"Push Broom" by KJ

She sat on her wood stool tugging the cow udders. Milk splashed against the inside of the bucket and made a faint tinkling sound that reverberated in the cylinder with the softness of a whore’s voice in a young man’s ear. She kept her mind on the mindless task and tried not to think of her future court date.

Samuel Sewall, a Puritan judge, had accused her of witchcraft. Now time protected her from the common law punishment that awaited. Most judges ordered women to be pressed to death with one giant millstone. Still the milk skipped into the pail and she thought of nothing at all.

A Puritan man with a skinny frame and boy next door good looks entered the barn from the far door and admired her…diligence. Her full breasts pumped up and down slightly each time the udder went up and down. He watched them lurch under her long, black dress that covered everything. The dress that covered her angular legs, her hourglass torso, and her wiry spine that curved before stopping at her ass that made it look like she wore a hoop under her simple, black dress.

She glanced over at him, affected a pleasant smile, and went back to her milking. He walked towards her and he asked her if she wanted any help. He offered to milk one of the other cows.

She said she had milked all of the other cows already because she could not leave her home until the trial. Then she said he could grab a stool and keep her company while she worked. She started to hum a threnody to keep her mind off of the death sentence that would follow after the formality of a hammer falling. The song’s tone became slightly more gravelly and she soon began to sigh in long, strident notes. Tears welled in the corner of her eyes, formed rivulets on her chin and rolled off the hay stacked under the cow in small piles to catch its droppings.

He got a handkerchief out of the pocket on his coarse black coat and dried the tears on her chin.

She looked into his eyes. She saw nothing. She saw a void in his eyes that stood for everything that sucked her with unadulterated cruelty into the afterlife. She wanted to know what that felt like before she died. She pressed her wet face into his. He kissed back out of reaction. He held no power. She had bewitched him with a kiss. Now he belonged to her. She took his hand and led him over to an oak beam. She placed her right hand firmly against the beam. With her left she lifted away all the black magic that hid the organ she had been cursed with since birth.

Enchanted Forest 2, by Stephen Perry 

He dropped his black trousers to the ground. His member no longer belonged to him. He would serve her purposes the same way the firm oak beam did. He swept his bush broom deep inside of her and her mind started flying. The fine, spindly hairs on his crotch brushed against her plump rump. She started to shout a binding spell which pinned him to her and made him squirm and thrust for freedom. The spell had the desired effect. His cock knocked against her g-spot; a beggar trying to find a home for the night. He churned her insides over and over. Her lips spouted hocus pocus. He pressed her. He pressed her. He pressed her. She cackled with a practiced maniacal lilt in her voice that would have made the soft hairs of a black cat stand on end. He pressed harder against her. He pressed harder yet. Then all manner of semen scrambled from his divine rod and into her demonic pit. A spasm wracked his body as if Satan possessed him for dark chores. A sea-pleasing orgasm rolled through her body in a wave. 

He fell from her to the ground, rolled through the hay and stopped flat on his back...stone dead. She veiled her hellhole in the black magic again. Though she noticed something she had not expected: she felt the curse no more. He had disenchanted her.