This story fits between Chapter's 3 and 4 of my Smithson story. You don't need to have read them to enjoy this. This story will be limited to two parts. This one is basically all sex. Enjoy. Look for more magic and thievery in the next one.
This is a story from the time of my grandfather's grandfather. In the ages past recorded memory and into the space between the birth of the world and stories of the oldest of our kin. In those days a man, named Aaron, was exiled from his village and wandered the wilderness looking for a new home. Aaron was the listless sort who never found any life outside of drink and women. Women. Women were Aaron's true weakness. Specifically other men's women.
It was sleeping with the Chief's daughter that had been the last straw. Aaron was sure the dirty old bastard had been expecting to have her for himself. Instead, the old man had found Aaron cock deep in his fresh daughter not but an hour after her 18th year. In Aaron's mind it had been worth it for that fresh bit of honey and the look on the old man's face as he chased Aaron from the village. Aaron had started running with not but the shirt on his back and his fleet feet to carry him.
Those fleet feet had carried him north and west. He had expected to reach the sea, but after days of journey brought him no sight of water nor the smell of salt, he began to steal. It was a necessary thing at first. Taking some clothing at the first farm he came across. Taking a cooling meat pie from a window sill at the next. Then it was sneaking into houses and filching what valuables could be found and selling them at the next house. The spaces were long enough between farm houses that the idea of neighbors was laughable and the expectation of friendliness to strangers was something that would get you killed.
Two weeks into his thieving Aaron came upon a strange site. In the cleared wilderness space where there should be a farm, instead, sat a single barrow. The raised, obviously man made, hillock sat square in the center of the clearing with five dead trees outlining the cleared space and the long barrow that bisected it. At the top of that hill was the final oddity. A single cottage perched in the clearing. The structure was ancient. The wood that made it consisted mostly of twigs and branches gathered from the nearby forest. None of it look crafted, merely collected and then laid out into the semblance of a cottage. If the wood wasn't greyed with age Aaron might have thought it had birthed its way right out of the barrow.
Aaron entered the clearing carefully. In the last weeks he'd learned some caution to go with his natural bravado. This place was not normal and like any of that time his head was filled with stories of barrow spirits, forest witches and hedge wizards. None of those stories had happy endings for the hapless fool who wondered into where he wasn't welcome. However, Aaron had been two days without food and the stream he had passed earlier today had not smelled well and the corpses of animals littered the ground around it. To find this place so close to that poisoned stream did not bode well, but Aaron had little choice to but look for food and water.
As he placed his foot on the grassy incline of the barrow, the collection of planks that seemed to represent a door, opened and a cloaked figure stepped out. It was hard to tell who or what the figure was. The person was covered head to toe with black fur. All of different animals yet somehow all naturally black, even the squirrel at the shoulders. The figure had to stoop to step out from the cottage. Aaron was standing, staring at the figure with one foot on the barrow and the other ready to turn and run. A single white hand emerged from black furs and a single white finger curled up to expose a red lacquered fingernail. The finger curled twice more then returned to the confines of the furs. The figure returned to the dark confines of the cottage, but the door did not close.
Aaron took a moment to collect himself and let the tension ease out of his body through his feet. All the strange stories he'd heard as a kid came rolling back to him. More than a few told of the solitary cottage and the witch that surely lived there. As Aaron considered his options the rumbling of his stomach finally convinced him to take the risk he was dying to take anyway. An honest to gods witch was way too exciting to pass up. The fact that the skin on the hand he had seen had been smooth and soft and most certainly attached to a woman and not some old crone might also have played a part in his decision.
Stepping into the darkened cottage he felt an instant increase in temperature. A fire burned in a pit on the floor. A cook pot sat above it, gurgling with some boiling stew popping and spewing out of it. The room was a rectangle. The walls all lined with various kinds of skins and fur, which were obviously responsible for the captured heat in the room. Aaron saw the cloaked figure sitting by the fire. The sitting figure had pulled some of the furs around her, exposing the most delicious set of legs Aaron had seen in months. Aaron felt himself stiffen in his stolen pants and he stepped further inside to cover the adjustment of his manhood. After moving close to the fire Aaron heard the distinct groaning of the door...closing itself. He didn't turn around to confirm his assumption. Instead he sat down and took another admiring gaze at the long milky legs of the figure opposite him. Aaron made his best smile and addressed the figure.
