Delaura leaned forward, pulling the bushes apart. In the rock cove centered inside the canyon, a small waterfall roared down into a pool of jet-black water. Fog and mist tangoed across the surface, twisting and churning like two lovers in the throes of an orgasm.
She expected to find a monster in the den, not a bathing woman. The moonlight, accentuated her nakedness. The female, a skinwalker, according to a native village an hour’s ride away. The bear hide hanging on a rock beside the bank only pointed out the rumors might be true. But brujas were not supposed to be so appealing. They didn’t have firm bodies and nipples the color of ripened raspberries. Or hair glowing like moonbeams. Water splashed off her shoulders and chased beads of moisture down her bare flesh.
The young woman slipped her hand down her belly, between her legs, and rubbed, throwing her head back. Her lips parted, and a guttural growl rolled out.
The throbbing started in Delaura’s clit, pulsing through her pelvis. She drew in short breathes, panting along with the woman as the witch thrust her fingers in and out of her pussy. It took no effort to visualize those digits finding a home deep inside her, pumping in and out. Moisture soaked the crotch of her underpants, and her nipples beaded into hard, painful stones. Never had she felt an attraction to a female or felt this overwhelming need, even with her husband. Delaura rocked back and forth, rubbing the seam of her knickers against her clit. Back. Forward. The bundle of nerves exploded to life, her vagina clenched, and Delaura gritted her teeth. Only a slight hiss escaped, but the woman stopped. She looked toward where she hid and then the other way.
The bruja pulled her hand from her pussy. Instead of retreating, she cupped her breasts, running her thumbs over her nipples in tiny circles, and stared in her direction. Juice squirted from Delaura’s cunt, and she bit her lip. The witch released her breasts and fell back into the water, sending waves splashing over the red rocks surrounding the pool.
I have a job to do. Delaura shook her head, clearing the fog. She’d had every opportunity to take the witch out, yet she’d stayed frozen in place. Tearing her attention from the woman in the water, she focused on the task at hand. She had to kill her.
Delaura, a decommissioned soldadera leader in the Mexican Revolution, had come here to earn her pay, feed her children. With the war over and her husband dead, she no longer had a means to fill the tummies of her starving babies, other than to hire out as an assassin for local villagers too afraid to go into the Devil’s Canyon and kill the skinwalker who had brought misfortune and death to several of the village’s youth. The smallpox infected adults and children alike, but the youngsters seemed to bear the brunt of it. The bruja was blamed because she’d turned down the advances of one of the village’s warriors not two weeks before the plague began. They believed the disease her retribution.
She doubted the woman was guilty of what they claimed, but it didn’t matter if she was innocent. Her son and daughter would die without food and medical treatment. And those things could be bought with the reward the villagers offered for her services. And more. A new life hung on the horizon for her family.
She slipped an ash-dipped bullet from a pouch on her waist into her revolver and then loaded another, inserting them one at a time until the gun held six. The villagers assured her one shot of the specially treated load would kill the monster posing as a beautiful woman, but she had her doubts. If the woman were indeed yee naaldlooshii, her magic could be too strong for someone with no supernatural powers. She pulled the bushes open wider. The surface of the pool lay still, except for where the falls churned the surface into foam.
Where? Damn, had she somehow escaped when Delaura had been busy loading her revolver? She set her pistol down and crawled closer, as close as she dared without danger of being spotted.
Whack! Something landed on her ass. “What are you doing here, spying?” Whack, the witch smacked her again.
The sting radiated across her cheek, sending her forward onto her belly with a yelp. Pleasure spiked her clit, sending another spasm through her pussy.
“I don’t like trespassers.”
Delaura rolled to her back, scrambling to find her gun. As her fingers wrapped around the grip, the witch brought the switch down on her knuckles. The revolver dropped to the dirt.
“If you try to pick it up again, it will be the last mistake you make.”
