Moonlight and Witchfire
My Grammar checker had a fit, so that usually means I have prose :p Not so must a story as an encounter between the witch Pandora and one of the other residents of her glade. Not really sure more "plot" is really needed.
At any rate, dusting off a few things I've shared narrowly for more public posting. Eventually hoping to produce some new adult and erotic to post here.
The light of the full moon creeps into the clearing and discovers someone already there. It is a female, fur white in the glow of the moon, vulpine and voluptuous. One of the fox maids of the Grove. She stands against the trunk of a leaning tree, her hands entangled in the vines that grow there, resting her chest and cheek against the trunk of the old tree. The moonlight runs down the curve of her shoulders and the rounder curves where her strong hind legs meet her body. Her tail is low, twitching occasionally. Her eyes are closed, her breathing is deep. She does not sleep. She waits.
There is another light on the edge of the clearing. These blink and watch, catching a bit of the moonlight but glowing with their own light ... and power. The moon finds the body of the feline, the Witch of the Grove, dark blue stripes on fur nearly silver in the moonlight. Yet there is gold in those eyes, and fire.
The Maid knows the witch is there. Her eyes remain closed, yet she knows -- feels the presence there, prickling the hair on the back of her neck. She sets her jaw and waits. The first sound she hears is a whistle and a crack, shocking to her ears even before the pain registers across her back. Her eyes fly open, but her jaw is set, determined not to cry out.
A snort from the witch. It is expected, yet still a temper flares, a fire burns. She raises her switch again, half a span long and a knuckle thick. The muscles of the feline's shoulders tense and she swings again, seeking tenderness. She knows her subject well, and will find it. The third swing draws blood, glistening faintly on the rose cane's thorns, but the blood runs in thorn and fur before the fire of pain is too much and the maid cries out. Even if begging would help, even if pleading would stop it, she will not, and soon enough she is beyond that anyway, incoherent and unintelligible.
The witch finds some voice as well, a guttural howl as she swings her thorn switch, arcane and strange, a sound of a force of nature, a storm given form. The blood runs down the maid's back, black in the moonlight, glistening as it slides over the curve of her hips and buttocks, diverted rivulets filling deep gashes in her skin. Soon another glow glistens on the wet form of agony, a deep red flame. A lick of hellfire, touching flesh, consuming spirit, made visible in this place outside of places. The switch is soon engulfed in it and the witch enflamed as well.
And agony rains down --- until it breaks.
Collapsed against the wood, the maid cries soundless tears, her body limp, sodden, every muscle in agony. The broken switch falls to the ground, the broken witch stands before her handiwork. Hellfire still licks the blood from the witch's hand. Not all the blood on the thorns was the maid's. Clenching her burning fist before her face she closes her eyes. Seeking. Concentrating. Binding. Banishing. As she uncurls her fist the fire turns sapphire and sky.
Today is not the day.
Her eyes still closed, she reaches forward, trusting her power to find the way. When the witch's hand touches the sticky shoulder before her, the maid's head snaps up and both gasp.
The maid's body, still burning with pain, shudders at this touch which evokes all the torture. Every strike is sharp in her memory, every rasp of thorn against her torn skin and mangled fur.
The witch shudders as well, aware of the exquisite pain as she touches the maid, her own body now racked with the pain she must evoke ... and endure. It is the curse of the Sapphire Witch, in order to heal it, she has to feel it.
The witch steps close to the maid, touches the ivy and the woody tendrils relax. Aching muscles protest the release as they protested the captivity, prickles of pain flashing through both the females in tandem. When the witch's own body touches the raw wounds, both scream in unison, joined now in pain, the cries of the witch hot in the ears of the maid. The witch presses herself close to the maid's writhing body, feeling on her own back the agony she inflicted ... the agony she inflicts. Sapphire flame consumes them both, tracing echoes of wounds in the strangely shifting stripes on the witch's back.
The maid shrinks from the pressure, trapped against the rough bark of the tree, further discomfort, excruciating ... exquisite. Bracing the tender paws of her aching hands against the tree, she grits her teeth and pushes her back against the breasts and belly of the witch, searching through the pain ... feeling ....
A single word escapes the maid's lips as she finds it, "Yes."
The witch shudders as sensations flash across her body, echoed and amplified between them. The maid is pushing back, and the curl of her tail tickles the witch's buttocks as she finds the heat of the witch's sex with the bone at the base of her tail. The witch pants now, grinding her aroused sex against the maid's rump and tail, maddeningly aroused by the twitches of that tail against the hot flesh.
Finally the witch can stand no more, the fire on her ... in her ... can wait no longer. Bloodying the back of her own hand against the rough bark, she thrusts it between the maid's pelvis and the unyielding tree. Touching the maid, pleasuring her, offering the ministrations the maid could not receive grinding her own hips against the tree; she finally feels the pleasure wash over her, the impending release.
The moonlight is fading now and shapes become indistinct. It could be a single beast, the rhythm one voice. The only light for a while the dim glow of sapphire flame.
Soon enough the sun will find them, bright on the smooth white fur of the maid fox intertwined with the dozing witch. Only the sharpest eyes will notice that the maid's fur is whiter than it has been in a long time ... and the witch's stripes have shifted again.