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Misty McCoy and a Matter of Time

She was pushing forty, but wore the teenage cheerleader's uniform with style.

All of us folks up in Coon’s Hollow had heard tell of the tall tales about Misty McCoy’s long gone grandmother. The oldster struck most of us mountain dwellers as a bit mite peculiar with regard to her actual biological age and her appearance at different stages of her life.

I had not personally witnessed granny McCoy’s strange outward look of a teenaged female right up into her mid-forties and then the way she seemed to age at a much slower rate than other Hollow women born close to her age. Her year of birth was in a year when most nights were spoken of as darker than a witch’s pot in the midnight hour. She was born in the week just before the first full moon. Folks have commented about how it was right after most of the witches on the mountain were harshly evicted across the state-line to the disrespected next state. A lot of secretive snickering promised to give those shiftless city-folk in Tennessee the troubles that we didn’t want visiting us in Coon’s Hollow any longer.

Misty McCoy’s granny was born a short time before the bloody war between the North and the South.  She grew up in the midst of a lot of grieving and crying about those good old boys who would never be seen tramping up the hillside trails ever again.

There was a considerable shortage of men-folk in those years during and after the war.

It caused a different kind of grief for the lonely women of Coon’s Hollow. Of course, the shortage of hard dick led the frustrated females to a number of unusual solutions to the problem. 

I had to agree that the rise of the witchcraft influences was tied to the shortage of available hard dick.

For some unknown reason, those strange creatures flourished with their secretive ability to take care of the stoic mountain men’s need for punishing female pussy.

Misty’s family was rumored to be part of the witch clans and there was no doubt that she was endowed with those attributes that pulled even level-headed males into her web of ritualistic orgies.

 

 

Misty’s grandma was called Maggie and she was one of a long line of ageless females in the McCoy line of womenfolk. It was said in some quarters that she spent three full decades of looking like a teenage hell-raiser with pert bouncing breasts and boasting the hindquarters of a newly ripened woman complete with the cloying desperation of a cat on a hot tin roof.  

She had that anxious look of a she-cat in heat looking for some randy Tom to pounce on her and pin her down with a set of sharp claws and no inclination toward pity.

The crowd down at the barber shop all had stories about how she had favored them with her feminine wiles at one time or another in their otherwise uneventful lives.

My pa is a man of few words but he waxed right eloquent on the subject of how much he had enjoyed licking Misty’s grandma’s cunt on Wolf-head Mountain. He spoke of how she had tasted just like a honeydew melon taken from a dew laden field in the middle of the growing season. He was of the opinion that females should leave their hair down there where the grass grows greener. Then, he would reminisce about how thick and tasty it was to munch Misty’s granny’s female parts under the moonlight.  

I had to admit that even at her late stage of life, Misty’s grannie was still an attractive woman and there were few men that could resist her invitation to sample her private garden out in the woods.

For those of you that have a hankering to know exactly who the fuck I am, my name is Solomon Makepeace and I am now a full citizen having reached the ripe old age of twenty and one years.

Let me hasten to add that I am not some shrinking virgin having dipped my wick in both Misty’s and her grandma’s pussy on more than one occasion. In fact, I can lay claim to the fact that I took her grandma’s still fine-looking buttocks right in front of Misty with both of them all laughing and giggling the entire time.

My only regret is that I never did get to poke Misty’s cute little dirt factory, because she was having some problems with it being all irritated from too much use by the high school football team. Those fellas were pounding her pretty bottom so hard right around that time that she couldn’t sit down proper for almost a week after it happened right in the middle of hunting season.

I would have expected her to be all upset by that experience, but she would get a funny look on her face when talking about it and would pull my fingers into her crotch to give her some sugar.

My only alternative was to make-do with my step-sister Amy’s plump backside to keep me from going crazy with the unrequited need to take sinful advantage of Misty’s cute ass with my desperate business.

Amy was a friendly and cooperative little bitch and I say that with all respect because she knows how to take care of man’s needs real good even when she is hard-pressed for time. Sure, she is a bit on the hefty side just like her mama with her huge tits and bubble ass getting my beloved widower pa all hot and bothered in his middle age like some schoolyard lothario, but it is downright inspiring to have something substantial to grab hold of when an oversexed little bitch starts feeling in the groove.

It is with a great deal of pride that I must tell you that little Amy, even at seventeen, was able to suck any man into complete submission in the shortest time imaginable. She had this cute little way of pushing her tiny fingers into a guy’s back door to make him shoot a record distance with sticky spunk that never seemed to stop when she was using her mouth with inspired enthusiasm.

Misty had sucked me off a few times.

Only her talented tongue was talking another language and I was eager to learn every little nuance of her directions and whispered depravity that made me leak pre-cum just with the thought of following her obscene instructions.

 

I came to the conclusion in record time that Misty was too high maintenance for me after all was said and done.

As a consequence of that resoning, I sort of settled for my step-sister Amy’s comfortable saddle on those cold winter nights. We weren’t really related, but, in a way, she was family and I knew she was loyal to a fault. The following year, I took Amy’s hand in marriage and nobody on the mountain objected when the preacher asked that all-important question.

