The Clay Witch

I was in a Halloween mood when I wrote this, so no apologies for the extra weirdness. I finished too late for me to comfortably enter it in the Halloween contest so, while I would like you to vote and comment, I would also encourage you to read (and vote on) the other stories which are actually part of the contest.

Poor grammar and editing is nobody's fault but my own. Same with the scarcity of real sex.

*

The old pickup pulled into the end space in front of Butter's general store. The rear rode low, evidently filled with something heavy, but it was covered with a tarp to protect the contents from the elements. The skinny driver got out slowly, his bad leg making every movement painful to watch had anybody been so inclined. In fact, when Jackson walked, most townsfolk found something else to look at, so as not to embarrass him.

Inside the store, the duffers that whiled away their time telling stories, playing checkers, and drinking cold beer (from the bottle), watched as Jackson walked around the open space of the common area gathering a cold orange soda and a bag of vinegar chips. He still had a pronounced limp, but it was already getting better. That's what they always said when he asked them.

Junior Masterson sat across the street behind the wheel of his parked Mustang GT, and had watched as Jackson limped his way into the general store. Jackson's shirt was soaked in sweat despite the cool October air, a sign that he had been working hard since before sun-up. That was good, Junior thought. He liked hard workers, and especially liked it when Jackson was occupied.

Junior smiled at the thought, even as his beefy had pushed down on the back of Maria Burnside's head, forcing her mouth even further down on his cock as his orgasm erupted down her throat. She was gagging, but he didn't care even as her hands slapped and punched him so he would let her go. He knew that she was going to swallow every drop, and clean him up afterward, or her family would soon be homeless and unemployed. He liked the fact that his family had that kind of power. That he had that kind of power.

And if she ever got married, he was sure her husband would thank him for her skills in sucking cock.

When Junior was finished, he pulled the girl's head out of his lap and pushed her to the passenger seat of the parked car. She drew in the life breathing air he had so recently denied her, and tears ran down her face. "Looks like your dad keeps his job for another month, slut. Maybe next time I'll take your ass cherry, and he can keep it for a year. I figure it's worth twice what you got for giving up your pussy."

She fumbled at the door catch. "Fuck you, Junior!" He unlocked the door, and she tumbled out onto the sidewalk. Immediately, she started to retch, bringing up what he had just forced her to swallow.

"You know, I think you are starting to enjoy this, Maria," he chuckled. He turned to watch as Jackson started his truck and pulled out of the space. Where could he be going this time of day? Junior started his car, and pulled the passenger door shut. "I think maybe we should do this twice a week," he said, loud enough for Maria to hear.

His car was roaring away even before she gasped out another, "Fuck you!"

—oooOOOooo—

Darla Dawkins was in the backyard, using the garden hose to water the multitude of plants decorating the deck behind her house, when she heard the truck pull up. The crunch of tires on gravel told her it was a pickup truck, and a heavily laden one at that. The way the engine continued to cough after the ignition was turned off identified as belonging to the Smithfield's. Jackson Smithfield limped his way around the side of her small Cape Cod, his hat held in his hands in front of him. He couldn't be more than twenty two, she thought. Half her age, if appearances and rumors were to be believed.

He stared at her lithe body, ancient in his way of thinking, which showed no signs of being as old as the townspeople rumored. She was dressed in cutoffs and a flannel shirt tied in a not beneath her ample bosom, An a kerchief held back her raven tresses. He nervously shifted the hat in his hands.

"Jackson Smithfield," she announced to nobody in particular. "Something I can do for you?"

He rocked back and forth, from good leg to bad, and fidgeted some more with his hat. She had a Yankee accent, something which added to his discomfort.

"Yes'm, Ms. Dawkins. I, uh, I came to ask a favor." His Southern drawl was more evident than normal. The hat was now showing signs of the sweat from his hands.

"I see. Is this a, 'I want you to watch my cat' sort of favor, or something bigger?"

"Bigger, ma'am." The hat slipped from his hands, and he blushed as he picked it up.

"You know there is payment to be made?"

"I heard. I hope it's enough. I brought a truckload of my daddy's finest. Sweet corn, pumpkins, apples, and fresh catfish I caught this morning. Mamma sent over a kettle of her chicken gumbo. The best we have."

Darla turned off the hose and walked around the house to check the truck. The food wasn't the best she had ever seen, but she knew he spoke the truth when he said it was the best they had.

