A Magical Moment

A/N: If you want to get right to the 'good stuff', it's marked with three asterisks (***) throughout the story. All characters are over the age of 18. Happy reading!

***

The afternoon sun spilled through the trees, leaving diamond-shaped patterns on Circe's pale arms as she worked in her herb garden, pulling weeds and taking small cuttings of herbs she planned to use later in a spell. Circe closed her eyes and took a deep, appreciative breath of fresh air just before a raucous caw from a nearby crow shattered the peaceful afternoon.

Circe's eyes snapped open, a frown passing briefly over her charming, heart-shaped face. To the outside observer, Circe's youthful demeanour suggested that she was in her late twenties, but the witch was actually far older than that, having passed her third century a few decades previous. Because of this, she knew these woods well and the animals therein. The crow was warning her: an intruder should be shortly expected.

Circe stood and brushed the fertile dirt off of her delicate hands and collected her basket of herbs. She rose, striding confidently towards the comfortable cottage she had called home for many years. As she crossed the threshold, she caught sight of a man astride a white horse easing down the eastern path to her home. Perhaps the man was a knight or even one of the Church's zealots - he wore freshly polished silver armour that gleamed like a brook in the sunlight.

Circe smiled - she had seen others like him before, sent to rescue the witch from her wicked and profane ways. She always found the men sent for this purpose to be charmingly naïve: so self-assured and yet so ignorant of the ways of the world, despite the fact they could only join the inquisitors after their twenty-fourth year. Nevertheless, she reminded herself that she must be patient in revealing what she knew: some of the men were quick to anger when they felt their beliefs tested.

Circe rested a shapely hip against her cottage's solid wooden door frame, observing the slow yet confident progress the young man made as he dismounted his powerful horse and came to stand before her.

"Circe Merchseren, I am Sir Daevon of Carswick," the young man greeted her, dipping into a customary bow before he could stop himself. His blue eyes were piercing and he had quite a handsome face with a strong square jaw and high cheekbones. Circe matched his gaze with her own sea green eyes and offered him a faint smile and a curtsy that balanced dangerously between earnest and mocking.

"Well met, Sir Daevon. Would you like to join me for a cup of tea?" Circe offered politely, taking in the size of the man as he stood before her. He was easily a foot taller than she, with broad shoulders and powerful arms and legs. Circe's summer dress was a stark contrast to the man who stood before her, armoured as though he were going to war.

"I would not, witch. I am here to bring you to justice, to answer for your crimes." Daevon's words were clipped, his jaw set as he rested a gloved hand on the pommel of his fine longsword.

"To answer for which crimes?" Circe asked, smiling innocently.

"You know very well which crimes, witch. Sorcery is outlawed by the king himself!" Daevon countered, advancing on her as though he could quail her simply with his powerful presence. It would work on most, she observed: despite his relative youth he had the makings of a fine man within him and another ten years in the field would make even battle-hardened veterans think twice before becoming flippant. Circe, however, was not one who could be easily intimidated.

"Is it now?" Circe smiled, gazing up at the man who was mere inches from her. Circe refused to retreat, continuing to lounge against the doorframe of her cottage.

"And how will you bring me to justice?" She lowered her voice into a soft, suggestive purr, watching the colour spread over Daevon's cheeks as she detailed the fiendish things that his order was known for.

"Will you chain me and throw me over the back of your horse to bring me to the city, where I am sure to be shamed for my crimes? Pilloried, perhaps even burned at the stake? Perhaps you would prefer me all to yourself: will you bring me to justice here, lash me until I am broken with pain?"

Daevon's face was bright red as he gazed down at the slim woman whose tone of voice seemed to be inviting him to bed yet whose words were of reciting the terrible fates that awaited her. He wondered how she could be so calm in the face of his accusations, how a woman as beautiful as she could take such a wicked path.

Daevon was instructed to take Circe back to the gaol for sentencing and punishment, but he knew what would happen to her there. A pretty woman rarely survived untouched in the gaol, if it wasn't the guards, it was the other prisoners. Her beauty would be destroyed and her fiery nature extinguished. Still, there was perhaps a sliver of hope: it was still early, his horse had made good time through the woods. Perhaps he could talk her into recanting her wicked ways instead of having to take her to the gaol.

