The Present
Presents don't have to cost much to buy, but some presents you never stop paying for
I suppose I'm a bit of a sad sack. I'm hopeless with women. I stutter, badly. I'm nearly 30 and I'm still a virgin. I don't do the lad thing either. Football bores the arse off me. I live alone and I've no mates since I moved down south to look for work.
I've just lost my job. I was actually good at that, so good I showed the wanker who was my boss up badly. He got rid of me because he knew sooner or later the bloke who owned the firm would realise the truth and sack him.
I'd got fifty quid left in my wallet. There was still no sign of the dole cheque falling through my letterbox, so I decided to go to my local pub and quietly get very, very pissed.
Half an hour later I walked into the best end of my local Boozer. Best end in this case is a relative term. It was empty and beer cost twopence a pint more in here but there was always a rowdy crowd in the other side, and I didn't want my social inadequacy rubbing in my face.
I nearly walked up the road to an even seedier pub when I saw the new barmaid. A man like me could get lost in that cleavage for weeks. She looked like my idea of heaven on earth.
"P p p pint of bit bit bit bitter," I stammered.
She pulled the handle of the beer pump into the valley of her boobs. She winked at me and for a second or two I had the vivid illusion it was my cock she was holding against her impressive breasts. On the second pull I saw my cock in her hand again, this time she slid her hand up and down my shaft. I nearly came in my pants.
"Oh dear, I need to be careful. Mustn't give you too much, too quick. Is that everything sweetie or do you want to buy one for little me?"
"O o okay," I managed.
"Just an orange juice. What's your name?"
"K K Kev." I hate Kev, but I hate stuttering out Kelvin even more. "You're nice. I like you. Be careful, I may just swallow you
whole, but only if you want me to. I do hope you haven't got plans, because I think I'm going to take you home so I can have you for supper."
What was wrong with this woman. She is one of RubΓ©n's three graces. I'm pig ugly, she is beautiful. I'm a stuttering dull nincompoop. She is bright and witty and my god those boobs. She may be a bit on the big side, probably a 16 or maybe even an 18-dress size but gorgeous with it. I do love the look of a big girl.
Well at least I haven't got a hump. This was an absolute beauty of a big girl. All my vast collection of wanking photos is of leather clad Dominant BBWs.
"Y y y you c can er I er I'd la la love."
"Stop." she said. She leaned forward, took my arm in her hand and said in a quiet but firm voice, "Stop stuttering."
"I can't. I've always stuttered."
She smiled at me.
"Er, I'd like to buy you whatever you want."
"Buy me one of the roses on the bar, then."
I was amazed. I'd never put that many words together in my life, never mind when confronted with my idea of the perfect woman.
"What happened to my stutter?"
"I took it away," she said with a big smile.
"How?"
"I'm a witch," she said. "I'm the Purple Witch."
I was gobsmacked. "Are you a good witch?" I asked.
"No no no. I'm a very, very bad witch."
Oh god, that dirty, rude wink again. Another one of those and I would be cumming in my pants.
"I'm going to take you home with me and show you how bad I can be."
"I don't know what to say."
"It doesn't matter what you say. You belong to me now.
You are mine, you can't resist me."
"How? Why?"
"Ohh you poor little boy, don't you know if you buy a witch a gift you give yourself? If she accepts it, she accepts you as well. Just like this rose, you are mine now, little boy, all mine."
"I didn't know that. I didn't know you were a witch. I didn't know there were real witches."