When Harry, met Casey in a Texas bar, he had no idea what it would lead to.
This stunning cowgirl chose Harry.
As their relationship began to develop, she told him her darkest secret. She admitted that she was a witch with a large number of erotic fetishes. More
When Harry, a successful writer met Casey in a Texas bar, he had no idea what it would lead to.
This stunning cowgirl could ride an electric bull better than most men in in a popular Saloon and had her pick of any of them.
And yet, she chose Harry.
As their relationship began to develop, she told him her deepest, darkest secret. She admitted that she was an ancient witch with a large number of erotic fetishes.
But while Harry worked to come to terms with Casey's blistering lifestyle, she began to change him in ways he would never have expected and pulling him into a series of extremely intimate challenges.
“Darling?” she asked as we lay there sweating, “Was it alright? I mean… I know sometimes,” she hesitated and then continued, “I can get kind-of carried away. So… Was it really, alright?”
Our eyes met as I struggled to find the perfect words.
It had been a truly intense love session. When she got started, it was like riding a bucking bronco in a rodeo. Maybe, more like one of those electric bulls at Tawney's.
“No…” she said, “Really… I am a spell-casting, broom-flying, cauldron-stirring witch. Although, I haven’t gotten on a broom in nearly three hundred years or for that matter ever stirred a cauldron. But I’m pretty good at spells.”
Again, I stared at her. I watched her nervously shift on her chair.
“No,” she finally said, “and I’m not crazy… Been doing the witch thing all my life.”
I watched in silence as she continued to pick at the last of her snapper.
Finally, she set her fork down and looked up to me and blurted out, “Please don’t think ill of me. Once before I met someone who I really cared about and that was a long time ago. Harry… Please don’t dismiss this. I really care for you and this isn’t a fantasy.”
“Fantasy?” I questioned, “Why would this be a fantasy?”
“Well often, witches will play with fantasies,” she answered, “If for no other reason than they can.”
"So you're Cassandra's new squeeze," came a tiny voice to my left.
I looked down to find a slight woman with a prune of a face. She must have been somewhere between eighty and five hundred years old.
"Quite a place isn't it?" she commented.
I glanced around again and nodded.
And before I could speak, she patted my belly saying, "I see she's already fattened you up. Our Casey does like to do that."
As we talked, she guided me to a table of horderves asking, "Did our Cassandra put an appetite in you? I expect so," she rattled on, "Were you skinny when she found you?"