Feature Writer: Keelywrites /
Feature Title: WOOD SPIRIT 3 /
Story Codes: Erotic Horror, Supernatural /
Synopsis: An Entity claims a woman left alone in the wilderness /

September 16, 1754

It is not yet dawn. I am not certain what time it is, or if it is even the next day. I do know that I must relate what has happened to me this night for fear of going mad.

I was so soothed by Kaukesha’s hands in my hair after they had left, I barely managed to get the nanny into the lean to beside the cabin before I laid my head down on the table – thinking to rest for only a moment before I had my supper and closed the cabin for the night.

I was awoke from my slumber by my rumbling stomach sometime in the night, to find that the fire had gone out beneath my stew pot.

Frustrated and unable to see to stoke what embers might still be burning, I managed to shut and secure the cabin door. Stomach loudly protesting, I felt the heavy lump of the root in my apron, and pulling it out, I brushed it free of the bits of lint which might have stuck to it, and took a bite to ease the growling in my belly.

The root explodes in a sweet taste in my mouth as I grind my teeth down on it. The texture is similar to the finest pastry I ever had, and I am ashamed to admit I gobbled the rest of it down greedily.

It filled my belly and because of that, I once more grew sleepy, so sleepy I barely made it to my low trundle bed in the corner of the cabin. I dreamed of strange things when I slept. I dreamt of Monsieur Lerreaux, the wealthy planter who had all his wife’s shoes made by my father. How he had asked my father for my hand in marriage after his wife had died.

I dreamed of Oconowoc’s father Nawkaw, how he had found me gathering berries in the further end of the forest earlier in the summer. I remember the look in his eyes when he saw me on the edge of the clearing, how he had pulled my bonnet off of my head, his eyes growing darker when he saw my hair.

The color of the berries as they rolled free of the basket, the sounds of my frightened cries when he dragged me up against his body and smashed his mouth on mine. His kiss tasting of wild strawberries. His deft fingers, slipping under my skirts and poking me between the thighs. The feel of the calluses on the tips of his fingers before he dragged me to the darker shadows of the forest.

The feel of his hands, rough and excited as he lifted my skirts, brought my knee up to his narrow waist and pinned me against the tree. The feel of his member as it slapped eagerly against my thigh before he maneuvered his hips and stabbed it deep inside me, his mouth eating my cry of pain before he began to move against me, gobbling up my whimpers even as the pain changed to passion, the feel of his manhood deep inside me, stretching me to accommodate him.

In my dreams, I understood the words he muttered into the bend of my neck as he pushed me against the trunk of one of the pines. He called me his wife. He said I was his mate, and that through our union the tribe would be given gifts from the Mother, and then he took my maidenhead – he had taken what Monsieur Lerreaux had wanted.

I understood that it was the spirit of the forest which drove him to do this deed, that the spirit was excited by my hair, by my skin. I was unlike anything it had seen – and it had waited long to be joined to me.

I remembered my tears as they stained the dry earth beneath the dried pine needles. I dreamed of the forest watching us as he shouted out in pleasure, the red of my maidenhead mingling with his seed and dripping down my leg to the soft earth below us.

I dreamed of the culmination of our joining and how he had stumbled away from me, shaking his head as if to clear it while I dropped to my knees and buried my face in my hands in shame. The feel of my shoulders as they shook with sobs and Nawkaw’s anguished voice when he realized what he had done – what he would be driven to do again.

I woke slowly, feeling the phantom fingers of my memory pressing in to my thighs, the memory of the pine branches far above my head mixing in with the reality of my chemise being pulled up my body as fingers tightened their hold on my thighs and spread me wide.

To my shame, I felt the cool air of the evening that slipped past the oiled hide on my moist nether lips before the warmth of a breath touched them. I shuddered a sigh as my body relaxed, lost in the memory of Nawkaw’s rough lovemaking as he took me again and again in the woods until night fell and the sun rose once more.

