Witch’s Smoke Aaron

by M. Garnet

  If you had to do something really good for someone else to remove a curse, but no one could see you, where would you start?

  Think how much fun it would be if you were a puff of smoke. If you were a naughty ten year old, you would look at your sister’s diary. If you were a teenage boy, you could drift into the girls’ locker room. If you were a man, wait, if you were a man who had been born centuries ago, and you and your brothers had done a thoughtless deed to a sweet young girl and had a curse put on you, well, drifting around as smoke could become something else.

  It did not help if the witch who put the curse on you let you form a small part of your body now and then. You could talk, but that often scared people away, a voice from nowhere. You could produce a hand, maybe one foot, and, yep, that impressed people.

  Then, after all the centuries of drifting with forest fires, and campfires, and wherever the wind sent you, there was a woman who closed her eyes and only smelled cinnamon and sandalwood. But you needed to do more than just pleasure her with a hand.

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  Witch’s Smoke: Aaron

  Copyright © 2013 M. Garnet

  ISBN: 978-1-77111-522-3

  Cover art by Carmen Waters

  All rights reserved. Except for use in any review, the reproduction or utilization of this work in whole or in part in any form by any electronic, mechanical or other means, now known or hereafter invented, is forbidden without the written permission of the publisher.

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  Witch’s Smoke: Aaron

  Witch’s Curse

  By

  M. Garnet

  This Series is dedicated to my Cousin Maryanne who introduced me to her wedding performed by a Wiccan and my beautiful daughter who was the Maid of Honor and took it all in with the respect she pays to any religion.

  So any curse has to have a good side along with the bad or it will come back to bite the one who placed it.

  Prologue

  In this modern time of the World Wide Web, fast cars, and tall buildings, there was not much room for old fashioned items and beliefs. Still, people liked to save history. Ancient buildings are preserved, antique furniture sold for high money on the internet, and the Wicca religion had become interesting to talk about at cocktail parties.

  There were large groups of people who tried to be Witches or Warlocks after reading or playing with Google. Some were scary teens who did damage to others or themselves. The news was full of it. A few so-called witches were able to fool the world and make money at it. Some of them sat in sad storefronts and told fortunes to desperate people who dumped rumpled twenties on the table to believe that they could talk to their lost ones. Some of them wrapped it up with a lot of hype and got a TV show and pulled the wool over the eyes of a wide audience and maybe even believed a little of it themselves, until they faded away for the next huckster.

  Then, out and around, were some that might be the real thing. These were broken down into two groups. One group was the people who practiced the religion of Wicca and tried to treat nature and the world in a better way. In Ireland and Scotland, the Druids still were active. They used natural products and natural healing, and some people did think they might give curses, but they insisted on only good curses. Then there was the real Witch or Wizard. If they were real, they kept it a secret. If they were real, they also knew the problems with curses. They knew how others would like to use their talents. No, a real witch would remain hidden in these times of corporate pirates, and wealthy crime bosses, and countries with untold greed and secret weapons.

  So if you were a young man, who had a curse put on you long, long ago, your chance of finding a witch to remove it in today’s world was non-existent. He had waited too long to seek help from another witch.

  Chapter One

  As the element of smoke, he could go anywhere. There was almost nowhere that he could not slowly drift under, around, or through. It was not the need to go to places that tore at his mind, it was his need to be corporeal. To finally be his complete self. The witch had not been totally cruel, as he had found after trial and error, because he could make a portion of his body part of the mortal world. One hand, a foot, his cock, his lips or his eyes, but it took a great effort and then there would be the need to rest before he could do it again.

  He had found out he could touch mortals with the smoke, and they would feel it. Of course, everyone smelled the smoke. Surprisingly, the smell was pleasant. He found this out through the reactions of others since he had never been able to draw into himself any of the smoke. He heard others talk about the odor of sandalwood and cinnamon. They found it disturbing, but it entertained him. He had been locked in this ethereal realm for centuries, so he had long days and nights to experiment. He had now found out how far he could go. How angry he could make a mortal and how lustful he could make them. He could bring them to eventual high orgasms that they did not find with mortals. He could make them hateful and angry until they actually hurt themselves. But then he stopped because they sometimes hurt others.

  Still, he cursed the witch who had placed him in this form and even more he cursed himself along with his three brothers for their act that had caused the witch to place the charm. No, not a charm, it was a damn curse. But one he had come to accept that he had earned.

  They knew she was the daughter of a witch. They did not know how powerful the witch was. At that time, in that old century, there was a witch in every village, one living in every forest. No one paid them much attention unless you needed a charm for clearing the water in your well or curing a cough. Unlike today, everyone knew they were real.

