Tales from the Swamp: Ollie

The Witch and the Bastard.

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1859, Baton Rouge, Louisiana.

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It was the coldest winter Louisiana had seen in decades. A dozen slaves and a few local whites were hunched down to pick the turnips and onions from beneath the land. They were hoping to save the last of the farmer's harvest but their fingers were becoming numb from digging into the frozen soil.

Columbus Powers rarely visited this part of his plantation. His overseers kept him informed on any suspicious activity and his accountant informed him of his losses and profits from the fertile ground acres away from his home.

Despite his luck in recent years, this year was a failure. All of Baton Rouge had taken a hit from the ice, freezing the fields and under-ripe crops.

Columbus could see his breath in the chill morning air. Still, he blew a huff at what he knew would be a task in vain to save his harvest. He steered his steed toward the left and nudged his head for his eldest son, Ollie to do the same.

Ollie Powers was distracted. He was nineteen and couldn't care less about his Pa's dying crop. His immature sights were steadily positioned on a petite brown-skin slave, whom he knew well enough to call by name.

Her name was Mary and she was wise in her era. She had labored, free of charge, at the hands of his father for years. Ollie had known her his entire life as a woman, even though the small lady still appeared youthful as if she had just come of age.

Mary drifted her brown eyes up toward him. Despite her cold numb cheeks, she gave a wide smile and dared to wave at him.

Caught up in his bubble of lust, Ollie averted his eyes and pulled the reins on to follow his father up the path. He glanced back to find Mary had yet to return to work, instead she was walking toward him.

Ollie's head shook in protest as her walk turned into a jog. He had a fear of what would happen if someone caught her idle in such a drastic endeavor. His father was adamant and wanted this chore done immediately, yet her sprint toward him seemed just as headstrong. He caught a whiff of her lavender scent as she approached his horse.

"Ollie, I love you," she boldly confessed out of breath from her jaunt, "I've always loved you, Ollie."

"You do?"

"Yes, you're my sweetie pie." Her smile widened and his heart soared.

With her confession, Ollie forgot it all; his father's watchful eye, the curious glances from the other slaves, and even the poor whites who condemned their interaction. Grinning, he hurried from the saddle and wrapped his arms around her. Her small body felt like a warm cup of stew for his soul and he buried his face into the crook of her neck to get another smell of her feminine air.

"I love you too, Mary," he confided as his vision blurred, turning dark around him.

"Ollie!" He heard a shrill call and shook his head, not wanting to let her go.

"Ollie! Wake up! Get out of this bed, right this minute!" Charlotte roared with a whack across his back, "Wake up, you bastard!"

Swerving around, Ollie sat up straight and opened his eyes, realizing it was all a dream. His stepmother stood with a straw broomstick. Her next swing came down on his leg and he kicked away from her.

"Get up! Get up now!"

Wiping his eyes, he shook the fog from his head, "I'm up, woman," he grunted.

"Mind your manners, boy," she snapped and hit his thigh with the thin straw, "Mr. Powers left me in charge and I charged you to go chop that firewood and bring it in last night."

"I brought it in before dinner, Ma," he groaned.

"You lying bastard!" Charlotte screamed, "There ain't a log in this house and your brothers are freezing their tails off while you lay up like a lazy buffoon."

Her rage over her husband's first son made her go on a tangent. Tightly holding the household weapon in both palms, she popped and swatted the straw bristles across his back, shouting insults that he merely chuckled at.

Ollie casually walked out of the room, and down the staircase, annoyed by her morning antics. He knew his stepmother hated him. When he was younger it had broken his heart to be fed half the amount as her real children. Back then, he had wept from her beatings and cried to his father who told him to grow the hell up and be a man.

Now that he was grown, he stood three inches over six feet, towering over his five-foot stepmother as if she were nothing. Despite their differences in size and his want to grab that broom and beat her, he played along with her frolics.

"Ow!" Ollie shrugged his shoulders, hiding a laugh.

"Get those shoes on and go get that firewood before I take a shovel to you!"

"You think you're doing something with that broom, you old hag?" This is what he wished to say, but Ollie respected his father far too much to be rude.

Columbus Powers had raised him with manners while his wife, Charlotte Powers had raised him to withstand punishment.

"I've gotta piss, Ma," Ollie explained, closing the door of the outhouse as she swatted the broomstick across the sturdy wood.

"Hurry it up!" She shouted, "Empty your little pecker and take yourself straight to that lumber pile."

