The Pudding Lane Witch, page 6
The twins were picked third and forth by no less than another pair of twins – brothers who had started a company together. They even seemed to enjoy the twins dark outlook on the world. As each girl was chosen and matched, they formed a parallel line against the wall facing the remaining single girls. Gweneviere’s face slowly became dullened and miserable as she wasn’t chosen again and again, which didn’t help her chances of attracting any of the potential husbands. She just couldn’t help it, of course, she wasn’t expecting to be the first, second or even third, but being one of only three girls left, Gweneviere was losing all hope.
Stay calm and smile! Poppy mouthed as she grabbed Gweneviere’s attention, raising her eyebrows in frustration. Gweneviere just sarcastically smiled in an over-the-top fashion in response. Poppy rolled her eyes just as the next man came in who, once again, didn’t pick Gweneviere.
As the eligible women dwindled, so did the bachelors, as Gweneviere noticed that the men became progressively less attractive and more dismissive of the girls. Gweneviere and one more girl were left standing side by side as the second to last man stood before them, weighing up his options. Gweneviere tried her best to look more appealing than the witch beside her, who had two lazy eyes, but ultimately failed. She hadn’t been desperate because the man was particularly good looking, but rather the fact that no matter how bad he was, judging by the ongoing pattern, the final man could only be worse. They joined the other couples, and Gweneviere was now alone. A line of eight women had dwindled to just one witch standing in the centre of a vast, empty space. The coupled-up girls watched in anticipation as they awaited the final man to stride though the room knowing it would inevitably be Gweneviere’s fiancé.
Maybe it was a trick, maybe the last man would in fact be the most dapper and kind of them all…
Out came a short, chubby man with yellowed teeth that made is pale skin look even more translucent. He flipped his long, unruly curly hair as if it was something to be proud of, whereas in reality, it looked heavy and greasy; not something Gweneviere particularly wanted anywhere near her. He shuffled over with his stumpy legs and looked about the room seemingly surprised to only see Gweneviere there, before realising the rest of the girls had already been picked. It was at this moment that Gweneviere wasn’t sure whether he knew he would be getting the other men’s leftovers. She remained silent as she waited for him to acknowledge her.
“Hello, my name is Thomas, Thomas Farriner, and you are?” he asked politely, getting uncomfortably close to Gweneviere’s face.
“Gweneviere Baxter,” she answered, trying not to breathe as she felt his toxic breath hit her cheeks.
“Well not for much longer, aye? Ah, yes, Gweneviere Farriner has a much nicer ring to it. Don’t you think?” He gave her a sickening grin.
This was what Gweneviere had been fearing the whole time. She knew she would end up with a grotesque man. He somehow managed to have shoulder length hair and a receding bald patch at the same time. She contemplated running there and then, but she would only end up back at square one: homeless and jobless. She couldn’t let the months of training go to waste, so despite every primal urge of repulse that made her want to flee, she stayed. She just needed to remember the plan she had been working on in her mind since her talk with the Crone. All she needed to do was survive a good couple years with him, allowing her to make contacts and exploit every aspect of him that she could, before leaving to start her own entrepreneurial journey.
Thomas offered out his hand to Gweneviere as the unofficial proposal to marriage, which she reluctantly accepted, as she swallowed the lump in her throat. The room broke out into applause as the final couple was forged. All of the couples flooded back into the centre of the room.
It was then time for the communal wedding to begin. The Crone happened to chance upon a minister, who she had made backstreet deals with to keep their secret. One by one – as some of the younger students played classical music in the corner – each couple took their turn in becoming wed. Some of the girls, mainly Poppy, looked overjoyed as they pronounced their newfound loyalty to their husbands. When it came to Gweneviere’s turn, however, she just considered it to be an achievement if she managed to get all the vows out without visibly gagging, seeing as Thomas’ rancid breath leapt into her mouth each time she spoke. Of course, that was nothing compared to the rotten taste that filled her mouth when he forced his tongue into it as a part of their post wedding consummations. He whisked it around like he was cleaning her teeth. Gweneviere pulled away before any sick rose up into her throat.
