Chapter XII. The Three Witches

 

 

It was getting late but I was so mesmerized listening to Valentina’s description that I scarcely noticed the time passing. The cuts on her behind had stopped bleeding now but they formed ugly purple weals which still need gentle handling. I supplemented the gentle rubbing of her behind with equally gentle kissing. I have to say that following this enticement I had given way to further temptation without a struggle. As soon as she was able to find a good position that did not inflame her soreness further, we consummated our friendship in gasps of frantic panting silence.  

Valentina and I seemed almost like close friends now. I told her all about myself, my ambitions, my predilection for women, art and politics, and even about my mother and the way she hampered my love life.

“You cannot get rid of her?” she asked mischievously.

“Well, I can send her on a cruise to the Caribbean. There’s nothing she would like more,” I replied and we both had a good laugh.

It was that wonderful moment where two people become emotionally intimate following a good mutual orgasm. There is that sense of intimacy of the soul to match the physical intimacy of the body that had taken place before. It is sometimes referred to as “pillow talk” but for seasoned articulate intelligent lovers the exchange of secrets and intimacies unlocked by the earlier coupling is as good as it gets. For women this kind of “après-fuck” conversation gives particular pleasure because so few men seem to appreciate the need for this mutual baring of souls.

Many men prefer to fall asleep after they have spent their load or turn round and give a large fart which leaves the woman’s sense of well-being totally shredded.

 Valentina changed into a night-dress in front of me as casually as if we had been married for years. I watched her movements with barely disguised fascination. She was pretty, long legged and well-proportioned and her breasts were delightfully firm and round. In profile the slight concave curve of the belly was matched by the convex inset of the small of her back before it protruded further out into a more rounded concave of her rump which then slowly receded below with an equally gracious eye-pleasing line into the top of the most elegant pair of legs I had seen. I suddenly realized that I was beginning to analyse her visually as a series of geometric shapes but reflected that this was only fair in view of her describing herself as a mathematician.

 Valentina fetched the vodka from the fridge, now somewhat chilled, but not nearly as much as it should be. She took a few minutes’ break to go to the loo and then to check her e-mails on the computer. She loosened her blonde hair and let it fall long over her shoulders. I remembered that she had worn pigtails when I first met her in “Pinks”. To have pigtails you need a lot of hair, and now it was fully revealed. It covered her shoulder blades and where she had allowed some of strands of hair to stray forward, they caressed her breasts. Sensing my growing interest she tossed her head about, seemingly out of absent-mindedness. The long mop of her hair was hurled about this way and that, covering her nipples at the front and her shoulders and upper arm around her side, before settling down over her back again.

  Having thus made her impression on me and probably noticing that certain parts of my anatomy were evincing a spirited renaissance yet again, she suggested a renewed reciprocal spanking. That put me on my guard. Suddenly the shock of what I had seen earlier hit home. I got up suddenly, angry again at her and particularly myself.

 We heard muffled footsteps and a slammed door as someone came back into the lounge from the corridor outside. Valentina’s ears had pricked up at first, and then she smiled and said quietly, “It’s Ludmila. Want to see her?”

 I was not sure whether I did want to see her as I now wanted to get home and lick my mental and emotional wounds just as Valentina was licking her physical ones. But as I had not replied quickly enough to Valentina’s question, she took my silence to imply consent and called out to her buddy.

Ludmila was of somewhat stockier build than Valentina and there were more fleshy curves at her hips and her thighs as well as larger and heavier breasts. She was wearing a lace dress, black in colour, which enhanced the curves and made her at this moment, highly desirable. I have to say that, even though at the same moment I had the added temptation of a more demure and undoubtedly prettier Valentina, lying face down beside me. 

Ludmila took in the scene, first with a modicum of surprise, and then followed by a look of temporary alarm at the sight of Valentina’s massacred buttocks. The girls quickly exchanged some words in Russian which obviously seemed to reassure Ludmila. She sat down at the end of the bed, picked up the lubricant again and proceeded to apply it with rough slaps onto Valentina’s rear. Valentina made remonstrating sounds, but it was soon obvious that she was not really objecting to this rough handling. The girls, I reflected, obviously knew each other’s needs and desires quite well.

“I left Polina with Mr Hanging Man,” Ludmila explained. “She can finish whipping the shit out of him. So what have you two been up to?”

“I was describing our life at Lefortovo,” Valentina explained in English now. “Petya Tomasovich wants to know about our background.”

“Your background,” Ludmila corrected her. “Leave me out of this.”

Meanwhile Ludmila had been watching me closely and she had obviously spotted a modest bulge under the sheet. “Val, are you going to fuck him, or shall I?” Ludmila was nothing if not direct.

