Piggy Bank

Piggy Bank

This story contains a lesbian encounter, a first time coupling, witchcraft, mind control and humiliation. Be warned.

My Bunica was a clay witch.

She'd make things out of clay. Pots, sure, but also bead and charms. Effigies, like little people. Even symbols, she'd hung them in the window or over the door, protection for the house.

All good stuff! Not like voodoo where you want to hex somebody or cause pain. Just safety stuff, fun stuff, things to do with protection, kindness and affection.

She'd make them for neighbors, her friends down at the Senior Center. When somebody got sick or was depressed, she'd make them something, they'd feel better. I thought at the time, because she'd done them a kindness, made them a pretty gift.

It was just a fun craft, an art.

That's what I thought, anyway, growing up. All she'd let me see. Because I was a kid, because she loved me? Because she was afraid of what it could do, if somebody really talented got ahold of it?

I took the stuff when she died.

Mama had boxed up everything in her room, was going to take it to Goodwill.

Even the charms! The beads! I said No! Mama, let me keep it. To remember my Bunica, I loved her so.

Mama wasn't going to let me, she said I shouldn't mess with this stuff, it was dangerous. Best left behind, best left in the old country, it doesn't belong here!

Pffft. Silly talk, it was fun! Pretty things, things that appealed to me. Made me want to hold them, warm in my hands. They seemed to talk to me, when I held them.

So I took the box she'd put by the curb, hid it in my closet, behind my suitcase. Kept it, all of it, the little dolls, the box of beads. The animal figurines.

My favorite? A pig, a little piggy. The face was exaggerated, grotesque even, ugly. I felt sorry for it, called it my little copil, my fiika!

I remembered it from afternoons spent in my grandma's room, while she sat in her rocker, a bag of soft clay from the art store. Rolling it in her hands, chanting things in the old language. Making beads or geometric shapes, little animals. Working in things she'd found out on her walk, bits of feather, pretty stones. She'd bake them in the oven when Mama wasn't home, smell up the kitchen and Mama would complain when she got back, scold her!

The piggy sat on a shelf, alone, special. I'd asked about it, if I could hold it.

"Nu! Nu! My fiika, not for you! Not for me!

"I'm too old, and you, too young! One day, perhaps, not that long from now. You will know when."

I took it down, curious, under her careful eye.

It was a little-girl pig, you could tell by the rows of nipples along her belly. And other things.

"How does it work? What will I do with it?"

"You drop a little talisman, a vraja, into it. Hold the one most dear in your mind! Important to think of only the one!"

"And then, what?" I looked at the pig, curious. I knew of toys where you dropped something in a slot, it would move or walk.

This was just a chunk of clay.

She laughed, her tinkling quiet laugh that seemed so incongruous coming from a heavy old woman.

"And then, you will know then. Now put it up, carefully!"

I'd put it back, and then I'd saved it from the junk by the curb. And kept it, and remembered Bunica.

It sat on my dresser, Mama didn't recognize it so it was OK.

And Piggy had a slot in her back! For coins? A piggybank!

It had been in a bag with little coins, play-money? Anyway, little wax disks, a funny symbol pressed into them, all the same. Some stuff embedded in them, yucky stuff, bits of hair or feather, something that smelled, sticking to the wax. I left those in the bag, in the closet.

I'd put pennies in Piggy. Then I'd use a kitchen knife, fish them out again when I wanted to buy candy.

Nothing ever happened, not when I put them in, and not when I took them out. No magic there, just a clay container.

I grew, and forgot the pig, it gathered dust on my dresser with my other things of childhood, my music box and bits of ribbon and other evidence a little girl had once lived here.

Nineteen and never been kissed.

In Senior Year I met a boy.

Well, I knew the boy, and watched the boy, and thought about this boy, all the time. I imagined a life with this boy, me the Mama and he, the Tata and our little family of copil.

I imagined he would hold me tight and kiss me, and tell me he loved me!

But he didn't know me. He didn't even look at me, he had other girls he went out with and talked to. It was ok, one day he'd forget about them, and we'd meet in the hallway and he'd see me! Realize I was the one!

It almost happened. I was walking to my locker at the end of the day, to put my books away and he came quickly down the hall toward me, looking at me! Smiling at me!

I lit up like a sunrise, my sweet!

And he called "Linda! Wait!" and brushed past me, even knocked into me, made me drop my books.

And glanced at me, disdainful, "Sorry!" and hurried away after his sweetheart, leaving me.

