood costume was at the cleaners. I went with fall colors. A tight, almond V neck sweater and clay slacks, both carefully selected to display my assets. Based on Stephi’s implication that we might hook up at the party, I skipped the underwear. These were probably the kind of people who made their own deodorant, anyway. I doubted my massive rod being on display would cause a riot.

I lived in a little hippy hamlet down by the river. Turns out, Stephi was ten minutes away, in a slightly worse neighborhood. I crossed a little bridge that signaled the city line and found my way to an aging, two story Victorian.

Every window of the house glowed with a cozy candlelight that terrified me. I loved books, and dealt with fires in my job on a day to day basis. Jay’s place was a candle free zone. Sorry, ladies. The door was cracked. It smelled like shit inside. A smoky, herby scent. I have a sensitive nose. I can’t stand essential oils or potpourri. More than smell, it’s the heaviness they bring to the air, like you’re forcing me to smoke. Behind that scent was some of the dankest skunk weed I have ever smelled.

Stephi opened the door. She was dressed like Princess Leia in the Ewok village. She smiled at me with a sense of anticipation and pulled the door open. I’d been in dozens of Victorians at this point. I could have navigated her house blindfolded. The layout was classic Victorian: Sitting Room left, Dining Room right. Tiny Kitchen behind that. Bathroom would be behind the Sitting Room, with two small Bedrooms side-by-side at the back of the house. Upstairs there would be more Bedrooms and a Bathroom, with a bungalow style attic.

The decor was post-modern Lord of the Rings, a mix of thrift store finds and Esty crafts. The furniture was eclectic. One chair, next to the fireplace, was tall-backed, with antlers high up and carved arms. It was for sure the conversation piece of the space. Two girls were waiting by the chair.

“This is Brenda, my roommate and also in the coven.”

Brenda was on the edge of tall, around 5’7”. She was a white girl with strong, serious features. Her umber hair was straight, just beyond chin length. She was stacked, built like an Amazon with DD breasts and thighs that could crush your ribs. She was dressed in casual BDSM: a scooped neck blood red dress with a corset over the top.

“Jay, welcome.” She presented a hand, palm down.

“Uh, thanks.” What was I supposed to do, kiss it? I took it and gave it a little shake.

“And this is my other roommate, Holly, also in the coven.”

Holly was ethereal. Around 5’3” and delicately built, with barely b cups and slim hips. She had porcelain skin, and long, loosely curly platinum blonde hair that hung past her ass. Her features were Elven. She had gone full Galadriel, in a tight white gown with flared sleeves. She gave a little curtsey. I am going to do the best with how Holly talked. Trust me, the spirit of her words remains intact.

“Stephanie has told me of your blessings.”

Feeling like Jim on the Office, I looked at Stephi. She made an embarrassed, apologetic face.

A man came in from the backyard, where everyone else was waiting. He was a short king, wearing heeled boots to push him into average eight. He looked like he was cosplaying Jesus: long shiny brown hair and a well-groomed beard. He was wearing an Aragorn cosplay with an antlered headband. So, I usually change people’s name in these stories, but you know what, fuck this guy. His actual name was Steve. Fuck you, Steve, if you see this.

I knew Steve’s type right off. He was probably bullied in school, wandering into fictional realms where he had power and control. For sure he ran his own D&D game with an iron fist. When he looked at me, he saw the jocks who had tormented him all his childhood.

Except I never bullied anyone. Never cliqued up. If someone seemed cool, I hung with them, I didn’t give a shit where they lay on the social hierarchy ladder. Older Matt was a good example. He realized somewhere around third grade that school was bullshit and served his time like it was a prison sentence. I never played sports – I knew I wasn’t getting a scholarship off of them, so didn’t see the point in the time commitment. I spent most of my time reading and chasing girls. I was, however, no shit, voted most likely to succeed. That tells you how low the bar was at my High School.

“This is Jay?” Steve was trying to sound imposing but sounded more like Lurch from the Adams Family.

“This is. What’s up man?”

Protip: Always call weak dudes “man”. They badly want to be seen as a man by other men, because inside, they don’t feel like one. It gets you on their good side right off.

“Welcome, Jay. We are set to commence.”

Everyone in the room but me was taking all this dead serious. I swallowed down my wry expression. Stephi had jumped from one cult to another. She would talk endless shit about Mormonism, oblivious to the hypocrisy. I guess I should say now that I have no problem with religion as a moral system, as long as that system isn’t designed around gaining power over other people’s choices. So Wicca is alright in my book.

Stephi took my arm and we went out back. I was vague on Wicca, so I had done some reading online to prepare. They had a little backyard. Four newly planted saplings stood around a stone bird bath. This was their Nemed, or sacred wood. The age of the trees told me all I needed to know about how long this had been a coven.

Besides Stephi, Holly, Brenda, and Steve, there were maybe six other people, all friends who had been invited. I will spare you the details and summarize. There were crystals, apples, a sickle, and a broom. The Horned Lord and the triple goddess were invoked. Steve was the Horned Lord, and the three women the Triple Goddess. Brenda was the Crone (though she was maybe a year older than me), Stephi the Mother, and Holly the Maiden.

