Chapter 4: IV. Circle

I was glad I’d talked Sophie into wearing one of my tee-shirts as a dress; it was cold at this altitude. My mother might have been all “dogs don’t wear clothes,” but evidently she didn’t follow the same Facebook feeds as me.

My hardly used broom was doing alright though, and Sophie—seated in front of me—seemed to be enjoying the ride.

We were flying over the American billionaire’s grounds. I’d stopped at the gatehouse, who would only tell me that Mrs Marlinspike was away. The house itself was well warded—presumably against magical paparazzi—so I was flying around the wider grounds; just because it was something to do rather than go home in defeat.

Sophie wuffed. I glanced and turned the broom toward where it was looking.

There was a stone circle, grey, lichen-covered stones. In the centre of the circle was a tumbledown cottage, built of the local honey-coloured stone. But what had captured our attention was a cat-doll sleeping on the slate roof.

I circled in to land. The cat-doll opened its eyes, but didn’t move in any other way, just lounged on the roof, watching the broom circle lower. 

We landed, and I picked up the broom in one hand and Sophie’s leash in another. It had insisted on being leashed whenever we went out.

“Wren!” yelled the cat-doll. “That hot butch you fancied is here. And you were completely wrong, she looks good out of jodhpurs too.”

I saw the curtain twitch, and heard a bolt slide behind the wooden door. I knocked; there was no answer. I tried again and then tested the door handle. It was bolted shut.

“She’s pretending to be out,” said Enoki. “Will you mind your mutt?”

Sophie had been staring at the cat-doll, but had made no move. I shortened its leash.

The cat-doll jumped down and made a recludo glyph in front of the door. The door sprang open, and the cat walked into the dim cottage.

I hesitated. It was rude to call on someone who didn’t wish to see you; dangerous in fact, if that person was a witch. But Wren knew something about Veronika. And also, she was pretty.

I went in, Sophie following behind, a bit wary. I left the broom propped against the wall.

“Oh, hello,” said Wren. “I didn’t hear you knock, I was, um, sorting herbs.” She was indeed sitting behind a kitchen table—no crystal ball today—laden with a lot of herbs. On the left hand of the table, she had woven some into wreaths. It smelled amazing.

“You’d locked the bolt,” said the cat-doll.

Wren gave the cat an evil look. “Oh, had the bolt accidentally slipped again? I’m sorry.”

“You got changed,” said Enoki. “Didn’t think the faded tee-shirt with weasel puke stains was working for you, eh?”

“Shut up!” hissed Wren. She was wearing a sundress with a floral design; she looked even prettier than last time.

“I’m sorry to intrude,” I said, feeling like I’d blundered into the attractive people’s club.

“No, no,” said Wren. “Come in, sit down. Enoki, can you put the kettle on?” 

“That doesn’t sound like the sort of thing I’d do,” said Enoki.

“Enoki, boil the bloody kettle,” she snapped.

I sat down at the table, Sophie sitting at my feet. The cottage was almost one room; a space for sitting, a kitchen, and then a bedroom, dimly visible through a bead curtain. There was a single door, presumably to a bathroom. Wren kept her head down, stripping woody leaves off a rosemary stalk.

“I’m Verity, by the way,” I said.

“Wren,” she said. “I imagine you’ve got a lot of questions after last time.”

“She snores, but only lightly,” called Enoki. “She’s poly, but not actually dating anyone. She says she’s a vers, but she’s heavily sub. She likes big, attractive butches, especially those with posh voices. Libra.”

“Enoki,” whined Wren, and slumped forward, burying her head in the pile of herbs.

“Sorry, I’m sure,” said the cat-doll, throwing tea bags into cups. I actually preferred coffee, but I guess that wasn’t an option. “Just trying to be the best fucking wing-cat, but have a go at me. Milk? Sugar?” 

“Oh, a little of each, please,” I said.

“And your dog?”

“Ah,” I said, and looked at Sophie. It still seemed a bit too nervous to speak. “Heavy on the milk.”

“Very wise,” said the cat-doll, bringing over an enameled tray with four mugs. I passed Sophie’s down to it. Enoki took its mug and went and sat on the back of the sofa.

“Please ask something about Faerie,” said Wren, sitting back up to grasp her mug, herbs adhering to her face and hair. She looked like a beautiful nymph.  