I rubbed my shoulder, and gathered up my books, my face red, embarrassed, maybe angry.

I was stupid! A stupid little girl! To think he could love me!

At home I ignored my Mama when she asked How was your day? I slammed my door, threw myself on my bed and cried.

Well, I tried to cry. I thought I should cry, and even got some few tears to track down my face.

What did I feel? Not sad; not angry. Resentful?

Yes! I felt resentful. He was a stupid boy and had hurt my feelings and made me feel shame.

This was all his fault!

Mama knocked, asked Are you all right? and I said Go Away! So she went away.

She wouldn't understand, she would just lecture me, make me feel more shame, that's what she was good at.

I missed my Bunica! She could make me laugh, tell me old stories, always the woman fooling the man and making him feel small, and know how stupid he was. Those were good stories.

I stood, walked to my dresser, picked up the pig. Dusted it off.

Little pig? My little copil? Do you understand?

And I felt, she did. Her little grotesque face smiled at me, I could see she was smiling! She understood.

I shook her, nothing. No pennies, I'd robbed them out and spent them on foolishness.

And I remembered the tokens, that I'd hid away with the rest.

It took a moment to dig out the box, set it on my bed, to take out the curious little objects. The box of beads, grooved and marked. The little figures, so lifelike! Each like some real person, with personality, some person long gone by now.

A bag, a little cloth bag, empty, almost. But for the little wax tokens. What had she called them? Talismans!

I picked at the string, dumped them out on the bedspread.

They'd aged, darkened, didn't look very appealing. Smelled not so bad, not any more. Perhaps the spell had faded, was gone.

Just like Bunica, gone, not here to help me any more.

I felt so alone then.

Bunica had known what to do, when I felt this way. Make me a charm, something to hang in the window, or tie around my neck, make me feel better.

I took a wax coin, fit it to the hole in the pig's back. Held it there, warm from my hand.

What had she said? Hold in your mind, the one most dear? I thought of the boy, the boy I'd thought I loved, dropped the coin.

And it went Clunk! That was all.

I shook the piggy, and it rattled a bit, waxy, sounded hollow. Sounded cheap.

Never mind. I packed all that foolish old stuff away, put it back in the closet.

But I left the pig on my dresser.

The boy came to my locker the next morning. I ignored him, still upset by his stupidity the day before.

"I have to see you! To ask you..."

What was this foolish boy going on about? I turned, faced him.

"Go ask your other girlfriends! You don't even know me."

He seemed confused, out of his head.

"I... couldn't quit thinking of you! I got home, and all I could think of was you!

"I dreamt of you! Of us! Together! Doing..."

"Well, I didn't dream of you! I don't know you, not really. You're just another foolish boy."

He seemed desperate, driven.

"Please! After classes, can I walk you home? Please!"

I tossed my head, sighed dramatically.

"If you must. If you're there when I leave, I can't stop you from walking with me."

Relief: some internal compulsion was satisfied, for now, he left me alone.

All day I thought, how curious! He sees right through me one day and is obsessed the next.

Stupid boy.

I took my time leaving, dawdled in the girls' room, chatted up classmates, laughing and joking.

As I walked out of the nearly empty building he was waiting, on the steps, anxious.

"You came! Oh!"

He was comical, the relief so evident.

"Can I walk you home?"

I looked past him.

"You can walk with me, as I walk home. If you must."

Good enough; he fell in beside me. My route is along the river, nicer than walking on busy streets. I like to look at the birds, hear the insects in the grass, see the water. So deep and mysterious, depths unsuspected.

He didn't look at any of that, he just stared at me. Kept stumbling over stuff, he wasn't even watching where he was going!

Like a lovestruck fool.

By a bend in the river, a place with a bench for lovers to sit and watch the birds, he took my hand.

"Can we sit? And talk?"

Sigh. "I suppose."

I sat; he sat, too close. I slid away; he scooted over, closer.

"Well?"

He was just staring, stupidly. Gave me a What? look.

"What did you want to talk about?" I was getting impatient.

"This."

He leaned in, looking at me with his big brown calf-eyes. Was he trying to kiss me?

I pulled back; he waited.

I relaxed, decided Why Not? I wanted this boy yesterday; still felt he was a gorgeous hunk. A kiss would be nice.

I leaned in, touched his lips with mine, gentle.

It was as if a switch was turned in him. He took me by the shoulders, mashed his lips to mine. Stuck his tongue in my mouth!

I fended him off, without much effect.

