Swamp witch

The Swamp Witch

The slanting rays of the setting sun meagerly illuminated the dreary, brown-green, quivering surface of the swamp. In all directions, as far as the eye could see, stretched a bare quagmire, broken only by rare, inexplicably growing tufts of grass. A dead kingdom of silence, where there is no place for the living. And yet...

shoulder on, quickly rolling beyond the horizon, the blood-red luminary. Soon, very soon it would set, the short twilight would fly by like a bird, darkness would take its rights, hiding the already barely visible safe passage, and then it would be the end. The swamp would take its victim.

He made it. Darkness was rapidly enveloping the small island with a thick blanket, but it no longer mattered. He made it. Now he could lie down, giving rest to his tired lungs and aching legs. Soon the moon would peek out from behind the clouds, and he would have to get up and go again. But for now... for now he could lie down. Dimka rolled onto his back and closed his eyes. His lips habitually whispered a familiar name.

Oksana! Just a month and a half ago, Dimka hadn't known her at all, and probably wouldn't have, if his mother hadn't pushed him to go visit his grandmother during the holidays. "Go on, son. While student life gives you a free summer. In the senior years, there's practical training, then the diploma. You'll never get around to it, and grandma isn't eternal. Go, visit her, relax. The village is big there, lots of young people, and grandma herself is quite a character. A sorceress. So you won't be bored, don't worry." Well, his mother had prophesied correctly, there was no boredom in sight.

Oksana! Seeing the dark-haired beauty in the crowd of peers, Dimon, as they say, "fell." And so hard that he didn't even look at other girls anymore. And Oksanka also "fell for" the guy who introduced himself to her. Already the next evening, saying goodbye near the windows of her house, they learned the taste of each other's lips. And a few days later, running away from the others, they climbed into an old, abandoned garden and kissed until their ears rang and their lips swelled. And then Dimka's lips touched Oksanka's neck, descending lower and lower, as far as the unbuttoned top buttons of her shirt allowed.

The girl stood frozen, and only, breathing frequently with a sob, pressed the guy's head to herself. Dimka's hands slid along her back, descended over her rounded bottom, rose again, finding the sharp little breasts hidden by her clothes. Oksanka tried to carefully push away the guy's palms, which were cupping her mounds, but they stubbornly returned, were persistent, gentle.

The girl was gradually losing this struggle. One button yielded to the pressure of the guy's fingers, then another. Dimka's lips immediately expanded the "captured territory," shifting the fabric of the shirt, wandering over the opening shoulders, over the parts of Oksanka's resilient-yielding hemispheres free from the bra's embrace. When the guy's kiss landed in the hollow between the girl's breasts, Oksanka, shuddering, whispered:

— Don't.

But her palms, which had grasped Dimka's hands, were no longer pushing them away, but simply lay on top, not interfering with the guy. The shirt unbuttoned completely, and Dimka's palms, sliding over the girl's body, slowly rose to her shoulders. Oksana obediently put her hands behind her back, allowing the guy to undress her. Now she stood before the guy in only a semi-transparent, narrow bra, practically not concealing the breasts, whitening in the dark, rising excitedly in time with her breathing. Dimka's fingers carefully touched the smooth skin of her tender mounds, "peeked" under the finest lace, found the small, hardened "buttons" of her nipples.

— Oh. – Oksanka squeaked quietly. – Dimochka, that's enough, don't.

But her lips continued to seek Dimka's kisses, and her hands did not stop the guy's palms, which had slid down her back to the bra clasp. The girl only shuddered and tensed slightly when the bra unfastened, but obediently allowed herself to be exposed, and herself pulled up Dimka's T-shirt. Half-undressed, they pressed against each other. Dimka couldn't have said how long it lasted, an instant or an eternity.

The soft and, at the same time, tensely forward-striving towers of Oksanka's breasts pressed against his body, her moist, swollen lips, the cool skin of her shoulders deprived him of all reason, the ability to understand and feel anything else. As for his pants, there was no hint of reason at all. The rod that had long since flown up stood out like the Alexander Column in the middle of Palace Square. The loose shorts, worn due to the heat instead of jeans, did not hinder its freedom in the slightest, and the guy's shaft, resting against the girl's stomach, clearly demonstrated to her its unbridled desire.

The girl shuddered slightly from his touches but did not pull away. Dimka's hand, leaving Oksana's back, rushed downward. Running over the smooth, appetizing bottom, it went lower, lay on the smooth skin of her thigh. His fingers tenderly and affectionately slid along the slender leg, slowly moving upward. They moved from the side to the back, lifting the skirt, went higher. Carefully tried to penetrate from behind to the inner side of the thigh, but the girl's tightly clenched legs did not allow it. A little higher. Here was the place where the leg, ending, smoothly transitions into the rounded bottom. And here were already the panties hiding the "maiden's secret." Dimka's palm went under the thin fabric, grasping the firm buttocks.

