The Wolf, The Witch and The Dining Room Table

By Ian Hobson

“Your place or mine?” Damien could hardly believe his luck. He had always thought himself to be irresistible to women but he usually had to work a little harder than this.

“Your place, but we’ll take my car.” Sabine finished her cocktail and smiled at Damien as she replaced her glass on the bar. As she reached for her purse and slipped the strap over her shoulder, Damien ogled her slim figure and long, slender, well-tanned legs. Her age was difficult to guess at; somewhere between twenty and twenty-five, Damien decided.

She slipped off the barstool and, with a wiggle, she adjusted her dress. It was a short, blood-red dress with a high but very wide neckline and long voluminous sleeves with bracelet-like cuffs. Her hair was also red; a fiery but natural red, not quite shoulder length, and it fell in ringlets, framing her stunningly beautiful face. In the half-hour since she had come and sat beside Damien at the bar, the room had become busier, and a few heads turned as the couple left, hand in hand.

Outside it was dark but warm. Sabine’s car was a Porsche. Money as well as looks, thought Damien. “Do you drive in those?” he asked, glancing at Sabine’s heels; they were very high.

“Can do, but I mostly drive barefoot. Get in.” Sabine walked around the car, opened the door, slid in behind the wheel, kicked off her sling-backs and started the engine. Damien climbed in beside her, unable to keep his eyes off her legs as the hem of her dress rode up. She took his hand and placed it on her inner thigh and then, looking him in the eye, she reached across and pressed her fingers against his crotch. “Which way?”

Damien had to swallow before replying. He was unaccustomed to having his “credentials” checked out in such a blatant way. “Err, straight ahead, then left at the next junction.” He had already decided to take her to his brother’s house; more impressive than his own and closer. His brother and family were away in Florida. Damien was keeping an eye on the place.

Sabine withdrew her hand, engaged the gearshift and stepped on the accelerator. She drove as though speed limits did not apply to her and the journey took only a few minutes. She stopped the engine and slipped her shoes back on, then leaned over to kiss Damien, again fondling his crotch. “Lead on, big boy.”

Damien put his arm around Sabine’s waist as they climbed the steps to the front of the house, and Sabine giggled as Damien fumbled with the keys and unlocked the door and felt for the light-switch. Once inside, they kissed again but more passionately; this time Damien did the fondling. Then, with his arm around her, he tried to lead Sabine towards the staircase. But Sabine had other ideas.

“What’s in here,” she said, grasping Damien’s belt buckle and pulling him towards the rear of the house. The door to the dining room was wide open and the room was illuminated by light from the hallway. Sabine could see a long and well-polished hardwood table surrounded by eight hardwood chairs. She guided Damien into the room and towards the table. “First things first.” She released Damien then dragged a chair out from the head of the table and pushed it to one side. Then she opened her purse, took out a condom and carefully tore open its foil wrapper and placed it on the chair beside her purse.

“Wouldn’t we be more comfortable upstairs?” Damien asked.

“Don’t be boring. This will be much more fun.” Sabine turned back to Damien, unfastened his shirt buttons and pushed his shirt off his shoulders before attacking his belt buckle and zip. He struggled to free his arms from his shirt until it fell to the floor.

“Kick off your shoes.”

Damien was not accustomed to being ordered about but he didn’t complain. As soon as he kicked off his shoes, Sabine, still holding his belt, swung him around, backed him up to the end of the table and continued to undress him until he wore nothing but white boxer-shorts. “Now sit.”

Again Damien did as ordered, pushing himself well up onto the table. With the flat of her right hand, Sabine pushed him backwards. The tabletop was cold against his shoulder blades. He raised his buttocks as Sabine tugged at his shorts and slid them off.

“Mmm, you really are a big boy.” Sabine’s eyes sparkled and she licked her lips as she reached towards her prize, causing Damien to shudder at the touch of her fingertips. But then, taking a firm grip with her left hand, Sabine used her right hand to pull a razor-sharp blade from her left sleeve and slice off his appendage at the base.

Damien screamed and curled into a foetal position, clutching his bloody groin, while Sabine reached for the waiting condom and, with apparent ease, slipped it over the still tumescent penis and knotted the end to save further blood-loss. She wiped blood from her hands with Damien’s shirt, before wrapping it carefully around the bloody, sausage-like package. Then she retrieved her knife and purse and left the house.

The witch smiled as she drove away. It was a shame to waste such a perfect erection but the contents of the condom – such a useful invention – were essential ingredients to the elixir of life that would ensure her youth and beauty for another one hundred years.

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