Charlotte was tired from her daily berating and huffed onto the porch. She swiped at her brown bangs and tapped her foot, keeping a careful watch of the outhouse door.

A 20-year-old slave woman named Reba cautiously approached. It was cold out and her fingers trembled, carrying a cup toward her mistress. She was new to the house and wondered if Charlotte's wrath would spread to her if she did not comfort the bitter woman.

"Miss Charlotte. Would you like your coffee beans now, ma'am?" Reba suggested, holding up a hot mug, "It's got two lumps of sugar just like you like."

"No," Charlotte frowned, "A hot brew will only anger me more. That boy better hurry and piss. It's cold as ice in that house," she mumbled

Reba was mildly puzzled. She had been in the kitchen fixing breakfast and didn't find the place too cold. Neither did Charlotte's two sons who were sound asleep, warm in their beds.

But it was a Tuesday and Charlotte had to punish her stepson for something. She had got on his case yesterday about the mail post. Ollie had been out doing chores and missed the post by an hour.

In Charlotte's twisted mind, anyone could have walked up and stolen that one letter had Ollie taken another minute to fetch it. So she beat him properly for his delay. He had taken her punishment, holding in laughter. His slight smirk at her lashes encouraged her to hit harder. Her shoulder still held an ache from her wrath of yesterday, but she awoke this morning in the same bitter condition.

Ollie retreated from the outhouse and pulled up his britches. He needed a warm meal before his chores and jumped onto the porch, headed into the house to fight the chill coating his limbs.

"No. I said, go, chop that wood, boy."

"But, Ma, it's freezin' out here"

"Now," she pointed toward the woods in front of their homestead, "You are going to learn to mind me while your father's away."

With slumped shoulders, he sighed, "Yes, ma'am."

Instead of going to the woods to the lumber pile a few yards off, Ollie kept walking until he reached the slave quarters.

None of the black men, nor the only pregnant woman batted an eye when they saw him approach. Most grinned and waved to him with a polite greeting and he greeted each by name before knocking on one of the cabin doors.

Mary swiped her eyes and leaned against the door frame with a lazy grin. Her short night dress was tight around her flat tummy and clung to her thighs and perky full tits.

His eyes roamed over her large bust, admiring her pointed nipples as she groggily spoke, "Good morning, my sweetie pie."

"Good lord, you look beautiful this morning," Ollie beamed, biting his bottom lip, "Can I come in?"

"Depends," she smiled, reaching up to caress his fresh face, "Your mama ain't going to come looking for you, is she?"

"That old hag's too lazy to walk all the way out here," he snickered, "She tried to beat me with the broom this morning."

"To be sure not," she pouted, "You wouldn't hurt a fly."

"I know," he frowned, growing irate from his stepmother's treatment, "I sure wish you could put roots on her, something real bad."

"That won't cure her sickness, sweetie pie. She is just liable to be meaner. I have a feeling I know what she needs."

"What's that?"

Mary waved her hand to enter and Ollie hurried inside, taking a seat on her small cot. He eyed the jars on the wall of her cabin and gave a devilish grin.

"She needs a hole in the head. But, I bet one of those poisons will shut her up," he thought aloud but quieted once Mary gave him a sour look.

"You gotta be respectful, Ollie. Your Pa didn't raise you to be anything other than a gentleman."

"I know, but I get tired of her messing with me every day. She only got worse now that Pa's out of town."

"And why do you think that?" Mary giggled, before answering her question, "She probably misses him and misses what he does to her."

"Ugh," Ollie gave a look of disgust and shook off the thought of his parents coupling, "I don't want to know about that. Come now, Miss Mary, I need you. My Pa doesn't get back till next week. That hag is liable to kill me 'fore then. She'll probably convince him to bury my body in the woods instead of the churchyard."

"Manners, sweetie pie," Mary cooed and rolled her palm across the thick-soled jacket covering his broad shoulders, "You will be a good boy till he returns and I'll take care of what's vexin' her."

Ollie licked his lips and nodded, "If I'm good, you'll take care of me too?" His eyes drifted to her brown-toned thighs, "You ought to let me stick it in one time?"

"My Goodness, Ollie. You are mighty bold. You know you can't be sticking nothing in me," she smiled, "That beautiful gal, you plannin' to marry would be sick as a dog if she found out you're two-timing her with a woman like me."

"Hmph, Whitney don't care about me. She would marry anybody who would give her a ring. And, she's alright looking but she ain't nearly as pretty as you."

