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Message-ID: <62321asstr$1347898201@assm.asstr-mirror.org>
From: Paco Andante <graf.von.muschi@gmail.com>
Subject: {ASSM} The Witch {Unknown} (mF magic)
Lines: 245
Date: Mon, 17 Sep 2012 12:10:01 -0400
Path: assm.asstr-mirror.org!not-for-mail
Approved: <assm@asstr-mirror.org>
Newsgroups: alt.sex.stories.moderated,alt.sex.stories
Followup-To: alt.sex.stories.d

  I find it hard to believe that the attached file is not a repost, but
I do not find it by title or randomly selected content in asstr-mirror.org. It
made the rounds in Fidonet in the early 1990's. Author unknown.

Title: The Witch
Author: unknown
Keywords: mF magic
<1st attachment, "WITCH.TXT" begin>


                      The Witch
                    Author unknown
                    from UUCP, 1992


 It was  bitterly  cold  this  morning,  but  she came to visit me
again.     A creature of habit.   Or possibly something to do with
the spell that holds me here.   It's  more likely that she does it
simply to torment me. 

 It's not as if i'm in extreme pain;  it's more the discomfort you
would feel if  you had to stand with your arms in an uncomfortable
position for a long time.   Well, I've been here almost two months
now, and I still haven't got used to it. 

 I don't understand  how I can see her when she leaves her cottage
each morning,  to go  picking  medicinal herbs in the forest...  I
don't  think  I  have  `eyes',  but  I  seem to have at least five
`arms',  or,  more precisely,  `branches', spread out as if I were
reaching for the sky.  You don't follow me?  Very well, I'll start
at the beginning.

 Anya had a  reputation in the village as  `the local witch'.  She
didn't like it, but then again, she never refrained from using her
reputation to  intimidate  the hicks.    She was (still is,  and I
suspect probably always will be) quite young,  but even the smith,
a great hulking bear of a man, used to back down when she narrowed
her eyes,  muttered  an incantation  and  reached for  her  sacred
dagger.   Occasionally,  if the hicks were desperate for some sort
of magickal help,  they'd approach her,  caps clutched  in shaking
hands,  and beg a favour.    She'd regard them with a crooked grin
and avarice  glinting in her brilliant green eyes,  usually taking
them for everything that they could spare.

 Naturally, some of us were skeptical about her.

 Tybalt,  Jonah  and  myself were  out in the woods one afternoon,
idly  tossing stones at dragonflies  and discussing Anya's alleged
capabilities.   Tybalt  hunched  over,  imitating  Old  Giles  the
Crofter:
 `Well,  she  turned  me  into a newt!' We sighed, waiting for the
punchline.
 `... I  got  better...' he concluded.  We snickered. Tybalt said,
 `She's probably over at Arnalt's Pond,  now,  fishing for frogs.'
`What's she want frogs for?'  Jonah asked,  turning over a  broad,
flat toadstool with his toe. 

 `Didn't you know?   She turns them into horses  and sells them at
Banbury  Market.'   Jonah  pushed  Tybalt  into  a bush,  and they
fought,  pummeling each other  playfully  for  a while.   I leaned
against a tree, lost in my own thoughts, until they both leaped on
me and pushed me into the bush. 

 We found ourselves  only  a few minutes' walk from Arnalt's Pond,
so we  decided to sneak up and try to spot her catching frogs.  As
we  neared  the  pond,  we made our way more cautiously,  until we
could hear a clear soprano, singing:

 `Strip me from the bundle
  of balloons at every fair
  colourful and carefree
  designed to make you stare...'

 I carefully  crept closer  through the thinning undergrowth,  not
realising that Tybalt and Jonah had hung back, watching to see how
close I'd get.

  `but I'm lost, and I'm losing
  the thread that holds me down,
  and I'm up hot and rising
  in the - ah, got you!'

