Young Sarah refused to release his hand and was dragged across the cold, wet ground, muddying her modest flannel nightgown. “Don’t go! She’s cast a spell on you!”
With a harsh fling of his wrist, her husband Abraham shook her loose a few steps before entering the mist. Those bearing witness knew the mist was no ordinary mist. Despite its beautiful lavender hue, the villagers knew evil lurked there.
Abraham, however, had become highly enraptured by the voice that had called to him in his slumber, and he was no longer of an ordinary mind. It was as if the unique timbre of the voice held invisible strings tied to him—the most intimate parts of him.
He did not attempt to break away but continued his slow yet unwavering journey toward the bowels of the forest. The gnarled roots did not trip him, neither did the thorny branches whip him. It was as if the malevolent forest obeyed the whispering voice and allowed Abraham safe entry.
His feet stopped when particles started to commingle before his very eyes, and a woman’s silhouette took form. She was like no woman he’d seen before, with flesh pale as the freshly fallen snow, and skin barely covered in clothing that would draw condemnation from the elders. Deep burgundy locks fell below her shoulders in mesmerizing waves, framing her breasts bursting from the deep V of her dress. A witch, he surmised, yet he did not look away.
The witch stepped closer and whispered words into his gaping mouth. “I can show you pleasure unbeknownst to you if you stay the night, but beware, you will never be the same again. You will question the teachings of your forefathers and preacher—the doctrines set forth by your Puritan village. The choice is yours.”
A blanket of ravens filled the treetops, blocking the peeking moon’s rays. He shuddered in the darkness until the witch’s glow extended to him, providing him a sense of safety in the cocoon she’d created for them. The world as he knew it too easily fell away, and his feet took root in the forest floor.
The witch’s lips, surprisingly warm, kissed his mouth. He returned her kiss and left a wet trail down her neck, then dared to dip into the valley between her breasts before returning to her deep purple-painted lips.
When their kiss ended, he opened his eyes to find them both naked, with his clothes scattered about the ground beside him. He gazed upon her beauty and found comfort in his decision. How could something so beautiful be wrong?
Iron shackles materialized, attached to the bark of an ancient oak. “Do you trust me?” she whispered, her tone more pleading than asking. “Let these metal shackles replace the invisible ones in your world.”
He looked into her gray eyes, ironically seeing promises full of color. Trusting his heart, he stepped forward and lifted his wrists overhead.
The tree bark was unlike any bark he’d brushed against before; it was smooth, cool to the touch, and soothing against his heated flesh. With her body pressed into him, she slid her hand around to the front and draped his lengthy cock in a black handkerchief. Her hand slid the soft cloth up and down his shaft, varying the pressure until his moans told her she’d discovered the magic touch. She then released the handkerchief to move on its own.
