The Copper Lady - a Halloween Story

This is the story that the pixies brought me for Halloween this year. As with anything that the pixies bring me, the final story is a mixture of fact, myth, and my own imagination. I leave it to you to discover which is which, or in this case which is witch.

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WARNING

! This warning is possibly not needed for this particular story, but I am including it because it is needed for most of my stories.

If you decide to read other of my stories make sure that you read the disclosures and warnings at the beginning of each story.

All of my writing is intended for adults over the age of 18

ONLY

. Stories may contain strong or even extreme sexual content. All people and events depicted are fictional and any resemblance to persons living or dead is purely coincidental. Actions, situations, and responses are fictional

ONLY

and should not be attempted in real life.

All characters involved in sexual activity in this story are over the age of 18. If you are under the age of 18 or do not understand the difference between fantasy and reality or if you reside in any state, province, nation, or tribal territory that prohibits the reading of acts depicted in these stories, please stop reading immediately and move to somewhere that exists in the twenty-first century.

Archiving and reposting of this story is permitted, but only if acknowledgment of copyright and statement of limitation of use is included with the article. This story is copyright (c) 2024 by The Technician.

Individual readers may archive and/or print single copies of this story for personal, non-commercial use. Production of multiple copies of this story on paper, disk, or other fixed format is expressly forbidden.

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Belinda Barnotti, known to her friends as BB, stood at the entrance to the Witch Hill Nunnery Museum silently debating with herself. She was almost a Doctor of Anthropology. All that was left for her to gain her PhD was to complete her thesis. Then she had to make a name for herself by turning that thesis into a book. That would make her a well-known anthropologist. Well-known anthropologists get teaching jobs in prestigious universities. Unknown anthropologists end up in the basement of a museum cataloging things that no one will ever see.

What had BB stopped at the entrance to the Nunnery was her knowledge that becoming well-known for something scandalous was even worse than being unknown. If her name was tainted by scandal, she wouldn't even be considered by any university... and she wouldn't be able to get into a museum even if she bought a ticket on Sunday afternoon. What had brought her to this Witch Hill Halloween party could either make her famous... or infamous.

The topic of her thesis was "Mediaeval Torture Devices - Fact and Fiction." For the past two years, she had been all over England, France, Italy, Germany, and anywhere else that claimed to have torture devices from that period. She had deduced that many of the devices were outright fakes; that some were real, but too horrible for most people to even read about; and that others were... boring. Being walled-up in a small room and fed through a slot in the wall was horrible, but it was not at all exciting. She needed to find something that was real, would make a good cover image for her book, and would put her on the morning television shows that university presidents and board members regularly watched.

She was in the basement laundry room of her apartment building dreading having to consign herself to a life in some museum's basement when Sophia, a neighbor, said, "I hear you are interested in old torture devices. You really need to go to the old nunnery on Witch Hill and see their Copper Lady."

"I've seen just about every iron lady in England and everywhere else," she replied, "and they are all fake. They were built years after the major periods of torture to sell to gullible nobles or to entice the poor folk to give up a penny to view them in a traveling museum of torture."

"But this isn't an iron lady," Sophia said, "it's a Copper Lady, and it's the real thing. It's been hanging in the nunnery bell tower almost since it was built. If you go to the Halloween party you can even see it in action. I'll get you an offer to buy an invitation."

BB chuckled at the fact that evidently you had to be invited to buy an invitation.

There were no nuns left at Witch Hill Abbey. The nunnery, as many early churches, had been built to overlay a pagan place of worship. Now it was a museum, and the site of one of the largest... and most expensive... Halloween parties in England.

The museum was there because when the nunnery closed, the aged Abbess deeded everything over to the village. Although there were almost no nuns left, there were all sorts of important historical items and books left in the church and living quarters. The church and cloister were themselves buildings of great historical interest, so the village got all sorts of grants to start the museum.

