Chapter 3

I can’t believe we spent the entire afternoon lost.

“I know,” Penelope agrees. “We could have spent that time doing something else.”

There will be plenty of time for that later. Right now we have to focus on finding your mother so she can undo this mess you’ve put us in again.

“So I messed up one word, it’s not like it’s the end of the world.”

Maybe not the end of the world, but that one word put us on another ridiculous journey that could have been easily avoided.

“Do you think he would have said something if this didn’t happen?”

Did I just miss something?

“You know,” the witch prompts. “If the spell didn’t go wrong and we had to go back to see him, do you think he would have said something?”

You mean, if you didn’t screw the spell up.

“Whatever...”

I doubt he would have said anything.

“Why?”

Why would he leave just to tell you that?

We would have gone back to see him at some point,” she reasons.

And this all matters, why?

“I was just thinking...”

You mean you were curious.

“Well, yeah,” the girl admits. “And I know, curiosity...”

I wasn’t going to say that. I was going to say that what you find at the end might not be what you like.

“What can be worse than becoming a sacrifice?”

It really wasn’t what you think.

“Let me guess, you were there.”

As a matter of fact I was. And it wasn’t a sacrifice like you think.

“Then what was it?”

Does it matter? Will it change you finding your mother?

“No, not really,” she says. “I would jump at the chance to meet her—really meet her—with or without the necessity of needing her to reverse this spell.”

With any luck this journey will be faster and without so much sex. Of course it won’t be short if we never get back to town.

“I was certain town was this way.”

“You’re on the right track,” a gruff voice suddenly says from somewhere in front on the girl, off in the darkness of the trees where the light of the campfire does not quite reach.

“Who’s there?” Penelope calls out, quickly climbing to her feet.

You know, being a third year witch without any real training, we should maybe invest in some kind of weapon.

Bushes around the trees begin to shake, putting the witch on edge. Then they part and out steps a tall, strong man with dark hair. “Every woman’s dream,” she whispers.

Everyone’s but yours.

It’s true. Penelope doesn’t go for the big, burly men. She is more for the scrawny, dorky type of guys like Davis, her sixth year wizard friend.

“I couldn’t help but hear you talking to someone,” he says, walking into the clearing. “I guess you’re alone.”

“I’m not alone,” Penelope quickly contradicts. “My, uh, friend went off to look for some more fire wood.”

Good comeback. That is until your friend doesn’t show up.

“Are you from around here?” the witch quickly asks.

“I am,” the man says. “Why do you ask?”

“Well, the loin cloth for one,” she says, eyes dropping to the hardness beneath it. “I wondered since that is all your wearing. You don’t have any weapons or anything.”

Oh that’s comforting. The guy looks like he belongs in a jungle, not a forest. And the smell, don’t get me started on it. He smells like a dog and you know cats don’t play well with dogs.

“Of course I don’t have any weapons,” he says with a predatory smile. “There is nothing to fear in this forest, especially with a high wizard around.”

“Oh, so you know High Wizard Starkey then?”

“No not really. I just know of him and his reputation.”

Yeah, a reputation that’s in the mud.

“Well, he’s my father,” the witch proclaims. “He’s looking over me right now as we speak.”

Really? You’re going to play a card like that? What if he calls us out on it?

“Oh, I have no doubt,” the man says, his smile still on his face as he moves just a little closer. “What about your friend?”

“What friend?”

There’s just one word that comes to mind...

“The one you said was out collecting firewood,” he offers.

“Oh yeah, she’s fair game.”

Oh, so that’s how you’d treat me. Ditch the cat the moment you have to save your own skin.

“Well, as I said, the forest is pretty safe.”

“I’m sure it is with people like you running around it,” the girl remarks, looking at his crotch again. The fabric is either doing a good job at holding him under it or he isn’t working with much. It really doesn’t matter though. A cock is a cock, and the guy attached it to can be of any shape, size or creature.

“And why do you say that?”

Oh, I know why, and I know where this is going. Don’t you even think about it. There’s something off about this guy, I can smell it.

“It’s tempting.”

