To Bed with a Witch

It was a cool, windy day sometime in the spring, and a bright chorus of birds chirped in the throng of trees outside the small wooden-slatted hut. Inside it was warm thanks to the fire in the fireplace, burning strong even though it was perhaps three in the afternoon. A small spit of meat was hooked over it, stripped from a few of the meatier birds that had lived outside the hut until that morning, and the juicy smell hung in the air, scenting the place with a rich and homely aroma. A plain, flat wooden table sat near the fireplace, and across from it, a simple pot and grill of sapling twigs and were arranged ready to be used over a second fireplace. There was a plain straw bed-down in the far side, nestled between two slatted windows that were at the moment wide open, and two doors in opposing walls. One, the frontmost door, hung ajar, an abandoned woodcutting axe propped beside it. A commotion of voices and footsteps could be heard from inside.

'I will not bed with you,' said a deep voice sternly. 'I shall have no space in your home, witch.' His tone was decided and very deep, the voice of a strong working man -- a miner or perhaps a woodcutter by trade. As he spoke, he unlooped the fastening at his waistline, dropping his linen pants around his ankles to reveal a proud and rather impressively robust length already standing to attention. As he saw it reveal itself, he growled.

'Witchery!' He cried as his hands moved to her hips, slipping over the surprisingly warm and tight cloth that draped there across her width. 'Sorcery and bewitching. You are a fowl, evil creature!' He stepped up towards her, his member out-pointed as if to guide his way, unable to stop himself as she gazed at him coolly and evilly, the fingers of one hand lightly dancing in the air as if she were playing an invisible keyboard in the space below her petite fingertips.

'I know darling,' the woman purred as she leaned back across her table, her supple backside firm as it pressed against the rough edge, an edge she had sat upon as man after man had taken her both willingly and unwillingly, time and time again before. As she leaned back her legs parted, revealing her flowing, multi-layered robes to be well-positioned so that, should she part them in this way, her deepest, most sacred area was revealed. Unable to look away despite his blustering protestations, the muscular, thickly-bearded man stared as the layers of intertwined fabric slipped apart to reveal her womanhood, lightly tufted at her uppermost edge with a thin shock of fiery orange hair.

'I know what you think of me,' she breathed at him, smiling evilly as she watched his wide eyes stare down at her sacredness. Her fingers paused, and his approach echoed them, his manhood six inches from her body. 'And yet you want to do it anyway. Want to lean in and take me, want to slide yourself upon my thighs and copulate with this perfect body. Entering me will satisfy you like no woman has ever in your wretched life. So; do it.' And despite his growled complaints and the way his head pulled back, or the way he tried to shuffle his legs so that he moved aside of her shapely body, or force his unwilling hands and hips back to safety, he did exactly as he was told, and slipping his body up her insides, his thick, rough hands looped over the apex of her hips, he came closer and closer until he felt himself meeting her sacredness and slowly, with a constant, expert pressure, pushing inside.

She had been right. It was like nothing he'd ever felt before. The second his thick helmet parted her and pushed inside her he gasped in shock, so tender and tight was she despite her age. As he slipped inside, with every fingernail's thickness that he deepened, his pleasure doubled, until he found himself sheathed entirely in her body, right to the pummel. He practically shook on the spot. His face was a mask of shock and he stared up at her conniving face, taking in the knowing mischief plastered there, the bitten lip and the up-turned eyebrows atop burning-bright pupils full of orange and deep, bottomless blackness, a balled fist hanging in the air atop her thin, flowing arm, knuckles pointing at him as if signifying their relationship to him. And even though his brain screamed still at him to stop, his body threw his inhibitions to the wind for him, and he began to fuck the witch on her benchtop.

Many minutes beyond when he would normally have found release, he continued to rut her, violently pummelling her body from the inside, his strong hands clenching her hips tight, holding her in place. Her back arched across the table so that her breasts stood tall and proud atop her form, the witch moaned and cried jerkily out in pleasure, bucking and jouncing on the table as he made love to her, until, at long last, stunned and blistering with arousal and completely surprised at his own stamina, she waved a lazy hand dismissively in the air and he crammed himself inside her, suddenly and powerfully unloading into her deepest corners for a very, very long time, until, spent and nearly shrinking out of her, she let him go, and he at last staggered back from her body, weak, euphoric, shocked, and totally confused.