“Yes, Faerie,” I said. “How were you doing that? It was you?”

“A simple translocation ritual,” said Wren. “A lot of common country witches know how to get back from Faerie. This is just the reverse.”

“But remotely, for at least a dozen people,” I said, “that must have taken a lot of power.”

“I had a witchstone,” said Wren.

“Even so, just doing it would take a lot of skill,” I said. “What level witch are you?” My surprise made me unusually direct.

“Dunno,” said Wren. “I dropped out of college.”

A hedge witch! And that was being generous; many people—like my mother—didn’t consider them witches at all. I was sensible enough not to call her a non-witch, given that she had done one of the most impressive spells I had ever seen.  

“And it was to sabotage the hunt?” I asked.

“Yes,” she said. “Have you seen the way they treat the puppy-dolls, and that poor fox-doll?”

I nodded and then looked at the leash I was still holding. “Oh,” I said, “I don’t—”

“No, your dog loves you,” said Wren. “Just as my cat loves me, even though it has a weird way of showing it.”

“A witch’s familiar is supposed to be weird,” Enoki said, primly.

“Well, that’s sort of one of the reasons I’m here,” I asked. “I know Veronika knows about dolls, so I was hoping to ask her about it.”

“About what?” said Wren.

“About whether dollhood can be reversed?” I asked. I felt Sophie go stiff.

“Complex question,” said Wren, untangling some basil from her hair. “The transformation has physical and mental components. The physical I suppose you could do; fleshworkers can work with human flesh, even if it’s less malleable than doll flesh. But, honestly, with modern doll flesh there’s no need to. If you were talking about those archaic wood and ball joint things, then yeah.” She relaxed when she spoke about a subject she knew.

“But the mental side of things?” I said.

“Well, back to being human is theoretically possible,” she said. “Back to being the same human who signed up for dollification? Not really. Most of that person is gone, because a doll isn’t really a person. And in either case, it needs a dissatisfied doll.”

“My… the people who made this doll,” I said, gesturing at Sophie, “coerced her, the human, into it. Paid her family. Made sure they were poor first.”

Wren nodded. “More common than it should be,” she said. “Even here, where we have laws against it. But at least your puppy-doll doesn’t seem upset, a bit nervous, maybe, but happy.”

“It was upset though,” I said, “where it was.”

“Yes, and then it got re-homed to a good trainee witch,” said Wren. “It really lucked out.”

“Don’t be jealous, Wren,” muttered Enoki.

“But…” I said.

“You can’t put a smashed bottle back together again,” Wren said. “Can I speak to it?”

“It can’t speak when it’s nervous, just dog sounds,” I said.

Wren stood and came around the table, pulling out another chair, sitting so that Sophie was between us. Sophie leaned against my legs. Enoki immediately crossed to Wren’s abandoned chair, and sat.

Wren cautiously patted Sophie’s head, then began stroking it. I felt it relax; it angled its head so that Wren could scritch its ears.

“What a good puppy you are,” said Wren. “Tell me, pup, would you like to be human?”

“No,” Sophie said, the word fading to a bark.

“Do you like being a puppy-doll?” Wren asked.

Sophie nodded, hugging my leg again. “Be with my Mistress,” it said.

Wren shrugged. “If you could convert it back,” she said, “seems like that would be a cruelty.”

“But… I feel bad about it.” 

“Because you enjoy having a puppy-doll,” said Wren. “That’s natural. You’re a witch, or going to be. Witches need dolls, quite as much as dolls need witches. Dolls need love, and to be of use. Witches need entities who love them without qualms, and let themselves be used. Neither will admit it, but it should be a mutually rewarding relationship. Which is why I get so cross about bad witches like that bloody hunt.”

“I see,” I said. I didn’t, though it would give me a lot to think about.

“So,” Wren said, “how do you know Veronika?”

“Oh,” I said, “I don’t, really. We met at the hunt, and I suppose we became friends.”

“She trusted you with her sign, the speedwells,” said Wren. “She didn’t think she’d find anyone worthwhile at the hunt. You must have impressed her.”

“I suppose so,” I said. “We talked about dolls; maybe we have similar ideas. I don’t know, she seems a bit mysterious.” 

“Tell me about it,” said Wren.

“How do you know her?” I asked.

