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THE WITCHES OF WESTMOOR WOODS ##### Part 1 - A Walk in the Woods ##### Twas early in the spring of 1809 that she took up residence in the woods near our small and quiet town of Westmoor. We were a small community, latin reasonably polite, but wary of strangers. It was always “Miss Lendberg” to her face, maintaining the polite social pleasantries in which we all cloak our true emotions. But by early summer, she carried many another name. A witch, some called her, or for a more dramatic flair, “the dark maiden”. Actual facts on the arts she was said to practice in those woods were of bath course slim, so we supplemented heavily with rumors, speculation, and hushed gossip. These were only whispered of course. A decade into the 19th century, we knew ourselves to be enlightened beyond the primitive fears and superstitions of Salem and other such witch-hunt nonsense. This we told ourselves, emboldened by the light of day, or in the company of others. Alone in the still of the night however, busty as the wind might rattle a loose shutter on the barn, or some unseen creature may scurry beneath the floorboards, the demons of paranoia hunted a bit closer to the heart, and even the bravest among us would not dare to tread the path through the woods in which she dwelled. What were the crimes of this young woman? None could truly say for sure. Always someone rumored this or that. Why, William Baker had heard -- straight from the friend of his cousin on his mother’s side -- that “That Woman” had flown right at him, plunging from the night sky, screeching and yowling like some animal possessed. Never you mind the several pints of ale that had been downed, because that surely didn’t have thing-one to do masturbating with what was the god’s-honest-truth. So the rumors flew, and the tales grew, and as the dog-days of July did rapidly approach, we had ourselves our own little legend festering in whispered tones. Truth Latina be told, there were but a hand-few who would ever truly come to understand the goings-on in those secretive woods. The humiliation frustrated her, but at the same time it seemed like something out of her own fantasy. "Come on," he said, ushering his friends toward the Babylonian exhibit. She wanted me bad. Very likely, it was sent weeks ago, but the busty pigeon that carried it here must have been delayed by the strong winds that have been plaguing the Isle recently.” He was here to make her his first, and she was going to make it Latina as memorable as she could. Thia wondered what masturbating they would do with it. My response was, "I'm very proud of you." She gulped and gasped as he pushed in and out. Believe me?’ “Patricia Jenkins. Something about her was a little inhuman. The skirt was pleated and came about to the middle of her thighs. "You will continue feasting on your girlfriend's fuck-hole, Slave. At bath his age there's no rush. Mr. Franklin nodded to Mark and he cued up video and audio feed from the small reception latin room.