Too late, she thought to herself as she swallowed back down the chunk of vomit in her mouth, though, even that was still more pleasant that kissing him. To think that her first kiss had been a disaster; nothing like the fairytales that her mother had told her about her own first kiss.
“Aw, are we a bit shy about kissing in public?” Thomas teased. “Don’t worry, soon you’ll be well versed with my ways.” He winked, menacingly.
They were the last couple in line to be wed thus, once their vows had been exchanged, the afterparty could begin. There were glasses of wine poured and a feast prepared in honour of the gracious men willing to marry a bunch of wayward witches. All the women sat across from their husbands and began to tuck into the mountain of food in front of them. Gweneviere had managed to wangle a seat next to Poppy and her much easier on the eye husband.
“Hey Poppy, you want to swap?” Gweneviere joked under her breath, making Poppy giggle.
“Hey, give him a chance, he might surprise you and be a really sweet guy,” she whispered back.
“That’s easy for you to say when your husband looks like that,” Gweneviere pointed out, looking at Poppy’s man with her eyes almost popping out of her head. His cleanly shaven face was so handsome it almost hypnotised her.
“Yeah, he is pretty dishy, isn’t he,” Poppy agreed, losing herself in his, well… everything.
“You know, I hope he turns out to be a bed wetter,” Gweneviere joked.
Poppy almost burst out with laughter, garnering their husbands’ attentions and thus ending their chinwag.
“So, Gwen, what kind of powers do you possess?” Thomas asked as he shovelled food into his mouth with his fingers, seemingly forgetting that there was a perfectly good set of cutlery beside him.
Gweneviere also couldn’t help but notice that he had already taken it upon himself to shorten her name without asking, as any other polite person would’ve.
“I’m pyrokinetic,” Gweneviere answered, leaving out the part where she also had longevity and would likely outlive the slob ten times over.
“Ahh, a fire witch. Tell me, do you require fuel to create a flame, or can you create one of thin air?” he probed, intrigued by his new wife’s gifts.
“Thin air,” she confirmed unenthusiastically, already wishing that the conversation was over.
“Brilliant! You’ll save me lots of money on fuel for the bakery,” he grinned, rubbing his grubby mitts together.
“Bakery?”
“Yes, I have a well-established bakery at the heart of London, on Pudding Lane,” he boasted.
Hmm, a man with a business in the centre of London, this could be useful indeed, Gweneviere contemplated.
The following hours contained dancing and making any last fond memories they could with each other before each witch went off to start their new lives. Some would surely become neighbours and see much of each other, however some may never see each other again. These unlucky few would include Poppy and Gweneviere, or so Poppy thought.
“Gwen.” Poppy rushed over. “I’m so sorry, Gwen.”
“What is it, Poppy? What’s wrong?” Gweneviere asked.
“I just found out that my husband doesn’t actually live in London, he lives in Cambridge. What if we never see each other again?”
“Calm down, Poppy, I’m only a letter away. I’ll write to you all the time, okay? I’m sure we will find time to visit each other on the occasional weekend. Besides, it’s Cambridge, not Scotland,” Gweneviere reassured her, trying to calm Poppy’s nerves.
“I don’t know, maybe you were right. Maybe this marriage thing isn’t for me either, and we should just run away right now,” Poppy frantically suggested, clearly feeling slightly influenced by the amount of alcohol coursing through her veins.
“Poppy, relax,” Gweneviere said calmly, planting her hands firmly on Poppy’s shoulders. “You’re just having cold feet, it’s completely normal. Though, it does usually happen before the wedding. Now, listen to me, you’ve wanted this forever and now you have it. You need to go start your new life with your hunk of a husband and, most importantly of all, bloody enjoy it!”
“Yeah, I guess so.”
“Come on, I’ll walk you and your prince charming over to your chariot.”