She let her gaze rake up and down the woman dressed only in a bearskin. Long legs, a slender waist, and round breasts the size of sweet melons. She had great stature for a woman, close to six foot in her bare feet. Her oval face could have belonged to a Viking princess, strong, fierce, exotic. Most definitely out of place in the desert.
“Are you a witch?”
“Why do you ask?” The woman used the end of the branch to lift the hair out of Delaura’s face and look into her eyes. She stooped down, leaning closer. Her knees popped open to give Delaura a view of her pussy and the white-blonde curls covering it. Dew glistened on her lips. Delaura’s vagina clenched again. “Come to kill the skinwalker?”
“Are you a skinwalker?”
“I am a witch. I am a shape shifter. I am not a killer.”
“Skinwalkers must kill someone close to them to gain their power.” She recited what the villagers had told her, unsure if it were true or not.
“I told you, I’m not a killer.”
Delaura licked her lips and her attention was again drawn to between the witch’s thighs. Heat moved through her like a storm, picking up intensity as she stared. “Then how is it you gained the power to shift into a beast?”
The pretty woman shrugged, put the end of the switch under the soldadera’s chin, and brought her gaze back to hers. “The same way my mother, grandmother, and great grandmother did. We were born with the curse and sought refuge in the desert to avoid being hunted as monsters. This bearskin is the only way I can return to my human form. It was passed to me by my mother the first time I shifted.”
“You said the hide helps you return to human form. What of your mother?”
“She became a bear and vanished into the mountains, as I will someday.” She pulled the branch back and stood. “You have younglings. I can smell them on you. Go back to your husband and children.”
“My husband is dead. My children will be shortly, if I don’t bring your body back.”
“You only need my bearskin—not my body, or do you?” She tilted her head and inhaled. “I can smell your arousal. You’re wet.”
Delaura swallowed. “I....” How could the witch possibly know the affect she had on her? “No. You’re wrong.”
“Am I? Your heart is pounding. I can hear it. You want me.” She stepped out and opened her legs. Her fingers slinked between her pussy lips, and she began to rub. Moisture clung to her digits as she masturbated.
“No,” Delaura lied, even though she couldn’t pull her gaze from the bruja petting her cunt. Look away. What powers did she hold over her? Unless.... “Release me from your spell, witch.”
“I’m using no magic on you.”
“You are doing something to me.”
“As you are to me.” She lifted her hand and reached out. “Stay the night with me, and I will save your children. I have been alone too long and desire company.”
Delaura stared at her open palm; the witch’s musk wafted toward her. If she were to take her offer, it would seal her fate. Could this witch be trusted to save her children?
“I have piles of gold, enough to secure you a home and servants for the rest of your life, and that of your posterity. Let me make love to you as your body desires, and you can have it. All of it.”
“How can I trust you?”
“You are alive, are you not?”
Against her better judgment, Delaura took her hand.
A warm fire glowed in the cave. A soft straw-filled mattress sat in one corner, while bottles of every kind lined the walls. “My name is Maeve, a descendant of beserkers who were shipwrecked on the coast of South
America hundreds of years ago.” She came up behind her and encircled her ribs, just under her breasts, with an arm. “You have never been with a woman, have you?”
She shook her head.
“I will make your first time good.” Her hand slid up to cup her breast and pluck at her nipple. She pressed her lips to her ear. “You like to be dominated. I could smell it when I hit you with the switch. I want to give you the pleasure your body desires, to be spanked, released of your burdens. Is that not what you wish for? Lust after?”
“Yes.” God help her, she did. By this woman, in this cave.
“Mmm.” Maeve stepped back. “Drop your dress.”
“Now?”
“Don’t question me.” Maeve smacked the stone wall beside her with the switch. “Disrobe.”
Delaura removed the rebozos first, then her blouse, followed by her skirt. Finally, she stood before Maeve in only her underpants and boots. The blonde witch let her gaze travel over every curve and dip in her body, taking her time. After what seemed like an eternity, she spoke. “On your hands and knees.”