'Ooh, what a good boy,' the witch gasped from the table where she lay, her down-pointed feet pressed hard against the sturdy table legs still as enticing as they had been before, her parted legs giving him an unrestricted view of her womanhood, still slightly shaped to his size and bubbling over with his ejaculate. 'Oh what a good, good, wonderful little boy.'

Despite his protestation, he found himself feeling proud of himself for her words, and even though he was completely spent and rather exhausted, he felt a tiny twinge in his member. Frowning, he looked down at it.

'That,' the witch breathed, sitting lithely up, her curvaceous body as shapely as a young woman's, 'was one of the best yet. You should be very pleased with yourself.' Which, he had to admit, he somewhat was.

'Now,' the witch said, slipping off the table and turning around. 'Let those silly pants off your ankles, and help me set a fire so that the meat may stew. Then, we'll see if we can't have some real fun.' She winked at him sexily as she idly patted her gown down over her legs, apparently unconcerned about her nakedness beneath. Patting on bare feet quickly around her benchtop, she knelt in front of the fireplace and took up a stick.

'Well?' She asked sternly.

Dumbstruck, he stepped out of his working pants, leaving himself naked from the waist down, and came to join her, taking up his own striking stick.

'What is your name, boy?' The impossibly young-looking witch said as the pair vibrated their fire sticks. He didn't answer for a few moments, before something -- he couldn't be sure if it was her silence, the slight tweaking of his now limp manhood, or just the awkward silence that caused it -- made him reply.

'Dust,' he said simply.

'Dust what?' She asked, her bright eyes glancing up at him.

'Just, 'Dust', my lady,' he said, not even realising he'd said the last part until it was past his lips. Dumbstruck, he put a hand to his mouth and recoiled. The witch actually laughed at him -- laughed!

'Sex with me tends to cause such total adoration,' she said matter-of-factly. 'For a number of reasons. It's an expected side-effect.'

'Is it because of your devil's magic which you use to lure unsuspecting men into your home to seduce?' He replied, somewhat fired up after his strangely subservient response.

'In part.' She replied evenly, not pausing her motion with the sticks. As she failed to add any more to the reply, Dust's eyes slowly drifted to them, to where her soft hands worked around the hard wood to turn and rub it back and forth.

'There shall be time aplenty for that later,' she said a few seconds later, still not looking up. 'For now, set a light on your side, then help me string the bird meat across the forks. Then we can get back to the entertainment.'

Dust managed to strike up a convincing flame a few minutes later, and once he had fanned and fuelled it until it was well taken to the dry kindling, he helped her by unlooping the string on one end while she did the same on the other, carrying it still taut between their hands until they could lay it over the two thin Y-shaped forks standing to attention on either side of the flame. Wrapping the string around the arms of the fork, they soon had it tightly in place.

'Now, some water, enough to fill this to a third,' she commanded. Dust obediently fetched her a pale, ignorant now of his semi-nudity, from the spring outside, his strong arms bulging as he carried two full buckets back inside easily. He poured them in, and watched her as the witch spooned in a heaping of several different powdered concoctions. She had him stir it for ten minutes or so, and by the time his period had elapsed, he found that the water had turned a thicker and very sweet-smelling brown-green.

His manhood, too, had risen to a firm, thick erection, and as he set down the thick ladle and turned to the witch, he was in time to see her gown falling from her frame to reveal her, silhouetted in the afternoon light of her windows, naked.

He gasped, then gasped again as he saw two small, proud wings unfold and stretch out behind her outstretched arms, adding another aspect to her curvaceous T-shaped form. Stepping away from the windows and back into the naturally lit centre of the hut, he watched in awe as the milky-white skin of the witch came into view, first on her pert, round bosom, then her rolling hips and fine thighs, and lastly on her gentle cheek. Above it, a flaming shock of orange hair burned like the lit fireplace behind Dust, and as she looked at him, Dust noticed for the first time that her eyes were the same burning bright orange as her hair, giving her a truly bewitching look.