"And what is it you seek? Money? Fame?"

"The hand of Maria. I want to marry Maria Burnside."

"Love potions hardly ever work out, Jackson."

"No ma'am, that's not what I meant. I, uh..." He was caught staring at her again. She was beautiful and curvaceous, which made her very attractive to him. Maria was cute and beautiful, but Ms. Dawkins was...well, she was a mature woman, attractive in a way no girl ever was.

Not only that, she spoke to him like he was an average person, not as a cripple, which made her even more attractive. "We're already in love. But I can't find good work around here, at least not with my bum leg. And I have to find work if I'm gonna be a provider."

He spun the hat around in his hands again, and gathered the courage to ask his favor.

"I was wondering if you could fix my leg. I want Maria to marry me because she loves me, not because of some potion. But I want to be a whole man." He pulled up the leg of his jeans to reveal the badly scarred calf and shin, the result of an encounter with angry bull when he was seven. He had rescued his sister, who had accidentally fell into the bull's pen, but had himself suffered.

Ms. Dawkins looked at him, her head askance, and gave him a smile that sent shivers down his back. It was sweet and evil at the same time. "Good answer, Jackson. I think I can help you out. Lets get this stuff unloaded, then we can head to the pit."

She pulled back the tarp. "There's an awful lot here, Jackson. More than I need."

"I thought so, Ms. Dawkins, but-"

"You wanted to be sure I wouldn't say 'no'?"

He stared at the ground, but finally met her eyes. "No ma'am. I wanted you to know how much this means to me."

—oooOOOooo—

Junior watched from his spot down the road as Jackson unloaded the truck. So, he's come to visit witch Dawkins. No matter the reason, it couldn't be good for Junior. Not with the amount of food they were unloading from the truck.

Junior moved up so he had a better idea of what was going to happen.

—oooOOOooo---

It wasn't his bad leg that made Jackson unsteady as he stood on the two stools. Part of it was that he was naked in front of a woman, in broad daylight.

She was naked, too.

Both of them were covered, head to toe, in a quickly drying layer of the white clay that formed the pit at the back of her small farm. She had told him to stand on the stools so that all the clay was dry before she started.

Ms. Dawkins, a three year resident of the little house out in the woods, had quickly grown a reputation for being a witch. They were all unconfirmed rumors, Jackson knew, because anybody that spoke openly of how her powers had helped them were punished threefold.

He looked around at the pit at the bottom of her yard. The grassy part of her land sloped down for fifty yards to a creek. Two thirds of the way was a depression in the land, and a bowl shaped opening had been dug to reveal the white clay beneath. On the rare times the creek flooded, the pit would be filled to overflowing. Otherwise, and water that ran down the hill would fill the pit about a foot deep. This water was then mixed with the clay, so that it became a thick, white slurry.

It was where the clay witch worked her magic, or so the rumors said.

Jackson closed his eyes so that he wouldn't think thoughts about her body as she washed his crippled leg clean. It just made his imagination run rampant.

He could feel her hands applying the thick, heavy clay to his leg, following each application with short, deft strokes of her strong fingers. "I think that should do it. Now we wait for it to dry."

Jackson opened his eyes and looked down. Ms. Dawkins had added clay to his bad leg, sculpting it to a size and shape to match his other leg. Even now it was drying, and would be indistinguishable from the rest of his clay covered body. Jackson smiled, and looked at the witch. She was smiling back at him, and those thoughts came unbidden to his head.

The big head first, then little head.

Jackson tried to put the thoughts out of his head again, but the image of her naked body was imbedded in his eyes. Underneath the clay, he blushed. "I'm sorry, ma'am."

"Nothing to be sorry about, Jackson. In fact, I'm a bit flattered. Perhaps I could return the compliment?"

"Uh..." he stammered.

She picked up the sponge, and began to wash the dried clay film from his growing erection. "Gotta be clean for the clay to stick, you know. It's gotta dry for it to work. Wet clay washes away, you know?"

She was done cleaning him in a minute, then inspected him to make sure she hadn't missed any spots. When she was satisfied, she reached down into the wet clay at the bottom of the pit.

She slapped a handful of the white stuff on his small erection, encasing it in a thick coat of the heavy mud. He could feel her hands massaging the clay, making a longer and thicker sculpt of his own manhood. He thought he could hear her humming as she worked. "There, I think Maria will be more than happy now. A cock like that would be more than enough to satisfy any woman."