— No! – Simultaneously with Oksanka's hot whisper, her hand decisively lowered Dimka's paw.

Dima rose up again, but now stroking the girl's bottom over her panties. Oksana didn't fight this. But when Dimka's other hand also reached the slender, tanned legs and moved upward, sliding from the front, Oksana, catching it, moved it to the mound of her breast, crowned by a pointed, hard nipple.

— Not there...

Dimka, leaning down, caught the remaining uncovered sharp peak of the other mound with his lips. The girl shuddered, pressing against him.

— Please, Dim! I've already allowed you too much.

Oksana's voice broke. The girl's body strained towards the caress. Her embracing hands hurriedly stroked the guy's hair, shoulders, and back. The waiting, yielding convexities of her breasts willingly disappeared in his palms. Her flat stomach, pressing, rubbed against the tense member pushing through his shorts. Her lips, asking to stop, continued to seek kisses, but... it was clear: Oksana would not allow more. And Dimka continued to use what he had gotten.

The hand that had reached Oksana's bottom squeezed it harder and harder, pressing the lower part of the girl's stomach to the guy's hips. The panties under his fingers got bunched up, allowing his palm to feel the smoothness of the girl's buttocks. Oksana didn't argue. Pressed against each other, they rocked as if making love. The lower abdomen of the girl, who had slightly spread her legs, slid along Dima's thigh. Her skirt rode up, and Dimka's shorts, on the contrary, slowly crept down to the joy of the member tearing out of his pants.

The shaft, stretched upward, shuddering from excitement, strove to peek out. Dimka realized that the slippery, lubricated head, having shifted the elastic, had already crawled out of the fashionable narrow briefs, and the shorts continued to slide down. A little more and his rod would touch Oksana's skin alive. Only to avoid this, to stop, Dima had no strength. The girl gasped softly when the moist, hot head drew the first sticky trail on her stomach, but only pressed harder against Dima.

— Ooh-mm.

Oksanka, squeaking quietly, suddenly froze, squatting slightly and squeezing Dimka's leg with her thighs. Her legs and bottom under Dima's hand trembled frequently. Dimka, holding the girl, wrapped his free arm around her waist. Oksana, breathing heavily, leaned back. Then slowly straightened up, moving slightly away from Dima's "toy." Dimka gently placed the girl's hand on it.

— Help!

Oksana hesitantly grasped his shaft.

— How?

Covering Oksana's little fist with his palm, Dimka hurriedly moved his hand.

— Li-i-ike that!

— O-o-o!

Oksana somehow guessed to move aside so as not to get hit by the fountain of white splashes flying out of the shuddering shaft. A fan of droplets scattered across the grass like light pearls. When the fountain subsided, Oksana carefully freed her hand.

— Good?

— Very. – Dimka kissed her palm, smeared with sticky lubricant. – Thank you.

— And to you. Oh!

Oksana, suddenly, hurriedly squeezed her legs, tightly bringing her knees together, and even squatted slightly, as if afraid of wetting herself.

Dima, without arguing, turned and walked a little to the side. He didn't really understand what had happened to Oksana, but since she asked... Dimka honestly waited, not trying to look back, until the girl's hand touched his shoulder.

— Take me home right now, please.

Oksana was already dressed and was clutching something in her fist.

— Why now? Did I offend you somehow? – Dimka worried.

— No, Dim. Not at all because of that. Just don't ask, okay? I'm... embarrassed.

— As you say. Let's go. – Dimka hugged the girl below the waist, surprised to feel that under the light fabric of the skirt there was nothing but the girl's bottom.

— Hug me higher today. – Oksana hastily moved the guy's hand.

Even in the uncertain moonlight, it was noticeable how she blushed. Only then did it dawn on Dimka why Oksana had squeezed herself like that a minute ago, and what the light little lump that Oksana was hiding and squeezing in her fist was—her wet panties, drenched in the juice that had leaked from her pussy.

Mentally gasping and calling himself a fool, he hurriedly, trying to distract the girl, started talking about something extraneous and supposedly interesting. It turned out rather fake, but Oksana exaggeratedly eagerly picked up the conversation, and gradually they really calmed down and approached the house already chatting as if nothing had happened. Saying goodbye, they didn't hide their eyes from each other, smiling in anticipation of tomorrow and a new meeting. True, they met not as they had planned.