"Maybe I will have that tea," he sighed, looking down at the unusually brave witch who dared stand up to him. Usually heathens broke down and confessed their sins immediately but this curious creature seemed to not even view her activities as sins. He had to learn more, to understand her motivations - purely for the education of his order, of course - he tried to convince himself.

Circe's face broke into a smile and she nodded, pressing her body sideways to admit him into her cosy one-room cottage. A bed took up most of the space in the room, dressed in sumptuous fabrics and fine furs gifted by past lovers. The bed could separated by the rest of the cottage with a thin curtain which was currently not drawn. Daevon felt his eyes drawn to her bed and then he quickly glanced away, feeling it an intrusion. He chose instead to watch the witch's lithe form as she set a kettle over the fire, the light from the fire illuminating her form most indecently through the thin dress that she was wearing. He stood by the door, unsure of how to behave in this unusual situation.

"You know, usually they don't send men in full armour to speak with me. Have they decided I'm some sort of threat?" Circe asked, leaning on the counter as she waited for the water to heat.

Daevon scowled slightly, shrugging his well-plated shoulders. He did feel uncomfortable in so much armour and the truth was that even if it did come to hand to hand combat, he would easily overpower the woman in front of him. He knew that he would be too clumsy in his gauntlets to take the cup of tea, so he could compromise and remove those, at least. After all, he was in her home - her lair, he corrected himself, remembering his training. It took a few attempts but soon the gauntlets and gloves were resting on the gleaming table next to him.

"It's wise to anticipate the worst." Daevon's reply felt hollow, even to him. It wasn't as though she could transform into a bear and maul him. She was a slight woman who worked her witchery with herbs and sigils. Even her lair looked innocent enough - a few dried herbs and a well-stocked salt cellar were staples for good home cooks - not just witches, and the little grey cat curled up by the fire looked more pet than daemonic familiar.

"Naturally," Circe agreed with a smile, picking a few choice herbs to infuse with the tea: chamomile, to soothe and relax, and lemon balm to calm anxiety and stress. The result was a smooth, enjoyable drink which she sweetened with a little wild honey before offering a cup to Daevon.

"Please, sit. My home is humble, but I pride myself on being a good hostess." Circe offered, gesturing to the rough-hewn seats worn smooth with time and use that sat around the circular wooden table.

Daevon sat and accepted the beverage, his strong, callused hand sliding along the smooth skin of Circe's. He felt an involuntary thrill and swallowed uncomfortably - this witch was a clever one and would use her wiles to entrap him if he wasn't careful. He sniffed the drink surreptitiously before he took a sip. Despite having watched her make the drink, he had heard too many stories about poisoned cups and unwary men.

Circe sat down across from him, her posture exquisite. She sipped her tea with the good manners of a noblewoman. Her manners might be impeccable, but no noblewoman had ever made him feel the way she was making him feel. There was a tightness in his breeches that made him glad of the armour he wore to disguise it.

"Now, shall we talk business? I suppose that you must be very busy, terrorising women such as myself." Circe smirked as she sipped her tea.

"Come now, you've hardly been terrorised." Daevon protested, shaking his head, the sunlight glinting in his golden hair. Circe felt an ache in her loins and a familiar warmth through her body as she watched Daevon speak. "You know what the penalties for witchery are and still you practice the forbidden arts."

Circe smiled and shrugged, gazing into Daevon's eyes. She had a mysterious air about her, Daevon found it difficult to tell what she was thinking. At the minute it seemed to be all about teasing and frustrating him. He needed to find a way to retain the upper hand, to remind her of the power of the Church.

"Have you no shame? No regret for the wickedness that you've done?" Daevon asked, willing the thickness in his breeches to slumber once more due to his power of conviction alone.

"Wickedness? Come now, does this look like a den of iniquity?" Circe laughed as she gestured around the sunny cottage which was clean, bright and airy. Daevon glanced around, avoiding looking at that inviting bed for too long. He could have her on it and be deep inside her so quickly, and- no, he mustn't think of such things. He drained his teacup quickly and shook his head, looking at Circe critically.

"Appearances have little to do with fact, Miss Circe," he stated firmly. "I will have to take you in, you know."