The man moves closer. “Tempting for what?”

“I think you know already,” the girl replies, feeling excitement growing between her legs. She cannot resist the compulsion to stare at the erection beneath the loin cloth.

Well duh! What’s with all the useless banter? He comes out with an erection and now you’re playing games? I’m not the one needing to be teased and clearly he isn’t either. Plus we already know that you’re not going to listen to my advice. We’ve been down this road before.

“Go ahead if you want to,” he says, stopping a few feet away from her. He briefly looks to the side to eye a stump.

“But I don’t even know your name.”

Has that ever mattered? Oh, let me guess, you’re making excuses to make me feel better.

“Since it matters, I am Remus.”

“Remus?” the witch repeats as if she were rolling it around on her tongue to gets a taste for it. “That sound like a wolf name.”

“A wolf name?” he asks. “I can assure you that I’m not a wolf.”

“Now, you’re more like a wild man.”

“That’s because I live here in the forest, co-existing with it as one,” he says proudly. “Now, I gave you my name, what’s yours?”

“Penelope.”

“Then it’s nice to meet you, Penelope,” he says, taking his seat on that stump he eyed a moment ago. Seeing the look on her face, it is clear that she is trying hard to resists temptation. It is also clear that she is not trying at all to not look at his swollen member covered by the cloth. “Now, like I said, go ahead if you want to.”

As your familiar I must at least try to persuade you to move on the right path.

The witch takes a quick breath. She bites her lower lip.

And since it’s my job to persuade and inform, I suggest we skip out on this guy.

“I’m sure you’re wondering if this is a tit for tat kind of thing,” Remus suddenly says, cutting into the cat’s thoughts. “But it is not. In fact, tomorrow morning if you head in that direction,” he points to a path directly behind the girl, “you’ll find the town in less than a half hour’s walk.”

Penelope doesn’t look back as her eyes remain fixated on the bulge beneath the loin cloth. And in this moment, the man reaches down and yanks the cloth off and to the side. The witch’s eyes go big. The reason it looked smaller is because it curves. The thick, veiny prick curves to the side, around slightly and then upward. It is the weirdest and most tempting piece of erection, fleshy meat she has seen in a long time. Without a word, she is up closing the distance between them, and then on her knees, fingers encircling the shaft, leaving generous lengths extending from either side of her fist.

“Yes...” Remus manages to gasp at her unexpected touch.

Penelope runs her hand the entire length, curve and twist of his tool from tip all the way down to base with slow, deliberate strokes. Up and down, her hand twists around the thick knob when she reaches the head at the end of each stroke. Remus arches his body and closes his eyes. He didn’t expect this girl to react like she is. He didn’t believe that by having an erection would be enough to cause this. He is panting and gasping as the girl slowly and purposefully works him over, stopping every so often to prevent him from ejaculating too soon. She obviously wants to make him last as long as she can. Each time she pauses, she gently squeezes his shaft, milking a stream of clear precum from the little slit. It pools at the tip before the droplet runs down her knuckles, trailing a shiny thin stream down the back of her hand.

Rubbing and pausing, rubbing and pausing, the witch repeats the cycle, bringing the wild man just to the edge before stopping. Her fingers and hand now glisten with a glaze of his juices. She licks her lips, her hand twisting in an exaggerating-like motion because of the twists and turns.

Faster she strokes, thankful that Hazel has finally given up her incessant ranting. Her hand quickly curls up and down the throbbing erection. Remus’ groans sound a lot like growls. They are loud and urgent, and for a few moments she actually expects the man to turn into a beast. These thoughts turn back to the cat’s warning, but it just doesn’t happen. His hips begin to buck and the girl feels his prick grow even harder, pulsing wildly in her grasp. Her hand is a blur as she pumps the head with short, fast strokes. Her eyes widen with surprise when she pushes him over the brink.

Remus can only manage a final ragged gasp as a torrent of cum erupts from him in a long, arcing stream, splashing the witch’s dress just below the neck. His hips tense and buck as string after string sprays from his pulsing prick to land on the girl’s hand, arm and dress.