Bloodwitch An Erotic Tragedy Part 3 of 3
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This story contains no sexual activity by persons under 18.
While cataloging old manuscripts at the University of Bologna, I discovered the following extraordinary document, tucked inside another one and mislaid for centuries. It appears to be a tale told to an Italian traveler in Central Asia, sometime in the 13th century. I have translated it into contemporary English, while trying to preserve the simple and direct style of the language.
It is worth noting that the age of menarche [first menstruation] in ancient times was far later than it is today, due to poor nutrition and the absence of synthetic hormones in a****l feed.
-----
So, stranger, you would hear my story? I was not always as you see me now, surrounded by luxury. I was once a peasant girl in a ragged dress. You laugh? But you will not laugh soon. Sit down, drink some wine, and I will tell.
I lived with my parents in a village at the head of our valley, in the last hut before the mountains. There was only one road in, which ran beside the little river that came down from the snows. We grazed our sheep on the high pastures beneath the forest, and grew vegetables in the valley bottom. It was four days’ walk, past several more villages, before the road came to the end of the valley. There it joined the great road that runs all the way across Asia, or so people said. Mighty caravans of strange men and a****ls took that route, but I had never seen one.
One of my earliest memories as a little girl is of lying naked with my brothers and sisters in our hut in the blistering summer heat, while my mother, naked too, cooled us with wet cloths. I watched the sweat run down her breasts and her strong brown arms, and wondered if I would grow up to look like her.
I did not.
I was always a strange girl. I was smaller and thinner than the other c***dren. I could hear things that they could not hear, and I noticed things they did not see. I climbed alone into the mountains, higher than they dared to go. This scar on my face is from a fall from a rock. My mother said that I was born under a blood moon, and I know this is true because of what happened later. Even in a busy village, I often felt somehow apart from my people.
Like any peasant c***d, I had known how a****ls fucked since I was able to walk. But when I asked my mother about fucking, she always said “not yet.” In time, my pussy and my armpits began to grow hair and I felt very grown-up. The other girls my age became rather silly, and talked about boys a lot. I liked some boys, but few paid any attention to me. I was busy watching the sheep and spinning. Sometimes I wished for a boy who would love and hold me the way my father held my mother, but I felt it was unlikely and pushed the thought aside.
The day came when I woke one morning with a bloody loincloth. My mother showed me how to look after myself, to keep clean and wash out the rags. When my blood was over, she said, “Now you are a woman, and now it is time to learn about fucking. But not from me. You shall be apprentice to the wise-woman.”
The wise-woman was an important person in our village. She gathered herbs and brewed potions to make men faithful and women fertile. She treated wounds and illnesses with bandages and spells, but she did not speak to others of her craft. I was a little afraid of her. “Why?” I said.
“Because you are no mere sheep-girl or weaver,” said my mother. “You walk a different path. Go to her. If you do not like it, you can come back, but I think you will not."
“How long will I stay?”
“Until your destiny is fulfilled. Go. We will see each other now and again.”
I gathered my few clothes, my distaff and my comb, said goodbye to my family, and went down the hill to the wise-woman’s hut by the road.
“Ha-ho,” I called outside the leather flap that was her door. “I am the daughter of Tall Woman and Walleye. I was called Quiet Girl, but I am a woman now and I have no name yet. My mother says I am to be your apprentice.”
“Come in,” said a deep and musical voice from inside. Wise-women are singers.
I went into the dimness of the hut, which was larger than my family’s. I knew the wise-woman by sight, but I had never visited her. She was seated cross-legged on a pillow, knitting. Her black hair was pulled back and braided. She was near my mother’s age, but shorter and rounder. Her skin was darker and her black eyes had a piercing quality.
I made the sign of respect. She looked me up and down, and abruptly said, “Set down your things and take off your clothes.”
My people did not show their bodies to anyone outside their family, but one did not disobey the wise-woman. I took off my dress and stood there in my loincloth, awkwardly covering my little breasts with my arms.
