Authors: Brittanee Farrow
My mind is distracted, and the sewing work I complete is basically worthless. The stitches are uneven and nowhere close to a straight line. Feeling my forehead, mother determines that I must be unwell from the upsetting sights of the trial. She sends me to bed, where I begin to plan.
I need either some clothing from Aaron or hair. We’re in the closest space at church, but my mother would notice if I took a lock of his hair. There are few options I can think of, so I settle on sneaking into his room at the boarding house. In broad daylight I might be seen, but at night he is likely to be in his room, so I need a window of time after dark when he won’t be there.
My chance comes sooner than I expect. There is a meeting called late one night, when Reverend Parris’ daughter and niece fall into fits. Most of the town is there, but I claim to feel unwell and am left behind. From the tiniest slit in the curtains I watch as my neighbors leave their homes to attend the meeting, illuminated by lanterns that swing as they walk. As the church doors close and the street is empty, I creep from the house.
It’s dark, but I do not risk carrying a lantern. Light from the full moon guides me, which is a good sign. At the boarding house, I find the third window and push with all my strength. It opens an inch, and I repeat the process until the space is big enough for me to wiggle through.
His room is small and sparse. Few clothes remain, but I see a white long shirt lying over the chair. I had debated cutting this with shears or tearing the fabric, but I realize that a jagged tear has more possible explanations than a precise square of fabric missing, so I rend a piece from the hem.
There is a knock at the door, and I worry I’ve been too loud or drawn attention. In a panic, I hide under the bed as the door opens and a light shines in.
“See, Faith? Nothing in there.”
“I thought I heard a sound—I’m sorry.”
The two squabble as they leave the room, taking the light with them. I don’t risk breathing until I hear their footsteps fade away. My hands are shaking but I clutch the fabric, and then tuck it into my corset. Fear has turned my limbs to jelly, but I have to be gone from here before Aaron returns, and home in bed before my mother and Rashi are back.
I climb out the window, my dress catching on a nail, but I reach down and pull the fabric free. My arms strain to lower the window, and it closes with some effort.
Peering around the corner of the boarding house toward the church, I see shadows moving and people standing. They are preparing to leave. There’s no time to think or look around—I bolt across the street and down to my house, bursting inside just as the church doors open, people spilling out into the night. I race upstairs, and try to calm my beating heart and slow my ragged breaths, but within a minute I hear the house door open. Footsteps resound and more than one person climbs to my bedroom. In surprise I see my mother, Rashi, Reverend Parris and Aaron.
“She looks more feverish than when we left,” my mother admits, wringing her hands.
Reverend Parris leans down, shining a light in my face. When I squint but do not otherwise lash out, he seems relieved. “It’s not what the other girls have,” he determines, and my mother’s shoulders sag in relief. “They are fine in between the fits—no fever or pains. But when the fits strike, they convulse violently and complain of being bitten or scratched by invisible hands. Their bodies, when examined, are covered in bruises and scrapes,” he explains.
“Should we examine her,” Aaron asks quietly, his dark eyes intent upon mine.
“There is no need. She is not afflicted by witchcraft, but some fever. But if things change, let us know immediately.”
My mother nods, and they leave my room, the floor creaking with each step they take. Only Rashi remains behind, a finger pressed to her lips. We cannot talk while they are here, but something happened at that meeting. The Reverend would not deign to enter our house except for on some urgent business.
Downstairs, I can hear mother offer the men coffee or some food, but both decline. She bolts the door, and resumes her sewing by firelight.
Rashi finally whispers the news as though she were about to burst if she held it in any longer. “Aaron Pryor is a witch hunter,” she begins. “When he stood up I thought it would be the same as the other men say, with submerging witches. But he knows things.” Her eyes grow wide, the whites shining against her dark skin. “He said we need to use a witch cake for any suspected witches, because the water test doesn’t work and it kills people who aren’t witches. With the witch cake, you take the person’s urine, so the test is specific.”