I felt lips scented with strawberries touch mine, hands stroking my breasts as insistent as the ones which now stroked my wet flower. I felt myself lifted, arms hanging loosely to the sides and outward as my shift was ripped down the center by those hands, exposing my body to the darkness of the cabin.

My wife. My mate.

It was whispered within my head and without, the deep throbbing bass of the voices making my skin prickle in pleasure as it washed over and through me.

Suspended above my meager cot, I opened my eyes to the low ceiling of the cabin, finding myself so close to it that I could reach out and touch it, smell the pine shingles and the drops of sap that had frozen in place like icicles.

Slowly, I felt the hands squeeze my breasts even as the ones beneath me held me aloft, legs and arms spread wide like a sacrifice on an altar. Mouths replaced the hands on my breasts, one latching on to each nipple, suckling them insistently until they rose into hard peaks and made me cry out in pleasure, my eyes flying open in surprise as I felt my womb deep within me tighten and clench.

Awake and heavy with spent passion, I rolled my head to the side, my hair weighing my head backward so my neck was a long line. I needed to see my lover’s face – to see the man that wrought such pleasure upon me, to beg him to fill me once more.

Suspended above my bed in the moonlight which lighted the oiled hide to a strange yellow glow, I saw the long rough wood table in the center of the room, my father’s large bed against the far wall, the neatly folded stack of laundry beside it in a basket, my stew pot hanging above the hearth – a myriad of the items which consisted of my life here in the wilderness, but no other being present.

Disbelief coursed through me, and I felt my stomach grow tight at the thought of a ghost assaulting me in such an intimate manner, and I began to struggle against the hands that held me aloft, against the mouths that were wreaking such havoc on my breasts. The phantom hands tightened their hold on me, pushed my thighs apart even as I sought to close them.

My wife. My mate.

The words echoed in my head as a mouth latched onto the bud of my womanhood, suckling it as insistently as the mouths on my nipples. I gave a cry of pleasure mingled with horror and lifted my head to look down my pale body in the moonlight.

My nipples were pronounced, puckered and excited. Even though there were no mouths to be seen, they stretched and narrowed, as if someone were indeed kneading them with their lips, eliciting my body’s response. Dimples were in the soft skin of my sides, along my ribs, as if the hands that clenched and lifted me were truly present, though I could not see them. The hair on my mound parted and shifted by an unseen mouth as it suckled my bud of pleasure, and even as I watched, I felt hands behind my slender thighs, pushing them upward until my knees scraped the ceiling.

Eyes wide in fright at what was happening to me, I watched as the tender insides of my thighs dimpled, showing four distinct prints as the hands locked me in place so a long tongue could jab into the center of me.

“No!” I cried out, hating myself for enjoying what was happening, hating myself for enjoying what Nawkaw had done, hating that small part of myself that hoped Nawkaw would repeat it before my father returned.

Yes.

The response was short, but the unseen being’s breath tickled along the mounds of my breasts, making the mouths suckle harder, making my spine bow in pleasure as my womb tightened and then released my pleasure, exploding down my limbs in lightening flashes, leaving my weak and sated.

Lolling my head to the side, I stared sightlessly at my hearth and the black pot over it as the phantom pushed my thighs higher, the rough scrape of the wood shingles skinning my knees. Pressure from the fingers on the insides of my thighs pushed them open further as the suckling continued on my hardened bud.

Unable to stop myself from looking down my body at the obscenities being worked upon my treacherous body, I watched in fascination as the silken hair of my mound was moved, smoothed to either side of my nether lips to ease access for the insistent phantom mouth that worked upon me, eager for me to release more of my pleasure. Unseen hands massaged my breasts, encouraging the nipples to sharper peaks for the suckling spirit mouths and I watched in horror and shock as my skin rippled beneath the pressure of the ghostly hands.

Finding my willpower once more, I began to struggle again, only to have my thighs forced wide, the grip on them tighten as the hands holding me aloft increased their pressure.

