The Witch
1904, Crawling Rock, Louisiana.
Robert Campbell Jones was one of those people who dwelled with those of his same Irish and Scottish blood. He was as biased as he was loyal to his kind. He somewhat enjoyed his work, family, and community. But the thirty-six-year-old was haunted by poverty and chose to drink his nights away at home and in different taverns. During the day he worked away a hangover in the fields not far from his meager family home.
At work, Robby wasn't a leader but he held authority being just as tall and brawny as the black men on the farmer's inventory. Regardless of their color difference, they all worked for the same mysterious man whose home resided somewhere off in Baton Rouge away from the hundreds of impoverished workers.
Hunched over, Robby used his legs to pull at a wagon and propped it on his shoulders. He heard a commotion of laughter and broke his stride to glance over at a few black men gathered near the dirt path. Something or someone had their attention.
Robby squinted his eyes and focused on the sight of a light-skinned girl. He didn't know her name, but had seen her before running about with his sister. He found himself examining the young girl who had wrapped a skippy piece of cloth around her breasts keeping her flat tummy bare. The long red skirt wrapped around her waist had two slits down the limbs and the thin crimson fabric flapped in the wind giving him and the men a view of her yellow-toned thighs.
The few men scattered around seemed entertained by the light-skinned harlot and Robby clenched his jaw with annoyance and envy. Slowly, he could feel his nature rise and averted his eyes from her lovely frame.
But the sun was too hot and her smile was much too bright; it seemed etched in his mind. Her giggles toward the men dampened his concentration. Having had enough of their lightness, he pushed the wagon from his hold and stalked off to the festivities that were taking place.
No one seemed to notice him keeping their eyes glued to her as she brightened the workday.
Robby was stunned to see her arm dressed around Bo Dallas, a middle-aged black man from Texas. He didn't know him well but didn't take him for the type to waste a good day's work.
Robby cleared his throat before speaking, "Come on, now. Y'all boys get to work. Plenty of time for wooing whores when you get home," he announced.
Everyone but Robby knew Tish was like a daughter to Bo. The men looked toward him with wide eyes expecting the man's temper to peak from his slur. Instead, Bo gave a raspy laugh and the rest joined in with snickers.
Robby folded his arms, his face reddening with ridicule.
"What's so damn funny? Like I said, stop courtin' and get back to work."
"Well, Boss, I reckon I'm a little too old to be courting," Bo said, easing the tension.
"I just call it like I see it," Robby shrugged, "Y'all need to get to work and she needs to go on her way."
"This is my daughter...." Bo paused and looked toward Tish, who grinned, "She didn't mean to cause no fuss. Her mama sent for me."
"Oh, well I..."
Robby was confused since her fair skin was a tell-tale sign she wasn't entirely black like her mother and father. She usually had no odd looks or regard since most blacks in the rural comunity held a similar situation, and like them, she had no clue who her real father was.
"Tell your mama I'll be home shortly," Bo explained, nudging her shoulders, "Go on and apologize to Mr. Jones."
Tish was known to be as sweet as sugar and silly in her ways, keeping a broad smile that etched lines against her round cheeks hued pink from the hot sun. But her smile had faded. Nervously, she peeked up at her father's sore boss, centering in on his blue eyes to whisper an apology.
Robby barely caught it. He was distracted by her plump lips and innocent eyes. The way she slightly nibbled her bottom as she awaited his forgiveness made his cock jump.
"I really am sorry, sir," Tish added.
Dominated by his public arousal, Robby averted his eyes and gave her a nod. He looked back up as Bo kissed her temple before shooing her off into the forest.
The other men watched her hips swing as she sauntered off into the woods. As a man, Robby couldn't help but glance at her protruding backside and wonder why he had never noticed her allure before.
Robby felt foolish for assuming the worst and approached Bo while the others separated to continue their rigorous tasks.
"I didn't mean no harm back there. I-I thought..."
"No harm done." Bo smiled.
"How old is she? I've seen her around. Never knew she was one of yours."
"The only one I got. Soon to be turning 19."
"Same age as my sister. I don't mean to pry but I thought they sterilized you down in Texas?" Robby asked with a frown.
"I've known her and her mama all my life."
"Mary. The witch...." Robby paused to nervously chuckle, "I didn't mean no harm. My mama's always called her the witch doctor. We never knew a woman practiced that voodoo stuff like she did."
"Still does. She ain't changed none," Bo laughed, "She's a magical woman. My Mary is wise. And, I know some do call her a witch, mostly folks who are threatened by her."
Bo pulled up on the fallen wagon and hunched to settle it on his shoulders. He took off into the field and Robby turned to see the last peeks of his daughter's red skirt float off into the woods. In that small glimpse, Robby felt a hankering for her flesh.
-
Back at the swamp.
-
Tish took a deep breath and scrubbed her hand along the sleeping man's chest. She had never seen such bubbling racks against anyone's abdomen before. Laying on his back his breathing was shallow. He was unconscious and had been that way for hours since she and her mother hazardly hauled him inside their small shack. They needed a man for the task but Bo was laboring under strict rules in the fields.
Tish liked him being away. Her urges could sweep out without his wandering authority. Bo wouldn't allow her to fondle with her mother's victim as she was now.
Biting her lip, Tish rolled her palms across his smooth chest and swooned with affection.
"Stop messing with him, Tish," Mary tisked, "He's liable to wake up in a mess of jitters."
Tish knew this but it didn't stop her investigation. She fluttered her fingers around his crotch and frowned at finding it limp against his thigh.
"He doesn't like me, mama," Tish whispered, nudging her head against his bulky arm.
The man gave a loud snore and Mary hushly tisked, waving her hand for her daughter to behave and leave the sleeping man be.
Tish couldn't understand why he was unresponsive to her touch. She was a beauty at 18 with an angel face and long flowing locks. Her tight body was primed for sex and at her age held a fire in her loins. She often played with herself dreaming of a man to curb her thrills.
This unwilling man was driving her insane. His smell was intoxicating and she slipped her hand between her pussy lips to caress.
Mary knew it was coming and groaned at her ravenous daughter, "Tish. This one is mine, sweetheart. I told you."
"But Momma," her voice exited in a whimper.
