The Queen of the Witches

But the TV episode continued. In the middle of this orgy of non-orgies a herald of trumpets announced the arrival of royalty. From a display of smoke and light, the Queen of the Witches stepped forth, complete with crown, ermine-trimmed robe, gold gown and ornate scepter.

“That is quite enough!” the all-powerful Samantha the First declared. And all Darrins and Darrens were gone, and, too, all Samanthas and Sams except one other. The one that belonged in this restored timeline.

Sam looked around and was relieved that the chaos was over. Her sigh was halted on seeing the Queen. Reflexively, she curtsied and, then, kept her head bowed. But she looked up at the regal woman. “You’re me?”

“One day. Soon.

“Mother is right about the importance of our having sex. And what happened here...,” she said, letting the ghosts of fucks-past to appear for a moment, “...has helped to make me the most powerful of all witches.”

“Oh!” Sam wasn’t sure she liked the idea of becoming the Queen. “But witches have orgies every day! Surely there are others who receive more power through those than I do! They fuck way more than I ever get to!”

“Mother is right. But so are we. Anticipation and disappoint deepens the Magic of Sex, making it more meaningful and the orgasms more powerful. And when we do not get what we want, we have to turn to our imaginations. We have better fantasies than other witches. That is 90% of sex and magic, after all.”

Samantha the First lifted Sam by the chin and smiled on her. “Plus, we are the only witches that have taken a sacred vow.”