"Macbeth's Witchy Orgy"
by J.D. Savanyu
Macbeth rode his mighty horse Eimhir through the Scottish highland wilderness on a cool foggy Samhain afternoon in late October, weary and full of dread. The Thane of Cawdor was heading toward the Wyrd witch's coven for another divination about his increasingly bleak future. Three weeks ago, those strange sorceresses predicted Macbeth would become king, and that his friend Banquo would father a line of kings, but not become one. Lady Macbeth used that prediction to persuade her husband to murder King Duncan and seize his throne. She went mad after the foul deed was done, and so did her husband. He then murdered Banquo and Banquo's son Fleance to prevent them from revealing his guilt. The price of power kept rising higher and higher, and so did his hunger for all the decadent trappings of the crown.
Macbeth guided Eimhir up a long rocky slope in the misty air, feeling as though he were descending to the fiery depths of hell. "Conscience makes cowards of us all," he muttered to himself, steeling his resolve to become the greatest king Scotland had ever known. Meanwhile, the strong equine muscles heaving between his legs got him hornier and hornier. Lady Macbeth hadn't opened her legs for him since her nervous breakdown triggered by the political assassinations. That gorgeous redhead was once an insatiable nymphomaniac, demanding rough sex at least twice a day in their master bedroom at Castle Inverness. Now she just ranted and raved all day long, imagining Duncan's blood on her hands. Leaving her husband sex-starved to the point of lunacy.
The fog grew thicker as Macbeth neared the remote witch's lair, with twinkling haunting music playing in the near distance. Eerily similar to the music that was playing when he saw Banquo's ghost at a royal feast. Their coven was just around a bend in the road, behind several large boulders. A plume of sweet-smelling smoke rose from their campfire.
Macbeth tied Eimhir to a dead tree and slowly walked down the road. Peering around one of the boulders, he saw the three Wyrd witches performing a black mass for Samhain. They were all completely nude, dancing around a bubbling cauldron over a crackling fire. Caitir and Eubah were the ugliest old hags he'd ever seen, while Siùsan was the loveliest young woman he'd ever seen. Her long lustrous red hair flowed down her pale buxom white body as she danced around the flickering flames to fife music played by Caitir, with Eubah banging on a bodhran drum. The wiccan rite suddenly stopped as they sensed Macbeth's presence with psychic powers.
"By the pricking of my thumbs, something wicked this way comes," Caitir uttered in a creepy gravelly tone.
"I have arrived, you cunning midnight hags," Macbeth proclaimed, gazing longingly at Siùsan's radiant freckled face. "My kingdom has fallen into turmoil since my last visit, and my wife refuses to enter our marriage bed. I demand your honest counsel."
"Speak."
"Demand."
"We'll answer," uttered Caitir, Eubah and Siùsan.
"The spirit world is at closest proximity to the earthly plane on Samhain day, so all mystical knowledge is at our beck and call," Eubah continued.
"Reveal that knowledge to me, I beg of you," Macbeth demanded.
Siùsan returned his sexy gaze with a sweet smile, tossing her red bangs away from her large breasts for his unobstructed admiration. She joined her witch companions in summoning a shimmering apparition over the bubbling cauldron full of fragrant conjuring herbs and animal parts.
"Macbeth! Macbeth! Macbeth! Beware Macduff!" the apparition moaned plaintively.
Beware the Thane of Fife!"
"I'll be careful, thank you," Macbeth replied awkwardly. "You've stoked my fear quite well, but one more word please."
"He will not be commanded," Caitir grunted. "Here's another, more potent than the first."
The witches dispersed that apparition with a wave of their hands, and raised a scarier apparition of Banquo's murdered son, covered with blood.
"Macbeth! Macbeth! Macbeth!" it shrieked. "Be bloody, bold, and resolute! Laugh to scorn the power of man, for no one born of a woman shall harm Macbeth."
"Then I have no reason to fear," Macbeth snickered. "Everyone is born
of
a woman, so I'll sleep in spite of thunder."
"I love your confidence, sir Thane," Siùsan replied flirtatiously. They summoned a third apparition of a young man wearing a crown, with a tree growing out of his right hand.
"Be proud as a lion, never caring who shouts or conspires against you," it uttered ethereally. "Macbeth will never be vanquished until the Great Birnam Forest comes to Dunsinane Hill."
"Ah, that will never happen," Macbeth snickered. "The Great Birnam Forest is five miles away from Dunsinane Hill, and trees can never unfix their earthbound roots. But my heart yearns to know one more thing, witches. Will Banquo's descendants ever rule Scotland?"
"We can't tell you any more, Sir Thane," Eubah replied solemnly. "The spirit world refuses further revelations."
"An eternal curse on you if you're lying, hags!"
"We tell nothing but truth. Relax, Macbeth," Siùsan uttered seductively. She stepped toward him, rubbing the leather breastplate over his well-muscled chest. "You're raving drunk with power and lust, and you need relief. Come sisters, let us cheer him up, and show him the best of our delights."
"What do you mean...
delights?
" he uttered awkwardly in sudden arousal, with his massive manhood swelling beneath his breeches.
Siùsan's right hand drifted down between his legs, grabbing his rising manhood through his red plaid kilt. "
This
kind, Sir Thane. I know how much you want to fuck me. Ever since you first laid eyes on me."
"You speak the truth, wicked angel," Macbeth murmured with intense arousal. He grabbed her large lovely freckled breasts with both hands, squeezing them hard and making her moan. "I want to conquer you with my manly blade."
"And I wish to
be
conquered," she giggled. "But I'm on equal terms with my fellow witches. Whatever pleasures I partake of, they must share."
"Oh god," Macbeth groaned, glancing over at the shriveled, sagging, wart-riddled naked bodies of Eubah and Caitir.
"Yes, Macbeth!" the hags cackled in horrid unison. "Ravage
all
our bodies!"
"It's been so long since I fucked a fine young man like you!" Caitir cackled, licking her lips in desperate desire.
"I want to suck that big prick, and take it
deep