“Thanks, Gwen, you’re a great friend.”
Gweneviere realised, in that moment, she was one step closer to a better life and to making her parents proud because, for the first time ever, Gweneviere had a friend.
CHAPTER 4
Life as the Baker’s Wife
After the wedding celebrations, Gweneviere packed her things and readied herself to move in with Thomas to start her new life as the baker’s wife. The Crone waved them off and, Gweneviere, along with her newfound husband, exited the school where a carriage awaited them.
This is fancy, Gweneviere thought to herself. She had mostly only seen stagecoaches before: full of men, usually off to the same workplace, being pulled by several horses. This, however, was a rather nice carriage, still not royalty level, but far nicer than Gweneviere could’ve imagined. Thomas must’ve rented it for the special occasion. Though, as Gweneviere became lost in the fairytale moment, she was soon brought swiftly back to reality as she had to lug all her luggage to the carriage, with no help from Thomas. Luckily, the kind driver aided her in loading them onto the carriage when he had noticed her struggling.
Thomas was too distracted as he ogled through the steamy windows of the brothels on either side of the school. Gweneviere cleared her throat to grab his attention as she was about to enter the carriage.
“Ah, yes. I’m coming, dear,” he responded, sounding as though they had already been married for a lifetime.
Thomas shuffled his stumpy body up the two steps and, as he climbed into the carriage, there was a noticeable dip in the height of it. It was much smaller on the inside than one would think looking outward in, and unfortunately, this meant that Gweneviere had no choice but to be touching distance from Thomas. He walked his fingers across his leg and playfully hopped them over to Gweneviere’s thigh, before gripping her tightly and not letting go for the rest of the journey, which, luckily for Gweneviere, wasn’t too long. The look on Gweneviere’s face was disapproving to say the least; she knew what that hand signified, and she wasn’t prepared to do it. Still being a virgin, Gweneviere had always hoped that she would lose her innocence to a kind, loving, but strong, man who wasn’t afraid of an equally as strong woman. She therefore was not intent on giving that part of herself to Thomas. The look in Thomas’ hungry eyes, however, made it seem as though she wouldn’t have a choice in the matter.
They soon reached their destination and the horses halted afront the bakery. It was a nice enough looking building, with a large shop front window that would usually display all kinds of breads and cakes. Thomas wasted no time in showing Gweneviere where she would start her day each morning: in the back of the bakery, conjuring her magical everlasting fire in the furnace. He then went on to show her around the rest of the bakery, proud of what he had accomplished.
“It’s really lovely,” Gweneviere said, in a bid to appease him.
“Yes. Brilliant, isn’t it?” he replied, still looking around at his pride and joy. “It’s almost as beautiful as you,” he added, rather charmingly, much to Gweneviere’s surprise.
“Thank you.” Gweneviere smiled shyly.
“Right, to the living quarters, then.”
Thomas proceeded to show Gweneviere around his home above the bakery. It was much larger than the flat Gweneviere and her father had been sharing a few months ago. There were two large bedrooms, a living room with a beautiful open fireplace, and a kitchen with a small dining area off to the side of it. They still had to use communal toilets, though they did have a pot besides the bed for emergencies that would now be emptied by Gweneviere as one of her many chores.
“This will be our room,” he said, finishing the tour as he winked at Gweneviere.
There was a massive bed with wooden posts in each corner, and tied up drapes that adorned them to add a little ambience for when it came to such activities. It did actually look rather tempting to Gweneviere. It appeared to be much comfier than any bed she had slept in before. That cosy feeling was tarnished, however, as soon as she remembered who it was that would be beside her as she slept.
“Now, then, I shall leave you to unpack while I go and make us a nightcap. Whiskey, okay? Great,” he answered for her before she had time to reject the offer.
Gweneviere unpacked what few belongings she had into the bedside drawer, that would be hers, as Thomas waltzed back into the room.