"Surely you have to have some evidence other than hearsay to arrest me on. Will you stay the afternoon to observe me?" Circe cocked an eyebrow. "To watch me commune with demons and do all sorts of wicked things?"

Daevon didn't actually need any proof to bring her in, but the thought of spending the afternoon with her sounded like too good an offer to pass up. He could gain proof of her witchery or perhaps simply enjoy a pleasant afternoon in the sunny forest even if no new evidence displayed itself.

"Of course, Miss Circe, though I fully understand that under my gaze you'll avoid doing the activities you'd normally do to help proclaim your innocence."

"Do you wish me to do things precisely as I would were you not here?" Circe asked, a slow smile spreading across her face. This was a challenge, and Daevon couldn't understand why she seemed so pleased with the outcome.

"Of course, Miss Circe. Let me be merely a fly on the wall to your daily activities."

"Very well, then. In the future, I will ask you to recall that you DID ask for this." Circe smirked, gathering their teacups and putting them aside.

"You'll need to remove your armour if you plan to follow me - you'll scare away the creatures of the forest if you clank all over the place. You can use my bedroom to change." Circe said politely, gesturing to how the curtain could be closed.

Daevon nodded, knowing his armour was little good for him deep in the forest and that his tunic and breeches would be far more comfortable in the warm sun. He closed the curtain to have some privacy, but the sweet scent of whatever perfume Circe wore filled his nostrils and made his cock throb. Looking more closely at her bed as he took his armour off, he saw a phallus-shaped crystal resting on top of the blankets. It spoke to her wicked lusts, pleasuring herself merely for the sake of her own desires. The thought thrilled him blackly, he imagined her pale legs splayed and her soft pussy soaked with her juices as she spread herself open with the toy, fucking herself with wild abandon. Had the toy been inside of her this very morning? He shook his head, closing his eyes: he had to keep control of himself.

Once a few minutes had passed, he had composed himself enough to face Circe again, he found her waiting by the door with a folded bundle in her hands. He blushed slightly and gestured for her to lead the way. He hoped this witch could not read minds.

Circe led him along a worn dirt path to a close-by river where it widened and calmed into a large pool. She set her bundle down by the riverbank and without any hesitation pulled off her dress in one graceful movement, revealing a very pleasant body underneath. Her breasts were full and pert, her nipples hardening in the cool shade air. Her mound was slight and had a thin stripe of well-groomed hair, contrasting her pale thighs. Her rear was high and dimpled, Daevon imagined how pleasant it would look in the pillory for a moment before the shock of her nakedness brought him back to the moment. He averted his eyes, moving away from Circe to the shade of a large tree and he called out to her.

"What sort of witchery is this, then?"

"Witchery?" She laughed, it was a musical sound. "This is a bath. Do your men not bathe occasionally, Sir Daevon?"

Daevon rolled his eyes, resting against the tree. Circe faced away from him, diving under the water like some sort of naiad. She surfaced again, water dripping down her pale body like so many diamonds. Daevon realised in that moment that he truly wanted to have her. He knew from his training that this was one of the few times he was allowed the smaller sin of self-pleasure - it only corrupted one soul, not two. If it stopped him from sinning with her, he could turn to his own pleasure and beg for forgiveness later.

***

Standing in the shade of the tree, he sat down, and crooked one leg so it would hide his sinful act from her sight. He eased his cock out of his breeches, the heavy, veined beast twitching with anticipation, a pearl of precome already sitting proudly on the tip. His hand moved to the base of his cock as he watched the witch frolic in the water, her nakedness seeming so natural from this distance. He groaned under his breath as he began to pump himself with his own fist, squeezing tight as he imagined her soft hole. He felt as though her bathing were a performance just for him.

Circe surfaced once more, shimmering in the sunlight with a smile that suggested she didn't have a care in the world. Daevon tugged at himself breathlessly, thrilled by the feeling of watching her without her knowing. His cock strained with lust as he stroked himself over and over, panting as his thighs flexed with restrained desire. He wanted little more in that moment than to mount her and fuck her until she was senseless with pleasure and to drink the cold, fresh water off of her body, warming her with his mouth.

