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“My sister,” Shelly replied, rubbing the worn stone top of the table. Then she reached across the table, grasped his hand in hers, looked him in the eyes, and said sadly, “Guilt.” “Guilt?” Harold asked. “She wasn’t part of the mob.” “No,” Shelly said softly, “But she was the witch in the family, not me. The crowd knew someone had been celebrating the Witches’ Sabbath in the river bottoms on Halloween for the past couple of years. So when that poor, confused, Justice of the Peace said I bewitched him, they thought they had found their witch.” “They’d have hentai burned us anyway,” Harold said with a huff. “That’s the way it was back then.” “She also enchanted this place,” Shelly said, looking around, “so that as long as someone leaves food for us, we can return for one more day.” “And,” Harold said as he stroked her arm, “for one more night.” “Yes,” she said with a light laugh, “there is that, too. But let’s eat first.” When they had finished the chicken, greens, and corn bread and washed it down with cool, clear, water, Harold opened the wine. “They’ve gone back to including a cork screw,” he said as he pushed it into the top of the bottle. “But the corks are some strange sort of material.” “Times change,” she said as she held out her glass. “Everything changes,” she continued. “Natchez has become so large. So has Vidalia. If this wasn’t so low and wet, there would probably be houses all the way out here.” They each finished one glass and part of another before Harold set the basket on the ground and folded the thin tablecloth so that it was three layers thick on the tabletop. “Just as hard, but not as lumpy as a corn cob mattress,” he said as he arranged his coat to provide just a little more cushion on the table top. “You know that we don’t feel things like that anymore,” she said as she slipped her dress down her legs and folded it onto the bench. “But I can see it,” he said, shrugging his shoulders, “so it’s like I can feel it.” In a few minutes, they were naked in each other’s arms on the strange table that was now their bed. Their lovemaking was slow and deliberate, as if they had all the time in the world. I hungered for this. “Mmm, get a finger in there and make sure I'm clean,” she moaned. He waited patiently. Her green eyes twinkled as she shivered in the door, her big boobs swaying beneath her nightgown. I could feel it splashing in her mouth. I can’t believe you’re my aunt’s slave now. It was a burden lifted from my soul when I confessed to you about my marriage and divorce. As I got close I pulled my dress up. Soft. Half in shock, and the other half feeling in awe of Goddess's appreciative generosity. I sauntered out of his house, feeling amazing. I smiled and told her I have been doing that for the past four decades with two different wives and a few friends with benefits. I felt hentai something cool against me. My asshole was empty, the cum leaking out of me. I blinked, seeing the interrogation table before me. There was no longer any reason to stay there. I figured he probably liked women even younger then legal age, if he could. She was right! My mind started having visions of the time that our conservatory was built and I was spread-eagle on the bed with the builders taking photographs of me (see my Journal). Shaving her pussy had been an expression of the slut in her, wanting to appeal to a man who would touch her there or view her, in the same way women had adorned themselves for ages with the eye toward attracting a mate.