'Are you ready?' She asked softly. Dust's firmness said that he was, and as he stepped up towards her to meet her in the middle of her cabin, he realised that this time, he didn't feel her magic forcing his limbs against his will. Either that, or this time, his mind was unresistingly echoing what she was making him do. He couldn't tell which.

They touched, and her supple bosom slipped over his shirt as his length pressed up against her navel. She nuzzled against him and his arms went to hers, huge around her not so small shoulders. Gently, he slipped them over her unblemished back, feeling her, taking her in. One of her hands slipped downwards, wrapping around his length and gently rubbing it, wrapping and unwrapping as she felt it with her fingers.

'How old really are you, Witch?' Dust asked softly, his voice a rumbling bass.

'As young as you want me to be,' she replied, looking up at him.

'But really? You cannot be this woman I see before me, for she is but a girl of twenty at the latest!' He replied, holding her at arms' length. She didn't let go of him.

'I am a sorceress,' She replied evenly, gazing up at his plain, simple eyes with her own flaming, deep orange ones. 'I exist to feed off and fuel those around me. I craft spells to bid my will, I bend minds to obey my own, I coerce nature to deliver me its gifts. Age is...' She drifted off.

'Age is unavoidable,' Dust said softly, looking down at her, his voice barely even a whisper. She looked up at him, and for the first time since Dust had seen her this close-up, hours earlier, he saw no mischief or intent in the glowing orbs, only humanity. When he saw it, he knew she wasn't coercing him with spells anymore.

'I am nearly one-hundred and eight, at the next summer,' she admitted, looking down. 'I am sustained by magic, and while I can keep my body fresh, I cannot stop my mind from growing old. From wanting what it does, from coming up with the ideas that it has, from scheming up ways to fulfil those desires. That is why I write spells.' She gestured to a dark corner across from her straw bed, on which were arranged a multitude of tightly-wound paper scrolls. A small section on the top shelf bore scrolls, but where the others were heavily laden, this shelf was nearly empty.

'I write them and test them all day long, it is tiring and lonely and unfulfilling, and all I desire from my magic is to use it for what It once gave me freely. Power and control and respect.' Still holding her, Dust felt the old witch shake a little, and he knew in that instant, without magic to make him see it, how she felt. He himself had once had a far greater living than the simple, petty one he now laid claim to -- but the loss of his family had been irreversible, and cutting was all he was good for as an orphaned teenage boy.

'What is your name?' Dust asked.

'Valkyrie,' the witch responded, looking away. 'But no one has called me that for half a century.

'It is a strong and womanly name,' Dust said, a little amazed at himself for speaking to cheer a woman but forging ahead lest he realise it was her magic that was forcing him. He wished for his next words to be genuine.

'It is as beautiful a name as it is a woman who holds it, and it describes a great strength. I think you have that strength, Witc- Sorceress Valkyrie.'

Valkyrie's eyes turned to meet his, and when they met them, he saw more vibrant, green-gold tinged orange in them than he had before. Where they had previously been rings of flame, now they were bright stars of light, deep and velvet and as rich as the night sky. She said nothing for a long while, looking up searchingly into his plain brown ones. Then, after a long, long moment, she reached up and kissed him, firmly and fully on the lips.

Dust closed his eyes, feeling her impossibly soft lips cushioning his own. When he opened them, a different woman looked back at him. She still had those same bright orange eyes, but the skin around them was rougher, leatherier, and the flaming orange hair was thinner and greyer. She seemed to have lost some of her buoyancy, and when she leaned back again, her body had a sag to it. Dust blinked, and as he did, the youthful, pert woman of perhaps twenty flashed back at him between glimpses. It was an illusion; a spell, no doubt intended to trick an onlooker into seeing something different to what was really there, like a mirage on a hot summer's day or a sheet under his bedding shaped as if it were he. He had to focus to ward the illusion off and see her as she was.

Eventually, he blinked until he saw the real Valkyrie again, and stayed there. 'I will not look upon anything but the true form of she who is about to bed me,' he said, the intimation in his words clear. Giggling slightly, the flame-eyed old woman stepped up again and kissed him once more, the lips still as firm as they had been before. With a slight, almost lazy wave of her hands, Dust's body tingled, and he shuddered physically in her embrace, sighing. His eyes fluttered, and when they reopened, the youthful, perky girl was back.

