Chapter 2

As I confided in you in the previous chapter that my name was Solomon Makepeace and I was relating the saga of Misty McCoy to y’all with no holds barred, I wanted to reiterate that I hold no rancor against the witch clans of the mountain folk.

I would be a fool of the worst sort if I took that stance because I done seen what can happen to those yahoos what mess around with Misty and her cohorts on Wolf-head mountain and I have to tell you plain and straight, it sure ain’t pretty.

If you recall, I told you that the little fireball called Misty was just past fifty at the time they carried her down to the jailhouse even though she still had the temperament and the body of a teenager cheerleader and the attitude of a female looking for action wherever she could find it.

Her granny had just passed and was allegedly in her nineties, but my suspicion was she was over one hundred was more commonly believed. That meant she was born before the war years of Southern Liberation and grew up in the time of the Carpetbaggers that came to pester us mountain folk with their rules and regulations that drove a man to drink even on a peaceful Sunday when most folks like to relax and contemplate their terrible sins.

It was after I married my step-sister Amy with her big fat ass that fit my groin like a velvet glove that I remember it so clearly like it were just yesterday. There was no objections to our marriage because Amy and I were not truly blood kin and it was fairly common for us folks to marry within the family if that were the case. Of course, I was fully in love with Misty my entire life from the time we were skinny-dipping in our all-togethers down at Beaver Dam River and I was constantly scheming on ways to get better acquainted with her delightful dirt-hole more often than not. My settling on Amy as a replacement for that goal was admittedly out of a sense of frustration at being denied the back-door pleasures of Misty’s fine backside but I never lost my ambition of spreading her ass cheeks and having a bit of sport humping her from the rear like us mountain folk enjoy the best of all.

Anyways, I visited Misty in the jail and I found her down on her knees sucking off the Deputy Sheriff just a sitting on a stool with a strange look on his face like a cow being milked by a pretty milkmaid with oral skills.

I looked at Misty’s flanks moving every which way but loose and her pretty head bobbing in the Deputy’s lap and my big boy rose up like the Lord just three days after his terrible ordeal at the hands of them Roman weirdos with their government ways that didn’t give folks even an inch to do things right and proper. My daddy told me when I was just a little boy never to trust an Italian person because they were devious and everything that came out of their mouths was a lie. Of course, he excepted the Italian whores down at the river because they were mostly cute and knew how to make a fella feel real good for a long time after they took care of his needs.

Misty was glad to see me because she was always partial to my feelings and we were almost like kinfolks if the truth be known. She asked me if I would mind giving her a little shot of dick in her pussy folds because she didn’t trust any of the jail guards to tend to her garden right and proper. I nodded my head in the affirmative and mounted her from the rear looking at her brown eye with a longing that I felt deep inside but I knew enough to avoid that area because I knew her persona didn’t want to take it back there from folks that she was real close to and she preferred it to be mostly from strangers because she was at heart a private person.

I slipped up into her sweet vagina from behind and she shuddered a long time wailing low with her hair all falling down around her face like an animal in the woods being mated during the season for loving that forest animals used to make new animals to continue their line. You have to understand that woman was just like a teenaged girl and not a fifty year old woman at that time and I felt like I was robbing the cradle.

I sensed that she was in her cycle of baby-making because there was a full moon and she howled like a banshee when I finally exploded my full load of spunk up her baby-making channel. We both knew at that instant that we had conceived a new McCoy to join the long line of witches on Wolf-head mountain and I wondered if it would be a boy or a girl.