The Stonebare Witches

For a while, it seemed there was no sound in all the world except their heavy breathing. Then Kaethe grew an evil smile, and with a little push, she had Fentri on her back. She crawled over the witch, licking her lips as she looked straight down into her eyes.

"You drove me all the way to it," said Kaethe. "No one's gotten the better of me like that before." She leaned down, closer. "But I'm not letting you have the last word." One hand reached down, and two fingers caressed Fentri's neck, then her chest, then they probed over the fabric of her cloak, which suddenly seemed so thin.

But Fentri had tasted control, and she would not let it go. Reaching up, she fondled Kaethe in turn, massaging her hips. The huntress sat astride Fentri, pausing for a moment to relish those hands, and Fentri pressed her advantage. A little more firmly, she kneaded Kaethe's sides, thumbs venturing closer to her heated sex. Kaethe lost her composure with a little purr, her head and shoulders rocking side to side. Quickly, Fentri undid the laces of the huntress' trousers, and with Kaethe's help she slid them off, then rubbed her middle finger slowly under Kaethe. Arousal dripped onto her knuckles.

Already, Kaethe looked ready to burst again. It occurred to Fentri to deny Kaethe the satisfaction, but instead, she pressed on, teasing her nub and running fingers around her slit, then slowly intensifying.

"Right there." A little saliva fell from Kaethe's lips. "Yes, right there."

Bending her neck up, Fentri breathed warm air onto bare skin, then stroked her slowly.

"Ahh!" Kaethe's hands flew out, and another orgasm wracked her.

This time, when Kaethe recovered, her limbs were slack. With visible effort, she sighed and lowered herself next to Fentri. Her hot, heavy breath tickled the witch's ear.

"I... I never made you fire off, did I?" said Kaethe.

Fentri giggled. "That's okay."

"I'm not letting you go. You're too much of a treasure to be wasted on men, do you know that?"

Once again, Fentri thought of her future, and a gloom settled over her. "I don't know that," she mumbled. "I don't know anything. But I do know the wild is no place for me." Even the witches' caves had been too wild for her tastes.

"Well... you've got a real talent, Fentri. Any time you want to come prowling around here, I'm all yours."

'A talent!' that word echoed in Fentri's mind. 'A talent!'

*

This town was as good a place as any to start, Sand decided.

Stepping inside under the wooden arch over the gate—a nice architectural touch, he thought—he gazed down the main street, tiled with irregular cobblestones and lined with thatch houses. A leather boot dangled from over the roof of one house, showing a cobbler's shop, and an intimidating pair of crossed axes marked a weaponsmith. A fence of sharpened logs, mostly ornamental, surrounded a barrack of the king's fighting men, a reminder of royal authority. The smell of flowers drifted to Sand's nose from an herbalist's garden somewhere.

All taken together, this certainly did not look like a town of chicken thieves. But Sand couldn't give up the search until he was sure.

Off the main street, tucked against the wall of the town, was an oddly shaped hut with a skirt hanging by its doorway. Though he always feigned ignorance in front of other settlers, he knew exactly what that meant. Digging into his pouch, he took out a fistful of the silver rods that these natives used for currency. He thought for a moment.

'Yes,' he decided. He could afford it. With only a self-conscious glance over his shoulder, he stepped into the brothel.

Inside, he did his best to look unassuming as a conservatively dressed woman approached him. His first impression of her was not of her aged yet prim appearance, her oddly rich outfit or even her dignified yet sultry figure, but the strong scent of butter; butter was so plentiful here that the natives used it for hair gel.

"Ah, welcome," she said silkily. "Are you here for bread, or to be taken care of?" In these lands, brothels always kept up some halfhearted facade of being bakeries. Sand would never understand why.

"I'm here for the care," he said, in his best rendition of the native tongue. He paid the silver.

"Come this way."

Down the stairs hidden in the back, Sand entered the sprawling but low-ceilinged basement, where braced rafters held up a wooden ceiling that bent a little under the weight of the thin layer of sound-absorbing turf above it.

Light issued from candles on wooden shelves on the walls, and between them lay the attractions of the brothel. Draped over furs and woven blankets, native women of every description waited for him. Their intelligent eyes peaked out from blond, red or brown hair—all exotic colors. There were also some heads of blue or orange hair, either because it was dyed or because they belonged to some as-yet-undiscovered race. Their clothes, too, ranged from plain clothes to fancy dress to more inviting wear that showed bare midriffs, shapely legs and glimpses of busts.