'Thank you,' she said. 'Thank you for showing me what I really was looking for, and for telling me what I really wanted to hear. But I prefer to be this way when I let a man take me.'

And then she stepped across to her bed, allowed herself to sink to her knees, and bent forwards, bearing her bottom to him, wide and round and wiggling. A red, waiting slit could be seen between the glorious globes, waiting for him, a light coating of wetness already on it. Stepping up to her, rock hard thanks entirely to his own will this time, he wasted no time in grasping the tight form in his hands and pressing himself inside.

Valkyrie gasped against a mouthful of straw as she felt Dust's enormous size part and push into her, twisting down to match her body's position until it filled her up. He grunted with the pressure on him but continued until he was completely gone inside her, and then, getting a firmer grip on her backside, he began to fuck her.

After an extraordinary amount of time, Dust was still pumping, grunting and panting with the effort, Valkyrie's constant moans fuelling his raging arousal. He almost didn't notice when she began pushing at him with her hand until she moved, turning herself sideways so that he was pulled from her body with a long sucking sound. Shuddering and leaking, strands of straw clinging to her cheek, she gasped, 'not yet,' before quickly bending close and wrapping her lips around his helmet, absorbing him bit by bit in her mouth until her lips touched his navel. Marvelling at her flexibility and gasping with the tightness, he let her suck him for a while, working him back and forth and lavishly laving him with her mouth until he could feel the rhythmic pound of release in his loins. As If she knew it too, she stopped, and, beckoning him toward her, she lead him to her bench once again where she laid herself full-stretch out across it. When her legs slid apart, revealing herself again, Dust caught her eye and knew exactly what she wanted.

He had no experience really in pleasuring women, but Dust made a good go of it, and when his mouth was feeling tired and uncontrollable, he switched to his hand, which garnered much more reward in Valkyrie. She bucked and moaned around his fingers and he made her wriggle and rock on her own benchtop until she forcefully pushed herself off him, gasping and grunting.

'I need you,' she begged raspily, thick-throated from lust and the oral intercourse. 'Now.'

Dust obeyed readily, and within a few moments, his thick length was sawing back inside her, quickly working up a rapid vibration until he had them both jerking and shouting. Valkyrie yipped and screamed like a bitch in heat, her hands tightly gripping her breasts, kneading them viciously as she jolted on her benchtop. She went from slapping the rough wood to grasping at her breasts, to simply gripping the bench for all her worth and holding on tight as Dust pounded her, a meaty slapping emanating from their joined bodies.

When it came, it stopped time, at least for Dust. Grunting in shock and ramming himself as far as he could possibly go inside her lithe form, Dust shuddered, hung for a second, then unloaded thickly inside her, shaking uncontrollably as he ejaculated. Gasping and clenching her fists around the table's edges, her legs going tight around his thick back, Valkyrie panted, moaning, feeling his hot load filling up her insides. Eyes wide, locked on their bodies, she shook, hovering on the edge. Then, with one final, massive shudder that made him grunt loudly and bodily shunt her and her table back a step, Dust finished inside her womanly centre, and she shivered, melted, and exploded.

The release for Valkyrie was impossible to describe. Gasping, everything inside her went tight all at once. Her chest jounced, her eyes rolled and vibrated, her limbs locked into place, and for a few moments, Dust thought she was channelling some evil force through her earthly form. Then she threw herself backwards, cracking her head on the table and forcing her back up into the air as she moaned a long, throaty exhalation outward. Utterly shocked, Dust watched in amazement as a small jet of water-like fluid, mixed a little with his own excretions, spurted from Valkyrie's body around his still-connected length, and as he pulled it from her body, he watched her fingers fly down to vibrate rapidly over her entrance, more of the thin stream of wetness emerging from her body as she evidently found release. Scrolls tumbled from shelves, straw flicked off Valkyrie's bed and clung to the walls and floor, and the huge pot over the fire broiled and shook as the flames raged up its sides, died down, and exploded up again. Dust felt as if the whole building was a part of Valkyrie's body in that moment, and a little fear seeped into him as the small place reacted to her orgasm as if they were one.