The Magic Ring, Part 7 ... Taken!
by Plowjack
Continued very directly from Part 6


***An Interlude ...

After the evening's work and play was finished, Suzanne carried her darling
Fergus back into their house and shut the doors. He was so wiry and solid now,
like a monkey for agility, but still so slender in her arms. They still
delighted in what was for them their love game - she the bullying aggressor
and he the inevitable slave. Now the stakes were higher - the Gods were
involved, and the destiny of this little valley, at least, was on the table.
Still, they would have their fun like the teenagers they were. "Are you ready
to come, little kitten?" she asked, as she slammed him on his back, still
wearing her giant form, his body like a child's to her, except for his
strengthened cock, still straining and purple. She slid herself down on him
gently, her pussy like a moist fist, and she whispered, "come for me, then,"
and he did, as she pulsed and squeezed him. It took minutes for him to soften,
minutes during which she played with him in her, slowly squeezing as he
softened. She never restrained his arms when she was grown - what could his
arms do?

As he shriveled in her, she talked to him, using just a little of her power.
She didn't like to cloud Fergus' mind - his sharpness had saved them before.
Yet now she told him a little of her vision and her plan, just a little, but
she gave him instructions about it in That Certain Voice. She allowed him to
comment, and he had nothing good to say about her plan. In the end, of course,
it would be as she decided.

"Take the Ring from me, Fergus," she murmured. He did, and she swiftly
returned to her usual 6'6" stature, her cunny closing on his softened member,
pushing it out of her like ground meat. Thy toweled one another off, fondling
and kissing, then she gathered the little Taylor into her great arms and they
slept.

******************

Reynard panted as he pelted through the twilit forest. He ducked low under a
low-hanging branch then lept over a lower one. Around him he heard other
rustlings and an occasional snap of a branch as his companions followed a
similar path. He struggled to keep his feet, his body now nearly exhausted,
hips and thighs stiff and sore.

He burst into a clearing only to be grabbed from behind with a whoop and
pulled cruelly into a hold, two strong arms clamped around his shoulders,
pulling his arms back. He was lifted, his back arched over soft cushions, his
toes barely scraping the forest floor. "Ah, little father," said a lilting
voice, "always the slowest and weakest." His shoulders and chest were
stretched across the broad chest of his woman, his arms again helpless in her
grasp. He heard the laughter of the women as he saw that he was the last of
the hunters to arrive. He actually felt good to have arrived at all, without
falling in exhaustion and being carried by Anna like a boy. Now she set him
down and turned him to her. He did not dare to resist her, and, when she
flexed her huge bosom before him he simply lay his head against it, letting
himself lay against her.

Reynard and Anna had come, a week before, to find the secret camp of the
witches who were robbing the Baron's goods and gear, as well as mocking God
and the law. Reynard had come as the ambitious priest, but Anna had made
another plan. With timing and careful truth Sister Anna had led her lover,
Father Reynard into the spell of the amazon witches who gathered at a place
deep in the greenwood.

Those two were lovers, but it was not an equal thing, or so very sweet. He was
the Father, she the servant, and he commanded her with his small will and with
occasional beatings. Sister Anna was an Irish farm lass, deemed unfit for farm
life for her small and soft stature. She had become Reynard's leman not for
any great lust, though he was fair-faced and clever, but because it provided
good food and preferment in the dull life of the nunnery. She bore his beating
because women bore men's beatings, and because he wasn't really very strong -
not like her father at home.

These days he beat her no more. When the light of the Ring had struck them,
Anna had let her lust overtake her. She had dragged the bigger man down to the
ground and crushed him beneath her. The silver light had washed into them and
suddenly he was a doll beneath her, little hands, little lips. She had
captured him in her arms and taken him to the mistress, to the Goddess, and
she had made Anna stronger still, and given her the priest to have.

Reynard had not recovered from the lovemaking he got from his Anna. She ground
his hips between her thighs, and twisted his arms like dough as she played
with her new strength. At first she didn't realize that her lover's arms were
really just porridge in her hands, why he yelped when she met her fingers and
thumb in the flesh of his right arm. She liked to lay him on his back and
pound her pussy onto him, her wide hips pulping his ass and thighs. When she
saw the bruised flesh she began to be a little more gentle - he quickly chose
to simply obey her in everything, and hope for mercy. He hadn't got a lot, and
he still limped with the beating her love gave him.