“No, all of them. Stand with your feet apart. I will not hurt you.”
I did as she asked, feeling ashamed of my nakedness and my small size. She stood up and felt my arms, my legs, and my neck as if I were a newborn pup. She was stronger than she looked. When she saw my scar, she gave a flicker of a smile. I thought she was laughing at me, and I stood up straighter, determined not to be afraid. Then she knelt, put her nose close to my pussy and breathed deeply. She nodded, then started to spread my pussy apart with her hands. I started backwards and shouted, “What are you doing?”
“Be quiet,” she said. “Stand still. This is important.” She leaned forward, and with the tip of her tongue, she licked my pussy, just once, from the back to the front. It was the strangest sensation I had ever felt, and it was all I could do to hold still. She leaned back on her heels, closed her eyes, and savored the taste on her tongue. Then she smiled and stood up. “Good. You shall be my apprentice, and that is your name—for now. You may get dressed.”
I did so clumsily, wondering what it all meant.
“Sit down,” she said, doing so herself and pouring me a cup of tea. “Now, do you know what your cunt is for?”
“Fucking. Having babies,” I said, wondering if she thought me a fool.
“And have you fucked anyone?”
“No,” I said.
“That is well. People who start too young learn bad habits. But that is not all that your pussy is for. Do you know why there are only wise-women and no wise-men?”
“No.”
“It is because all our magic comes from the pussy. It spreads out, like the fingers from a hand, like the branches of a tree, like the rays of the sun. It is the home of spirits. It is power.”
I considered this. “But it bleeds and it hurts sometimes. How can that be magical?”
“It is the price of power.”
“So... are all women magical?”
“A little, in small ways. A mother can hear five babies crying and know which one is hers without looking. A man cannot. But to be a wise-woman also requires craft and destiny. I can teach you the craft. You already have a destiny. Your mother could see it. I can see it. I have watched you for many years.”
“What is my destiny, then?”
“That I do not know. But it is a great one. I see it in your eyes and your body.”
“Is that why you... licked me?”
She laughed then, a hearty laugh. “Bless us no, dear. I needed to be sure that your pussy was healthy. If it smelled or tasted bad, you could not be a wise-woman. Now, enough serious talk. Here is the water-jug. Fetch tonight’s water from the river.”
So began my apprenticeship. Over the months I learned about good mushrooms and bad ones, and words to use to mend a family quarrel, and spells for the care of wounds. I gathered seeds and stones and bones for her magic, and we stored them in a hidden crypt under the floor. But most of all, I learned about the body—mine and the wise-woman’s.
She gave me a pallet on the floor near the fire pit to sleep on, and a blanket for when it was cold. She and her husband had a real bed. I had never seen a real bed before. Her husband was not often there. He was a trader, carrying wool and skins down the valley and bringing back tools and dyes for the wool. The wise-woman and I were alone most of the time, except when people of the village came to her for aid. She fascinated me by her confidence and the feminine way she moved, so different from my gawkiness.
The wise-woman was skilled in healing hurt muscles and bones. She taught me how upon my own naked body. Sometimes her fingers would trail over my nipples, and I felt a strange thrill that went right down to my cunt. At one point early in my stay she got out a shiny flat metal thing and bade me to look at it. I was astounded to see my own face. My narrow nose and pointed chin reminded me of my father. My eyes were my mother’s, watchful. My scar was my own. I stared for a long time.
“Is this magic?”
“No. Anyone can use it. But it is rare and foreign; our people cannot make such things. It has another use besides admiring yourself. Raise your skirts and put it between your thighs.”
Every c***d in a village full of naked brats knows what a pussy looks like, but this was the first time I had seen my own. The wise-woman said, “The power of your cunt will be woven into every spell and potion that you make. You must come to know it. Touch it. Explore.”
She taught me the sacred names of its parts: the Two Gates, the Lamp Above the Entrance, the Curtains, the Passage, the Round Door, the Cave. The Cave was where babies grew. “There is a legend from the West,” she said, “of a lamp that imprisoned a powerful spirit. When the lamp was rubbed, the spirit would emerge and do the holder’s bidding. But when men told the story, they remembered it wrong. They foolishly thought it was an oil lamp. The true lamp is the one above the entrance.”
