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From: "H. Jekyll" <h_jekyll2000@yahoo.com>
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Subject: {ASSM} Chattooga River II:  Maggie and Magic
Date: Mon, 16 Jul 2001 15:10:01 -0400
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Chattooga River II:  Maggie and Magic

H. Jekyll

(MF, magic, anal, rape?)

*  *  *  *  *

To, and for, Maggie.

This is the first of three very short stories I wrote
for Maggie McGee before she went rafting on the
Chattooga, as lovely a river as you will find, in the
summer of 2000.  

Copyright 2001 by H. Jekyll.  Permission is freely
granted to post on any site that does not charge for
entrance, as long as proper attribution is given to
the author.  The story should not be read by anyone
under the legal age to read sexually explicit stories,
or by anyone in a location where it is illegal to read
such stories.  

I appreciate comments and inquiries, even criticisms,
and I like to e-talk with people.  Write to:
h_jekyll2000@yahoo.com

My stories are archived in the Authors' section of the
Alt Sex Stories Text Repository, at: 
http://www.asstr-mirror.org/files/Authors/h_jekyll/

*  *  *  *  *



You have pretended to be a witch, but you don't know
the magic I control.  My power is great in places I
have visited recently, where my essence is strong.  It
is strong on the river in the weeks after I was there,
waiting for you to raft in my wake.

You can feel my presence, can't you?  Don't try to
fool me.  I know everything you experience, Maggie.  I
know that at one point, and just for a second, you
could swear one of the other rafters was me.  It seems
odd to you, but two or three times you thought you
heard my voice.  What was I saying?

There are three rafts in this group, enough people to
keep mysterious things at bay, or at least enough for
you to think so.  You concentrate on your chores as
you portage the raft down to the river, climb aboard,
practice rowing together.  You're getting to know each
other and the river.  You become entranced by the
river, by all the birds, from raptors to hummingbirds
to tiny green birds that you've never seen before, by
the changing color and the clarity of the water, the
stillness of the quiet stretches that seems eaten up
by the voices of the rafters, and the rushing sound of
the water when you approach rapids.  You stop thinking
of me entirely.

When you stop for your lunch at a little beach, after
the rafts have been pulled ashore and while the guides
are busy spreading the food out, you explore a little
rise to the right.  There is a path, a very steep
path, and once you have climbed it you are shrouded in
small trees.  The moment you are there you feel
fingers on your nipples.  

You know it is me, almost instantly.  You hardly have
time to be startled before you know.  Hands squeeze
your nipples, sometimes hard.

You gasp and reach your hands to your breasts, but
there isn't anything there.  You can't see anything,
and you feel nothing with your hands, but your breasts
can feel me.  You stand perfectly still; you feel the
first stirring in your sex now, but you don't have any
idea what to do, and then you are called to lunch. 
The nipple play stops.

You eat little, talk little.  You move away from
everyone else, to the water, and pretend to be looking
at it, but really you are wondering about what you
have just felt.  You think:  Did it happen?  Am I
nuts?  

Yes, it did.  No, you're not.  Let me demonstrate.

The hands start caressing your pussy and you are
immediately tense.  You move your own hands to your
pussy, furtively, glancing over your shoulder to see
if anyone is looking.  It is as before:  your hands
don't feel anything but your own body.  Your clothes
aren't moving.  As far as the ghostly hands are
concerned your hands and clothes aren't there at all. 
They are moving over your sex again and again.  Again.
 They are moving continuously, so softly, so
perfectly, exactly the way you like it done.  My
never-never hands, the ones that could seduce
Tinkerbell away from Peter.  Oh your pussy can feel
them wonderfully.  You realize that I am going to keep
playing with you, and that you are helpless to affect
what I will do.  If you were alone you would love
this, you would give into it immediately.  Give into
it?  You would demand it!  But what if these people
see the effects on you of my unearthly sexing?

"Please, Henry," you whisper, "People will notice. 
They'll think I'm crazy.  Please don't do this."  The
fingers pinch your clitoris and you gasp:  "Oh! 
Please Henry.  Okay, okay.  But please don't humiliate
me.  Do it, but please..."

You stop as a wave of pleasure rises.  Not an orgasm,
but a current nonetheless.  You are so worried, and so
excited.

While everyone climbs into rafts the fingers caress
you only very lightly, mostly around your sex rather
than on it.  They keep you high, but by concentrating
you can paddle with the others.  Then, at the entrance
to the first rapid after lunch, the fingers begin to
play with your ass.  You wriggle and move so your anus
is right on the rubber wall of the raft, but it makes
no difference.  You feel me playing, then inserting a
finger, then rubbing around and around your ass while
I loosen you and open you.  

You have to stop rowing, and the raft gets stuck on a
rock.  You try to help your crew but you keep having
to stop with the waves of pleasure and, yes, some
moments of pain.  The other people seem to think
you're just not very effective.  Two fingers, a thumb,
are now moving in and out of you, and another hand is
playing with your pussy.  You can't think of anything
else; and you can't affect the hands at all.  You
daren't ask me to stop, for fear of how I will
respond.

Going over the seven-foot drop the raft almost
capsizes, and you do fall out.  This is the first
spill, so everyone gets a good laugh while you're
pulled back aboard.  They think your panting is from
the exertion.  

The drop is almost a little fall.  Just beyond it,
people are given the option of walking back upstream
and swimming from a small pool, though a cave-like
opening in the rocks, to its underside.  Everyone else
goes but you stay back, claiming the walk is too much
for you, and as soon as they have started away my
hands pull you to your knees and push you down so you
are on all fours.  The hands keep playing with you. 
You can't help trying to feel them with your own
hands.  

"Henry, Henry, they will catch us.  Please!"

Then you feel a penis at your ass and you know what is
coming.  You wonder:  what do I do?  But you don't
have to do much.  Your ass is open under your clothes
and you feel a penis, my penis, at it.  There is
pushing and I am in you, pushing all the way in,
giving you that sensation that is so strangely
different from coitus, a mass filling you up from the
wrong direction and never going the way you try to
direct it.  

Your ass is so much more sensitive to pressure and
pushing than is your vagina.  The prick moves in and
out, not rapidly but deliberately, all the way both
ways, while the hands play with your pussy and your
breasts, stroking lightly and continuously, not
letting one sensation fade before the next one is
layered on.

You are submitting to this.  What else can you do? 
You are getting so high, so close now.  This strange
rape, mysterious lovemaking, has you, and you begin
making sex sounds, pushing against me, afraid of being
caught but actually more turned on by the prospect. 
You're almost coming, almost there, almost, then you
begin to come enormously, and just as you start to
scream a hand clamps over your mouth and muffles you,
so you cry and moan against the hand until you are
finished.  

Then the penis pulls out of you and the hands
dissolve, and there is nothing there but you and your
gaping anus.  That and a head full of sensations and
thoughts that swirl together while you fall to your
side until your breathing becomes normal.  It is only
now that you realize that you saw the hand that
covered your mouth.  It was flesh and bone.  You reach
back inside your swimsuit, to your ass, where you feel
something warm and viscous, and your hand comes away
with a little milky fluid.  By smell it is real cum,
nothing ghostly.  You lick it and wait for the others
to return.



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Pursuant to the Berne Convention, this work is copyright with all rights
reserved by its author unless explicitly indicated.
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