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Under The Spell of a Winter Witch

Wanton Lust in The Chalcolithic Age

By Agent Ranch HandPublished 10 months ago 7 min read
Photo by Daphne on Unsplash with Canva By Author

A reaping of rabbit was hung over the fire. The hut was warm and smelled of freshly skinned meat and berries. Spices were coated onto the meat and the fat was dripping into the fire, igniting the flames, advancing it and parting shadows, creating mountain passes. The smoke was spectral in its passage through the nick in the ceiling. She sat on the floor, chanting a repetition of cant that her mother had passed to her. The movements in her neck, shoulders, and hands were a dance in the dark room, a striptease to the gods and goddesses of old.

She wore only a fox’s peel to cover her thighs and mound, a loose covering. Her breasts were adorned in rawhide hair from a boar, and necklaces of beads were strung from catgut and horse’s manes. Her hair lay in locks and was held together with bone fragments. She wore a bronze circlet on her arm and through her nose was a thin bone.

Soon after, a man came to her, as they do, for words.

He was too thin from too few meals, but hard and knotty from his travels and experience. His club was wide and heavy, a long spike through the shaft. His hair was long and red. He placed his quiver and bow by the opening and came close to sit by the fire. His hands opened up towards the flame, and he watched as she finished her ritual. He watched her and was hypnotized by her dance.

“Cinda, will the herds be enough this winter, or shall we send a party further south?” he asked.

“She does not know these things. She will have to consult their counsel. Only through their eyes can she know such things,” she purred. Her voice changed almost immediately as she opened her eyes.

“You may stay here while she discerns it. You may eat my meat and warm yourself by my fire. Sleep near me for warmth,” she added.

“I may eat your meat and share your fire, but I am bound to another,” the man replied.

“I am bound to another as well. But for me to gain this knowledge, I will need a sacrifice from you.”

“What kind of sacrifice? I have nothing to offer you but myself.”

“That is all I need.”

They sipped wine from a flask. It was bitter but strong. He much preferred goat’s milk, but Cinder the winter witch had no goat, only a black ram. They ate the greasy rabbit, cleaned its bones, and sucked what marrow they could. She kept these for drying. Whatever her plans, they were for her alone. He would not meddle in the affairs of dark magic to ask such things.

After the wine had been spent, and their minds were free, she complained of being too warm, so she shed her skins and began to wash herself in front of him. She used warmed snow from a basin. She asked him to do it also, as he’d obviously been in the wild for a few days to find her. He did as she bid and washed his face and chest and his underarms.

He stripped naked and allowed her to pour water on his body. She admired his physique and scarred complexion. His hair, long and red, was dripping and clinging to his chest and back. He ran his fingers through it, pulling the knots and clumps of mud from it. She returned with more hot water and poured again. He was grateful.

He returned once again to the mat where he’d eaten and watched her prepare her sleeping area. The shadows in the room and the darkness played with his eyes. His skin tingled, and he felt not like himself. She walked to him and gave him another drink. Her belly button and mound was in his face as she stood before him. Her breasts swung as she bent to take the cup from him. He looked up at her and was pleased by her smile.

“Many thanks. It has been a while since I washed.”

“I could see. I wanted you to be as comfortable as you could be in my home.”

He was enamored with her presence and beauty, and he tried to hide his delight with his crossed legs. He was becoming drunk with passion for her and her for him. He maintained himself because, as he had said, he was bound to another, and she was giving him a son.

“It will be freezing by morning. Come to my bed. We will keep each other warm,” she purred.

“Nay, I cannot. Not in good conscience can I do this.”

“At least let me put more wood on the fire then,” she replied.

“Let me,” he said, getting up to see her stores of branches outside. He retrieved a few hefty limbs and put them on. He noticed the room had another odor, but it was pleasant, and he laid the branches flat so that the fire could breathe.

He laid on his back beside the fire as she placed a skin over him. She went back to her bed and laid down.

The room began to swirl for him. He was now too hot to be under such heavy skins. Was it bear or moose? Three wolves stitched together? He unrolled it and closed his eyes again but heard a small noise. He saw her standing over him as he opened his eyes. Her skin glistened in the firelight. Her eyes glowed like a shimmer of shiny stones.

“Cinda, I —”

“I told you there was a sacrifice.”

“Yes, but my Freya?”

“You desire to know the direction of the herd?”


“Then I need this for the incantation.”

She kneeled down before him and dripped oil on his legs and cock. It was warmer than the air but not hot. She rubbed it in and around his legs and balls. He applied it to his hairy chest and his arms. She poured it on his head and neck. She rubbed it into his hair and beard. He was a nocturnal star gleaming in the hut from the fire. From the manipulation, his loins had grown and filled with blood and seed. She smiled at what she had fashioned. She took him in her mouth and tasted the sweet-smelling oils that she had buffed into his skin.

His back and rump thrust up into her lips as she reached and squeezed his rear to get him closer to her. His head was still swirling as if drunk. They were both enveloped in strange smoke as their oily bodies mingled and slid. His repetition sped, and she relaxed her mouth and slid her tongue across his shaft and away from him. He pulled her hair and head to his beardy mouth and kissed her deeply.

“Just tonight, Cinda.”

“Yes, my lord, King Ada.”

She climbed onto his waist, and he slid past her fur. She began to slide up and down on him as her groans became howls of passion. They rocked back and forth, kissing and exploring each other’s greasy bodies. She became rigid as her back arched back to accept his seed.

As they rested in each other’s arms, the smoke in the air took hold of them again and, as in a trance, his cock was swollen again and full of blood. He took her by her wide hips and thrust inside her, gripping her hair. He forced her to face away from him and sit on his member, bracing her up and against him over and over throughout the darkness, not spilling his seed to waste and worry.

Again, her lust grew, and she rose up from her slumber and slid up and down his tower. Her juices were steam in the hot room. Moments and long seconds passed. Her breasts were inflamed and wet with his dribble. Mouthy grazes and a final exhale caused her quakes to subside.

They laid back on the mat and rested. She rubbed her belly and looked into his eyes.

“The hex is far-reaching. They are in the mountain pass. Come to me again in the summer. I will have news of the harvest. Will you?”

“I will,” he replied. “I will return.”

fictionnsfweroticCONTENT WARNING

About the Creator

Agent Ranch Hand

Writing is my hobby and I like to create fun sexy stories. They are always fiction, unless otherwise noted. Follow me for more.

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