“And if I rub it, will a spirit come?” I asked, giggling at the idea.
“It will,” she said seriously. “You cannot see it, but you will feel its power filling your body. Try it.”
I was suddenly shy. “Now?”
“Do not fear. This is part of the wise-woman’s craft. Watch me.”
She threw off her dress without hesitation, and I was surprised to see that she wore no loincloth. Her breasts were very round and she had a great triangle of dark hair that went between her legs. I felt embarrassed and excited at the same time. She saw and said, “Gently at first. It is what gives our spells their potency. Do it with me.”
She slowly caressed her breasts, her neck, her stomach and thighs. Then she spread her knees apart and began to rub her cunt, at first lightly and then harder. She concentrated on the Lamp—the raised flesh at the top. She went faster and her breathing grew labored. Sometimes she pushed her two middle fingers into her Passage and fucked herself hard with them.
I imitated her as best I could, and I felt my pussy grow wet. My muscles began to tighten. It felt good and I rubbed harder. Then I decided to try fucking myself too. I shoved my fingers in and felt a sharp pain. “Ow!” I said, and withdrew them with blood on them. My excitement ebbed quickly away.
She was beside me in an instant. “No, don’t close your legs.” She looked closely at my pussy. “That was only the Fence” she said. “I had forgotten. Some girls don’t have one. It will not trouble you again.”
“Is it always going to hurt like that?” I asked, wondering if there was something wrong with me.
“No. Only the first time. It will heal in a few days.”
But I could not wait a few days. Two nights later, I lay on the pallet as the wise-woman snored in the bed above me, and I grew lustful, thinking about her beautiful breasts and her strong thighs. I remembered the sounds she made, and I began to feel the spirit awaken in my pussy. I rubbed it faster and faster, and then suddenly the spirit flooded every part of my body… and vanished, leaving me weak. This was the power she spoke of? But it was gone so quickly. I went to sleep, disappointed.
I told her in the morning, and she smiled and said that I had made a good start, but it was only the beginning of a wise-woman’s craft. A few days later I got my blood, and I said, “Can I fuck myself while this is happening?” She said yes, that it was messy but no harm would come of it, and the spirit would ease the cramps. Sometimes when I had my blood I felt extremely lustful, and rubbed my cunt until my arm was sore, and longed for someone to hold me close. It felt like a great emptiness in my chest.
We began to fuck ourselves side by side, frequently, and I gained confidence in summoning the spirit and feeling its power in me. The wise-woman showed me how to peel a cucumber and use the slippery green flesh inside to fuck myself. It felt wonderful to have my pussy filled full. She taught me exercises to make the muscles of my Passage strong, which, she said, would make the spirit strong too. She did it as well, lying beside me, her breasts bouncing and her breath coming in great gasps. The cucumber was still perfectly good to eat afterward.
One evening when we were lying sleepily beside the fire after a day’s work, I felt the longing in my heart again. I gathered my courage and crawled into her arms, putting my head on her shoulder. She turned my face towards her and kissed me. My loins were instantly ablaze. I opened her dress, took her breast in my hand and caressed it, loving its softness and beauty. I looked her in the eyes and whispered, “I need you.”
For reply she put her big brown hand in between my legs. I clung to her, my arms around her neck. She held me close with one arm and fucked me steadily with confidence and strength. I relished the feel of her body against mine, womanly and warm. Her grip on me tightened, and I could not move, which was even more exciting. My breath turned to gasps. My wetness was going everywhere. She was fucking me fiercely now, plunging her fingers in and out. I arched my back… and great shuddering waves of power washed through me. I moaned, loudly, which I had never done when I came before. Her hand slowed, coaxing the last dregs of feeling from my cunt. She kissed me again, hard, and I shook all over.
“That,” she whispered, “is what your pussy is really for.”