Unbidden, a few women stood and walked sultrily up to Sand with woven towels and beef-tallow soap. With practiced, loving care, as if Sand would fall apart if they pushed too hard, they cleaned the sweat and dust from his skin.

Sand enjoyed their touch, but his focus was quickly stolen by a woman who reclined against the wall, seeming more interested in her fingernails than in him. She saw him staring, and she cocked up one eyebrow, almost as a challenge. "Come here, outlander," she said. "There's room enough for you."

The washing women released him, and he sat down beside her. Rather than throw herself at him, she reached over with one foot, and her toe caressed up and down his lower leg. "You're a long way from home, that's clear enough," she murmured. "Didn't bring your wife with you?"

"I don't have a wife," said Sand. "That should go without saying."

"That's two surprises today. Because here I thought you sea-people only went to the houses close to shore." She pulled herself up to him, her lips a finger-width from his ear. "But you came all the way out here to me."

Sand let out a nervous laugh. "I'm not here to... I mean, I have to be all the way out here." He smirked, starting to get into the mood. "But of course I wanted to meet the locals while I was away."

"Hm. Now that you mention it, there is another local you can meet." She gave a gesture over her shoulder, and another woman stepped from the shadows.

The woman was small. Even if Sand didn't compare her to the tall, muscular women this continent usually bred, she was still strikingly small. Thin black hair did not frame her face so much as obscure it, but behind the midnight-dark curtain, she had nervous eyes topped by thin, twitching eyebrows and an apprehensive mouth under a sharp, straight nose. 'Lost,' thought Sand, as he looked into her eyes. This woman was lost.

"Well?" said the woman at Sand's side. "Introduce yourself to him."

"H-hello," said the small woman. "My name is Fentri." She hesitated, as though she had never introduced herself before. "Who are you?"

"I'm Sand, from the colonies," replied Sand. "I... er, I didn't pay for two of you."

"Consider this a gift," said the woman at his ear. Dropping her voice to husky whisper, she added, "She tells me she barely has any experience. We are breaking her in. She's learning to use her mouth. How would you like to be her first teacher?"

"My mouth?" Fentri's eyebrows furrowed at a fierce angle. "That's not what you said earlier!"

"You don't have to do this if you don't want to," Sand hurried to say.

Fentri glared hostility at the other prostitute, but when she looked at Sand, her gaze went from angry to curious, then a smile knifed across her face. "I'll do it," she said slyly. "Just watch. I have a talent." She scooted forward, straddling Sand's feet.

"Now what brings you here?" asked the one at his ear. "Something even more important than a stop at our lovely place?"

"Ah, I'd rather not think about that." But as soon as those words left his lips, he felt the sudden need to get it off his chest. "It's chickens. I've been sent all over the inland because a few chickens have disappeared from the settlement, and I'm supposed to find out how."

Fentri froze, as if the news devastated her. Then she stiffly asked, "Do you know who could have done it?" as she slid aside Sand's tunic to find the cord of his kilt.

"Probably some troublemaker in the colony," said Sand. "Joy Hawk, if I had to guess." His mood softened as Fentri's hands played over his chest. Something about the sudden worry in her eyes disarmed him, and he caressed the side of her head as if petting a cat.

To his delight, Fentri stopped, closed her eyes and leaned into his hand. She held it against her cheek and gave a smile that made him flutter.

"I've just decided," He said, relaxing. "I've seen enough. I'll talk to the guards, and they won't have seen anything. Then I can get some local chiefs to swear oaths that they weren't involved. I'll bring the mementos back to the colony and put it all to rest."

Fentri let down his hand, looking suddenly cold. "It wasn't Joy Hawk," she said sadly.

Sand stopped. Her voice had been soft, but her certainty seemed like a threat.

"It's the Stonebare Witches," Fentri went on, undoing his kilt. "They cursed your chickens. Made them slip out of the fence. Or jump. Or fly, if they had to. In the first few days of the curse, they can do that."

Sand looked into her serious eyes, then laughter overtook him. "You don't have to say things like that," he said with a smile. "Believe me, when women try to be exotic, they just make fools of themselves."

A knowing smile crossed Fentri's face. "Erif Ifgnitao," she said, closing her eyes. "Emeb ore."

Sand opened his mouth to ask what she was doing, but what he saw ripped the words from his mouth; fire appeared in the air. A little ball of bright orange floated between them, its flames peaking and flickering, crackling as if devouring wood. A little stream of ash fell from the fire's center.