As Anna came to understand the strength she'd been given she discovered a
different feeling in herself. Anna had never thought of Reynard as her
tormentor. She had accepted his beatings and dominance as no less than her lot
as a weak woman. Now that she had felt her muscles grow from little blobs of
jelly to slabs of solid oak she was developing a different attitude. From 5'2"
she had grown to just over six feet, from 5 stone to twice that. Her lover was
small and soft in her hands, and she wanted to play with him, to show him how
it is to be helpless in strong arms.

Like all the men who had been gifted by the Ring, Reynard was unable to resist
the new beauty and strength of his woman. He was drawn to her now- massive
bosom, her powerful cunny, like a moth to a flame. Even when Anna crushed his
arms under her knees his cock was bigger and harder than ever before, his
adoration focused on her. His sore lips only wanted to suckle her round bosom
even as she crushed him to the thick muscle of her chest. If she cast him to
the ground his first impulse was to climb her thick legs to kiss her and cling
to her hips. (Yet even in his haze of lust he remembered other things ... this
... and that ... )

Anna found a streak of cruelty in herself, combined with her enjoyment of her
'little father's' body. She kept crushing and squeezing him, and he felt now
like a limping dog. He still walked unsteadily though she had let up her
assault these few days, but he would have crawled between her legs again. He
craved her flesh and would come to her nipple at a gesture. Many of the
witch-folk had partnerships in love, but they weren't sure what to call this
sort of affection.

Now Anna slapped his ass and pushed him away from her toward the other members
of the hunting band. There was Sigrid the red-headed witch (not the only one,
now), Mefanwy the Welsh woman and three other women, along with Torwyn the
Bard and the Captain, and Suzanne with her Fergus. The women grinned and
chuckled as the priest in his leather tunic and breeches stumbled at the force
of the little shove.

Sigrid pulled the heavy throwing spear from the side of the big buck she had
killed. The pursuit had not been long, Once the warrior-woman's weapon had
pierced the deer's lung the beast had not been able to run long. Now the
red-haired amazon wiped the blood on her hard, round thigh as Suzanne said,
"Well struck, sister! What man could do it!" The huge blonde slapped Sigrid
firmly on the back. Suzanne - the maker of the Magic Ring and the witch who
now guided its power - towered over the 6'1" Sigrid by several inches. Her
regular use of the Ring has given her a giant's stature even in her everyday
form. Anna was an inch shorter than Sigrid and where Anna's limbs were long
and hard and smooth Sigrid was wide and thick her arms knotted and bulky, her
shallow bosom high above a narrow waist and flaring hips. She wore only a band
of leather around her hard chest and a leather kilt that did not reach her
knees. A long dagger hung at her side and she rested a moment on the long,
heavy spear.

"None of these little fellows, surely," said Mefanwy. The beautiful blonde
Welsh-woman had grown to 5'10" tall, huge-bosomed as Anna a layer of velvet
softness over her hard muscle making her seem deceptively round. She wore a
tunic over thick bare legs, and thick belt around her small waist. "Little
fellow, is it?" cried Torwyn, laughing and swaggering up chest to chest with
the blonde. He was six foot tall, the tallest of the men, and he stood smiling
down at the slightly shorter amazon. She smiled up in turn then reached a hand
behind his neck and pulled his face down to hers, her full pink mouth just
inches from his own. She reached down with her other hand and swept his legs
from under him. In two seconds he was lifted to her chest, held by the neck
and thigh. He grabbed hold of her arm to take the pressure from his neck and
pulled himself against her, clinging to her, whooping with laughter. His
six-foot frame rested easily in her grasp, her thick arms steady as
tree-branches. He clung to her body, wrapping his arms around her. Mefanwy's
body was lush, padded with soft flesh, her bosom a generous cushion on which
she now bounced him with an answering laugh. She pressed him into her body,
her arms and shoulders swelling under his hands. She pulled his head to hers
and kissed him hard. Her right hand, supporting his legs curled long fingers
around his thigh and kneaded his flesh. Muscle that would have been oaken in
common hands squished in her steely fingers, making the handsome singer moan
and writhe in her bruising grip. She gave him a fierce shake, and laughed
again, saying, "See how soft you are, little Torwyn ... you're just a little
fellow to me."