  He and his brothers were of the age, late twenties, early thirties, when they felt they were invincible. What was worse, they were blessed. They were tall and broad with chests and shoulders that made men move out of the way and women move in. They had their mother’s soft lips and their father’s black eyes and black hair that was full, and their ego let them wear it long. They drank heavy, fought hard, and whored whenever the chance was given. Usually, it was given often. Life was short and uncertain back then. There was so much that could take the life of a man, a woman, or a child.

  Wars, short and long, were always prevalent. If the enemy did not kill you, a wound probably would. Plus the enemy, on both sides, killed non-fighters. One did not take food with them in war. The fighters lived off the land and often just killed the farmers and took what was needed.

  Life in general was rough, and women died in childbirth. Children died early so that the ones that lived were the strongest. Every decade, a disease swept through populated areas, and, again, only the strong survived, no one understanding why the Gods took who they wanted.

  Living at the edge of the mountains, away from the seas, in the large sprawling stone manor that someday some archeologist would title a castle, the four brothers had survived childbirth and grown to be strong. Others of their siblings had not survived, and their mother had succumbed to childbed fever.

  So they grew up strong an
d fought and won. They did what they pleased because no one told them they could not, especially when they led and won the skirmishes against the small invaders. Mother was not there to teach them manners, Da did not listen to the priests of the Catholic religion so they seldom went to services. The money and prestige that was their family’s had prevented problems from those who were jealous or objected when they lay with the wrong wife. The pride of their father in having four such strong handsome sons let him flaunt them whenever possible and caused him to laugh at the complaints as long as they did not interfere with his duties. But, yes, there were times when their lifestyle was becoming weary to him. He would prefer that at least one of them would sober up and help take over the heavy yoke of running his shire.

  Then in the small, dark, sour-smelling pub in the little village far from their home, they saw a shy, small woman with large blue eyes and a dimple when she smiled. They made a bet as to who could bed her first, and who got last, and they proceeded to seduce her. Since they all wanted her, they decided that would be the best way to go, all of them. It took the youngest of them four days to break down her reticence, as she was a virgin. He led her to a secluded room they had prepared where he suggested that for her soft feelings, he would blindfold her. He whispered soft love words to her and kissed her gently before introducing her to the full blessing of all that the body can enjoy.

  He slowly undressed her, quietly speaking in her ear and running his tongue around the swirl that left her drawing in a deep breath. He then nibbled down her neck until he reached the lovely white breasts. He caught the deep rose tip in his mouth and brought it into a tight nub. He slowly rubbed his hand down her stomach and kept one leg between hers as she tried to keep her legs together. Taking his time, he just rubbed her stomach until he felt her muscles relax.

  He slowly inched down, through her heavy curls on her mound and pressing a finger between her lips. Again, he took his time, just rubbing slowly, pushing the ripe lips apart and nudging her legs further until he felt a bit of surprise to feel moisture. He assured her he was so pleased at her response, and he moved over on top of her. He brought his cock close to her warmth, rubbing it back and forth, bringing out more moisture and using it to coat the large end before starting to enter her.

  He knew that it was going to cause her discomfort the first time, so he worked on ways to distract her. He connected again with her mouth and plunged his tongue in to let her taste him as well as finding her entire heat. He had a hand around one full breast that she was pushing upward, and he twisted the tip a little harder as he pushed in to take her mind off the pain that would happen when he broached the maidenhead. He made the movement fast, then put a finger on the nub at the top of her opening as he rode deep in her, and he felt her begin to feel the first climax of her life. He was rewarded as she gave a small moan of want.

  When he finished, he kissed her, but asked her to keep on her blindfold as he wanted to please her some more. He brought up her feet on the bed and placed her legs apart and asked her to lay still. He backed up slowly, reached down, and gathered up his clothes, and as he stepped out the door, his brother, whose clothes were already on the floor outside the door, went in, smiling.

  He knelt and placed his hands on her thighs and, as she shivered, he whispered words of comfort and kissed each inner thigh. He then moved down one thigh, leaving a wet trail as he worked his way to the sweet smelling center of her womanhood that lay open and ready for him, red and swollen, but begging for more attention.

  So each brother took his turn, giving her pleasures she had not imagined the body capable of reaching. She lay there in the morning, stretching and feeling the aches in places that she did not realize she had muscles to react. But the brothers were gone. She was brokenhearted, but kept the night of wanton love her secret until she missed a couple of her monthly turns. She finally told her mother about the man who had loved her so many times in one night.

