Barbara was enjoying her bubble bath quite thoroughly when she got a notification on her phone. The notification wasn’t a private message, but a news spotlight, and when she noticed that she leaned over and eyed her screen without touching it, for fear of getting it wet.

“Oh,” she said, quietly at first. “Ohhhhhh," which she said not as quietly.

She dunked her head in the water once more before getting—almost jumping—out of the tub, her perky breasts bouncing ever so slightly with glee.

Wrapping a towel around her head, she practically blasted open her bathroom door, startling poor Cordwainer in the process.

Cordwainer was the name of her cat. He was a chubby black cat, a glutinous feline who had been given far too many sweets in his youth. He simply rolled around on the couch and tried to lick his asshole once again.

“My dearest Cordy!” cried Barbara. “I believe it might be my night tonight! My night!”

“Mao,” said Cordwainer.

Being the kind of girl she was, Barbara didn’t much mind the fact that most of her body still glistened with bath water, and that she was getting the carpet wet. Nothing could stop her, however, and she rampaged through the living room, picking up the eternally weary Cordwainer in her arms and giving him the kind of look befitting either the happiest person in the world or a serial killer in the wake of a fresh kill.

“Cordy, baby,” she cooed, “I’ve just received the most wonderful news! Wanna know what’s happened?”

“Hitler.”

“Due to that silly flu outbreak, the town has officially shut down all but the most essential businesses! No movie theaters, no fancy restaurants, not even the local arcade! And surely you must know what that means.”

“Stalin.” Cordwainer remained unenthusiastic.

Barbara put the fat cat on the floor and stared down at him, a case of Goliath and David, a naked woman standing nearly six feet tall against a cat who ate four times a day and who was, at least in cat years, quite old.

“All those pesky Christians will be staying in their homes for the evening. They don’t want to get sick, so they’ll be keeping away from everyone else, as if that’s my problem,” said Barbara, as if trying to teach a child basic math. “Sure, there'll be people trudging through grocery stores at midnight, but who cares about them? For right now, I can just...”

She gazed longingly at her closet, and more specifically at what lay within that closet. “I can get my witch on. Yes, I can take Gerald for a ride above the clouds and look down at all the little buildings! Oh, and the even littler people while I’m at it!” She then summoned a couple dresser drawers and put on some lovely lingerie for the night’s festivities. A pair of panties with red polka dots and a bra to match, and oh, that miniskirt!

In just about no time Barbara donned an outfit that wouldn’t seem so out of place during Halloween. The only thing she missed was her pointed hat—the item perhaps most treasured among witches, lost rather tragically in a flamethrower accident. “I’ll make a new one at some point, I swear it,” she said intensely, as if vowing to avenge a murdered friend or parent. But it didn’t matter too much. She didn’t need her hat to feel like a witch, and anyway, the night which presented itself to her was so young and inviting.

But first, a few things still needed to be checked off the list. Cordwainer needed to have his dinner, or else he would growl endlessly and quite annoyingly, or maybe leave a turd in one of Barbara’s shoes again out of spite.

Without even thinking, Barbara left a dish of dry cat food at the foot of her bed, which naturally Cordwainer didn’t gravitate toward immediately, but he would have to at some point if he didn’t want to starve. And anyway, the dry cat food didn’t smell nearly as awful as much of the wet food in stores that was supposedly meant to be consumed by any living creature, let alone something as picky as a cat.

“Now,” said Barbara, eyeing her options for footwear. Soon she was strapping on her finest pear of boots—the ones that complimented her miniskirt the most. Something ancient and unknowable bubbled within her being, and she felt... what was the word... sexy. Like she could grab the nearest normal person—preferably non-Christian—and bend then around her pinky finger, making them do all kinds of depraved and immoral acts for her, such as ordering pizza topped with pineapple slices.

She let out a long sigh, the sort of sigh one would make after three hours of hard fucking with handcuffs and several bloody animal sacrifices involved. “How do I look?” she asked Cordwainer, ever the observant feline.

“Castro,” said the cat.

“You’re right, dear Cordy, I could certainly use the hat. Would tie it all together. Would really complete the picture, if you know what I mean. Oh well.” She snapped her fingers and her closet flung its doors wide open. “Gerald, darling, if you could come out!” she cried.

Gerald was a broom.

The broom, which seemed to be inanimate, flew almost with the grace of a swan, resting the tip of its handle against Barbara’s thigh. Like an obedient dog, or an experienced submissive, it awaited its master’s next command.

“Gerald, my love,” said Barbara, “tonight is the night. Do you have any idea how long it’s been? Far too long. I can’t even say how many months it’s been, it would be too much for me to admit!” She stroked the long, hard, thick handle of the broom, part of her hoping to feel a pulse. “Tonight, my love... we fly!” Whispering and moaning at the same time, she took hold of Gerald’s impressive length and pulled him between her meaty thighs.

The pressure was almost too much. Oh, how she would’ve loved to have the smooth wooden surface of Gerald’s pseudo-cock rub against her panties, pressing into her nether region, making her pussy pine desperately for satisfaction!

“No!” said Barbara firmly but sympathetically. “Soon, my love, very soon!”

“Franco,” said Cordwainer.

---

The night air carried a chill with it, but it wasn’t so cold as to be unbearable. The streets of the town were empty, the windows of various buildings lit up like ornaments on a Christmas tree. The moon was out, three-quarters full and filling the world with dim dreamy light, and all the scattered clouds seemed to resemble penises and vaginas.

With a spring in her step, Barbara nearly did a musical number all on her own as she skipped down the sidewalk. Her feet had a mind of their own, gaining slightly more speed with each step.

“Mmm,” she hummed, keeping Gerald close to her. “What is it about tonight, my beloved? Is it the cool air? The breeze? The lack of normal people walking about? The glory of the moon as it gazes upon us? The fact that—” Her pace slows for a moment. “Oh dear, am I wet already?”

There was only one thing to do, then.

As she neared a street corner, Barbara knew that the time had come. She gripped the supreme hardness of Gerald’s length and began to run, almost sprint. At the last possible moment before she’d have to turn, she thrust the broom’s magnificently long and hard handle between her legs and lifted herself off the ground.

First five feet, then ten, then twenty...

The feeling was incredible. Nothing short of spectacular. Oh, to feel her insides enter freefall for just a moment, her heart almost bursting out of her chest as she took flight—it was almost too much, honestly!

Within seconds the trees which had stood above her now seemed much smaller, almost ant-like, so insignificant as she soared above everything, reveling in the hardness of Gerald’s handle against her crotch, her buttocks tightening.

As she reached as high in the air as she wanted to go, Barbara took a more leisurely pace, feeling the waves of air calm around her body. “Ah,” she said, satisfied. "This is just perfect. Isn’t it, my love? Perfect? I would say so. And to think, for tonight's movie we'll be doing one of my favorites, I Married a Witch! Oh, Veronica Lake is so wonderful and alluring in that movie, she makes me jealous!” For a second she thought she felt a pulse run through Gerald’s well-endowed handle, and she couldn’t help but imagine it would be like for such a massive instrument to unleash its fair share of semen.

But that particular fantasy, she knew well enough, would bear fruit some other day.

Normally for a nighttime flight she would head back toward home as quickly as she had left, but given the special circumstances of the world she currently lived in, she could risk taking the long way around.