"Are you trying to butter me up?" Mary giggled.

Ollie reached out, boldly pushing her toward him, "Is it working?"

Mary smirked and backed up to twirl over to the large jar sitting on a crooked shelf. She eased a cup inside and slowly filled a flask with a secret potion.

"I had a dream about you last night," Ollie said as she sauntered toward him, "You were telling me how much you love me."

"I love you, but in a respectable way, I've known you since you were knee-high to a grasshopper."

"I'm a grown man now, Miss Mary. I'd love to get 'tween your knees one of these days."

Mary chuckled and handed the flask to him, "Here you go, sweetie pie. You tell Reba, I said add just a little drop to Mrs. Charlotte's cup at lunch and a few drops more to her cup at dinner."

"Will it kill her?" Ollie asked.

"No, but it will relax her, sure enough." Mary giggled, "You gonna need her in the future, so you better quit that talk of getting rid of her. If Reba does what she's told, Charlotte is going to come around to you 'fore long."

"How do you know that?"

"I've known a lot in 30 years." Mary smirked, "Enough to know when a woman is in heat. She needs something to cool her off."

"What about a man?" Ollie asked, scanning her flat middle, "I'm a man in need right now," he smiled, brushing his palm across his morning wood.

Mary tisked, and leaned down to give his blushed cheek a kiss, "You are too handsome a man to be smitten with me, Ollie."

"But I am, I swear to it," he breathed, reaching up to kiss her cheek.

When he got away with one smooch, he gave another and reached to grope at her soft ass, "Let me make you feel good, Miss Mary."

"Lord have mercy, you have become one horned up man overnight," Mary chuckled, "Do you think if you keep pestering me that I'll give it to you?"

"I'm sure hoping so."

"I don't know about-"

Mary paused as the work bell rang in the distance and patted his shoulder to get up, "I gotta get to work."

"I'm in charge," Ollie said, pulling her closer to him, "You ain't gotta do a damn thing you don't want to do."

"Go, go, go," Mary giggled, "Gone away from here and you do as I said. Just a drop at lunch, and two at dinner. I don't want it working too fast."

"So what is it gonna do to her?" Ollie asked with a devilish smile, "Keep her off my ass I hope."

"That's the fun part," Mary smiled, and touched his face, "I want you to sit back and watch the magic happen."

Grinning, Ollie thanked her and patted her butt on the way out of the low cottage. Mary blushed from his liking but brushed it off as youthful ardor.

The black men gave whistles as Ollie strolled out. They all knew he was sweet on Mary. He shook his head bashfully, letting them know she had not yet submitted to his lust. Rightfully so, since her main squeeze, Bo Dallas stood among the tall men with a frown.

Bo was a huge man, standing high with bulky arms, a hard chest, and a full broad torso shelved with muscle. He hadn't spoken a word since coming to the Power's plantation from the west.

He was thought to be deaf, while Mary knew he only spoke Spanish, and was previously owned by Mexican settlers in what was recently dubbed Dallas, Texas.

Ollie hurried off into the woods to finish up his early morning chore. When he returned to the main house, the wood wasn't acceptable enough for Charlotte and she hastily ordered him to go back out to fetch bigger logs.

Before Ollie heeded her needs, he stopped by the kitchen and told Reba of Mary's plan.

"No, no, no, no," Reba shook her head, keeping to her task of kneading dough, "They told me stories 'bout that woman," she leaned in to whisper as if Mary was near, "She's an old woman. She's a Witch and ain't aged a day in decades."

"Reba, you sound about as crazy as Charlotte."

"That is witches brew you holding, sir."

"Is not. It's herbal medicine, that voodoo stuff she learned in Africa."

"No, sir it ain't. I ain't telling no fibs. She's a witch. She don't look ugly like a Witch, but they say she is just as wicked as one."

"Well, do you really want to upset a Witch?" Ollie asked with an arched brow, "Suppose she got the thought to harm you. If I were you, I'd do what she says," he encouraged, taking a bite out of an apple.

Reba thought it over and snatched the flask from his grasp, "Y'all not sending me to hell," she shook it at him, "This is the devil's deed, I tell you."

"Well, I guess I'm the devil," he smiled.

Reba turned away from him and shivered as she poured a drop into her mistress's cup. She said a prayer, desiring whatever those folks had schemed, her soul would be saved from their stunt.

