I was feeling bored one evening. I had heard rumors of odd things happening at the local graveyard, so I dressed for going outside. It was a cool, but not cold, evening, and the sky was clear. I drove out there and began walking around, making my way towards the back of it. I was looking at the back row of graves when I realized I was chilled.
In the half-hour since I left the house, a thick fog had appeared, the wind had gone from nonexistent to piercing, and the temperature must have dropped fifteen degrees (Fahrenheit.) "Hmph!" I groused. "All of a sudden, it's as cold as a witch's tit around here!"
An angry, very feminine voice sounded from directly behind me. "Excuse you!"
I whirled around. Standing not more than three inches from me was a short, slender woman, dressed in a black garment, with a black conical hat on her head, and holding a wand in her left hand -- clearly a witch.
With her free hand, she seized my wrist in a surprisingly strong grip and slipped it under her garment, placing my hand on her bare breast. "Does my tit feel at all cold to you?" she snarled.
"No," I replied hastily. "I apologize for my poor choice of phrase. No insult was intended."
The witch removed my hand from her breast but kept my wrist in her grasp. "Maybe I'll accept your apology and maybe I won't," she said. "Come with me."
We went a short distance into the woods behind the back of the graveyard, and the witch took me into a cabin. A large fire was burning in the firepit in the center of the cabin. It flickered momentarily when the door was opened to allow us entry, but as soon as the witch closed the door behind her, the fire went back to burning steadily. A metal frame held a good-sized cauldron in place over the fire. I could hear the contents of the cauldron bubbling. The witch looked in on them, stirred the contents with a large spoon hanging from the metal frame, then put the spoon back.
The fire provided plenty of heat and adequate light. The witch pointed to a large bed in the corner. "You go take your clothes off, then lie down on that, face-up."
"Yes, ma'am."
"Don't you `ma'am' me. You're about 28: I'm only five years older than you. Call me Circe."
Her guess was accurate: my 28th birthday was in three weeks.
"Okay, Circe. I'm Ben."
I undressed, neatly placing my clothes on the top surface of a dresser, and lay on the bed. Circe removed her hat and her garment, leaving her naked. I could now see that she had short, wavy red hair. Her breasts were probably a B-cup. I was going with the "shaved head and permanently removed facial hair" look: when I was younger, I had been part of a group of motorcyclists and that was their look. I was no longer part of the group, but I kept the look: people said I looked good that way. I was a few inches taller than Circe, and was decently toned, with just the beginning of a paunch starting to develop. I hadn't been exercising as much since I got a full-time job a year and a half back.
I gave her a smile. "You look very pretty."
"You don't need to flatter me," she giggled. "You're already naked and in my bed."
Circe joined me on the bed and gave me a kiss, gentle at first, then more intense as we parted our lips and twined tongues. She only broke the kiss so we could breathe. I eyed her chest, she noticed, and she slid her body upwards along mine. I kissed slowly through her cleavage, such as it was. She giggled and helped guide my mouth to her nipple. I gently kissed and suckled on it. She had me give her other nipple some attention also, then picked up her wand and pointed it at me. Beams of energy, seemingly coming down from the ceiling, looped around my wrists and ankles. It was the most delicate restraint ever, but it was un-escapable from.