  * * * *

  The witch had gone to the location and, using magic, had grown angrier and angrier as she heard about four brothers waiting their turns outside the bedroom door. When her daughter heard that she had been taken by four men, not one, she was devastated. The witch and her daughter made the trip to the shire stone stronghold of the father to confront him.

  The large stonewalls were covered by leaning, rough-hewn buildings, as locals had found safe lodging under the protection of the soldiers of the Lord of the Shire. Soldiers walked the wide walls constantly, looking outward at the fields and the distant forest. Many years ago, a wise head had removed the shield of the trees a measure to ensure the enemy could not come close undetected. The muddy road that led to the wide and tall opening in the high wall was protected by alert guards even though many local tradespeople were coming and going.

  Everyone stepped aside for the witch and her barefoot daughter. The witch’s necklaces of herbs and magic stones marked her for what she was. The fact was she dressed as a witch, a ragged scarf not quite holding back her scraggly grey hair, layers of dirty skirts over mismatched shoes, and a blouse that might have been white once was now spotted brown. In opposition was the barefoot daughter. She was pretty and clean with a laced up bustier and white blouse with very little dirt, worn over a full skirt that swirled around her hips that drew smiles from all the men.

  The witch came to the steps leading to the main entrance of the manor and requested a speaking with the Lord. The two women stood and waited as a servant hustled inside. It was not long before he was back to take them into the presence of the head of this shire.

  The witch entered with head held high and a frown that quieted the great room full of many people eating and an equal number of servants, looking only at the man at the far end of the room. Her daughter was a different story.

  * * * *

  The young maid was all eyes as she looked around at what to her eyes was more wealth than she had ever seen. Long tables covered with food, some of which she could not even name. Large tankards of ale at the hands of each man. Some of the tankards even looked to be of silver or gold with inlaid jewels. The floor was covered with clean rushes and felt comfortable to her feet after the cold from outside.

  Her eyes shown with interest to see the long flags hanging against the high stone walls keeping the heat from the large fireplace built into one wall. The room was so large the entire building that held the little pub where she had worked could fit into it. She returned a smile to one of the soldiers at a side table, but straightened up when her mother cleared her throat. She hurried to stand beside her mother, looking up at the large handsome older man sitting above them.

  She was frightened enough to sink to the floor, but since her mother stood tall and began to talk to the Lord, she remained on shaky legs and waited to find her fate.

  * * * *

  With a smirk on his face, the Lord of the Shire sat on his heavy carved chair and said. “I will give the girl a large dowry and find her a husband from among our local farmers. Will that satisfy you?”

  The witch looked at him, seeing not shame, but actual pride. “Do that, and after my daughter is married and settled, I will return and have a short private meeting with your sons. Then the debt will be complete.”

  * * * *

  He agreed, thinking his sons could stand to be lectured by the angry old witch. So the young woman was married, and a local farmer was satisfied to have a pregnant wife. With her dowry, he had plenty of money for many crops for the next years to come and with a child on the way, he had a worker already started. The witch returned to talk to his sons, so he arranged a quiet room and made sure his errant sons were present.

  * * * *

  The witch looked at the four handsome young men with a scowl. “You four have done nothing good in your lives except to please yourselves. So I am going to make sure that you finally do something good for someone else. I am going to put a charm on each of you, and it will stay in place until you do something entirely selfless and good for someone
else.” The last part of her words was said with heat and vengeance.

  They looked at each other and then smiled at her. What the hell was she talking about? Some type of charm, okay, so dogs would bite or bark at them until they helped an old guy get up and fix his chair. They could do this to please this silly old witch.

  She pulled out a knife. They all looked at it, as it was the most beautiful knife they all had ever seen. It looked to be gold, and the handle had a design on it with tiny gems. She looked around and walked over to pick up a cup and came to each man and told him to let her cut his thumb. She caught a few drops of each man’s blood in the cup, cut her own thumb and added her blood.

  She then said something in another language and came to each man and, taking her cut thumb, she dipped it into the small amount of blood in the bottom of the cup. To the first man, she put a thumbprint on his palm and said, “Smoke.” She repeated the step to the next brother and said, “Moisture,” to the next she said, “Heat,” and to the last she said, “Cold.”

  Aaron would always remember that thumbprint on his palm. He would remember her words. “You do something entirely selfless and good for someone else.” He remembered her word for him, smoke. Afterwards, long afterwards, he finally understood the curse. How can you do something good if you can only observe?

  She put the cup down, put the knife away, and turned to leave. As she reached the door, she turned and looked at them. “May you learn.” Then she was gone.

  Aaron thought, as he floated in a wisp of smoke, across the world, that he had learned so much. But he had not learned how to make smoke help someone else. Still, he remembered that first night and that first morning.