“Does that work?”
Rashi nods. “Once the cake is made, it’s fed to a dog, and the dog will lead you to the person if he or she is a witch. Our bodies are changed by magic, and animals respond to it. There’s a strong pull not there with normal folk.”
“I have something of Aaron’s to make a doll with,” I admit. “I got it tonight.”
“Good. Because that man will find us if he is not brought under our influence. And we will be put to death.”
My mother calls for Rashi, and I am left alone, to my relief. Gently, I throw back the rug and wrench loose the board where the dolls are hidden. Zachary’s doll is already finished, but I have to stuff the piece of Aaron’s clothing into the other doll, then stitch it closed. My fingers are slick with sweat, but I sew quickly. Aaron is the threat right now, but I picture Zachary’s sad face and make an impulsive decision. Above the candle, I wave both dolls, repeating the words Rashi taught me.
“For you, I yearn; For me, you burn’.” They both lightly touch the flame, and as I pull my hand back, the fabric is warm to the touch, like a living person’s skin. I replace both dolls under the floorboard, and fix the rug. Then I wait.
It must be two hours I wait, lying in bed and picturing Aaron and Zachary. The sleepier I grow, the more unusual my thoughts become. First Aaron is kissing me, and then Zachary appears and begins undressing. Images overlap, until both men are in the same scene. My cravings are so powerful, two men seems like barely enough to satisfy me, and the pictures become more graphic as I wait, growing wetter.
The whole town is asleep when I hear a small shower of taps on my window. Normally I can sleep through anything, but something in me is pulled to the window. As I part the curtains, I am surprised to see Zachary.
He tries to yell something up to me, but I wave, motioning for him to be silent. Instinctively, I know he won’t leave without talking to me, so I tiptoe down the stairs, grab my cloak and walk around to him.
“I know this is unusual, but I had to see you.”
I’m silent for a moment. This is the point at which most girls would be coy, or play innocent. I brought him here for my pleasure, and don’t have time for play-acting.
“Good. I want you.”
At the reciprocation of his feelings, his strong arms close around me, pulling my body tight to his. The sensations are all new to me, and I can’t move for a few minutes, just letting him do what he will to me.
Once we’ve been kissing for a while, I regain my sense and pause long enough to say we need to go somewhere not in the open. He offers to bring me home, but of course that is still not private, so I lead him into the woods.
Moonlight breaks through in little ribbons between the tree cover, and he lies down, pulling me onto his strong frame. Lying this way I can feel him hard between my legs. Something deep in me aches to feel that hardness, and I unlace his breeches. Free of clothing, he is long, so long, and hard. The skin is miraculously soft but his rod is hard, and jumps when I touch it, even just with my fingertips. I pull aside my skirts and slide myself onto him.
It’s tight and painful, but only for a moment. I’m slick with desire, and there is no friction, only the sensation of being filled. He bucks into me, slowly at first, then with urgency, and he hits something inside that I didn’t know could feel this good. I knot my fingers in his golden hair, my chest brushing his, and in this closeness he rubs me inside and out as we race toward a climax. It’s a revelation, the feeling of him spurting inside, and it pushes me over the edge. I bury my face in his tensed chest, trying not to scream as my climax comes and comes, like ripples in the water.
I’m still not satisfied, and once we both have rested, I want to feel that again. Briefly, I wonder where Aaron is, but Zachary is more than willing to please me and I take full advantage.
He spreads out his cloak, and I lay on my back. He cradles me, lying on his side, and reaches a hand down between my legs. Curious, he sticks a finger inside, and feels the sticky wetness we make together. He rubs some of this on the little bead above my opening, and then begins to stroke me.