The ceremony was blissfully short. After that, it became your standard, Halloween-adjacent party. People drank, smoked pot, and ate potluck. I did none of the above. Instead, I started to work my way into Stephi’s dress.

It didn’t take much effort. I stood behind her, pressing my bulge into the cleft of her ample ass. When she felt it, she backed into me, pulling my arm around her. She looked back me, I looked down at her with the same intensity I had a decade ago, in the diner. We broke off, Stephi leading me to the back of the house. We weren’t really being slick about it. I caught Steve’s eye as I turned. He was livid, but didn’t say shit.

Stephi practically dragged me back to her room. Once we got inside, she tried to turn around, but I didn’t let her. I kicked the door backwards to close it. The lamp on her nightstand was on, the rest of the small room dark. I marched her right to her bed. Stephi crawled onto it. It was a twin, so Stephi had to turn lengthwise to give me room. I stepped completely out of my slacks, crawled up behind her, and threw her dress up onto her lower back.

Stephi was not wearing any underwear. She did a little enticing wiggle. I slapped her ass at an upward angle, a clean, firm crack that caught her off guard. Sexually, I was a completely different animal at twenty-nine than I had been at nineteen. I had spent my formative years suppressing my dominant instincts. The me of now embraced them. I had only grown darker, more intense. More confident, certain, and uncompromising. As I left a stinging handprint on Stephi’s other ass cheek, it occurred to me that who I had become I might be a bit much for her.

But I wanted to fuck her, bad. For my nineteen year-old self, who had been struggling with his identity. I was sure now, looking back, I could have gotten her to do anything I wanted back in college, had I known more, trusted myself more. It wasn’t often we got a do-over in life. It felt like correcting a missed opportunity.

I rubbed my cock into Stephi’s folds. She was dripping wet. Chances, she too, had wanted to make up for the past. The probability was high that I was much bigger than any man she had ever been with. That she had fucked her husband for years, remembering that one big cock that got away. How she couldn’t get her hand around it. The giant mushroom head, with its pronounced ridge. The upward curve, as if I was designed to hit just the right spot while thrusting. Stephi grabbed a pillow and laid down on her arms, raising her ass higher, presenting herself, as if for breeding.

Stephi had a pretty pussy, and she had recently shaved. Her petals were open, dripping with dew. I fit the head into her. It took a little work. Stephi spread her knees further apart to help. She was boiling over inside. When my thick crown lodged in her entrance, she released a cry of primal release into her pillow. She wanted this has bad as I did.

I worked slowly, moving in a few inches, then withdrawing just as much, steadily working deeper. Stephi kept her face buried, screaming into her pillow. When my cockhead reached the end of her she loosed a yell from deep inside herself. Her release was more than physical, as if a deep need had been met.

Some girls enjoyed the sensation of me bottoming out. Some girls didn’t at all. I could hurt myself, grinding into a girl’s cervix. That cartilage rubbing against my cockhead. The problem is, in the moment I don’t give a shit. I’ve skinned my cockhead raw more times that I can count, my boxer briefs irritating the sensitive skin for a day after. But still, I grind and pound in like I’m trying to beat down a girl’s vault door.

Stephi was one the girls that liked it. The sensation was new to her. She moaned deeply. Either Stephi was just naturally loud or was a bit of an exhibitionist. Some girls like people to hear them, to see them. If you have read my other stories, you might think I’m the same.

Not exactly. I’m not out to be watched in general. But if there is a specific purpose, then I’ll engineer it. If it’s a girl I’m pursuing, and I think the tactic will work. Or if it’s a guy I want to stick it to. There’s a rush in taking another man’s girl, or even his crush, in front of him. Being bigger and better. Getting the object of his affection to make faces and noises he’s never been able to produce.

Also, no one is cockblocking me. If someone thinks they can walk in on me, get me to stop, they are sadly mistaken. I’ll keep drilling away, or choking a girl on my dick, while you talk to her, search around the room for something, watch T.V., whatever. Talk to her all you want, while I have my way. I’m not stopping. Cockblocking is an attempt to dominate. And I meet attempts to dominate me head on.

I used deep, short strokes, bottoming out, over and over. Every time I did, Stephi moaned into her pillow. In time, I lengthened by motions, slowly withdrawing so my crown dragged at Stephi’s walls, before slamming it home, hard. The combination of slow and hard, the anticipation of the coming thrust, drove her crazy. She bit into her pillow and clenched down on me, hard enough to pinch my vein. While she came, I kept my cock buried and flexed, so my fat shaft swelled against her walls. Stephi’s orgasm lasted a long time. When it subsided, I went back to pounding away.