 That doesn't rhyme,  I thought,  as I caught sight of her,  black
velvet dress  hitched up  around her thighs,  wading  through  the
reeds  at the far end  of the pond.   She had  just caught a large
toad,  and  was carefully placing it in a bag.   I was momentarily
entranced  by the way  the brackish water  lapped around her legs,
when  she suddenly  turned  and  looked straight at me.   I froze. 

 `Why,  hello there,  Jermayn,'  she called to me.  `have you lost
something over there in the grass?'   I desperately wanted to turn
and run,  but I was held there, like a rabbit cornered by a snake.
My mouth  was dry,  my eyes  opened wide  in  something  distantly
related to terror.   She  strode through the water,  knotting  and
tucking  her skirt  at her side,  holding the bag above the water,
without taking her eyes from mine.    The rest of the world seemed
to sway  and swirl  around an axis that ran from her eyes to mine,
the  branches of trees  on the  periphery of my vision  seeming to
shift in  sympathetic motion  with her  short blonde hair  as  she
approached  me.   My  breath  was  stopped  somewhere  south of my
throat.  She emerged from the pond, her white legs glistening, and
noting a blade of grass stuck to her thigh, I found myself wanting
to pick it off,  and then  run my hands up her legs  and to stroke
her hips.   She seemed to realise my desire, although I swear that
I had not moved a muscle.   She undid the knot that held her skirt
up, and as it dropped to drape her legs, I regained enough control
to spring up from the crouching position I had held,  only to trip
over a gnarled tree-root and fall flat on my back.    She giggled,
and held her hand out to help me up.  After a moment's hesitation,
I took it.   It felt cold  and the grip was  firmer than  a girl's
should be if she had  spent her life indoors,  dicing herbs into a
cauldron. 

 She smiled and said, `You naughty little boy. Spying on me! Well,
you will be in a position to watch me as much as you like,  soon.'

 As she tugged me to my feet, I felt that I wanted to escape more
than ever, but I followed her quietly.

 Her cottage was deep in the woods,  far  from the village and the
barley-fields that surrounded it.  The trees that grew here seemed
bigger and the foliage darker than the forestry that Tybalt, Jonah
and I frequented.  Some of them seemed twisted into unusual poses,
as if  they had once been alive  and had  somehow been frozen into
those agonised poses.   I became aware  firstly  of  a deep,  rich
odour,  the smell of fresh earth after an autumn rain,  mixed with
the  sharp tang  of pine needles,  and then  I  heard  her singing
softly:

    `We'll wait in stone circles
     'till the force comes through,
     Lines join in faint discord
     As the Stormwatch brews...'

 I had been following a couple of yards behind her,  and there was
just  enough light  to see  that the  back of her  skirt  had been
dipped in the pond and was clinging to the outline of her hips and
her behind.  With nothing else particularly interesting to look at
as I followed her,  deep in some mindless trance,  I  gazed at the
feminine sway of her rear  as she stepped lightly along the uneven
track.   I began to feel  an unfamiliar stirring  in the pit of my
stomach, or possibly a bit lower. 

 She stopped at a clearing a few yards from her cottage. Through a
window,  I could see part of a large four-poster bed, some clothes
draped  over one  of  the  posts.   Around me,  the trees had been
cleared  to leave a circle about twenty yards across in the middle
of the forest, outside her bedroom window. 

 She led me over towards the middle of the circle.  She cast about
for a few moments,  as if seeking the exact centre,  then she drew
her dagger, closed her eyes, muttered something and let it drop to
the ground.  It stuck in the soft earth, point first.  She glanced
down, noted where it had hit,  pulled it out and dug her heel into
the spot a couple of times.   With each stroke, as she dug deeper,
my fear increased.   When she had  gouged out  a pit  about a foot
across, she stepped back and nodded with satisfaction.  She turned
to face me and a cold shock ran through me. 

 `Jermayn,' she murmured,  `come here.  Kneel down.'  I did so, my
knees  trembling  with  barely suppressed rebellion.   She kneeled
with me,  and  took  my  hands  in hers.   She gazed into my eyes,
smiled warmly,  and  some of my fear  evaporated.  She put one arm
around my neck, drew me closer and kissed me. 