“Now?”
The switch snapped against her right ass cheek. Liquid heat trickled down Delaura’s thigh, her pussy too saturated to contain it.
“Rewards are best earned.”
She dropped to her knees and then to her palms, looking back to see what Maeve intended to do and when.
“Eyes forward.”
She snapped her gaze forward and waited, tension winding tighter with each passing second. Instead of a hard whack, the switch came up between her thighs, caressing between the lips, through her soaked undergarment. Rubbing back and forth. She moaned and rocked against the makeshift crop, needing more.
Whack. The switch came away from her pussy and was laid across her ass before she had a chance to brace.
“Ouch!”
Whack. “Don’t speak unless I give you leave.”
“But....”
Crack. It connected with her left cheek. Delaura bit her lip. One after another, the hits came, always in a different spot, never when she expected them. Some hard. Others light as the brush of a feather. Every time the switch connected, juices ran from her cunt. Her pussy swelled, and her clit begged for attention. She moaned unable to contain her silence longer.
“What do you want, Delaura?”
“Please, touch me.”
“As you wish.” The witch dropped beside her. Delaura’s knickers were dragged down to her knees, and a warm hand cupped her sex. Maeve licked down her spine, nibbling across her lower back. A sharp nip on her ass. Delaura jumped. And then a lick. “I free you, as you will me.”
Fingers slid inside her, pumping in and out. Her pussy spasmed against each thrust. Her muscles tightened. Faster. Harder. She flew until the world spun. As she came, Maeve flipped her to her back and dove between her thighs to suck the juice from her. Lapping. Sliding her fingers in and out, riding her through the mad pleasure until she thought she’d implode.
Shooting stars exploded across her vision before darkness embraced her.
Hours later, sunlight beamed into the mouth of the cave, washing over her face. Delaura rolled over to embrace the woman who’d given her more pleasure than she’d ever experienced and found a hard bundle wrapped in Maeve’s bearskin. Delaura sat up, blinking her eyes, looking around the cave. Everything was as it had been the night before, with one exception. The witch was gone. She scrambled to her feet and rushed for the entrance to look out on the pool.
Maeve had vanished. She looked down to see human footprints turn to bear prints, walking away. As she raised her chin to survey the direction, the jagged peaks in the distance taunted her. Toward the mountains. “No. Maeve!”
In horror, she spun around and ran for the bearskin. She had to take the hide to her. But as she tried to lift it, gold coins spilled all over the floor of the cave. Delaura yanked hard and scattered them around the bruja’s dwelling. The witch had kept her promise. She’d freed her from poverty. She’d given her love. And she’d gone home to join her ancestors, but there was no reason Maeve couldn’t be a part of her family.
Shit.
Delaura ran back to the entrance with the skin in her hands and shielded her eyes from the sun. On the ridge, looking down, was a large blonde grizzly. They locked gazes for several moments before the bear turned and lumbered off.
No. She wouldn’t let her walk away like that. She ran for her horse, naked, except for her boots and the bearskin draped over her head and down her back. Shoving her foot in stirrup, she climbed into the saddle, kicking her mare into a hard gallop for the ridge.
As she reached the top, a shot rang out and her mare went down in a cloud of red dust, pinning her underneath. The horse dropped its head with a snort, and didn’t move after that. Delaura pushed her palms into the Earth, pulling on her leg, pushing back until her limbs shook. The bone in her thigh cracked and sharp pains radiated down to her toes and up into her hip. “No. God, no. Please.”
“It’s the bruja. Get her.”
From her vantage point, she could make out three men from the village, moving for her on foot. “I’m not the witch.”
“She lies. She wears the bearskin.” Another shot ricocheted off a rock near her face, scattering stone fragments everywhere. A sharp sting on her cheek and something warm and wet trickled down her face.
As they approached to within ten feet of where she was trapped, she grabbed her boot and tried to pull her leg out from under the horse again, doing her best to ignore the pain. Her vision blacked out and came back. She closed her eyes, took another deep breath and tried again to the same effect.
