Chattooga River II:  Maggie and Magic

H. Jekyll

(MF, magic, anal, rape?)

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To, and for, Maggie.

This is the first of three very short stories I wrote 
for Maggie McGee before she went rafting on the 
Chattooga, as lovely a river as you will find, in the 
summer of 2000.  

Copyright 2001 by H. Jekyll.  Permission is freely 
granted to post on any site that does not charge for 
entrance, as long as proper attribution is given to 
the author.  The story should not be read by anyone 
under the legal age to read sexually explicit 
stories, or by anyone in a location where it is 
illegal to read such stories.  

I appreciate comments and inquiries, even criticisms.  
Yes I do.  Most writers do.  Please send them to: 
h_jekyll2000@yahoo.com

My stories are archived in the Authors' section of 
the Alt Sex Stories Text Repository, at:  
ftp://ftp.asstr.org/pub/Authors/h_jekyll/

*  *  *  *  *



You have pretended to be a witch, but you don't know 
the magic I control.  My power is great in places I 
have visited recently, where my essence is strong.  
It is strong on the river in the weeks after I was 
there, waiting for you to raft in my wake.

You can feel my presence, can't you?  Don't try to 
fool me.  I know everything you experience, Maggie.  
I know that at one point, and just for a second, you 
could swear one of the other rafters was me.  It 
seems odd to you, but two or three times you thought 
you heard my voice.  What was I saying?

There are three rafts in this group, enough people to 
keep mysterious things at bay, or at least enough for 
you to think so.  You concentrate on your chores as 
you portage the raft down to the river, climb aboard, 
practice rowing together.  You're getting to know 
each other and the river.  You become entranced by 
the river, by all the birds, from raptors to 
hummingbirds to tiny green birds that you've never 
seen before, by the changing color and the clarity of 
the water, the stillness of the quiet stretches that 
seems eaten up by the voices of the rafters, and the 
rushing sound of the water when you approach rapids.  
You stop thinking of me entirely.

When you stop for your lunch at a little beach, after 
the rafts have been pulled ashore and while the 
guides are busy spreading the food out, you explore a 
little rise to the right.  There is a path, a very 
steep path, and once you have climbed it you are 
shrouded in small trees.  The moment you are there 
you feel fingers on your nipples.  

You know it is me, almost instantly.  You hardly have 
time to be startled before you know.  Hands squeeze 
your nipples, sometimes hard.

You gasp and reach your hands to your breasts, but 
there isn't anything there.  You can't see anything, 
and you feel nothing with your hands, but your 
breasts can feel me.  You stand perfectly still; you 
feel the first stirring in your sex now, but you 
don't have any idea what to do, and then you are 
called to lunch.  The nipple play stops.

You eat little, talk little.  You move away from 
everyone else, to the water, and pretend to be 
looking at it, but really you are wondering about 
what you have just felt.  You think:  Did it happen?  
Am I nuts?  

Yes, it did.  No, you're not.  Let me demonstrate.

The hands start caressing your pussy and you are 
immediately tense.  You move your own hands to your 
pussy, furtively, glancing over your shoulder to see 
if anyone is looking.  It is as before:  your hands 
don't feel anything but your own body.  Your clothes 
aren't moving.  As far as the ghostly hands are 
concerned your hands and clothes aren't there at all.  
They are moving over your sex again and again.  
Again.  They are moving continuously, so softly, so 
perfectly, exactly the way you like it done.  My 
never-never hands, the ones that could seduce 
Tinkerbell away from Peter.  Oh your pussy can feel 
them wonderfully.  You realize that I am going to 
keep playing with you, and that you are helpless to 
affect what I will do.  If you were alone you would 
love this, you would give into it immediately.  Give 
into it?  You would demand it!  But what if these 
people see the effects on you of my unearthly sexing?

"Please, Henry," you whisper, "People will notice.  
They'll think I'm crazy.  Please don't do this."  The 
fingers pinch your clitoris and you gasp:  "Oh!  
Please Henry.  Okay, okay.  But please don't 
humiliate me.  Do it, but please..."

You stop as a wave of pleasure rises.  Not an orgasm, 
but a current nonetheless.  You are so worried, and 
so excited.

While everyone climbs into rafts the fingers caress 
you only very lightly, mostly around your sex rather 
than on it.  They keep you high, but by concentrating 
you can paddle with the others.  Then, at the 
entrance to the first rapid after lunch, the fingers 
begin to play with your ass.  You wriggle and move so 
your anus is right on the rubber wall of the raft, 
but it makes no difference.  You feel me playing, 
then inserting a finger, then rubbing around and 
around your ass while I loosen you and open you.  

You have to stop rowing, and the raft gets stuck on a 
rock.  You try to help your crew but you keep having 
to stop with the waves of pleasure and, yes, some 
moments of pain.  The other people seem to think 
you're just not very effective.  Two fingers, a 
thumb, are now moving in and out of you, and another 
hand is playing with your pussy.  You can't think of 
anything else; and you can't affect the hands at all.  
You daren't ask me to stop, for fear of how I will 
respond.

Going over the seven-foot drop the raft almost 
capsizes, and you do fall out.  This is the first 
spill, so everyone gets a good laugh while you're 
pulled back aboard.  They think your panting is from 
the exertion.  

The drop is almost a little fall.  Just beyond it, 
people are given the option of walking back upstream 
and swimming from a small pool, though a cave-like 
opening in the rocks, to its underside.  Everyone 
else goes but you stay back, claiming the walk is too 
much for you, and as soon as they have started away 
my hands pull you to your knees and push you down so 
you are on all fours.  The hands keep playing with 
you.  You can't help trying to feel them with your 
own hands.  

"Henry, Henry, they will catch us.  Please!"

Then you feel a penis at your ass and you know what 
is coming.  You wonder:  what do I do?  But you don't 
have to do much.  Your ass is open under your clothes 
and you feel a penis, my penis, at it.  There is 
pushing and I am in you, pushing all the way in, 
giving you that sensation that is so strangely 
different from coitus, a mass filling you up from the 
wrong direction and never going the way you try to 
direct it.  

Your ass is so much more sensitive to pressure and 
pushing than is your vagina.  The prick moves in and 
out, not rapidly but deliberately, all the way both 
ways, while the hands play with your pussy and your 
breasts, stroking lightly and continuously, not 
letting one sensation fade before the next one is 
layered on.

You are submitting to this.  What else can you do?  
You are getting so high, so close now.  This strange 
rape, mysterious lovemaking, has you, and you begin 
making sex sounds, pushing against me, afraid of 
being caught but actually more turned on by the 
prospect.  You're almost coming, almost there, 
almost, then you begin to come enormously, and just 
as you start to scream a hand clamps over your mouth 
and muffles you, so you cry and moan against the hand 
until you are finished.  

Then the penis pulls out of you and the hands 
dissolve, and there is nothing there but you and your 
gaping anus.  That and a head full of sensations and 
thoughts that swirl together while you fall to your 
side until your breathing becomes normal.  It is only 
now that you realize that you saw the hand that 
covered your mouth.  It was flesh and bone.  You 
reach back inside your swimsuit, to your ass, where 
you feel something warm and viscous, and your hand 
comes away with a little milky fluid.  By smell it is 
real cum, nothing ghostly.  You lick it and wait for 
the others to return.