The clay on his leg was already dry because of the midday sun, and the clay encasing his manhood was quickly following suit. She had added enough to make him twice as long as he had been before, and at least three times as thick.

She waited for a few more minutes, still humming to herself, and Jackson couldn't help but think about her nudity has the clay dried. She looked like something out of those National Geographics his father had hid in the barn. The thoughts in his head kept him fully erect while the clay became crusty.

"Off to the house, and let's get cleaned up."

—oooOOOooo—

Junior watched from his hiding spot as first the witch and then Jackson walked up the hill towards the house. Both of them were naked as the day they were born except for the coating of clay that covered them head to toe.

It was obvious from Jackson's erection that they had been up to something in the pit besides making pots, and just as obvious that they were moving up to the house for some more action.

Damn. She looked hot, even covered in the white mud.

Junior ran down the road to his car. He couldn't believe what he had just seen, and had no doubt that the witch was going to take Jackson inside and take his virginity.

Fuck. Maria had told Junior her boyfriend was virgin the night he fucked at the drive-in. She was 'saving herself' for Jackson, and was a bit upset when Junior ruined her plans. Whatever the witch was doing for Jackson, it couldn't be good for Junior.

Shit. If she was going to teach Jackson sex things, she was going to teach Junior, too.

He sped down the back road and to the general store. A hastily borrowed truck was filled with some purchased goods and not a word was spoken to anybody. Junior jammed the truck into gear, and started the drive back out to the Dawkins place. He wanted to catch her while she was still in the mood.

—oooOOOooo---

Ms. Dawkins had the hose on a harsh spray, and quickly cleaned the dry clay from first her own body then Jackson's. She picked up a sponge and began scrubbing his body to make sure all the residue was removed, saving his erection for last. Jackson looked down at his new calf, at the bright pink flesh the color of a new scar, but the leg otherwise a match to his other appendage. She lifted the leg, turning it this way and that, then put it back down.

When the hose hit the clay between his legs, it washed away only a thin layer of the white crust, revealing much more manhood than he had posessed on arrival. She smiled at him again. "Just like your leg, I have to make sure this works properly, too. I can tell you are a virgin, Jackson, otherwise we might be testing this another way."

Her touch removed any sagging of his cock, and she brought her other hand to join her first as she began to tug and stroke him. Soon, she was using a single hand to masturbate him, and the other picked up a forgotten coffee mug and held it in position.

Jackson felt his knees go weak as she stroked him in earnest, coaxed an orgasm from virgin cock. Coaxing was probably not the best description. She was teasing it out, making the entirety of his brain and blood focused on her touch and grip. He shuddered as his orgasm blasted forth, and she carefully collected every drop of his ejaculate as she teased him dry. His body twitched as his prick spurted again and again to her practiced touch.

"Sperm from a virgin has some unusual properties, you know. I'll save this for another project."

Jackson collapsed to his knees when she released her grip. Ms. Dawkins tousled his hair, and strode back to her house as if strolling through a park. "Thanks, Jackson. I am sure that Maria, or any other woman for that matter, will be more than impressed with the new you."

The screen door banged shut behind her. Jackson gathered the last of his remaining strength, picked up his clothes, and returned to his truck. "No, Ms. Dawkins," he gasped. "Thank you!"

—oooOOOooo—

Junior smiled and waved at Jackson as their two trucks passed on the narrow dirt road. Junior was a little surprised that Jackson was leaving already, but in no way was he upset. Witch Dawkins would be ready for a real man now.

On second thought, maybe not that surprised. Jackson probably couldn't have lasted long.

The truck swung onto the gravel drive, and Junior skidded it to a halt. He slammed shut the door as he yelled out, "Witch Dawkins! I got some more food for you!"

She came out the back door, and let it slam behind her. "Junior Masterson," she said, as if confirming his name in her mind. "To what do I owe this pleasure?"

"I know what you did for Jackson, and I've come for some of my own."

"Oh, really? Did you bring payment?"

He smiled and pointed at the truck.

"This sacrifice," she said, "is it the best you have, and from your own house?"

"Yeah," he leered. She had changed back into the cutoffs and knotted flannel shirt. She looked hotter than any of the girls in town. Even the ones down at the titty bar. "Sure. Whatever."