“No!” I cried again, terrified beyond reasoning as I felt the familiar slap of an erect male sex against my thigh – indeed, even saw the trail of juice it left shimmering in the twilight against my skin.

I claim you again as my wife. My mate. My fire haired lover. Captive for my pleasures. Lips trembling and uncertain I did not still dream, I renewed my struggles, only to feel hands like iron bands around my wrists, stretching my arms out to my sides and holding them there in the air as the invisible male length pressed harder against my thigh. Longer and thicker then Nawkaw’s had been, I could only imagine the pain that would accompany this first joining. The thought made my head light with terror.

I squeezed my eyes shut, let my head fall back on my neck to avoid the ghastly sight, but my head was pushed upright and I was left no choice but to watch my ravishment by the unseen phantom.

The line of the unseen sex was thick against the tender skin of my thigh as the being pushed it against the silken flesh, rubbing it up and down, causing me to gasp in frightened breaths at the girth and length.

“Nooooo…” I mewled out in a whisper as I felt it prodding at my opening, felt the immense tip push against my womanhood until it popped just inside of my channel. I breathed out a sigh as it gained entry, unaware I had been holding my breath until it pushed deeper, and deeper, stretching my channel wide to receive it’s massive girth until I was gasping again in fear at being torn asunder.

When it had reached the end of me, it stopped, and I felt the hand behind my head move away, leaving me suspended in the air, arms still stretched as wide as my knees. A sigh brushed my breasts and the mouths began sucking harder, mixing pain with pleasure as the shaft began to move, pulling outward slowly, ever so slowly until I cried out as it pulled free of me.

Rough hands twisted in my hair, pushing my head up again – as if the phantom wanted me to watch my rape.

My wife. My cunt. My slave.

I knew the words and yet did not know them. It whispered them in my head over and over as it thrust the massive tip inside me again and began to brutalize my channel in earnest with long, hard strokes, making me squirm and wiggle under it’s onslaught as it stretched me wide before withdrawing – again and again.

It felt as if it was churning my insides – the push-pull-push-pull of the massive member pushed my channel wide to receive it, only to withdraw and allow my sheath to return to it’s narrow size before repeating the maneuver again and again.

Give me your nectar.

I ground my teeth against the rising pleasure I felt building within me. Push-pull-push-pull. I could not help the rising cry of passion that built in my throat any more then I could prevent my rape.

Give me your essence. Feed my children your juices.

The shaft found the end of me, thrusting upward in one hard movement, lodging itself against the end of my channel and pressing the thick head against it, making me give a shriek of pleasure as I gave up the fight with my body.

My womb. My cunt.

The phantom released it’s juices against the opening of my womb, the twitching and throbbing of the thick shaft within me making me release again and again. I never wanted the pleasurable torture to stop in that moment – I never wanted to know anything beyond the passion that exploded through me over and over, leaving me breathless and hoarse from my cries.

Ahhhhh. Yes, feed my children my wife. Give them our nectar to feed them.

Still the spirit pumped it’s seed in me, filling me so full of it, and being so tightly locked inside of me by it’s girth that I felt as if my belly would swell from the pressure.

Limbs limp and body still throbbing, I felt the length of the shaft slowly dwindle, until it slipped it’s sex free of mine, letting my fluids which mingled with its phantom seed begin to drip down to my bed below. The first drop had barely reached the bedclothes before the mouths moved from my breasts and latched on to my sex, greedily milking my womanhood of it’s spent pleasure.

Even as I felt myself being slowly lowered to the bed, the mouths still suckled at me, eliciting small tremors in my body and making me quiver softly through more pleasurable releases until I finally fell asleep.

I woke in the darkness once more and hurriedly found my journal to record these events. I know not what it means.

I am lustful in my heart still for Nawkaw? Have the spirits of the animals Father killed returned to punish me? Am I being haunted by demons because I was not a good catholic in my heart when I opened my legs eagerly for Nawkaw after he had initially raped me?

THE END OF CHAPTER THREE