***

 

Time having its never-changing rules moved forward faster than the speed of light and I found Misty in my field of vision twenty years later looking exactly the same as she did way back when.

She was in the company of a couple of high school jocks that sported more muscles than common sense and they both moved like they were on leashes and walking on eggs invisible to the naked eye.

Of course, we both were fully aware of how well we fit together carnally in the old days and my silly cock started to harden, even though I was more scared than serious, due to her rumored reputation as the leader of the Wolf-head Mountain coven of weird females.

She was just like her infamous granny looking like a teenager at the end of her forties and with a figure that would tempt even the up-tight preacher man living alone in a shack with only the forest critters to keep him company. Strangely, he was there at the festivities because it was tied in with the movement to teach the teenage crowd that being prepared was the best policy when contemplating horizontal interactions.

The preacher was pushing middle age and his name was Pastor Frank.

The simple truth was that he was quite lonely ever since his live-in maid Consuela had returned to Puerto Rico supposedly to visit her parents but really wanted to marry her childhood sweetheart. She had sent him a letter to explain she was never returning and had no interest in ever seeing him ever again. That had depressed him to the point that he had taken the assignment to the back-woods region to tend to a flock that had little fear of the wolves in the forest. Not that he was in love with her or anything like that, but humping the same woman every night for a number of years tends to make a person close and comfortable with the other person even though real passion was lacking.

The stench of desperation was on poor Pastor Frank’s long, lanky frame and Misty honed in on it like a spider to a fly clinging for dear life to a cobweb of raw desire. I watched her dump the two jocks and scoop him up like an ice cream cone melting in the heat of the moment. I could imagine them doing the two-step in that little mountain shack like a pair of rabbits short on conversation and long on heavy humping under the harvest moon.

I next saw Misty sitting next to the preacher man all dolled up in an outfit that made her look positively matronly. She fit into the mature lifestyle like it was just for her and hid her youthful looks under a layered look that hid her beautiful breasts and her glorious backside that needed male attention constantly in order to bloom brightly with seductive magnetism.

My first thought was filled with skepticism about her ability to blend into the crowd because she was so weirdly strange only a fool would buy her act. I guess Pastor Frank was a natural born one because he looked about as sincere as a fella can get.

The following year there was trouble down in the city by the railway lines and some of our good old boys had to hightail it for the hills to stay out of the long arms of the law. That was good for the lonely girls up on the mountain. but it was bad news for the community because our reputation as law-abiding citizens had suffered a decisive blow.

Then there was the case of the two missing revenue agents looking for an illicit still and finding permanent residence under the thick sod of Wolf-head Mountain.

When the government people trekked up to our neck of the woods, it was a foregone conclusion that our days in absolute isolation were numbered. It was beginning to look like the heavy boot of the law was about to descend on us over a little bit of joy-juice and a pair of lost revenue agents.

Misty was close to fifty at that time, but she still looked like a cheerleader and could fit into the uniform without any effort.

Her granny passed away the previous year after a bout with the flu. She wasn’t one to get any of those vaccine shots because she didn’t trust the people giving them out for free to anyone that asked for one.

Misty told everyone that would listen that her granny was in her middle nineties, but I had my suspicions that the old lady was well over one hundred. 

She would have lasted longer if it wasn’t for the random bug that caught her at a bad time.

Most of the men-folks had died young from the war years and the women-folk lived fairly long unless they got a bad doctor for childbirth or were done in by some mean-spirited bitch looking to take away their man. The local females were pretty well worn out and lacking energy after the age of thirty-five and moved like movie screen zombies. They had little interest in fucking or sucking any male like they meant it, especially not with their legal spouses.

I thought that Misty was going to get arrested because she got caught humping the government chief of operations for the task force that was sent to sort things out up on the mountain before the real cold weather set in and made it difficult to do anything out of doors.

The guy was a former field grade officer in the Army and he was definitely a “by the book” commander with a zero tolerance policy for just about everything.

His second-in-command was a skinny little redhead that acted like her shit didn’t stink and she insisted on her own personal outhouse to be used by nobody but her. Her attitude had a lot of the studs wondering if she had an ass made of gold and they all wanted to get a piece of the action.

Apparently, she had a crush on the commanding officer and had even bent over his desk on several occasions to help dissipate the boredom of endless days and nights of frustrating lack of success in running down false leads.

Misty must have put a hex or something on the C.O. and he slowly slipped away like one of those demented people up in the hospice house. I guess he fucked her and then fucked her another way entirely trying to put some of the blame for the unrest on her and her other coven members that were unknown to any of the normal citizens. That executive officer with her blazing red hair was a real pain in the ass for the other guys and she was always finding ways of making life difficult for the folks up on the mountain just wanting to be left alone and out of trouble.

They took Misty down to the jail in town on suspicion of attempted murder and the fools thought she was only in her twenties and not a much wiser mature woman of fifty if she was a day.

None of the coven made any attempt to help her because they knew with great certainty that she could handle things all by her lonesome and had no need for interference from others. In fact, they all sort of pitied the lowland law enforcers because they obviously didn’t have a clue about what they were up against.

Unfortunately, they wouldn’t find out until it was too late and that spelled good luck for Misty.  

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

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