Mefanwy had arrived in the Saxon village seeking to learn from its witches,
just in time for Suzanne to tell the Priestess about the Magic Ring. She had
been a part of the original display of the Ring's power, and central to the
Grand Sabbat that had created this band of amazon women. She had a deep streak
of dominance, which her size and strength now allowed her to express very
simply. She liked to crush and rape the men, and few men in the camp had been
unmarked by her.

In fact the power of the Ring, conjured by Suzanne using the magic of the
Goddess Maeve, seemed to make certain that no man would be stronger than any
woman. When Suzanne called the power the silver light of the Ring caused the
body of any woman engaged in sexual play to grow in size and strength. The
effect was somewhat proportional - a small woman would grow much more than a
larger one. In every case women became larger, heavier and much stronger than
the man she lay with. Further contact with the Ring's power continued to
increase size and strength, the women's flesh becoming dense and hard as
stone, more powerful than even its size suggested. Even the men gained some
good. Each experience with the Ring made the men slightly stronger, and healed
wounds and ailments; but if the men grew in strength by one or two percent,
the women often grew by ten. Thus even as the men became stronger and more
hale they grew weaker and weaker compared to their lovers. The Ring's spell
also seemed to bind the men to the women by lust for their strong bodies. The
men might become aroused by the simplest kiss or caress, or simply by a touch,
or a sight of a woman's strength. The men found their women's bodies magnetic,
desiring to cling to and caress her hard body.

In the camp it was common for a man to arrange himself between a woman's
thighs to sit on the ground, or to cling to her body, and even to be carried.
It was common to see a big woman holding her slighter lover between her legs,
his mouth busy at her nipple, hands caressing her arms. Some of the men had
been little ones like Suzanne's Fergus in the first place, and sometimes they
seemed like striplings in a woman's arms. Reynard had seen one woman carrying
her little man to Suzanne. She complained that her man could no longer rise to
her, after some hours of milking. Suzanne asked whether she could wait an hour
or three, but the girl stamped her foot and appeared urgent, so the witch laid
one hand on the man's forehead and one on his cock. In a minute or so the man
was springy hard, his body obviously still exhausted, but his eyes bright, his
mouth seeking to kiss his lover's shoulder.

Reynard found this sense of instinctual submission a constant source of shame
and arousal. He was a prisoner here, Anna had made that clear. He needed no
chains because he was too small and weak to escape from the women, but all the
women made certain he stayed put. Yet he went joyfully to his place as Anna's
little toy, loved the feel of her strength, her thick, hard body. How could he
leave these bodies, in any case. To be helpless, used as a toy by some big,
beautiful ... and again, his shame short- circuited the constant impulse. He
did what he occasionally did when these feelings came on him - he prayed the
ritual prayers of his church, and by them he remembered, through his joy and
fear, the mission that he hoped he could still carry out.

Just now, though, he was pressed to the side of his tall, strong lover, her
arm around him, his cheek resting above her bosom. He watched as Mefanwy
mauled Torwyn. The bard made soft moans as she held and kissed him and when
Anna turned her lovely mouth to him he kissed her passionately, his cock
immediately hard. The former nun squeezed him to her with one arm, nearly
pressing the breathe from him against the pillar of her body. She murmured,
"You used to be so big and strong, little father. It's nice to see that you're
still a man for me," she turned him against her, pressing his cock into her
thigh. "Just because you're weak as a little boy compared to me doesn't mean
you're not a man."

Reynard burned with anger, but his lust was stronger. This was the sweet
little girl who had served him, on whose soft body he had proved his manhood.
Now he felt as if his manhood was hers to allow or take away, if she wished.
His confusion only served to clarify his resolve, to drive back the witch's
spell of submission just a little.

Mefanwy was continuing to hold and kiss Torwyn, and Reynard watched the muscle
ripple in her arms and thighs as the held him easily. Anna was becoming more
urgent, and he felt his body melt against hers as she slipped a hand between
them to grasp his cock. "There's the hard part of my soft little man," she
murmured in his ear.