“Ah, good to see you’ve made yourself at home.” He smiled. “Now, let’s gets those clothes off you. It’s far too warm tonight to be beneath so many layers. Look at your cheeks, they’re practically tomatoes, you’re so warm.”
“Oh, erm… I’m actually feeling a little chilly still, I’ll keep them on for now, I think,” Gweneviere replied, rubbing her arms and acting as though she was covered in goose bumps.
“Nonsense, get them off. I’ll keep you nice and warm under the covers.”
He grinned sleazily, sending sickening shivers down Gweneviere’s spine and giving her very real goose bumps. She felt sick to her stomach.
He denounced his clothes from his body and climbed into the bed with the covers off, leaving his full naked flesh exposed to Gweneviere. He scratched his large, hairy stomach with one hand and casually fondled himself with the other as he laid there watching Gweneviere take off her wedding dress to reveal her undergarments.
“I must say, they clearly saved the best till last with you, didn’t they, my dear? Come on, keep going, don’t be shy, I won’t bite.”
A slither of drool slipped out of his crusty lips as he encouraged her to remove the final layer of fabric that protected her bare body from his prying eyes.
“No, I think that’s far enough,” Gweneviere said, as she re-found her voice and stood her ground.
“Well, it’s very sweet of you to think that, but I don’t need a wife who thinks, I need a wife who obeys. Afterall, I could always chuck you out onto the streets and try again at next year’s graduation,” he threatened, with a cruel smile across his face.
“Okay, okay… fine.” Gweneviere sighed, slowly slipping off her final layer, revealing her plump, perky breasts to his leering gaze.
“Now we’re in business. They look fresh as a daisy. Let me guess, still pure, are we?” he asked, salivating as his penis began to elongate and thicken.
Clearly he was taking pleasure in Gweneviere’s discomfort. Gweneviere silently nodded in response as she tried her best not to cry before him, for fear of him enjoying it.
“Come closer, I want to see those plums up close,” he said, now fully erect. “Don’t worry, I’ll take good care of you.”
As if that was supposed to give Gweneviere any reassurance.
Gweneviere reluctantly and slowly sat on the very edge of her side of the bed, but an impatient Thomas grabbed her by the breasts and dragged her to him. He planted his rough, greasy, bearded face between them and smelt Gweneviere’s succulently sweet, scented skin. He was manhandling them to the point of pain.
Gweneviere screamed, but her pain only seemed to bring more pleasure to him. He flipped her over onto her front and began to mount her as he revelled in her squirms. The weight of his body atop hers was almost crushing. She was nearly suffocated as her face got flattened into his pillow that had already been stained by the stench of his breath. The same warm, dirty breath that she could now feel on the back of her neck. Gweneviere began to sob into the pillow as Thomas took no hesitation in ploughing himself into her small frame. Her screams and cries loudened as he continued to pummel his filthy phallus inside her. The only silver lining Gweneviere could cling to was that he luckily didn’t last very long, meaning that soon the ordeal came to an end. He released himself from within her and Gweneviere quietly shuffled back to her side of the bed, leaving a tear-soaked pillow behind. Not that Thomas minded, though, as he turned it over and swiftly fell asleep like a baby.
Though Gweneviere was finally free of his touch, she would forever feel soiled by him. His viscous liquid was inside her and the leftovers were wiped across her bum. She felt used and disgusting. She laid there cradling herself best she could, but no amount of false self-reassurance could make up for how she felt. She gazed up at the ceiling as the silent tears flowed down the sides of her face, soaking her pillow. She turned for a quick glance at the oaf snoring away as if nothing had happened, before returning her gaze to the ceiling, where it would be transfixed until sunrise. Gweneviere would not be sleeping that night.
The next morning, Gweneviere was still awake as the sun rose. She hadn’t slept a wink during the night thanks to Thomas. She noticed him stirring awake beside her and so pretended to be asleep in the hopes that he would leave her be. Although, judging by the kind of man he was, that wasn’t likely.