Stephi’s bed creaked like a leaky ship. I was ready for it to collapse. Most beds don’t stand a chance with me. I’ve broken at least three hotel beds, twice that if you count rentals and Air BnBs. It’s the way the slats hook onto the headboard. They never hold up. And don’t get me started on headboards. As a young man living at home, I had to wedge a folded pillow between mine and the wall to muffle the loud clapping of wood on drywall. Oh well, if Stephi’s bed broke, it broke. I’d just keep plowing in the wreckage.

The thing about old Victorians is that their doors are often shit. They don’t sit right on the hinge or the wood has swelled over time. But most common is that the old style knobs don’t latch right, which was what happened here. The door hadn’t closed. Light from the hallway pushed through. I saw that wedge of illumination grow on the wood floor. Someone was opening to door to watch.

I pretended like I didn’t notice and kept driving into Stephi like I was trying to renovate her insides. She didn’t fuck me back. It was all she could do to endure the assault. Her reaction to the beating I was giving her cervix told me she was going to love what was coming next.

Girls loved it when I shot in them. The sensation of their walls being stretched as my girth pulsed over and over. Being stuffed completely full while the hard shots splashed into the very end of them. Me cumming was what a girl dreamed it would feel like, only to be disappointed when they couldn’t even tell if a smaller guy had finished or not.

The problem was, once a girl felt that, its all she wanted. I was a victim of my own success. Time and time again, a girl would pull her mouth off me and beg for me to shoot inside them. Because of this, I treated it like a special reward. But this was different. I was making up for the past. And I knew Stephi had thought of me over the years. I wanted to live up to those fantasies.

First, I had to correct the angle. Stephi was face down, ass up. My curve was working against me. I squatted up, reaching past Stephi to grab the headboard for support. As my balls rumbled, I pulled away slightly, half an inch or so, so there would be enough room for the shots to rebound. Stephi sensed it was coming. My cock swelled as my hands dug into the headboard.

The first shot blasted into the end of Stephani. She yelped in surprise. I wished I could see her face. Her eyes shooting open in shock, then rolling back at the sensation. The second shot was always harder. Stephi cooed as she felt it. Then the softer pulses came, filling her, coating her walls. Stephi whimpered, feeling my thick, rich cum overflowing.

“Ahhh! Ooohmm….mmmn…”

I pulled her thighs back so she down laid flat, and settled atop her. Stephi wiggled against me, finally pulling her face out of the pillow.

“Oh. My. God. Jay.”

I was glad she couldn’t see my smug smirk. Stephi was mine now. That pussy belonged to me. I pulled away, unleashing a flood of cum and cream. My big cock stayed hard for a while after sex. Girls commented on it often. I don’t know why. Maybe it takes a while for all that blood to redistribute. My dick stood up like a horn, veiny and slick, dripping from seeding Stephi.

I walked to the head of the bed, and pulled Stephi up by the hair. She looked up at me as my cockhead brushed her lips. She tried to move away. I didn’t let her.

“Clean it. Show me how thankful you are for getting a proper fucking.”

Annoyed, Stephi spread her lips. I forced her to clean as much of me that could fit into her mouth, then let her go. I turned to look for my pants. The light from the hallway shrank as whoever was watching slipped away.

Stephi went to the bathroom as I dressed. We rejoined the party, Stephi looking embarrassed and me acting like nothing untoward had happened. No one acted especially weird, but Steve pretended like I wasn’t there. I had invaded his little proto-harem. He wanted me gone, the sooner the better.

Stephi was a morning person. And she had just gotten the dicking down of her life. She started to yawn. We walked out on the porch. The crisp, Autumn air was hugely refreshing after the smoky, herby scents inside. I brushed her hair back behind her ear.

“Next time, we’re going to heritage park.”

Stephi rolled her eyes. “Goddess, you don’t even know how much cock I’ve sucked. I just want to get fucked. I want to feel you, unloading, like that, in me. It made my toes curl.”

She smiled sweetly, as if the boost to my ego would be enough. Goddammit. I’d fucking done it again. Worked against my own best interests.

The red flag warnings sounded in my head. For one, my favorite thing in the world is feeding a girl cum. If she doesn’t have similar tastes then we just aren’t going to mesh. I am not giving that up, not for anyone.

And two, Stephi was my age and without kids, coming out of a culture where they had them early and often. I don’t know the what’s and why’s around Stephi and her husband being childless, but she sure didn’t look barren. She might have taken precautions prior to vetting me. But I had passed with flying colors. Those precautions might just vanish.

I wished Stephi a goodnight and wrote her off. Some of my fondest early blowjob moments involved this girl and now she had sworn off knob polishing. Even if she realized her mistake, and reversed position, it was too late. I knew it would just be a tactic to rope me in.

When I got home, I hit the shower, scrubbing the smoke off myself. I had always been a night person. I sat down to catch up with correspondence before I made some food.

On the Facebook, I had two new friend requests: Brenda and Holly.

In the coven, Holly, Stephi, and Brenda were the threefold goddess: Maiden, Mother, and Crone. I had seeded Stephi, the Mother. One of the others, maybe both of them, had watched me do it.

Now they wanted their turn.

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