 This was the first time that I'd been close to a girl; I'd always
wondered what the fascination was...  I found that I could move my
arms,  so I  held her to me  and returned the kiss.   That strange
feeling  which  was  centered around  my  groin intensified as she
rubbed  her  free  hand  down  my stomach and between my legs.  My
breathing  grew  deeper  as  she  undid  the front of my pants and
grasped  my  penis  in her  fist.   When  her lips weren't pressed
against mine, she was whispering in some strange language that had
a  lot of words like `achad' and `khad'ulu';  I began to feel very
strange,  in that my breathing seemed to be slowing down,  and yet
as  her  hand moved slowly but insistently,  there  was  a nervous
warmth  in  the  pit of my stomach that  was  slowly  growing more
intense. 

 Then,  I  felt  a  pressure  building  up  within me,  which grew
stronger  as  she pressed her lips against mine and squeezed me in
her fist.   My eyes opened wide in panic as she forced my erection
downwards,  rubbing her hand up and down my shaft rapidly, forcing
her tongue between my lips.  She seemed to be tracing some sort of
pattern on my tongue with hers.  I felt a sudden flow of warmth to
my groin,  the  muscles  along  my  back  and  around  my buttocks
contracted sharply,  and the warmth  seemed to rush out of me.   A
slow  shock-wave of pleasure surged up my insides,  bringing a hot
flush to my face,  and my vision blurred.  Despite my paralysis, I
managed to gasp with the sensation.  Anya held my erection pointed
downwards,  into the hole.   After a few moments, she released her
hold on me and stood up.  `Very good, Jermayn.  Now, stand up.'  I
felt dizzy and somewhat drained,  but with her help,  I  staggered
upright.  I stumbled,  and put one bare foot in the hole.  A spasm
of  agony  shot up my leg,  like cramp,  and  I  cried  out.   She
released me,  and I would have fallen back, but my foot was firmly
fixed in the hole and my leg had stiffened.   It turned numb,  and
the  pain  shot down my other leg and up through my stomach at the
same time.  I don't mind admitting that I screamed then;  the pain
was  terrible.   She  suddenly  took my hands and drew my arms up.
The pain shot up between my shoulders and seemed to pierce the top
of my skull.   I  saw  my  splayed-out  fingers suddenly turn dark
brown.   As my shoulders stiffened and turned numb,  I  managed to
face forwards again,  to see a  branch grow from my chest and poke
up,  mimicking my arms.  My head was forced back, my vision dimmed
and I lost all feeling.

 I  regained a sort of  consciousness  later.  I couldn't tell how
long it had been.   I was able to sense everything around  me in a
dim fashion; it was strange to be able to see in all directions at
once.   The  numbness  (and,  thank  the  gods, the pain also) had
faded,  and now I had a vague sense of my own position.    My arms
had thickened,  my fingers had grown longer,  and in some horrible
fashion, my head had become two bifurcated branches.  It was a bit
like leaning to one side  -  except  I  felt that I was leaning to
both  sides  at  once.   A soft breeze blew through my leaves.   I
could sense the sun rising behind me and to the left,  and I began
my first twelve-hour-long inhalation.

 A few days later,  she emerged from her cottage.   I  could sense
her vaguely, even hear and understand her when she spoke to me.  I
got an impression that she had some glittering metal implements in
her hands.   Then,  I felt a sharp pain down between where my legs
used to be,  as she hacked away at the branch that grew from where
my erection had been.   She carved the branch  and filed it with a
flat piece of sandstone,  until she had fashioned it into a smooth
protruberance  with  a  rounded  end.   Although  the  rest of the
details were blurred,  I  plainly saw her crooked grin as she hung
onto  the  branch  that grew from my chest and then slowly lowered
herself.  Repeatedly.

 She visits me every few days, knowing full well that I can't feel
anything.  I can hear her gasps and moans,  even sense the way she
shudders  as she hangs onto my branch.  I'd ignore her altogether,
but it's so damned boring, being a tree.
                 -------------------------------

<1st attachment end>


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