Man and Wife: A new Dawn

PROLOGUE

Clad in a black lace dress, the lady was.

Dark wavy hair fallen in tresses over her shoulders, lips as red as hell's embers, a net veil embellished with crystals worn over her face, it was no shock that the lot of the lads sat in the room, had their composure snatched over such attraction which had strutted onto the stage less than a minute ago.

Gaping eyes were found directed her way, well-to-do men, seemingly distraught over the profile behind the veil.

One would think such commotion the lady caused was of the manner in which she made her entry.

Well, that for one could be attributed. After all, she had in fact waddled into the room with a lingerie that was just enough to leave the lot of these men in impermissible longings.

Just how much those legs she carried stole so much of the show.

And certainly, the lady knew what she was doing, when she pried the hem of her dress further up her thighs, leaving those eyes itching to have even better view of all that came with her.

Strings of Violin, accompanied with the blare of trumpets, had at once sent the lady into a slow sensual dance.

Hips swaying side to side, derrière almost peeking out her skimpy dress, her bodouir demanded the attention of every gentleman in the room.

She went from slow rhythms, transiting to clean sways, her soft movements, enough to have those ponkers sat in the audience cradling their balls in lust.

They all watched her move her figure, some gaping in desire, others dazed at how a lady could sum up all that made up perfection.

At least, that was what they thought of her.

She was magnificent, every bit delectable, and on this ground, they were ready to lose their lives if it meant being spared a minute with the Belle.

But it never ended there.

They were locked on to that object of lechery.

The lady now had her legs spread apart, reaching slowly into the air, and if it wasn't for the red lace panties securing her lady parts, perhaps she just might have killed the lot of those men in sheer salacity.

But damn the dame, for she knew so well what she was doing.

She in fact, was better informed.

The stage lights had settled over her silhouette, in the time she let loose the lace robe worn over her body.

And while quietude soon found abode in the room, this charmer took claim of the stage.

~~~

~ ISABELLA ~

"The witch!"

I swung my eyes at the call of that voice, scarfing the room only to find men gazing up at my figure like I was some trophy which they were yet to get their hands on.

Perhaps, they thought so highly of me, that for the past hour since I had set foot on this stage, they hadn't returned to the comfort of their seats to spare their aching legs some rest.

How could they?, when in fact the one they termed The Witch had now taken the platform to snatch the vigor off these lust-driven bastards.

"Witch!!!"

Why do they call me that?

Perhaps, it was of the fact that I was known to cast a spell on every lad who gazed at me. So, the gossip stated.

This time, I was just quick to lock eyes on the speaker, and at the pry of my gaze, I noticed the man shift on his feet, scrutiny doing enough to falter.

He was a man in his late fifties, as much as I deduced. Rotund figure, looking like it would drop any moment soon, and one would assume he would be a man of a different caliber judging the grey hairs lining his head, but you see, all men found lingering three feet anywhere around 'the shack' where all the same.

They all came here for the same reason. To satiate the longings of their souls.

And I tell you, not a single one would take a step out, not until such cause was met.

I examined my on-lookers.

Scrutiny sailing through the sea of heads, taking in every profile I was quick to set eyes on.

They all appeared same to me.

Hungry bastards!

Hungry for my body, hungry for pleasure.

And again, on a cold night in the modest town of Sicily, they all had assembled, hoping for another show the witch would play for them.

On this floor, I am the witch, and those gaping eyes, they are my subjects.

From the sway of my hair, to the swing of my arms, down to the push of my hips, and finally the steps of my feet, all of me is known to pull them all into some trance, and perhaps that was what happened to have the name stick by.

I was known to hypnotize the lot of these bastards, leaving them pleading for their sanity the instant I take leave off the floor, and while the lot of them would refuse taking their leave not until they've exhausted their kids' college funds, their house rents, care and hospitality bills, and all of the funds which would cover their feed for the next year all in this room, just so they would have a space with me.

All so they would share the same air with 'The Witch'. But I tell you, Bastiano never lets them through.

The swine knew what he was doing while he employed me to be the opening act of each show every rising day. Having these ponkers beg for a moment of ecstasy, all so he would suck them dry.

Only the lucky few were allowed a moment of glee with me. And when I say lucky, I mean the misers. Those lads whose pockets never stopped running.

They were the kind he sent me after.

He had turned me into his own money dispenser, and I having a dozen men who kept watchful eye on me, had not a thing to do about it.

I could see the prompter reminding me that I had a few minutes to spare, and it wasn't so long after, that Matteo appeared upstage signaling for me to wrap it up.

But I tell you, these figures were never ready to let me go.

I heard the grumbles which were now arising. Complaints erupting about how the crew lacked manners in choosing to interrupt their joys.

"We want 'The Witch!"

I heard those voices begin, yet some of my colleagues backstage were already arriving to play their roles in the event of tonight.

"The Witch! The Witch! The Witch!"

And while the chants of my moniker broke out in the crowd, I basked in such power bestowed upon me on this stage.

This is who I am now.

I was the evil here, after all.

For I am 'The Witch'.