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