The Halloween Party was there because it is very expensive to maintain buildings which were originally built twelve hundred years ago. The nunnery land which was rented out to local farmers, provided a steady income. Certain wealthy patrons helped out occasionally. The board which ran the museum even rented out some of the cloister rooms to tourists. But all of that fell short of the needed funds. The yearly Halloween Party brought in a significant amount of money which always made up the shortfall and even provided surplus to save for future needs.

Because the Halloween Party brought in so much needed cash, the museum allowed the party to get rather raucous and risque. To protect the artifacts, the party wasn't held in the museum itself, but rather in the large courtyard of the old church. One of the big attractions of the nunnery was the elaborate mechanism which rang the church bells on the hour and quarter hours and then provided a long cascade of all the bells at midnight. No one knew who had built the complex mechanism which rang the bells or why it had been so designed. It was silent from midnight until six in the morning. Then it rang properly until ten at night when it again went silent except for the cascade at midnight. Midnight was the only point at which all of the bells in the tower swung and rang automatically rather than just being tolled by a large hammer on the outside of the bell. And midnight was the only time that the Copper Lady swung alongside the great bells in the tower. For some reason, which no one who studied that mechanism could understand, that cascade of all the bells would continue on Halloween until it was time for the quarter hour chime. That higher-pitched bell tolled once and then the bells would go silent. A local man, a gravelly-voiced farmer who acted as "Keeper of the Bells," came to the museum each Saturday to wind the massive spring and weight mechanism which powered the hourly chines. He also did routine, and sometimes not-so-routine maintenance on the mechanism as his father, and his father's father, and his father's father's father, had done for many years before him.

It all sounded like a story out of a Gothic novel, but often such myths and stories are based on a sliver of reality that might be... just might be... the thing which Belinda needed for her thesis... and book.

BB steeled herself and lifted the large iron ring that acted as a door knocker on the outer gate of the nunnery. The thud of the iron striking the door's knocker plate seemed to reverberate through the night air. The speculatorium, the small hatchway with a woven iron cover, opened and a pair of eyes glared out at her.

"Do you have an invitation?" a gruff voice asked.

BB held up the stiff invitation that had cost her more than twice her monthly rent, which according to Sophia was a great discount. "This had better be worth it," she thought to herself as the door swung slowly inward. Its ancient iron hinges creaked and squealed as the door opened.

BB wasn't sure what she was expecting, but a couple hundred very scantily clad men and women wasn't number one on her list. Everyone seemed to be wearing very short black robes that barely covered their bodies and roughly-made sandals that looked like they belonged in the museum. The women's robes had a deep V in the neckline which went well below the normal cleavage area for most of the women. Sophia had told BB that the party started a little after three, but it didn't really get going until several hours later.

"Wear something witchy," Sophia advised, so she was wearing a long black robe and a pointed hat. She knew both were not what any of the wise women of the Middle Ages wore, but it was what was expected at Halloween parties-- well, at most Halloween parties. At this party she definitely stood out.

She had decided to arrive around seven. The bells had just finished tolling the hour as she walked into the courtyard. She noticed that a young woman... a naked young woman... was being led out of the doorway to the bell tower. The young woman was weaving slightly and having trouble standing.

"Bring her to the altar," someone called out and the young woman was led to a large, flat-topped boulder in the center of the courtyard. The way that the stone continued into the ground made it obvious that this boulder was just the tip of the iceberg of a much more massive rock buried deep within the earth. The two men and two women who were leading her were dressed in black jeans, black shirts, and black shoes.

"Well," BB thought to herself, "at least I'm not the only one who stands out in the crowd."

"First, she deserves pleasure," the gruff-voiced man said loudly. BB startled slightly as she realized that this man was holding a thick black staff and was wearing a long, hooded, black robe made of some much thicker material than the short robes which everyone else seemed to be wearing. Her mouth opened in amazement when she realized that his robe was historically accurate for someone who oversaw torture ordered by the king or queen.