With a malicious grin Valentina moved her hand quickly from the bed to cover the exposed promontory.

“Mine!” she shouted triumphantly.

 

When we had settled down again after an energetic three way exercise, I placed myself, still somewhat underdressed, but vodka in hand, on the bed alongside Valentina. We were sitting with our backs resting against two large cushions, while Ludmila sat at the foot of the bed listening to the conversation and occasionally eyeing and even prodding parts of my anatomy, like a master baker waiting for the bread to rise again in the oven.

However, just as Ludmila took out some purple lipstick and started applying it to the tip of my willy,  we heard more footsteps in the common room. Ludmila listened to the steps attentively for a second. “It’s Olga. Want to meet her?”

As before, nobody waited for my reply. Ludmila stepped outside. She said something in Russian and then came back in with Olga.

Olga was a tall long-legged skinny girl that reminded me of a giraffe. I had just seen her downstairs assisting Lord Smallbridge with the Chinese girl. Her face was handsome rather than pretty, and her smile was wan as if she had a sad secret to keep. She wore a black leather skirt and waistcoat with a studded black belt and it looked tremendously sexy.

She came in and held out her hand and said “Hi, I’m Olga”

“Have you got a break?” asked Valentina.

“Yes, I’ve whipped these two Filipino boys for Tim, but now we’ve got an hour’s break. I’ve come here for a quick smoke and a change in costume. Can I stay in here for a couple of minutes?” (Tim? What Tim? What Filipino boys?)

“So we three meet again,” said Valentina. “In thunder, lightning or in rain.” The three of them laughed heartily. Olga pulled out a packet of cigarettes and offered them round. To my surprise all three girls reached for one without even a glance at me and lighted up. I had refused but then I had never smoked.

“Hubble bubble, toil and trouble,” chanted Olga. ”So what’s cooking in the pot?”

For a second I had lost the plot. What were they talking about?

“Dick of Tim, Nikolai’s scalp, MP’s tongue; Councillor’s balls, liver of blaspheming Jew.” The girls shrieked with laughter at each phrase. It sounded like a cackle of witches.

“Macbeth?” I asked incredulously...

They laughed. “It was what you call our “set reading” for our English exam,” one of them explained. “We loved the story and we like to ham up the witches’ scene”.

 We continued a fruity conversation between the four of us about sexual secret desires. But Ludmila was also keen to hear about Emil and they seemed to evince more than just a polite interest when we talked about the Council, or about my ambition to be famous, to chair the Planning Committee, to be leader of the council, and even an MP. Talking of that reminded me that it was now so late and that I had an important meeting tomorrow.  Finally, I screwed up the will and the energy to get up and declare that I am going home.

They were ready to let me go, but Olga insisted she would read my palm before I go. Reluctantly I agreed. She looked meaningfully at my right hand, gently rubbing her thumb along the lines she could trace on my open palm.

“All right, now listen,” she said, “Your head line is strong. You are a clever person. But your love line is long but very shallow. You have difficulty loving?”

“But I love so many women,” I protested.

“Is it really love; or are you just fucking?”

“I feel it is love but I don’t necessarily have to seduce them,” I answered defensively.

“Well your love may seem real to you, but it is fickle. Now your fate line,” Olga continued, “Your fate line is really strong and deep, although not necessarily long. You  told us your ambition. So, you might be Chair of Planning in the nearest week. Within a year you would become, what did you call it? the Leader of the Group. You will be famous even sooner. And you can become an MP in the next year after that.” I laughed along with the girls, as Olga regurgitated my secret ambition back in my face.

“And you could get your four in a bed romp even before that. Just trust us,” interrupted Ludmila.

“Promises, promises,” I laughed.

“But we mean it, don’t we girls?” Valentina turned to her companions. “They are…. what do you call them? When something is stronger than a promise?”

“A prophecy?” I offered.

“Yes, a prophecy. After all we are the witches in “Macbeth”,” they giggled again. “See. We can help you. We can cast a spell and make it all happen, if you are true to us.”

“True in what way?”

“That you have to guess yourself. Just don’t disappoint our boss.”

There it was at last. The threat. Hidden in the pillow talk.

“Well,” said Olga, getting up, “this has been fun. I need to go and change into my Catherine de Medicis costume.” 

Olga kissed us each in turn and left the room. At the door she turned round again, twisted her face into an ugly grimace, assumed a witch-like pose as she pretending to be stirring a pot with an imaginary pole and chanted “Hubble, bubble, toil and trouble!”

All three fell about laughing and then Olga disappeared behind the door.