I’m sore but wanting, and he starts out slowly. It seems like an eternity, but every single touch feels amazing, and they build upon each other. My body arches, pushing myself harder into his hand, and he understands what I want. His strokes speed up, and my mouth is dry but I’m dripping wet between my legs. I reach down and feel him, hard as stone from stroking me. Holding his hard staff makes me wetter, and I clench inside thinking of how good it all feels. My chest is hot and I’m sweating as he takes me over the edge, rubbing me even as I come. The moan escapes my closed mouth, but I can’t be held back—the feeling is too intense and I have to smack his hand away, and he keeps stroking and my orgasm won’t stop.
We lie back, listening to the sounds of the woods. Everything is hyper-sensitive, and my hearing seems supernatural. When I look over, Zachary is still hard, and I want to play with him.
He breathes deeply as my hands grasp him firmly.
“Show me how,” I command, and his large hand covers mine, holding himself.
His grip is strong, and he moves up and down the length, taking me with him. Seeing him so aroused sets me off, and I pump harder, faster, rushing him to find pleasure. He cups his sack, holding them as I move up and down, until he begins to erupt, spraying his juice everywhere. In trying to be silent, his face is contorted in concentration and the intensity of the sensation, and I feel every wave of his pleasure in my hand, sharing the feeling.
Once we’ve rested enough, we get dressed and walk back to town. I instruct Zachary that I will reach out again when there’s time, but he cannot tell anyone what has happened, and he sneaks back to his house while I sneak back into mine.
Rashi is waiting for me upstairs. “How did it go?”
“Zachary was amazing,” I begin.
“And Aaron?”
“He didn’t show up. Do you know why?”
“You waved both dolls over the flame?” she clarifies.
“Yes, and said the words.”
“What did you get of Aaron’s?”
“Part of his long shirt.”
“And what did you use for Zachary?”
“His hair.”
Rashi thinks for a minute, and then has an idea.
“Both of these men are strong,” she starts. “Leaders of the pack. To compel them, you might need something physical from their bodies, not just a possession. Or it might be that two alphas can’t be made to work together. Hopefully it’s just the shirt.”
“Aaron is already suspicious of me—how am I going to get a physical part of his body?”
“We best figure something out,” she raises her eyebrows.
The glow of my time with Zachary fades as I remember this is no longer about my pleasure, but about our survival as witches.
Although my mind is occupied in finding a way to get some of Aaron’s hair, just beneath that thought is the realization that the world looks less boring and less bleak. My body is capable of so much more than I knew, and life holds so much more enjoyment than I had realized.
My black dress is like a costume, and although I know it is designed to avoid drawing attention to the physical, every graze of my skirt reminds me of the sensation of Zachary’s skin against mine. These clothes can’t hide the fact that we are all born of sex and that it feels good to have sex which is all I can think about when I hear a knock at the door, and my mother opens it to reveal Aaron.
“Good morning. I heard you were the best seamstress in town and I seem to have ripped one of my shirts.” He holds up the long shirt I tore and I steel myself not to blush or give away that I had anything to do with it.
“I don’t know about the best seamstress, but I’m happy to help,” my mother smiles. “May I look at it?”
He hands the garment to her, and takes the seat she offers while she looks at the damage. I may not have this chance again, so I walk behind Aaron, then pause.
“Mr. Pryor, you have strings on your back. May I snip them? I don’t want the fabric to unravel.”
Rashi hands me the scissors, but as I reach to snip a lock of hair, his hands lift the brown hair from the coat.
“Wouldn’t want you to miss and get some of my hair,” he smiles.
I’m frozen for a moment, but pretend to clip the strings. One single strand of hair rests on the back of his coat, and I pull it. Could a single strand be enough? I’m not sure, but it’s clear Aaron suspects I’m a witch and knows enough to be dangerous, so I replace the scissors and tuck the hair into my pocket while my back is turned. As I return to sewing, my mother explains it might be better to cut a length off and just raise the shirt up, getting rid of the jagged part. Aaron nods, and once they settle on a price and delivery date, he leaves.