The sound of boots on the rocks near her, saw her pleading. “It’s not what you think. Listen to me. She’s not a killer.”
“The witch will say anything to get away. Kill her.” Without her or the gold, her children would perish. As the hammer on a rifle snicked, a bear exploded into clearing. Its great maw opened and it roared, shaking the ground underneath her. In one swipe of her paw, the rifle flew from the man’s hands and the group retreated, running as fast as they could go. The blonde grizzly turned around, dropping her nose to sniff the hood on the hide cape. She chuffed and nuzzled into Delaura’s neck, almost as if to say she were sorry.
“You didn’t have to leave. You could live with me.”
The bear grunted and sat, giving her a doubtful look.
“I have a place in my home, if you want it. Please don’t walk off into those mountains.”
This time, the bear groaned and looked away.
“Please. I think we could have something real special—if you’d give us a chance.”
The bear turned back to her, caught the hide in her teeth and backed up, pulling the bearskin away. She ducked her head under the cape and began to shimmer, like the heat rising off the desert sand. Moments later, the beautiful beserker sat beside her. “Do you mean it?”
“Yes.” She reached out and grabbed her hand. “But I’d appreciate a little help getting my mare off me first.”
A Note from D.L.
I was honored when asked to join the Spank or Treat anthology and eagerly penned my story Bear to Her in a matter of two hours. I found myself surprised at how easy it came to me, and even more excited to finish it and send it off.
I got my writing career started with shorts, and as time has passed, I've forgotten how they've helped me to become a better writer. Writing Bear to Her, brought me back to my roots. When you write shorts, you're forced to focus on critical elements in your tale, often skipping scenes and details you would include in longer novels and novellas. The result: Tighter more compelling tales. In the past with my shorts, I've been forced to exclude character descriptions to focus on the heat and emotional elements. I remember reading a review about my first story--3k, where the reviewer gushed over how hunky the hero was, and thinking, but I didn't describe his physical appearance, not once. This is one thing I love about short
s. The readers participate more than they realize, taking the picture you provide and filling in the blanks and adding to it what their mind spins.
D. L. Jackson is an award-winning author of urban fantasy, science fiction, military romance and erotic romance. She loves to incorporate crazy plot twists, comedy and the unexpected into her worlds. As a U.S. Army veteran, she naturally adores men in uniform and feels the world could always use more. She does her part by incorporating as many sexy soldiers in her novels as she can. When she isn't writing or running the roads, you can often find her online chatting with her peers and readers. Grab a cup of iced coffee, pull up your virtual chair and say hi. She loves emails and blog visits from her readers. www.authordljackson.com
www.authordljackson.com
Under Her Spell by Siobhan Muir
Phinnius Winterbourne tried to throttle the overwhelming envy curling through him as he watched his elder brother Darius chasing his adoptive daughters in the grassy clearing behind the millhouse. Phinn wished he could be the one running.
I am running. Only it wasn’t his brother who chased him.
With a morgira after him, a powerful tracker demon kept by the Winter Court to find wayward members, visiting his brother hadn’t exactly been a stroke of genius.
Even if I’m not technically a member of the Winter Court.
The Winter Queen didn’t see it that way, not with their father’s blood running through their veins. Apparently, the association hadn’t ended with the senior Winterbourne’s death, and now Phinn had brought the demon to his brother’s door.
My intellectual prowess is a marvel.
He retreated from his brother’s happiness, shaking his head—and ran straight into the most silent woman he’d ever met.
“By the Goddess, I’m sorry!”
Phinn managed to catch her before she fell to the ground in an ungainly mess, but a frisson of awareness shot through him the moment he touched her. The scents of pumpkin spice and sun-baked leaves suffused his nose as he met a pair of eyes as blue as his own. An immediate sense of home and belonging filled his heart with yearning, and it broke free in a moan.
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