Sand reached up, feeling the heat of the flames.

"Don't." Fentri's voice had gone hard. "It'll burn you." She snapped her fingers, and the fire winked out. Then, to his amazement, she bent down to pull off his kilt, as if there was nothing more to say. His erection popped up from his lap, and she parted her lips to take it in.

"Wait, wait!" Sand stopped her with a gentle hand on her forehead. "How did you do that?"

"I already told you. It's the witches. And I used to be one of them."

She placed her left hand on his stomach, and with a polysyllabic whisper, sensation coursed through him. His back snapped straight, and a rush ran up his cock, like an orgasm condensed into an eye-blink.

Fentri looked triumphant. "Pleasure magic. And for a little more coin, I'll tell you how it works."

Sand nearly tore his tunic getting out his coin bag. He paid her a recklessly huge sum.

"Every witch's magic comes from the earth," said Fentri, pocketing the small fortune. "To neutralize it, draw the symbol of air on her forehead."

Fentri bent down to his still-erect cock, and she opened her mouth just enough to fit her lips over his tip. She gave it a little suck, and bolts of magic ran down the underside of his shaft, shooting up his spine and swirling in his heart. Sand gasped, and it was all he could do to hold still as she slid her lips farther down his length, sucking gently on him with every advance. Magic crackled on his tip, then crawled down his shaft, overtaking her mouth and hitting his base before spreading down his legs. Near the base of his penis, Fentri stopped and bobbed her head gently, sucking to the rhythm of her movement.

'The symbol of air,' Sand thought to himself. Pulling a phial of pigment from his pack, he coated his thumb in it, then reached down and carefully planted a red dot on Fentri's forehead. Then he drew an upward-bending arc under the dot on her face, completing the symbol.

All at once, the magic stopped. With that little stroke of Sand's finger, Fentri had ceased to be a mistress of arcane forces and had become just an ordinary woman sucking his cock. Her eyes shot open. "How dare you?"

"It works," Sand marveled.

"My magic wasn't yours to take away!" she spat.

"It comes off, I swear." he said. "Only a few hours, and you can rub it off like a mosquito."

Fentri sneered, unsatisfied.

"Now I really have paid you," said Sand, with a wry smile. "So finish what you started."

With a grumble, Fentri bent down and took him back into her mouth. Even without her magic, she sucked gracefully, not too eager but not too slow. Sand pressed himself against the wall, his breath coming thick and fast, and his fingers clenched around the blankets as Fentri pulled him toward his orgasm. She looked up at him, eyes angry even with her lips sealed around his girth.

Of all the things he had seen today, that sight—her glaring up at him as she sucked his cock—seared itself into his memory. He released with unstoppable force.

Pleasure paralyzed him. Then for a dozen heartbeats, he slumped uselessly and regained his breath. He saw Fentri release his cock, wiping the thick, still-hot cum from her pretty little mouth.

"The new girl knows a thing or two," said the prostitute at Sand's ear.

Sand had forgotten she was there.

"I'm not sure I can follow an act like that," she said, sliding her hands along his chest.

"I need..." Sand's lust faded, and it suddenly occurred to him that the colony was gravely threatened. He pushed aside the fog in his head and stood up. "I need to go."

"You know you get the both of us," said the nameless prostitute. "You haven't had it all yet."

"I need to go," he repeated.

Fentri shot to her feet. "You're going to fight the witches! Take me with you!"

"No." Risking himself for the colony was his duty, not hers. "Just stay here. Stay here, and you'll be safe. Everyone will." Pulling his clothes back on, he hurried up the stairs.

*

It bothered Sand how readily the other colonists had believed that witches were responsible for the vanished chickens. But all the same, he was grateful that they were willing to help for once. Laden with knives, hand axes and their new-fangled crossbows, twenty-three men sojourned into the rocky forest that the natives called Stonebare. Every man watched in a different direction, unsure what he was looking for.

A few hours ago, it had occurred to Sand that Fentri might have deceived him, but somehow it seemed unlikely. He was far more suspicious of Margrit beside him, who had volunteered to guide them to the witches' lair. Every time he glanced at her, fire flickered in his loins, but for once Margrit did not seem willing to take advantage of it. He chose to take comfort in that.

"We'll find them," Margrit had said, cocksure as always.