The two couples dressed in black laid the young woman back over the stone. There were four ropes tied to iron stakes which had been driven into the ground at four points around the very ancient altar. And this was truly an ancient altar. BB had, for a while, thought of doing her thesis on pagan worship and witchcraft and had done a lot of study. This was definitely a pagan altar upon which the young woman was being bound.

The two couples tightly tied the young woman's arms and legs with the four ropes. Her arms were tied very tightly, but there was some slack in the leg ropes.

Seven women, ranging in age from just barely legal to just barely walking stepped over to stand in line between the young woman's wide-spread legs. They were all wearing the very short black robes... and nothing else. The oldest woman, almost crone looking, dropped her robe and knelt naked at the stone. She said something in Old English that BB couldn't quite catch and then leaned forward to nuzzle the young woman's cunt. Seven times she moved her mouth and tongue up and down the young woman's slit before rising, putting her robe back on and standing toward the side facing the altar.

"One," she croaked out in a voice that proclaimed her advanced age.

The next woman in line dropped her robe and knelt between the captive offering's legs. She, too, lapped and nuzzled her way up and down the young woman's cunt seven times. Then she put her robe back on and stood next to the old crone.

"Two," she said loudly. Her voice didn't crack like the old crone's, but it was definitely the voice of an old woman.

BB tried to keep her mouth closed and the look of amazement off of her face as woman after woman in the line knelt and nuzzled at the offering's cunt. BB's mouth was now hanging wide open in amazement as she realized that this was a sacrificial offering of some sort. The woman on the altar, meanwhile, was squirming and moaning and pulling against the ropes which held her on the flat-topped rock. Finally the youngest of the seven was standing with the rest forming part of a circle which went not quite half way around the stone altar.

"Seven," she chirped in a happy voice of youth. Then all seven of the women said something in Old English that BB could not quite understand, but it somehow sounded familiar.

The man in the black robe with the very gruff voice again stood next to the altar. He lifted his staff slightly into the air and said forcefully, "Second, she must give pleasure."

Another line formed. This time they were all males. But they again ranged in age from extremely elderly to just reaching university age. Again the first was the eldest. As he centered himself between the offering's legs, he had to pump his manhood with his hand several times to make it fully stiff. Then he leaned forward with his hands on the altar just outside the offering's breasts.

He forced himself into her very wet cunt and began pumping slowly. On his sixth stroke he shuddered as if he had perhaps climaxed and ejaculated. He pumped one more time and then stood up.

"One," he said in a somewhat shaky voice as he put his robe back on and joined the women standing around the altar.

The next man in line dropped his robe and leaned over the altar. He easily penetrated the offering's cunt and slowly pumped seven times. Then he stood up and said, "Two."

So it went through the line of men. Each pumped seven times. The gruff-voiced man had to pound his staff heavily on the ground next to the altar and order, "Only seven!" when the youngest man started to continue pumping. His prick was stiff and quivering as he stood back up.

"You will learn control before the high offering," the gruff voice said as the young man pulled his short robe over his head. Then the man with the staff said gruffly, "Now she must receive pain and give pleasure."

The two couples came forward and untied the ropes from the young woman on the rock. They then rolled her over onto her stomach. The offering seemed to barely know what was happening to her, but she also seemed willing to help the couples roll her over.

Once she was in place, the gruff-voiced man called out, "Prepare her!" and two women in very short black robes ran forward with a small bucket. One of them dipped her hand in the bucket and pulled out a glob of a white, fatty, greasy substance. She then began working that slime into the offering's nether hole.

After a few minutes, the woman on the altar was starting to moan slightly. The woman who had been applying the grease now had four fingers of her hand sliding in and out of the offering's ass. The woman removed her hand from the offering's ass and called out loudly, "She is ready!"

A new line formed. This time it was a mix of men and women. The first in line was a man, then two women, then a man, then two more women, and finally another man.

