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2021-04-15 13:31:59 -05:00

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Witch
I discovered that Elizabeth was a witch many years ago, though
she did her best to hide the fact. She told nobody. She was a young
girl with a terrible secret, and so she kept to herself. Yet somehow
I knew. She was different, and something in me understood why.
It was her mysteriousness that made me suspicious. No, not
suspicious, exactly. My parents, my ancestors, were foreigners. Our
family migrated from country to country, never staying in one place
for very long, and over the many generations, we had forgotten our
origins. We were strangers, always and everywhere. We understood
what it meant to be the victims of hatred, the fear and hatred that
every society has for strangers. We knew what it felt like to hide
in the cellar while villagers raided the house looking for someone to
lynch, someone to blame for all the hunger and sickness and crime in
their little world. After centuries of being feared and hated by
everyone, we learned to pretend. We learned to blend in, to hide.
It took a lifetime of practice.
I adopted her after her parents died of tuberculosis. She was
too new at the game. She was the first witch born to her family.
She made mistakes. She didn't fit in.
"There's something unnatural about her," the villages would
whisper to each other. "She's far too clever. She knows things she
shouldn't."
And then the rumors started. We lived in a small town where
everyone knew everyone else. A single unkind rumor could start a
whole avalanche of them. It was the way a small town treated a
stranger in their midst. It was vicious, stupid.
"She's bad luck. She passed by my house yesterday, and my cake
fell. That's the third time this happened to me."
"She's immodest. Doesn't she know that she is a beautiful girl?
You should have seen what she wore at the dance! How she flirted
with the men! I had to practically drag my husband away from her
before she seduced him."
"She cursed her, I know it, that's why she's sick. Elizabeth
has always been jealous of Cathy and how popular she is."
In the end, it wasn't the little accidents and rumors that did
her in. It was her compassion for the weak and the evil. She loved
those whom others despised and she had no regard for those whom
everyone respected. She had no regard for me.
For that, I hated her.
Earlier that night, I caught her touching herself. Every night
for the past week, right after she took her bath, I could hear her
soft moans as I walked by her room. Tonight I watched her.
She knelt on her bed and closed her eyes. She breathed deeply
for a minute.
Almost casually, the fingers right hand brushed her left wrist
and moved upwards along her arm. Her hand stopped at her shoulder to
rub there, gently, then continued upwards to caress her neck and
ears. Her head leaned towards her hand langorously as if touched by
a lover. She was smiling. Who or what was she imagining?
Her finger traced circles on her nightgown around where her
nipples poked into the fabric. She came closer and closer to her
nipples without quite touching them. She loved to tease herself.
Slowly, her knees spread. The fingers of her left hand caressed
her inner thigh and moved upwards under the hem of her nightgown.
Two fingers disappeared inside her and she moaned. Her right hand
reached under her nightgown and rubbed her hard nipples as if they
hurt.
She pinched her nipple hard. She whimpered in pain before she
could bite down on her lip to stifle the cry. Her hips thrusted
back and forth against her hand.
"Hurt me," she whispered, trembling.
I knew then that she was thinking of the devil. I couldn't
stand it any longer. I dashed in the room and slapped her face just
before she could come.
"Witch!" I cried.
She leapt out of bed, but I reached the door before her and
locked it.
Elizabeth stood in front of me with her arms at her sides. The
tears that streaked her face so beautifully sparkled in the
flickering candlelight. She was crying quietly. What right did she
have to feel sorry for herself? Angrily, I tore the nightgown from
her body. She stood naked, without pretense. Her body still steamed
from the moist heat of the bath and the sweat from her sexual
exertions made her body glisten. Please, she spoke in a raw
whisper. At once, I wanted to protect her and ravish her, to hold
her in my arms tenderly and feel her struggling as I entered her. I
wanted to make her feel pleasure against her will and to open her and
touch her and feel her vulnerability and humiliation as she came. It
was delicious, the violence and tenderness I felt for her at that
moment.
Taking her left nipple between my fingers, I dragged her back to
the bed and shoved her face down into the mattress. I tore her
nightgown into strips and tied her wrists and ankles to the bedposts
with them. Then I whipped her with my belt until she begged.
I pushed myself into her anus, knowing the tension in her
buttocks from the whipping would make the pain of penetration
unbearable. She cried out several times as I struggled to enter her.
I lay on top of her, not moving, for a moment. I could feel her
wince, her muscles tightening around me involuntarily, every time my
cock pulsed inside her.
I stroked her hair softly as if to comfort her. It's alright, I
said. I held her as gently and as lovingly as when she came to my
room after a nightmare. My lips covered her neck with kisses and
tenderly I kissed the tears from her face. I rubbed and kneaded her
back until she finally relaxed. I whispered in her ear and told her
that I loved her and that I would always love her, I would love her
forever. Something inside her mind snapped, then. The fear and
willfulness were all stripped away, and only the love and the pain
remained. She was open and truly naked. Innocent.
I began to move inside her. She was still deliciously tight,
but it no longer hurt her. Her mound pressed into the bed in time
with my thrusting. She began to pant and gasp. Her eyes were shut
tightly but the tears still streamed down her face. I licked at them
greedily, caressing her face and listening to her gasps slowly become
moans, growing louder and louder.
"Stop, it's too much. Please, I can't stand it, I..."
All of a sudden she cried out and her hips shuddered powerfully
against the mattress. Her fingers clenched and unclenched as her
arms strained against her bonds. She contracted rhythmically against
my cock and I came inside her with a shout.
Afterwards, I untied her. She lay limp and unmoving, exhausted.
Her face looked drained and surprisingly expressionless. I couldn't
even begin to understand what she was thinking. I just held her
quietly as she fell asleep.
She ran away not long after. She knew she couldn't keep her
secret forever in a small town like ours. I hope she fares well,
wherever she is.
I love you, you little witch.