Exquisite tension filled Daevon's form as he panted softly, the precome flowing freely from the flared tip of his cock. He watched her wash her breasts, carefully soaping them and he groaned internally, wanting to surrender to his lust and mount her the way she deserved, to fill her holes until she dripped with his seed. He could feel his orgasm building as he pumped his hand ever faster, his eyes locked on her plump rear caressed by the water. He cried out as he came hard, scattering the birds in a nearby tree, thick ropes of come lacing the leaves of a close-by bush. His cock squeezed every drop of come from his heavy balls, twitching over and over as his load spurted over his fist. Daevon felt dizzy, he moved to rest against the tree, panting and chuckling at the ridiculousness of it all. This witch would not lead him around by his cock, he would control himself as he had been trained. He cleaned up as best as he could and returned the satisfied beast to his breeches. Perhaps now he would think more clearly, be able to observe her heretical ways.

Circe eventually found her way to the bank of the river, she sat down on the thin blanket she had brought with her and she began to comb her hair with a wooden comb. She acted as though she had seen and heard nothing, but Daevon was sure that the flock of birds alighting from the tree had caught her attention. Nevertheless, Daevon walked to her side and eased the comb out of her hands, gently stroking it through her long, dark hair. Circe didn't protest, she merely sat with her hands folded in her lap, ostensibly obedient to his will. Daevon didn't understand why he had the urge to treat her with such tenderness, but he supposed it was because soon she would be in the gaol and there would be no further tenderness, nor pleasant cups of tea, nor even any daylight. It did seem a waste for such a fine woman to be relegated to the same place as thieves and murderers, but Daevon did not care to look into the logic too closely. It was the will of the Church and therefore it was his duty to enforce it.

Once the tangles were loosened from Circe's hair, Daevon felt a sadness inside as he handed the comb back to Circe. There was a strange, unwelcome lump in his throat as he helped her to her feet. He observed that she wore a delicate silver anklet decorated with stars around her left ankle. Further signs of witchery, which reminded him of the job at hand.

"As you well know, there will be a physical examination to determine whether or not you have any of the oddities that might mark you as a witch. In the gaol, there will be several observers and the examination will not be done gently. If you wish, I could undertake such an examination here instead. I, uh - I would be gentle." Daevon vowed, looking cautiously at her, a charming timidity to his voice.

"I know you will be," Circe smiled softly, raising her arms over her head to allow him to more easily examine her. Daevon's breath caught in his throat as he looked over the witch's alluring form, her arms raised as though bound. Despite his recent orgasm, he felt his cock twitch lightly in his breeches at the thought. Daevon's hands moved to Circe's body and he began to examine her, adjusting her pose with infinite care as his eyes roved over her perfect form.

"A complete absence of irregularities," Daevon murmured to himself, his eyes running over her curves hungrily. Circe allowed her limbs to be positioned by the man, his hands were gentle and professional but his eyes betrayed his animalistic lust.

"Oh, but you haven't checked everywhere," Circe said lightly, stepping one small foot onto a river rock to expose her soft slit.

"The marks can hide in the strangest places," she laughed. Daevon fell to his knees as though under a spell, carefully observing her slit, spreading her asscheeks to check the soft pucker of her ass. Absolutely divine, clean and fragrant in a way that made his mouth water. He could see the gleaming moisture of her pussy and it made his cock throb once more. He desired greatly to kiss her soft pucker of flesh, to lap and tease her pussy and ass until she came against his mouth. He moved away from her, clearing his throat to hide the fact he couldn't think of what to say. He hoped for the second time in a day that the witch could not read minds.

"My, my. No words? That's all right, we'll continue with our day, shall we?" Circe smiled as she slipped a clean dress on, the material so thin it seemed indecent. Daevon's eyes traced the curve of her ass as he walked behind her, rather like a guard or escort than an inquisitor, alert to the noises of the forest. Circe walked deeper into the forest instead of returning home, her swaying steps confident and light.

Soon they came upon a clearing filled with bluebells and Circe spread out the same blanket from the river, moving to sit on it. She gestured for Daevon to come and sit with her and though he hesitated, he moved to her side, sitting closer than was truly necessary. He felt a great protective urge come over him that was at odds with needing to bring this woman in for questioning and potential torture. Was he truly in the right, destroying this young woman's future over a few gathered herbs?