The other witches watched, smiling as the two couples heated up. Little Fergus
Taylor was clinging to Suzanne's arm, his lips pressed to her iron muscle. Now
the big Blonde cried, "For the Lady's sake, will we be letting this meat rot
while you lot futter?" They all looked over to see the old blacksmith
arranging a rope to haul the carcass into the air to be dressed. Its back legs
bound, it hung, antlers down, blood slowly dripping. "Yes lads," said Suzanne,
setting Fergus on his feet before her, "Let's get the work done, and then I
promise you all some play." This produced a round of chuckles and happy
chatter as the two couples broke, and the men set to the task of cleaning and
dressing the big buck. As Reynard helped, he seethed at the menial labor,
stripped to his small-clothes to keep blood from his garments. He was plainly
the weakest of their number, even little Fergus carried more muscle than the
priest. They packed up the meat and divided it between packs on the women's
backs, with the hunting weapons - spears, arrows and a couple chopping blades.

Suzanne called for them to go, and they set out running on foot, the women's
big bodies moving fast and silent on legs like steel springs. Reynard set out
with them but in a matter of minutes he was left behind, though he knew the
trail home from here. Anna was working to keep up with her 'older sisters',
and for a few minutes Reynard was alone in the forest. He ducked off the path,
and running a steady pace he approached certain tree at a turning in a deer
track, and slowed to a stop.

Two black-cloaked figures stepped out of the brush. Reynard talked with them a
while, and, when he heard the rustling of bushes and the pounding of heavy
feet, one of the two figures struck him hard upon the jaw, and he fell to the
ground.

When Anna and Suzanne and Fergus found Reynard he was unconscious on the
ground. He told a tale of a small group of real brigands, thieves and low
robbers who had clubbed him when they found he had nothing to steal. Anna felt
as if she had something to say, but Suzanne seemed to believe the priest, and
Anna carried him back to the little hunting camp where they would stay the
night. She sat down with him by the fire and let him cling to her shoulders
and chest as she stroked his back, her mind still tickled by some funny
suspicion. As she comforted him, she watched Suzanne, Mefanwy and the Captain
prepare to hunt the woods for the robbers, putting on what leathers they had
and taking a couple of spears and the hunting-swords, the Captain with a bow
and quiver.

"Listen friends," Suzanne said, as she set out, "wait a while for us, but not
past morning. I'll be back with you, soon enough. Keep good watch, through the
night." Fergus looked concerned as the three set off into the woods, but he
organized a guard and set them to waiting.

And so it was the Suzanne the Witch was taken by the Baron's men. A mile into
the woods she tried to send the two co-hunters away, but they trailed her
anyway. A few more miles and they were set upon by 20 young, armed men. The
fight they offered became a story both among the Norman soldiers and among the
villagers - of the witches only the Captain escaped. To see the two amazons
fight was a wonder. Suzanne brandished a spear in either hand, blocking and
striking, able to drive a spear through a hole in the armor and pierce a man
through in one mighty stroke. She kicked a man hard to the ground, then leapt
with both heels, crushing his chest like an egg beneath her as the drove a
spear through another man. Mefanwy used a cudgel, and broke the thighs of 2
men and the shoulders of 3 before she took a well-thrown spear in the hip, and
fell, at last, to the swords of three. The remaining eight men managed to get
ropes around Suzanne, and she was dragged to the ground and tied, crying to
the Captain to flee and carry news. Aching in his heart he fled, the remaining
men too occupied with Suzanne to stop him.

During the night, the priest, Reynard, simply slipped away. It is hard to say
how that occurred, or why he was not heard or captured. There may have been
some other machination involved, but, when dawn broke and the captain returned
with the terrible news, he was not to be found. Anna wept and swore bitterly
that she knew nothing of the plot, that she was a daughter of the Lady, that
she would hunt Reynard down and stamp him to jelly. Fergus, an inkling of
something greater in his mind, calmed them all and said, "We must go back to
the encampment, and plan our assault - this the moment the Goddess has
provided."

Deep under Baron Robert's keep, in a room of stone and iron, a cold chisel and
a hammer took the Magic Ring from Suzanne.