Little Witches

An excerpt from Little Witches

The horned moon shined thru the leafy tops of the mighty oak trees and scattered all around the clearing. Jaza stood over the naked squire in her ceremonial robes, chanting the spell of divination. Umia kneeled beside the young man where he lay, drunk with wine and the powder of nazcali, on the wooden altar. She bent and suckled at his growing manhood.

"O Mother, give to us the sight of a thousand eagles. Give to us the eyes of a thousand owls."

Umia's sensual tongue caressed the captive squire's rigid shaft, making it gleam in the light of the moon and fire. "He is ready," the breathless redhead spoke.

Jaza let the robes slip from her shoulders and fall about her on the leafy ground, uncovering her naked, alabaster form. She straddled the squire and spread her pale nether-lips. "Begin," Umia urged, taking the young man's bound wrists and holding him firmly.

Jaza squatted over the young man and guided the glistening stem into her moist, pink slit. It was thick and firm, squeezing into her, stretching her tight young cunny open, making her wetter and warmer than she had ever imagined.

"Give us the sight of the stag, o Mother! Give us the eyes of the wolf!" she cried, lowing herself gently, pulling back, and lowering again, taking the hard manhood into her womb completely.

Suddenly, there was a crash of men in the underbrush. "There the witches be!" came the deep howl of of the Sheriff of Barnham.

Umia stood, naked and defiant, and conjured up a flash of lightning from her hand. "Back, mortals!" she cried, and loosed the white fire upon the men-at-arms.

While her cousin protected her, Jaza continued to grind her hips against the boy's, lost in the trance of magic and ecstasy.

All models are 18 years or older, regardless of the text.