The fight began without warning. A cry of alarm came from the right, and a crossbow loudly discharged itself into a tree trunk as a man was swept off his feet by some invisible force. A black-cloaked woman revealed herself, cackling. Sand resisted the urge to send all his men hounding after that one spot. Instead, he levelled his crossbow at the woman and pulled the trigger.

The bolt followed the right path, but then stopped as if embedded in an invisible tree. A moment later, it disintegrated into a cloud of splinters and shards.

Dismayed, he dropped the crossbow and pulled a loaded one from his back, only to hear, "Up there! On that boulder!" The next moment, the ground suddenly opened up beneath the man who had said that, and he plummeted into the newly created pit. He landed with a painful-sounding thump in the earthen bottom.

"Watch out," said Margrit. "Right in front of you."

"I don't see anything," said Sand.

"Then look closer!" Margrit planted her hands on his back, and in one terrifying moment, Sand realized that trusting her had been a mistake.

She shoved him into a clearing, and just as he regained his balance, something cold and tight coiled around his ankle.

He drew his knife.

That was as far as he got before vines erupted out of the ground. Thick, leafy vines like giant headless snakes enveloped him, spiraling up around his legs and weaving over his body. He lifted off the forest floor. A vine hooked under the collar of his tunic, and with his arms bound in knots of vine, he could do nothing as the tunic ripped away and fell to the ground, exposing his chest. His muscles flexed as he strained against the vines, but now that they were still, they were as hard as tree trunks.

Around him, Sand watched despairingly as his men lost the battle. Two others were ambushed by vines and bound as he was, others screamed as they were snatched off their feet by tree branches suddenly given life, and still more sank into the ground and found themselves buried up to the waist. They flailed against the ground and dug at the earth, all to no effect.

Sand strained against the vines, roaring with effort, but he had no leverage. He went slack, his head sagging, sweat rolling down his skin.

Then Margrit stepped in front of him, and a witch joined her. Cloaked in black cloth and black hair, only the witch's sharp nose, tiny eyes and evil grin were visible.

"Fine job, Conradine," said Margrit, looking up at the bound Sand. "You don't know how long I've wanted him like this." Standing in front of him, she looked straight up into his eyes, where Sand could see the devious thoughts taking shape. His cock strained against his trousers, ready for her as always.

Sand gritted his teeth, enraged by his own pliability. But just as he prepared to drench Margrit in curses, something caught his attention. One of the men had escaped bondage, and now he hunkered down on a ridge, watching Margrit and Conradine. He struggled to load his crossbow.

Sand stopped looking at him, and mercifully, neither woman had thought to follow his gaze. "You've won," he said to them. "Unless one of our men gets away and finds Fentri in the bakery in Eness, it's all hopeless."

Through the upper edge of his vision, Sand saw the man abandon his crossbow and slink away. Inwardly, he celebrated. Now it only remained to keep this craven female distracted.

"You don't need to tell me that," said Margrit. "In fact, I'm sick of hearing you talk. Conradine? Fix that, please."

The witch's hands emerged from her gaping, overlong sleeves. After a few quick, indecipherable finger movements, the vines shifted again. For a moment, Sand was terrified they would crush him. Instead, two thin tendrils insinuated themselves into his mouth, forcing his jaw open. The syrupy musk of the vines intruded on his senses, and they oozed sap onto his tongue.

"There," said Margrit, inserting her dirty fingers into his mouth. She grabbed his tongue, fondling it until she was coated in his hot, thin saliva. "Some men are worth being with because they're just so interesting to talk to. You're not one of them, Sand. Remember that." Withdrawing her hand, she sat down and pulled off her skirts. Her fingers plied her sex, rubbing his stolen saliva into her hungry slit. All the while, she looked into Sand's eyes with an incisive, domineering grin that melted away his resolve. She bit her lip as her femininity started to moisten, and her pale cheeks reddened. In an eye-blink, she stood and forced her fingers back into his mouth. He strained to turn his head away, but the vines held him trapped. He tried to keep his tongue down, but her fingers grabbed and fondled it, letting him taste her arousal.

In a lucid moment, Sand realized that his man had probably escaped the battlefield by now. All that remained was to survive Margrit's ravishing until he and Fentri returned.

Margrit pulled out of Sand's mouth, her hand dripping again, and whispered something to the witch, who obliged and cast another spell. With a crackle and shuffle, a vine beneath Sand began to move, and he prepared to have his kilt torn away. Instead, the vine slithered under the cloth, and he felt the slender tip press against his butt cheeks.