"Mmf! Hey! Stommmmf!"

It was rough and scary; it was exciting and very, very provoking. His lips, so warm! His tongue, wet and sliding against mine, violating my mouth, making me feel funny down below, wet and hot.

His hand went into my shirt, found my bra, stuck underneath! Mauled my breast, the most exciting of all. Twisted my nipple, ow! yet wow!

I put my hands behind his head, began to lick his tongue, suck at his lips. Put a hand to his lap, found his boy-dick growing in there, large!

He stood, stripped down his pants, exposed his dick, bobbing and pulsing like a thing separate, a life of its own.

Pulled at my shirt! Got it bunched under my arms, jerked my bra up, exposed my breasts to the air. Mauled them both, his spit hanging from his lip, even more like an idiot boy.

I had to control him somehow; I grabbed his dick, pulled him to me, sitting, his dick before my face.

I opened my mouth, put my lips around his dick as if to kiss it, tongue it. The other girls often talked about doing this.

His hips thrust! his dick into my face, surprising me, sticking his fat boy-part halfway into me, through my mouth, down my throat.

I tried to swallow, to get my tongue around it, pressed my lips around it, suck. He pulled halfway out, thrust! again, held it there.

His hips were shaking, I could see his head was back, like he'd been electrified, his body a bowstring of tension.

I felt his dick throb against my tongue, felt something warm in my throat, I swallowed, involuntary, again and again as he pulsed his fluid directly into my stomach.

I had to breath, pushed hard against his hips and his dick popped! out of my head, still hard, still bobbing. Some whiteish goo burst from the end, landed across my nose, got into one eye.

"Hey! Watch it!" I blinked hard, leaned back against the bench, wiped my face with one hand. Came away sticky, my vision still blurry in that eye, my eyelid trying to stick shut.

He was not done; he squatted, reached down to my legs, lifted me by my thighs, pulled my butt to the edge of the bench, pulled my skirt up, exposed my crotch.

Poked at me with his dick, probing my belly, between my thighs, right there where my cunny was covered by my pretty pink cotton panties.

Impatient, he put two fingers up the leg-hole, pulled hard! Tore them, right through the crotch, ruined, my cunny was open to the air now.

He poked his dick back, got it stuck in there, where I was wet, seeping.

My god! It was my turn to be electrified, shocked, curl around my belly like I'd been slugged. Frozen, let him push, push, push his cock through my clenched cunny lips.

He hit something that resisted, pulled, tore! And slid his dick home, pressed his hips against mine, his dick disappearing inside me completely.

"Jesus in heaven!" I felt pain and slick wet pleasure, all mixed in a shocking exciting wet blur.

I hated this; I wanted this; I needed this. I wrapped my legs around him, tried to hold his hips to me, tried to push him further inside with my heels.

He was too strong; he pulled back, pulling his dick out, oh! Please!

And thrust in again, whap! solidly impacting my cunny, making it explode in a burst of electric pleasure!

He pulled, pushed, repeated, huffing like a steam engine, like he was never going to stop, whap! whap! Each pull out making my eyes roll up, my thighs clench uselessly against his hips, my legs twitch and bend, each impact making them pop open like an umbrella! Stuck straight out and up, his member completely thrust home inside me.

Like a rag doll he used me, banged me, I could only grab the edge of the bench seat, along for the ride, no way to slow down or God forbid stop him.

It became too much, I put my hands to his belly, pushed, please! please! don't! stop! don't stop! Overcome with the feeling that my cunny might drive me mad.

And it took over, the pleasure washed over me like a storm wave, curling and breaking and crashing down! Drowning me!

After I time of ecstatic joy I noticed he'd slowed, stopped, leaning on the bench back, one hand on each side of my shoulders. Still stuck inside me, pulsing now, hot and wet and something was sticky on my thighs, dripping to plop! in the grass, stringy and thick.

Something warm was squishing inside me.

His breathing slowed, he gave another weak hip thrust and held! it, pulsing strong, once, twice more. Then seemed to deflate, the electricity gone out of him.

I took stock of my situation: bare breasts, bare belly, bare cunt. Coughing up something sour and snotty. My cunny hurting yet I was glad, glad he'd stuck his dick into me. A boy's dick still stuck into my body, filling my cunny, filling me with something warm, making my sore belly glad.

He straightened, carefully slid his dick out, limp now, let a renewed pulse of snotty white-and-red erupt from me, from my girls' secret, drip to the ground.

Turned and sat on the bench, gathering his wits.