-

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Come that afternoon, Charlotte could feel a subtle fervor beaming around her. It spread in a heat across her chest and tingled up her spine. She fanned her reddened face and called toward her youngest son, "Where is your bastard brother?"

"I don't know, Ma." he answered while crashing two toys together.

"Well, go find him. He must want to kill us all, it's hot as the devil's donkey in here."

Charlotte fanned her blushed cheeks and rushed to her feet to step outside. Even the chill of February didn't stop her head from pouring sweat. Her nipples were aching but not with pain rather with a need to be suckled. She felt a sickness in her gut and thought perhaps another pregnancy may be upon her.

Lightheaded from her walk, Charlotte sat in a porch chair and hunched over to catch her breath. She was a bit plump in spots around her hips and middle but never had she been so sluggish when merely walking a short distance. She breathed in a gust of wind chill and held her hand to her racing heart.

By 6 pm that evening the sun had rested in the east and her loins were ablaze. She paced around the living room, having sent her children to bed after an early supper. Her heart was pounding with a foreign thrill. Something below stirred so hard she leaned against the chair.

Charlotte peered around, ensuring the door was closed and settled her thighs around the arm of the chair. There, she did something that mentally frightened her core. She began to hump, creating a friction below from the hard surface. It relieved a part of the oddly sensual sensation.

"Mmm, ooh," she hissed out.

The pleasure felt delicious and she rushed her skirt up around her hips and patted the seam of her wet panties across the furniture.

"Oh, oh, oh goodness, oh my goodness," she uttered, building up more tension in her thighs.

Her pussy was leaking so severely her head hurt. She needed something more inside her to take the longing itch away. But that notion was as strange as her grind against the armchair.

Charlotte heard the door open and hurried onto her feet, rolling her skirt down around her ankles where it belonged. Uncontrollable lust filled her with irritation, making it hard to think as Ollie slowly walked toward her. She had never seen any charm in his appearance before but had suddenly changed as of now.

"Get out! You learn to knock before entering my parlor, boy."

"Sorry, ma'am," Ollie spoke with his head down.

Curiosity was killing him and he wondered if the potion was affecting her. According to her sour attitude it wasn't. She looked more flustered than usual and far from relaxed. He backed up into the front room, closing the door behind him.

Ollie twiddled his thumbs on the other side, but stopped when he heard a groan. Pressing his ear to the grain, he creased his brows in confusion.

Was she.... Moaning?

"Uhm, ugh, Goodness, oh, goodness gracious," Charlotte hurled her hips further into the arm, "ooh, oh, oh, Gosh..."

An eruption had occurred, smearing juice across her panties seam, but Charlotte was horny as sin and needed something inside her to curb her thrill. The first thing that popped into her mind was her mere fingers but when the door creaked open again, she called out for help.

"Get in here, boy," Charlotte rang, pushing herself on to the couch in exhaustion.

She waved for him with a shaking hand before fanning her face.

"You alright, Ma?"

"I ain't your mother, boy," she spoke with malice, dripping in a husky breath of desire, "I want you to sit right here." she whispered, patted the pillow beside her.

"You want me to sit with you?" Ollie asked with an arched brow, "Why?"

Charlotte stood to her feet, gripping his arm to balance, "Take your trousers off."

Ollie expected she wanted to whip him and grimaced. He hadn't received a bare-ass spanking in years and hesitated.

"Hurry it!" Charlotte scolded and yanked at his pants.

Puzzled, Ollie slowly unzipped his pants but she assisted, yanking them to his ankles. His cock was limp against his thigh and he jumped out of his skin, turning pale in color at her taboo touch against his manhood.

"Aye! Ma, what the hell you doing?" Ollie barked.

"I told you, I am not your lifeless mother, boy," Charlotte raggedly expressed, rolling her palms across his slowly developing cock, "You're going to stick this inside me."

"You crazy as a betsy bug, woman. You married my Pa. What do I look like laying down with you? He'd kill us both."

Charlotte got the reality check but it didn't register much for her needy cunt. She shook her head of the desire running rampant in her loins but withered knowing nothing but love making could cool her off.

Her voice softened to a whisper, "We won't tell him, alright?"

"We won't have to, 'cause I ain't touching you...."

Charlotte swallowed the lump in her throat, "It'll be our secret. Something you and I will take to our grave, okay, honey?"

Honey? It rolled off her tongue, sounding foreign to his ears. He eyed her white moon face and her pleading eyes with a smirk.