“Oh, I suppose you could say she is my unofficial patron,” Wren said. “When the old manor house was in place, the duke built this cottage, and the stone circle, to house a hermit-witch. He was just an ordinary noble, but I suppose he liked the idea of having a witch around. Anyway, the manor house burned down, and the witch departed. Fast forward to the new house being built; Veronika suggested the billionaire fill the hermit-witch position, and she has got my name from somewhere.”

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“Wow,” I said. “So the stone circle isn’t real?” 

“Well, nineteen-ten, but not prehistoric,” said Wren. “The idea of noble hermitages is quite interesting—”

“The nerd thing is working, Wren,” said the cat-doll. “Make your move. I favour shoving your butt in her face, but you probably want the human equivalent.”

“For Goddess’s sake,” said Wren. “Please shut up. Sorry.”

“It’s okay,” I said. “It’s funny that you let your doll joke all the time, but don’t worry, I know you don’t actually fancy me.”

“What?” said Enoki and Wren together.

“I mean,” continued Wren. “It’s just that Enoki likes to push me, but it’s not… not actually…”

“She likes you,” said Enoki. “Do you like her too? You should. I love her.”

“Enoki,” sighed Wren.

“She’s very pretty,” I said, cautiously. 

“Yes!” Enoki said, “She is, isn’t she? Beautiful. Look at her lips.”

“Enoki, please stop,” said Wren.

The cat-doll swept a bunch of herbs off the table, and climbed up on top. 

“Are you looking at her lips, butch?” said Enoki. “So soft and cushiony. Her kisses are so sweet. Aren’t they lovely?”

I didn’t know what to say. Yes, her lips looked lovely, but I couldn’t very well tell her that.

“This is so embarrassing,” said Wren.

“That’s not embarrassing,” said Enoki. “It would be embarrassing if I mentioned your great tits, or your fantastic arse, or—”

“Enoki, stop!” said Wren. “Just stop. Obviously, she not answering because she doesn’t want to offend me, but—”

“No,” I said, surprising myself. “I am attracted to her too.”

“Really?” said Wren.

“Of course, really,” I said. “I should be the one asking you really.”

“Yay,” said the cat-doll. “You may now stroke my head.” It bent its head forward for me to pet. I stroked it a few times.

“That’s enough,” it said, and clambered off the table, going back to the sofa.

“So what…” began Wren, and trailed off. 

I reached over and pulled a sprig of rosemary from her hair. “Maybe I could help you prep these herbs?”

Wren smiled and nodded.

* * *

“We really don’t have to do this now,” said Wren.

“No, no,” I said. “Unless you don’t want to?”

“I really want to,” Wren said. “Kissing with you was lovely, but it really made me want to get… do more.”

“It’s just…” I said, and gestured around. We were sitting on the edge of her bed. Enoki was perched on top of a dresser, Sophie had shuffled through the bead curtain. They were both watching.

“Just here in case you need any hints, butch,” said Enoki. “She might not tell you what she needs.” She silently mouthed the letters A, N and A.

“Right,” interrupted Wren. “Dolls, into the kitchen. Do the washing up.”

“Yes, Sophie,” I said, “You too.”

“Cats and dogs working together,” muttered Enoki, reluctantly climbing down. “Butch, you better make sure you pleasure her well.” 

“That’s the plan,” I said; quietly, because I was embarrassed, but audible because I was horny.

Wren leaned into me. “Er, I’m not very experienced,” I said. “I mean, only really Sophie, and I don’t know if you should count dolls.”

“It’s okay,” she said. “If you want to treat me like a doll, that’s fine.” She turned her face and kissed me. “But we ought to hurry up, the actual dolls will be done with the washing up soon.”

I kissed her. Enoki had been right about her lips; they were soft and exciting.

Wren stood up, suddenly, and pulled her sundress off. I started to pull my tee-shirt off, but stopped halfway to stare at her body; it reminded me of some luscious snack. She was mostly skinny, but her breasts, her hips, her arse were pleasantly rounded, in a way that invited biting. Freckles and moles were scattered across her body. Her lacy panties showed a bulge of witchcock, threatening to escape. 

“Is that good or bad?” she said. “The way you stopped like that.”

“Good,” I said. “Very good. I’m worried now.”