When the first man leaned over the altar and centered his prick on the offering's rosebud, she gasped and uttered a short squeal of pain. Then she began to moan softly as the man pushed in and out seven times.

The two women both had strapons under their short robes. Or to be more exact, the straps were under their robes, but the long phallic rubber prick held up the front hem of the robe and bobbed obscenely as they stood waiting in line. There was another gasp of pain as the first woman leaned over the altar and impaled the offering. Both were moaning slightly by the time she got to seven.

The moans of the offering got more and more intense as the seven assailed her ass. She was pulling against the robes and muttering, "Yes, yes, yes," by the time the sixth, a woman, finished. The gruff-voiced leader said firmly, "Wait!" as the seventh, a man, approached the altar.

The man stood there rather calmly stroking his prick until the leader called out, "Continue!" and he positioned himself properly between the offering's legs. She was crying slightly as the man finished his seven strokes. But it wasn't from pain. It was because she had come so close, and then wasn't allowed to orgasm.

After the last man had finished and joined the circle around the altar, the leader lifted his hands into the air and said something in old English. BB shook her head as she realized why she hadn't been able to understand anything. It wasn't old English. It was old Scottish Gaelic. He said, "faigh an tabhartas so," which means, "receive this offering."

The twenty-one people in short robes raised their hands into the air and called out in unison, "faigh an tabhartas so." Then the leader said, "Position her."

The four in black, modern dress ran forward and quickly untied the offering. Then they led her, supporting and almost dragging her, over to a stairway which went up to the second story balcony which surrounded the courtyard. As BB watched the two couples lead the naked offering to the steps, she realized for the first time that the courtyard was not round as she had first thought. Instead it had seven walls which made it appear at first to be a circle. The walls continued well up past the narrow balcony, and in the center of each wall was a vaulted opening with a stone bench beneath it.

BB gasped once again as she realized that in the center of three of those open arches a naked young woman was tied spread-eagled with her feet resting on the bottom of the opening. All three were facing inward and all three seemed to be staring down into the courtyard with an intense look of longing on their faces.

The four led the offering to the first arched opening that was not occupied, and stood her facing inward against the bench in front of the opening. After ropes were looped through bolts or something near the top of the arch, and secured to the offering's wrists, the two women lifted the naked offering up onto the bench while the two men pulled on the ropes. After she was stable on the bench, she was again lifted slightly while the two women in black stood alongside her on the bench. She was now standing in the center of the opening with her arms stretched tightly into a Y above her body.

After the two men secured the ropes in some fashion, they tied ropes to the offering's ankles and pulled them widely apart. This dropped her body slightly and increased the tightness of her arms. In just a few moments she was tied in a naked X like the other three young women.

When the two couples returned to the courtyard, the gruff-voiced leader said firmly, "It is time to select the next."

All conversation ceased. A serving cart with rather large wheels clinked out to the center of the courtyard pushed by the two women in black jeans. It was filled with small glasses which held slightly more than a large swallow of some light amber liquid. The two couples began to quickly distribute the glasses to everyone present using small trays that held a dozen or so glasses. After only a few had been distributed, the leader said firmly, "Wait!" and the three or four who had started to raise the glass to their mouths suddenly lowered their glasses and held their hands at their waist.

When BB received her glass she sniffed it slightly before holding it at her waist. It smelled like wine mixed with honey. Her mind automatically raced trying to remember where she had smelled this before or perhaps read of such a smell. Then she said aloud, "Honeymead. It's honeymead."

After everyone had received their glass of honeymead, The leader called out in his gruff voice, "Raise!" and everyone raised their glass to eye level. At the call of "Drink!" everyone downed the small glass of honeymead.

Almost immediately, one of the young women said in a rather slurred voice, "It's me." Then she pulled her robe over her head and stepped out of her sandals. The two couples dressed in modern black walked over to her. The two women looked deeply into the young woman's eyes before saying, "Yes, she is the one who is chosen." Then the two men steadied the young woman as they led her over to the bell tower.