All I can think about it adding the hair to my doll, so when mother goes out to deliver the repaired clothes, I race upstairs while Rashi keeps watch. Frantically, I pull the stitches out, stuff the long, dark hair inside, and stitch the doll back up. Since mother is not back, I light a candle, wave the doll over the flame, and say the words. By the time mother is back, the dolls are back beneath the floorboards, the rug is smoothed, and both Rashi and I are sewing.
Anticipation makes our work even more tedious, but I steel myself and focus on each stitch. Rashi prepares dinner and we eat, which is the only break from sewing. My hopes hinge on who will arrive at my window tonight, and I think greedily that either man would be nice, but both would be better.
I can hardly wait to climb into bed, excited and curious about what will await me in the moonlight. Despite my eagerness, my eyes are tired from sewing and I soon fall asleep. Just like the night before, I am woken by the clatter of pebbles against my window. As I part the curtains, my heart stops: Zachary looks up at me…and next to him, Aaron! The butterflies in my stomach surprise me as I motion for them to wait there, and hurry out of the house.
As both offer me an arm, I feel shy, but the surge of power emboldens me, and it is I who leads them into the woods.
Close to the same spot from before, I stop and remove my nightcap. My honey-colored hair is in a braid, and falls below my waist. I wear nothing else but my shirt, which I lift over my head, draping it gently over a low branch. Naked, I stand before both men, who are frozen except for eyes that survey my whole body.
I can see both their breeches are straining against their growing desire, and I pull them forward by the waist of their pants. Aaron lays his cloak over a rock, and I lean there, pulling off his breeches, then Zachary’s. My mouth waters at the sight of them both so hard for me.
The need grows inside of me, and we lay Zachary’s cloak on the ground and lay down there, one man on either side of me. A hand strokes my naked back while another squeezes my bottom, pulling me closer to the naked manhood, and I close my eyes. Without seeing what is happening or will happen, I surrender myself and focus on only the sensations. My nipple is sucked while another pair of lips kisses mine; two hard members graze my thighs, creating pinpoints of sensitivity. A hand reaches down to stroke that most sensitive spot between my legs, and I grind into the fingers, pushing harder and wanting it rougher. Legs straddle my chest and my breasts are pressed around one throbbing rod while the other, finding me adequately wet, drives inside. I am pounded at a forceful rhythm, stretched on the inside and pulled on the outside. I feel the soft skin slide between my breasts, and the tip just touches my chin, making me want a taste. My mouth opens, and the warm skin is greedily shoved in. I lick and suck, hearing a soft moaning as I take more of the length in and out of my mouth, with increasing urgency, until just before the climax. Warm liquid spills onto my breasts, and the hot tip smears it around, and then approaches my lips, offering a taste. I suck, and it’s salty.
All sensation stops for a moment, and I feel the cool night air on my bare skin, then my legs are spread slightly wider. I gasp as I feel a tongue begin to stroke me
down there
. It’s like nothing I could have imagined. Fingers slip inside, reaching for that spot as the mouth teases that little bead. The tongue will flick back and forth, just rough enough to make me breathe faster, then change to a sucking sensation, then back to licking, all while fingers grope from the inside, and I am all feeling as I crash into bliss, squirting my own juice from the sensation.
Only then do my eyes open, and I see both men watching me, glistening with sweat. Both are hard, and I want so much more. I push Aaron down, and straddle him backwards, pulling Zachary’s waist toward me. From below Aaron begins to pound into me while I take Zachary into my mouth, feeling as much as I give. It’s hard and almost painful, but not quite. The pleasure is so intense it could hurt if it didn’t feel so good, and Zachary comes first. I can feel him tighten and press his tip to my chest, showering myself in his warm liquid. He then rubs me while Aaron pounds, hitting a place deep inside that leaves my mouth opened in pleasure until we come, his thick member pulsing as he squirts, and my insides gripping him as the waves of my climax take over my body.