"And what is it that you seek? You have fame and money already. And your legs look fine to me."

"Just what you gave Jackson. I want you!"

She stepped back from him. "I am not a whore, Junior. Jackson asked for a specific favor, and we entered into a contract. That was all there was, and nothing more. I did not have sex with him."

"Oh, that's right," he said, ignoring her. She didn't even see his hand, he was so quick, as he reached out to grab her wrist. In seconds he was dragging her to the clay pit. "You like being naked and covered in dirt before you fuck, like a pig. I've got your food, and me and you are gonna rut around in the mud just like you and Jackson did."

Darla squirmed to get out of his grasp, but his grip was too strong. He ripped off her shirt, then tugged of the shorts even as she beat on him. A backhand stunned her long enough that he finished the job of stripping her, and then he dragged her down the hill and tossed her into the muddy clay pit. She felt something break as her foot hit, and pain shot up her leg.

Junior shucked his clothes as she crawled around seeking escape. His cock was nearly fully erect when he was done, and he lowered himself over the edge.

"Now, let's make the Yankee piggy squeal. Whad'ya say?" His hand snapped out again, grabbing her wounded ankle, and Darla screamed as he reeled her in like a caught catfish. "Don't worry," he laughed, "you'll learn to like it. They all do, eventually."

"Please, no," she croaked out. Her body was heavy with the clay, and she knew that her ankle and maybe her foot were broken. His grip doubled the pain, and Darla kicked out with her good leg. Her heel missed it's mark, and connected with his thigh instead.

"C'mon, you little slut, let's see how they do it up north." He grabbed her other leg, flipped her onto her back and pulled her close. She yelped in pain as bone ground upon bone.

Too late, he heard the uneven patter of feet running.

Both feet hit him square in the back and broke his grip on Darla as Jackson's running leap caught him unaware. Junior went under, then came up sputtering and covered in the thick clay. Jackson lay on the floor of the pit, his new leg twisted at an odd and unnatural angle. Darla was pulling her own crippled body out of the pit, but Junior thought she could wait. Right now, Jackson had to be taught a lesson.

His first punch slipped to the side in the wet clay. But after that, Jackson could provide no real defense as the larger man proceeded to pummel him senseless. On the fifth punch, teeth were knocked loose in Jackson's mouth. On the seventh, his nose was broken. The fifteenth cracked two ribs.

"Junior!" He looked up from the bloodied and dirty lump in front of him. Darla had dragged herself to her porch, but had turned to yell out. "Stop!"

Junior pulled his body from the pit, and stumbled across the yard towards the naked woman. His hands, cut open from hitting the broken teeth in Jackson's mouth, dripped bloodied clay as they clenched and unclenched. "And if I don't, bitch? I'm not finished with him, but he ain't going anywhere. It's your turn, now."

She lifted the hose, and aimed it at him. The light spray slickened the wet clay as well as the grass, and Junior felt his feet slip with every step.

Darla called out again, "please, Junior, stop!"

He planted each foot carefully now, but steadily made his way up the hill. The mist was making the clay even more watery now, and the mix was dripping heavily from his appendages. She twisted the nozzle, changing the light spray to a hard pulse.

The first stream caught him in the shoulder. She had it on the highest setting, and he could almost feel the sting as the water pelted him.

"Don't bother, bitch. I don't care if I'm clean or not." He was almost on her now. "I told you, I'm going to fuck you like the pig you are."

The fear on her face was replaced by determination. "I'm sorry, Junior."

The direction of the water changed, aimed now at his knees and washing away the clay to reveal...

...more clay. Junior's leg felt oddly weak. He stumbled at fell at her feet as his leg was sliced off by the water. Darla took two steps back, and trained the water at his other leg. She turned the nozzle again, maximizing the pressure of the pencil-thin stream.

"What's happening?" he croaked.

"The clay, Junior. Just as it sticks to clean flesh to make things bigger, things underneath remain clay until it dries."

She deftly directed the water stream, slicing through the soft white clay with ease. The water had now cut through his arms and legs, and a small river of heavy white water was making it's way down the slope and back to the pit as the clay washed away. She controlled the hose with the efficiency of a swordsman, cutting away chunk after chunk of the clay. A foot lay to the side, the toes barely recognizable. An elbow spun away to the other side.