I went to sleep in her arms.
== End of Part 1 ==
While cataloging old manuscripts at the University of Bologna, I discovered the following extraordinary document, tucked inside another one and mislaid for centuries. It appears to be a tale told to an Italian traveler in Central Asia, sometime in the 13th century. I have translated it into contemporary English, while trying to preserve the simple and direct style of the language.
It is worth noting that the age of menarche [first menstruation] in ancient times was far later than it is today, due to poor nutrition and the absence of synthetic hormones in a****l feed.
-----
So, stranger, you would hear my story? I was not always as you see me now, surrounded by luxury. I was once a peasant girl in a ragged dress. You laugh? But you will not laugh soon. Sit down, drink some wine, and I will tell.
I lived with my parents in a village at the head of our valley, in the last hut before the mountains. There was only one road in, which ran beside the little river that came down from the snows. We grazed our sheep on the high pastures beneath the forest, and grew vegetables in the valley bottom. It was four days’ walk, past several more villages, before the road came to the end of the valley. There it joined the great road that runs all the way across Asia, or so people said. Mighty caravans of strange men and a****ls took that route, but I had never seen one.
One of my earliest memories as a little girl is of lying naked with my brothers and sisters in our hut in the blistering summer heat, while my mother, naked too, cooled us with wet cloths. I watched the sweat run down her breasts and her strong brown arms, and wondered if I would grow up to look like her.
I did not.
I was always a strange girl. I was smaller and thinner than the other c***dren. I could hear things that they could not hear, and I noticed things they did not see. I climbed alone into the mountains, higher than they dared to go. This scar on my face is from a fall from a rock. My mother said that I was born under a blood moon, and I know this is true because of what happened later. Even in a busy village, I often felt somehow apart from my people.
Like any peasant c***d, I had known how a****ls fucked since I was able to walk. But when I asked my mother about fucking, she always said “not yet.” In time, my pussy and my armpits began to grow hair and I felt very grown-up. The other girls my age became rather silly, and talked about boys a lot. I liked some boys, but few paid any attention to me. I was busy watching the sheep and spinning. Sometimes I wished for a boy who would love and hold me the way my father held my mother, but I felt it was unlikely and pushed the thought aside.
The day came when I woke one morning with a bloody loincloth. My mother showed me how to look after myself, to keep clean and wash out the rags. When my blood was over, she said, “Now you are a woman, and now it is time to learn about fucking. But not from me. You shall be apprentice to the wise-woman.”
The wise-woman was an important person in our village. She gathered herbs and brewed potions to make men faithful and women fertile. She treated wounds and illnesses with bandages and spells, but she did not speak to others of her craft. I was a little afraid of her. “Why?” I said.
“Because you are no mere sheep-girl or weaver,” said my mother. “You walk a different path. Go to her. If you do not like it, you can come back, but I think you will not."
“How long will I stay?”
“Until your destiny is fulfilled. Go. We will see each other now and again.”
I gathered my few clothes, my distaff and my comb, said goodbye to my family, and went down the hill to the wise-woman’s hut by the road.
“Ha-ho,” I called outside the leather flap that was her door. “I am the daughter of Tall Woman and Walleye. I was called Quiet Girl, but I am a woman now and I have no name yet. My mother says I am to be your apprentice.”
“Come in,” said a deep and musical voice from inside. Wise-women are singers.
I went into the dimness of the hut, which was larger than my family’s. I knew the wise-woman by sight, but I had never visited her. She was seated cross-legged on a pillow, knitting. Her black hair was pulled back and braided. She was near my mother’s age, but shorter and rounder. Her skin was darker and her black eyes had a piercing quality.
I made the sign of respect. She looked me up and down, and abruptly said, “Set down your things and take off your clothes.”
My people did not show their bodies to anyone outside their family, but one did not disobey the wise-woman. I took off my dress and stood there in my loincloth, awkwardly covering my little breasts with my arms.
“No, all of them. Stand with your feet apart. I will not hurt you.”