Dimon wasn't the only one who liked Oksana. The village guys followed her like a herd. It was this herd that stopped Dimka on the next street. They didn't talk for long. Dimka knew how to fight, and quite a few opponents flew aside from his feet and fists, but a crowd is a crowd. They knocked him down and beat him while he was down so that if it weren't for the men walking by late, they probably would have beaten him, if not to death, then to disability. They carried Dima home; he couldn't walk himself. That's when grandma showed herself as a skilled herbalist.

In just two days, his head stopped ringing, his arms and legs began to obey, and his skin, initially black from the beating, lightened. And all these two days, from morning until late night, sitting by Dimka's bed, believe it or not, was Oksana. And if you asked, Dimka wouldn't have said right away what put him back on his feet better: grandma's poultices or Oksana's gentle hands and lips. And when on the third day he, struggling to get up, stubbornly went for a walk with her, even though he didn't hope to return home on his own feet, it was because of her that the villagers didn't touch him. What had she told them the day before? So, he was needed by her. Was!

Oksana! For three weeks they were inseparable, like a needle and thread. The shade of dense gardens on a hot day, the blackness of late evening on the riverbank, Oksana's moist lips sliding over Dimka's face and body, the delightful softness of the girl's breasts in Dimka's palms, the firm, no, not spread apart—Oksana didn't allow that—thighs lying on his arms when he carried the girl out of the river in his arms... A fairy tale! It was... And suddenly, as if a page was closed, it ended. Oksanka suddenly lost interest in Dimka, brushed off his advances, spun again in the round dance of the guys surrounding her, and to Dimka's words and reproaches only shrugged her shoulders, as if she hadn't had those magical days with him. Dimon raged, took offense, was jealous, but could do nothing.

Not even spit and, turning proudly, leave. He felt like a beaten little dog trailing after its owner, swore to send her away and forget, but the next day went to her again. It became even worse when Oksana got another favorite. To return home and know that right now those desired lips were kissing another, that those shapely shoulders, firm breasts crowned with sharp pink peaks of swelling nipples were being caressed by someone else's hands... Dimka gnawed his pillow at night so as not to scream out loud, tossed and turned on the bed until morning without sleep, walked around like a drunk during the day, seeing nothing around. And on his mind only she...

Dimka half-opened his eyes. In the night sky, stars peeked through the thinning clouds. The bluish-yellow disc of the moon, as if winking, looked out through gaps in the clouds. Time. Pushing off sharply from the ground, he jerked to his feet, walked to the other side of the small, maybe twenty meters if that, island, and sat down again on the grass wet with dew. Fumbling in his pocket, he took out a dullly shining, old, half-worn coin, swung slightly, and threw it right into the viscous slurry. Watched as the thin disc disappeared into the greedy belly, and froze, waiting, looking at the deceptively frozen, seemingly dirty-gray surface of the swamp. A suddenly risen sharp, unexpectedly cold wind swept up the remnants of clouds dangling in the sky and drove them somewhere behind his back, where in the night silence the village disappeared, dissolved into yesterday.

Yesterday... Yesterday he stupidly tormented the keys of his laptop until late at night, just to occupy himself, to delay the moment when he would have to fall into bed and lie until dawn, burying his face in the pillow, now restraining a furious growl, now pushing back tears trying to break out. And when he lay down and closed his eyes, in a preemptively pointless attempt to fall asleep, the door creaked quietly, and Oksana slipped into the room, pressing a finger to her lips.

— Oksa... – The girl's warning gesture forced Dimka to suppress a cry.

With one jump, he jumped off the bed to rush to her, touch her, hug her, but Oksana's hastily raised palms in front of her held him in place.

— No. – She whispered quietly. – Don't get up. Take a step towards me—I'll disappear immediately, you won't catch up.

Dimka obediently returned to his bed, which had become hateful over the last nights.

— Why did you come? – He asked just as quietly.

Making sure Dima was obedient, Oksana took a few steps forward.

— You missed me. Wanted to see me. So I came to show myself to you.

Dimka, indeed, looked at Oksana with the greed of a hungry man. The same, already familiar eyes, the same hair falling on her shoulders in a thick, black wave, the short plaid skirt Dimka loved, barely reaching a third of her thigh, and the same shirt with sleeves rolled up to the elbows, as always buttoned one button lower than the level allowed for a "decent girl."

Oksana, meanwhile, holding the shirt on her chest with one hand, unbuttoned the remaining buttons one by one with the other.

— Don't touch with your hands. Only look. Promise?

Dimka silently