She pushed me down to the bed, helping me off with my tee-shirt. She ran a hand across my belly.

“You have actual muscles there,” she said.

“Yeah, but not very much in the way of tits,” I said.

“Let’s see,” Wren said. We did an awkward bit of half-sitting up, as she unclasped my plain beige bra. It wasn’t quite a sports bra, but it was close. Nothing like the lacy number that supported Wren’s glorious breasts.

“They are lovely,” said Wren, delicately touching the outer edges. “Can I…?”

I nodded, and she ran her fingers over them, a circuitous, scrollwork pattern. 

“Could I, um,” I said, not knowing how to ask, but really wanting to caress her breasts.

“Listen, Verity,” said Wren, seriously, still tracing lines on my breasts, orbiting the nipples. “We’ve both consented, right? I think we should touch each other how we want, and just shout up if we’re uncomfortable. Okay?”

I gulped. “I… I’d like to remove your bra, and… feel you,” I said.

“Well,” said Wren, bending to kiss a nipple, “I’d like you to pin me down and help yourself.” She lay back, raising her hands above her head, crossing her wrists. 

I hesitated, then put a hand over her wrists, and turned to her bra. Annoyingly, although it was front-fastening, the hook and eyes really needed two hands. I unclipped it, and returned my hand to her wrists.

The bra had sprung open, and I eased the remaining material free. Her breasts were beautiful, bountiful. I touched them, like they were precious fruits that I might bruise.

“I’m not made of porcelain, Verity,” she said. “Handle me roughly.”

I nodded, paused, and then grabbed her breast, softly kneading. 

Wren wriggled enthusiastically. “Yes!” she said.

I swapped to the other breast, handling it in the same way. Then I focused on the nipple, brushing it at first, watching Wren’s face. She caught my eyes, and gave a somewhat breathless, “You’re doing great.”

I brushed her nipple again, catching it between finger and thumb, then pinched it. She writhed and moaned. Her witchcock had broken free of her panties. Abandoning her wrists again, I shimmied down, and took her panties off, she wiggling her hips to help me. I gave the underside of her cock a quick caress; Wren responded by flexing towards my hand. 

I hopped off the bed and began removing my jeans and panties. Wren whined, then—seeing me watching her—began flexing for me, her wrists still crossed above her head.

My underwear was already soaked through. Leaving a pile on the floor, I returned to the bed, on elbows and knees above Wren, face to face. I kissed her; a fierce kiss.

“You could crush me,” she said, pleased not dismayed. 

“I could never crush a beautiful flower like you,” I said.

“Some flowers offer their best scents when their petals are bruised,” she whispered. 

“Perhaps, such a pretty flower should be pressed,” I said, lowering myself until my pussy just brushed her cock, “flattened between two pages, weighted down, squeezed out…”

She nodded urgently. I kissed her again, then moved upright so that I was kneeling over her. With a hand, I maneuvered her witchcock into position, brushing the head with my lips. She started to move her hips up, but I pressed my other hand on her belly, gently pushing her down.

I lowered myself onto her; slowly, because I enjoyed seeing her desperation. The warmth and hardness entering me was intoxicating. When I had fully taken her in, I paused, letting her take a portion of my weight for a moment. She looked up at me.

“Please, crush me, Verity,” she said.

“My flower,” I said, and began to rock, up and down, thrilled to feel her within me, moving. Wren moaned.

I fell into rhythm, rising and falling, my muscles clenching and loosening. Focused on Wren’s beautiful face; she wanted me—I didn’t understand it, but I could see it.

She came, body arching, face a rictus of joy. Seeing her like that triggered me too; I came, the muscles in my cunt pressing down on her witchcock. Several waves washed over me; when I was finally done, her cock was detumesced and damp. I slipped off her, and fell to the side, lying on my back beside her. She felt for my hand and held it.

After a while, I felt a lick on my shoulder; Sophie was kneeling on the floor, watching. I looked across; Enoki was crouching, looking at its mistress. I had a sudden, ludicrous feeling we were going to be scored by the dolls; holding up numbered boards like figure skating.

“Shit,” I said, “I forgot the cat’s hint.”

“Next time, Verity,” she said. “Oh, that’s if you want a next time, I mean.”

“Yes! As long as you wa—”

“Oh for fuck’s sake,” said Enoki. “You two were made for each other.”

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