"That was wonderful." He seemed amazed to say it, to even think it.

"It was pretty good." I wasn't going to admit he'd made me feel the most joy I'd had in my young life.

"We can't do that again!" He seemed alarmed now, noticing where he was, who he was with. That he'd just ravaged me, torn my clothes, had sex with me.

"I don't know, maybe I want to do it again." Matter of fact, I wasn't going to concede anything to a stupid boy. No matter how wonderful a dick he had.

"No! No! I have a girlfriend! We're planning to go off to college together! Get married after we graduate! We have it all planned!"

He tugged uselessly at my clothes, as if he could un-do what he'd done, make it un-happen.

"Idiot! We did it, you stuck your thing in me, you squirted your stuff in me! You can't go back now, pretend you didn't like it! That I don't matter to you!"

That seemed to connect with him. "Yes! We'll pretend it didn't happen! That you, you, you don't matter to me!?" He said that like it surprised him.

With that he stood, pulled up his pants, tucked in his shirt, not looking at me.

"Sorry! I have to go!"

And he was gone.

I sat a little longer, feeling a little used. Remembered I was half-naked, outside, in a park. A squirrel was looking at me, as if frozen, holding an acorn, surprised to find a girl having sex under his tree! Maybe wondering what came next.

I pulled my bra down, tugged it over my sore nipples, covered my bruised boobs. Pulled my shirt down, tucked it in. Used one hand to slitch! the sticky muck out of my cunny as best I could, flick it onto the grass.

The panties were ruined, bloody and torn. I took them off, used them to wipe the clotted evidence from my calves, flung them into the river.

Stood, unsteady, just breathing for a bit. Looked down the trail, saw him running, now disappearing around the bend.

Tried walking. It hurt, a little, sore and an angry scratch inside me where I couldn't reach. I was sure that would go away soon, it was already fading.

I'd had sex! With a boy! That was something, a thing I'd wondered about, thought about while I lay awake some nights, rubbing my cunny under my blankets, getting my burst of juice and pleasure.

Now I knew what sex felt like! Similar but more. Mixed pain and pleasure, exciting then too exciting then wonderful!

Then just sticky and sore and he was running away. Didn't want me, now that he'd had me, had put his thing in me and squirted me full of his snotty white juice.

That's all he wanted out of it, out of me.

Stupid boy.

I cried when I got in my room, fell on my bed. Not because I was unhappy, it just felt right to cry, so much bottled up inside and I needed to wash it out.

Mother knocked, called to me but I'd propped a chair under my doorknob, she rattled it but couldn't get in. Left me to my crying.

In a bit I sat up, didn't need any more tears so I stopped. Felt cleaner, no longer soiled by the beating my body had taken.

Leaned against my headboard, pulled my skirt up, still no panties on, examined myself as best I could.

A mess! Red streaky belly, hips. Red fingermarks where he'd held my side, clamped onto my belly while he'd thrust his thing into me.

Angry sloppy red cunt, red as a fire engine! With his snot still oozing out when I tensed my belly, dripping on my sheets, staining them.

I pressed my hand to my cunny, to the bit at the top; I felt the familiar thrill!

So that wasn't broken, used up, it still worked.

What had I learned? Other than, boys are stupid and mean?

Well, I knew I liked it. Some of it. Ok, most of it.

Not the pain, not much, a little. Would that happen every time? I didn't think so, I'd been torn, that only happened the one time.

His juice wasn't too nice, like snot, didn't taste very good. Gross to swallow or even to spit out. To get in your eyes! Yuck.

I didn't like that, I thought I'll just make them put it in me in future, just stick their dick inside and fill my cunny and leave my mouth alone.

Would I have a baby? I had no idea; was this stuff enough? Was once enough? Was my body ready? I'd been on my period for years, but today I didn't feel ready, not like sometimes where it's all sensitive and I know if I had a boy there, I'd make him give me a baby somehow. Not today, not that sensitive. My period just past, still calm and glad it was over, feeling like a normal person.

Would it be better on those sensitive days? I felt it would. Very much better.

I wish Bunica was here! She'd be able to tell me all about this, tell me what to do next.

I got up, intending to go to the bathroom in the hall, wash his gross sticky off, clean my cunny, my face.

I spied my piggy, my copil, my clay baby. She looked back at me, smiling.

"You don't have to worry about boys or babies! You're just made of clay."

I picked her up, looked at her, face to face, nose to nose. The same grinning grotesque piggy, my piggy.