I did as she asked, feeling ashamed of my nakedness and my small size. She stood up and felt my arms, my legs, and my neck as if I were a newborn pup. She was stronger than she looked. When she saw my scar, she gave a flicker of a smile. I thought she was laughing at me, and I stood up straighter, determined not to be afraid. Then she knelt, put her nose close to my pussy and breathed deeply. She nodded, then started to spread my pussy apart with her hands. I started backwards and shouted, “What are you doing?”
“Be quiet,” she said. “Stand still. This is important.” She leaned forward, and with the tip of her tongue, she licked my pussy, just once, from the back to the front. It was the strangest sensation I had ever felt, and it was all I could do to hold still. She leaned back on her heels, closed her eyes, and savored the taste on her tongue. Then she smiled and stood up. “Good. You shall be my apprentice, and that is your name—for now. You may get dressed.”
I did so clumsily, wondering what it all meant.
“Sit down,” she said, doing so herself and pouring me a cup of tea. “Now, do you know what your cunt is for?”
“Fucking. Having babies,” I said, wondering if she thought me a fool.
“And have you fucked anyone?”
“No,” I said.
“That is well. People who start too young learn bad habits. But that is not all that your pussy is for. Do you know why there are only wise-women and no wise-men?”
“No.”
“It is because all our magic comes from the pussy. It spreads out, like the fingers from a hand, like the branches of a tree, like the rays of the sun. It is the home of spirits. It is power.”
I considered this. “But it bleeds and it hurts sometimes. How can that be magical?”
“It is the price of power.”
“So... are all women magical?”
“A little, in small ways. A mother can hear five babies crying and know which one is hers without looking. A man cannot. But to be a wise-woman also requires craft and destiny. I can teach you the craft. You already have a destiny. Your mother could see it. I can see it. I have watched you for many years.”
“What is my destiny, then?”
“That I do not know. But it is a great one. I see it in your eyes and your body.”
“Is that why you... licked me?”
She laughed then, a hearty laugh. “Bless us no, dear. I needed to be sure that your pussy was healthy. If it smelled or tasted bad, you could not be a wise-woman. Now, enough serious talk. Here is the water-jug. Fetch tonight’s water from the river.”
So began my apprenticeship. Over the months I learned about good mushrooms and bad ones, and words to use to mend a family quarrel, and spells for the care of wounds. I gathered seeds and stones and bones for her magic, and we stored them in a hidden crypt under the floor. But most of all, I learned about the body—mine and the wise-woman’s.
She gave me a pallet on the floor near the fire pit to sleep on, and a blanket for when it was cold. She and her husband had a real bed. I had never seen a real bed before. Her husband was not often there. He was a trader, carrying wool and skins down the valley and bringing back tools and dyes for the wool. The wise-woman and I were alone most of the time, except when people of the village came to her for aid. She fascinated me by her confidence and the feminine way she moved, so different from my gawkiness.
The wise-woman was skilled in healing hurt muscles and bones. She taught me how upon my own naked body. Sometimes her fingers would trail over my nipples, and I felt a strange thrill that went right down to my cunt. At one point early in my stay she got out a shiny flat metal thing and bade me to look at it. I was astounded to see my own face. My narrow nose and pointed chin reminded me of my father. My eyes were my mother’s, watchful. My scar was my own. I stared for a long time.
“Is this magic?”
“No. Anyone can use it. But it is rare and foreign; our people cannot make such things. It has another use besides admiring yourself. Raise your skirts and put it between your thighs.”
Every c***d in a village full of naked brats knows what a pussy looks like, but this was the first time I had seen my own. The wise-woman said, “The power of your cunt will be woven into every spell and potion that you make. You must come to know it. Touch it. Explore.”
She taught me the sacred names of its parts: the Two Gates, the Lamp Above the Entrance, the Curtains, the Passage, the Round Door, the Cave. The Cave was where babies grew. “There is a legend from the West,” she said, “of a lamp that imprisoned a powerful spirit. When the lamp was rubbed, the spirit would emerge and do the holder’s bidding. But when men told the story, they remembered it wrong. They foolishly thought it was an oil lamp. The true lamp is the one above the entrance.”
