Miranda arose from her uncomfortable kneeling position on the hard stone floor of her cell and turned to face the man who was to kill her the next day. She hadn't been praying...she never prayed, neither to God nor Satan, but she knew that humans prayed at times such as this and she emulated them well.
Miranda was a witch. She was neither good nor evil, she just was what she was. She'd never joined a coven nor sold her soul to be a witch; she was simply born that way, as was her mother and grandmother before her. She was one of the immortals who walked the earth, never staying in one place for too many years, lest her eternal youthful appearance cast suspicion.
Miranda had been alive for nearly two centuries, yet she looked no older than a girl of twenty. With any luck tomorrow she would continue to look the same for at least two more centuries, maybe three before the changes of middle age set in.
Ancient though she was by mortal years, Miranda was considered still very young by others of her kind, who also considered her to be headstrong and somewhat impulsive. The Council of Elders was always reprimanding her for what they called "her foolish behavior".
Miranda knew that mortals were the foolish ones; their ridiculous fear of witches was an example. Witches resembled mortals in many ways--they just happened to be born with the ability to draw power from the elements as well as living things. Whatever had started the rumors that witches were evil had endured since way before she was born. If they only knew the truth....witches were forbidden to use their abilities to harm the mortals they shared the earth with, except maybe under the most dire of circumstances, and even then it was frowned upon by the Elders.
As she now stood facing her executioner she maintained the warm smile that had startled him when he opened the cell door, but she wasn't quite as fearless as she appeared. She knew all about Samuel Ruark and his cruel perversions, and she knew why he was here. The thought filled her with apprehension and loathing....but she needed him.
"I've come for what's mine, witch" he now declared having forgotten his momentary unease. His eyes crudely travelled over her soft feminine curves, the sight reawakening his lust with new vigor.
"Indeed...?" Miranda replied, raising her chin in a deliberate haughty manner, "and what is there in this cell that you consider yours?"
She feared what she had to unleash by this behavior, but it was necessary.
Samuel chuckled, apparently not perturbed at all by her insolence.
"You...., witch" he replied with a leer as he closed the distance between them in a leisurely way. He was in no hurry and her attitude secretly delighted him. Most of the "witches" he took his rights with were already broken by their earlier tortures and their terror of what awaited them. This one's manner gave the impression that the room she stood in wasn't a cell but a grand home, and she the mistress of it. Breaking her therefore, would be all the sweeter. He grinned in sadistic anticipation of how badly he was going to debase her...much worse than any of the others. This one was special; she deserved special treatment.
"Cooperate with me," he said in a mockingly wheedling tone, "and I'll try to make things easier for you tomorrow".
It was a lie of course. He often offered such a "deal" to his charges, and most of them pathetically agreed, desperate to please him so that he might at least shorten thier horrifying ordeal the next day. They would whore themselves, doing whatever he wanted only to find out too late the full measure of his cruelty, for the next day he would make it a point to burn them even slower, grinning at them wickedly thru the heat haze as they suffered for hours sometimes.
"Ha!", Miranda scoffed, "what an absurd bargain! As if burning alive can be made easier!"
Her refusal to cringe or grovel both enraged and excited Samuel even further, and in one fluid movement he seized her in a beastly grip, bruising her delicate arms as he pulled her to himself violently, nearly crushing her lips to his in a brutal kiss.
Miranda tried to brace herself for what was to come. She enjoyed sex with humans as a rule, and for more reasons than physical pleasure. Humans had no idea how much raw and explosive power they generated with their sexuality, and how much magic was contained in the sex act itself; the spark that sometimes created life was only a small portion of that power, awesome as that was alone. When Miranda tapped into that power during sex with one of her human lovers it always filled her with such an overabundance of pure joyous magic that she was unable to sleep for days and felt she could do anything....anything at all. The more passionate the encounter, the greater the magic.
This encounter however was going to be violent, the power source much darker and twisted than she'd ever tapped into before and it made her nervous. She felt the waves of evil from this man as he released his grip on one of her arms to squeeze her breasts painfully while his lips moved to her neck, sucking and biting savagely.
She was terrified of the power she must tap into...she could tell already that it was black and horrible and much worse than she'd thought. Panic and revulsion caused her to struggle briefly against this evil being intent on taking her. She needed this to happen of course...she needed every bit of dark power she could draw into herself, but it was easier to accept in theory. In reality she was shuddering at the sheer horror that was this man.
Samuel laughed at her struggles then slapped her hard across her face, causing her to fall to the stone floor with a cry, blood trickling from her nose. Instantly he was upon her, tearing her already-torn gown from her body, easily forcing her legs apart while releasing an erection that had been painfully straining his trousers.
"NO NO!!! DON'T PUT IT IN ME!!!" Miranda suddenly screamed. Samuel, of course thought that she meant his pride and joy--nine inches of pride in fact. He always loved their reaction to it, and their screams when he used it to inflict pain. He had no way of knowing what Miranda's panic was really about--how she already felt nearly suffocated with the evil energy he generated. Knowing she was going to take this evil into herself was more frightening than she'd imagined.
Laughing at her sudden panic, Samuel brutally shoved himself forward, powerfully invading the velvety warmth of her womanhood, thrilling to her pained screams that shook her whole body.
Once firmly entrenched inside her, Samuel, lost in his own sickness and evil lust, eagerly set about punishing his captured prize with long hard strokes, increasing the speed and brutality of his attack in proportion to her pain. He wasn't punishing her for being a witch, or for any wrongdoing she may have been accused of; he was punishing her for being young, delicately beautiful and most of all, female.
"You should try to enjoy this," he panted at one point, "for tomorrow you will burn....your lovely flesh will be ashes and you'll never enjoy another man. You should be thanking me!"
This was his favorite part, taunting his victims about their horrible impending death. He would often go into great detail of how they would burn, loving their sobs of terror and pleas to be spared.
Miranda didn't plead, but she was sobbing hysterically as she endured his cruelty and absorbed the power she was drawing from him. Her tears weren't for herself but for all the innocents before her; she could feel the agony and despair of all of them...could hear the wails of each each and every one inside her head, and she feared it would drive her mad.
Much later, after Samuel had plundered and used every useful orifice on her body, he was unlocking the cell door to leave, quite satisfied and looking forward to a good night's sleep, when he heard her call his name softly. He looked back at her, gratified at the sight. She was still sprawled on the floor, mostly naked, bruised, torn and bleeding, raising herself painfully on one elbow while she groped for the scraps of her gown in a pathetic attempt to cover herself.
"Yes, my love?" he responded mockingly.
"I hope you enjoyed that, Samuel", she said in a shaking but calm voice, "It may be your last time as well."
At first Samuel was stunned and angry that the bitch would use his own line against him, but then decided she must have lost her mind. He'd seen it before; sometimes they just snapped.
"Sure, witch-slut....whatever you say" he grinned, then left, locking the door behind him.
As he made his way back to his home, whistling a cheery tune, Samuel was struck with a momentary chill, then shrugged it off and thought about how much he'd enjoyed his latest conquest and how much he was going to enjoy watching her burn the next day. It seemed almost a shame to destroy such prime flesh.....almost. He could hardly wait.
To be continued...