Mistress Of The Marsh - Sex Stories

Mistress Of The Marsh

... could tell it was ethereal. The unusual visage grew closer, floating slowly through the fog.

It was a woman's face. Her skin was the most flawless, pale white he'd ever seen. Her eyes remained closed, with two webs of beautiful, dark lashes in repose. Her lips were painted a light shade of purple. Her thin eyebrows were the same charcoal color as the liner around her eyes.

“Declan...” the voice came again, echoing in his mind. The lips on the approaching face didn't move.

“STAY BACK!” he called out as the haunting image grew closer. He wasn't sure what to do in the face of this witchcraft. His weapon quivered in his hands as his anxiety grew.

“DECLAN!” the voice came loudly from behind him as a hand grabbed his shoulder.

The young man jumped. Fear coursed through his spine and drained into his limbs as he turned to see the interloper. It was the same face that approached him from the front, but attached to a tall, curvy form. The woman stood a foot taller than him, her body half-covered in twisted, black armor.

Her glowing, pink eyes had slits of midnight black at their center. They bore into him with the strength of a thousand suns. Her lips spoke mere inches from his face.

“COME TO ME!”

“AAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHH!!!!”

Declan's body spasmed and his limbs flailed. His eyes shot open and he found himself back in more familiar settings. He sat beside the campfire he'd built to stay warm overnight. All that remained of it was a pile of ashes and a few ...

... fizzling embers.

“Owww...”

He rubbed the back of his head, realizing he'd just pounded his own skull into the tree he'd been resting against. He glanced from side to side, finding he'd just knocked over his pack and bow. His hand flew to his side and found his trusty knife sitting in its holster. Thankfully, nothing was missing or damaged. He let out a sigh of relief as the tension drained from his body.

'Just a dream.'

His limbs creaked as he rose from his resting spot. The air was crisp and full of early morning birdsong. Declan gathered some kindling and dumped it in the fire pit. He knelt down and blew on the embers until he had a small morning fire crackling away. His stomach gurgled and whined with hunger.

If he was lucky, one of his traps had caught a critter he could roast for breakfast. If he was really lucky, he'd find some edible berries or mushrooms while he checked on them. Anything he could scrounge up would be a blessing as he began the fourth day of his hunt. He warmed himself by the fire as he considered his situation.

Rabbits and even smaller game were all he'd managed so far. Nothing big enough to take home. 'Don't come back until you can feed the family!' his father had said. That was the right of passage all men in their village underwent when they came of age. Some guys got lucky and came back the same day. Others might be gone days or weeks. Occasionally, a poor soul would never return.

There were beasts big enough to be a danger in these ...