“And if I rub it, will a spirit come?” I asked, giggling at the idea.
“It will,” she said seriously. “You cannot see it, but you will feel its power filling your body. Try it.”
I was suddenly shy. “Now?”
“Do not fear. This is part of the wise-woman’s craft. Watch me.”
She threw off her dress without hesitation, and I was surprised to see that she wore no loincloth. Her breasts were very round and she had a great triangle of dark hair that went between her legs. I felt embarrassed and excited at the same time. She saw and said, “Gently at first. It is what gives our spells their potency. Do it with me.”
She slowly caressed her breasts, her neck, her stomach and thighs. Then she spread her knees apart and began to rub her cunt, at first lightly and then harder. She concentrated on the Lamp—the raised flesh at the top. She went faster and her breathing grew labored. Sometimes she pushed her two middle fingers into her Passage and fucked herself hard with them.
I imitated her as best I could, and I felt my pussy grow wet. My muscles began to tighten. It felt good and I rubbed harder. Then I decided to try fucking myself too. I shoved my fingers in and felt a sharp pain. “Ow!” I said, and withdrew them with blood on them. My excitement ebbed quickly away.
She was beside me in an instant. “No, don’t close your legs.” She looked closely at my pussy. “That was only the Fence” she said. “I had forgotten. Some girls don’t have one. It will not trouble you again.”
“Is it always going to hurt like that?” I asked, wondering if there was something wrong with me.
“No. Only the first time. It will heal in a few days.”
But I could not wait a few days. Two nights later, I lay on the pallet as the wise-woman snored in the bed above me, and I grew lustful, thinking about her beautiful breasts and her strong thighs. I remembered the sounds she made, and I began to feel the spirit awaken in my pussy. I rubbed it faster and faster, and then suddenly the spirit flooded every part of my body… and vanished, leaving me weak. This was the power she spoke of? But it was gone so quickly. I went to sleep, disappointed.
I told her in the morning, and she smiled and said that I had made a good start, but it was only the beginning of a wise-woman’s craft. A few days later I got my blood, and I said, “Can I fuck myself while this is happening?” She said yes, that it was messy but no harm would come of it, and the spirit would ease the cramps. Sometimes when I had my blood I felt extremely lustful, and rubbed my cunt until my arm was sore, and longed for someone to hold me close. It felt like a great emptiness in my chest.
We began to fuck ourselves side by side, frequently, and I gained confidence in summoning the spirit and feeling its power in me. The wise-woman showed me how to peel a cucumber and use the slippery green flesh inside to fuck myself. It felt wonderful to have my pussy filled full. She taught me exercises to make the muscles of my Passage strong, which, she said, would make the spirit strong too. She did it as well, lying beside me, her breasts bouncing and her breath coming in great gasps. The cucumber was still perfectly good to eat afterward.
One evening when we were lying sleepily beside the fire after a day’s work, I felt the longing in my heart again. I gathered my courage and crawled into her arms, putting my head on her shoulder. She turned my face towards her and kissed me. My loins were instantly ablaze. I opened her dress, took her breast in my hand and caressed it, loving its softness and beauty. I looked her in the eyes and whispered, “I need you.”
For reply she put her big brown hand in between my legs. I clung to her, my arms around her neck. She held me close with one arm and fucked me steadily with confidence and strength. I relished the feel of her body against mine, womanly and warm. Her grip on me tightened, and I could not move, which was even more exciting. My breath turned to gasps. My wetness was going everywhere. She was fucking me fiercely now, plunging her fingers in and out. I arched my back… and great shuddering waves of power washed through me. I moaned, loudly, which I had never done when I came before. Her hand slowed, coaxing the last dregs of feeling from my cunt. She kissed me again, hard, and I shook all over.
“That,” she whispered, “is what your pussy is really for.”
I went to sleep in her arms.
== End of Part 1 ==
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