Erin dropped a cobweb into the pot and cackled. Neither would have the slightest impact on the spell, but sometimes she just couldn’t resist the joke, even when there was no one else to enjoy it.

The pot had once belonged to her grandmother, a seventh generation witch going back to… oh what the hell, who cared, who even knew? She sniffed the pot and crinkled up her nose. Ready or not, she would try it.

Erin was something well over 30, not that she cared. People counted her as young because her mess of red locks contained no grey anywhere in the chaotic tumble. Little did they know that she would probably look the same a dozen years from now, that was the way with the craft sometimes.

“Seem and sew, friend and foe, wither not and humble,” she sang, “Bring the man of iron grey and bid him not to stumble,” Erin shrugged and wondered if she should use Latin. “Make his heart wither not and make him seek my vengeance,” she continued, “Make him neither young nor old and…” Erin pictured something she could not say and then thinking the spell would fail added some muttered Latin after all.

She was about to will the mixture in the cauldron to life when it burst into flame by itself sending the hapless witch into coughing retreat.

“Damn, I don’t think that worked,” Erin said aloud with a pout. The knock at the door said otherwise. “Oh,” she expressed surprise and went to answer it.

The man was neither tall nor short and as requested, neither old nor young. All the same he was much older than Erin, even with the crafty protection from the years, and his iron grey hair and shovel-like hands picked him out as a no nonsense working man.

“Come in, you are expected,” Erin said as pleasantly as her hermit status permitted.

The man gaped and held up a single finger as if he would ask something.

“I said, come in, do you think we have time to waste?” Erin said impatiently.

“This is going to sound…” he paused his mouth in mid word and then closed it. “Where am I?” he asked at last and then, “Who are you?”

“I am Erin Lovelorn and you are at the beginning of a journey,” Erin told him, “Now, chop-chop, we must press on.”

“I don’t think I like your tone,” the man drawled as he lazily sauntered into the small cottage.

The front door led directly to the kitchen where despite the summer warmth, a large fire blazed away on the other side of a huge table awash with assorted herbs and strangely fashioned implements.

“I don’t care what you like,” Erin said brusquely, “I wanted a reasonably experienced man of iron for a job I have in mind, you will do nicely.”

“I was on my way home from work,” the man told her, adding, “Three days ago. How the hell did I get here? I must have walked miles.”

“Not hell darling, that is something else entirely, but I suppose I have dark deeds in mind for you,” Erin waved her hand dismissively. “I suppose you are up for that?”

The man gave her look of the incredulous and glared at her. “No, not really,” he said.

“Well you’ll get paid, obv,” she said reverting to what she understood passed for ‘street’ in England these days. “There is this man who has been… well I don’t remember, how tiresome, but it has been 20 years I think so…”

The man looked dubious, after all the girl didn’t look old enough to have a 20 year-old errand and she was way too scatty to be helped.

“You know I am… beyond mad,” the man said, cutting in, “Who the hell do you think you are?”

“Listen mortal man, I am witch, get it. I have a job for you, that’s why you are here. I summoned you,” Erin said wearily, “God how stupid are people these days? If you don’t…” she paused, what happens if he didn’t obey? She weighed up the spell requirements. Essentially she wanted tough, uncompromising, a strong sense of justice, a hint of paternalism, which was irrelevant except she liked that sort of thing and yes… what was it, a mind of his own, after all who knew when initiative would be needed? What could possibly go wrong with a man like that?

“Listen little girl, I don’t know who you think you are, but I have had enough of this nonsense,” the man snapped and without a word turned around and left the cottage.

Erin’s heart sagged, this was too tiresome. Then in a show of patience she didn’t feel, she examined her nails; it wouldn’t be long.

Sure enough the door opened almost at once and the man marched in looking back as if leaving something. “What the…?” he said as he looked around, “I just… I left…”

“See, you are under my thrall and…” Erin crowed.

The man sighed.

“Now if you have quite finished wasting time…?” Erin scolded him, or at least began to, for half way through her speech the man grabbed her by the arm and led her across the room. “Hey what are you doing?” she finished.

“Under your thrall am I little girl, quite finished am I? I hardly think so,” he said as he tipped her easily across one knee, which he now placed upon a chair, “What you need is a damn good spanking.”

“Spanking no,” Erin wailed, “Not since the coven days and… in any case it wasn’t a spanking exactly but a…” she broke off to squeal as a dinner plate-sized hand spanked her skirted rump hard.

The spanking was hard and firm and left her bottom tingling as she kicked impotently under the onslaught.

“You can’t spank me like this,” she yelped.

“No?” the man paused, “I guess not.”

With that he flipped up Erin’s long cotton skirts and surprised to find her bottom bare underneath made to continue.

“You beast, you bastard, you… you,” she yelled and wailed as the man belaboured her bare bottom until it was a sharp hot red.

“Are you ready to let me out of this thrall you talk of?” the man barked.

“Okay,” Erin squeaked meekly.

“Okay?” the man stopped in mid spank.

“Yes, okay,” Erin fought for breath. “I just need to…”

“What?” he growled impatiently.

Erin began thinking aloud, heedless of scattered secrets. Then added, “Oh and I need the tears of a virgin for the pot and…”

The man promptly pulled her face towards him and seeing dry eyes set to spanking her again.

“You… my bottom, yikes, what are you doing?” she shrieked, renewing her earlier caterwauling.

“Getting some tears,” he chuckled.

The spanking lasted an age and he just about got his wish before Erin remembered something and sobbed, “I am not a virgin, I’m not a virgin…”

The man paused. “Are you married then?” he asked.

“No,” Erin said in annoyance.

“Then you can have a spanking for that too,” the man said, and continued the spanking.

“Ooh, this is so unfair,” she sniffed.

Even then it took a while for her to remember that there were virgin’s tears on the shelf in vials.

“Okay, I’ll stop, but one false move…” the man warned as he set her on her feet.

“Sometimes I hate magic,” Erin said ruefully as she rubbed her bottom.

“Just get on with it,” the man scolded, “Before I give you another spanking.”

“Yes Sir,” Erin said quickly, her respect renewed. “At once…”

After a few minutes she was ready to break the spell when she asked, “I don’t suppose you wouldn’t mind doing that little job for me anyway would you?”

A moment later she was back across his knee again and this time she suffered a proper spanking.

“What did I say?” she wailed and consoled herself by thinking up useful spells using ordinary non-virgin tears.


3 Responses to “Witchcraft”

  1. I liked the story and the pictures. I think she should of gotten the belt or paddle to her bottom to make it red and stinging for a while.

  2. 2 Raffe

    He should be careful, its not like he knew magic and reverse the spell. What if she started to enjoy herself and decided to keep him.

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