0 comments/ 6070 views/ 1 favorites Poet & the Witch of Highway K Ch. 01 By: elbiscayne Eight inches of old snow blanketed the ground and with temperatures in the mid-teens, a gusting wind and overcast sky, it had the makings of being a real whirling son-of-a-bitch of a day. Being only 54 and retired had a hell of a lot going for it in my mind. For one thing, I wouldn't be out there hooking poles and repairing downed lines. For another, sometimes, you just can't beat a good read close to a nice fire. Just as a by the way, my name is Nick. You may know me from my other tales, or you may not as far as that goes. In any case, if you want more of a physical description, you'll have to read it somewhere else. I haven't changed one damn bit since my other stories. I was getting engrossed in my book when movement caught my eye. Looking out, I watched a big black and tan bitch, teats hanging, and then dragging as she struggled through the crusted drifts, and then hesitating before trying to push her way forward again. I like to think of myself as being 'pert near' ready for just about any 'ole thang'; and this morning I was true to my nature. Out the back door I went, kicking and shuffling a path thru the snow while calling to her and thinking out loud on the merits of requiring a background check before a person was allowed a pet. She immediately headed toward me. As I drew near, her exhaustion and bloody paw prints had me juggling anger and concern. Now I don't know much about dogs; I've never been owned by one, or felt the need to be responsible for one. When I get the urge to get up and go, I don't like the nuisance of finding someone to care for the critter, plus the worry about whether that person is doing his or her job. Besides all that, I'm happy with myself and just don't need constant companionship to fill any blanks. After having said that; when I saw the look in her eyes and heard that low whine; I felt a lurch and one of those blanks was filled. She followed me to the house with a crazy irregular limp that; I almost hate to say, bordered on being funny. Getting her settled close to the fire, I checked her pads and found them split and raw. I tried to think of something to do to help her, but she beat me to it and started licking her paws. When she was satisfied, she gave out a big sigh and pretty much passed out. She was a good-looking dog. Short hair, black and tan markings and while I could not discern a distinct breed, she definitely had a lot of hound in her, and most likely weighed in around ninety pounds when she was in better shape. I moved her collar so that I could read the tag, and was surprised when I saw an address on Highway K. As the crow flies, it was probably 40 miles away. The only other information on the tag was a name. Wilda. She slept close to six hours. When she woke, I gave her a bowl of warm water and another with two cans of corn beef hash, which may not be dog food, but in my opinion, sure looks to be in the same family. As I set the bowls down close to her, I said, "Here you go, Wilda." She growled at me in reply. I tried what I thought was her name again; getting the same result. "That ain't your name is it little girl?" She answered with a whine. Over the next few days she was content just laying there; making occasional trips outside; and didn't act fretful, like there might be pups out there somewhere. I figured if there was, they were either weaned or dead. As the days passed, she quit limping, and I knew it was time to take her home. I didn't want to admit it, but I knew there was going to be a void. The first part of the drive was uneventful, but as we got closer to the address on Highway K, she started acting strange. Whining, pawing at me, licking my face, I got the impression that she was apologizing in advance for what she knew was coming next. The rutted and snow packed gravel drive was guarded by an old rusty mailbox that was in a losing battle with vandals. The drive wound through trees up to an old farmhouse with a wrap-around porch and detached garage. The woman standing on the porch watching us drive up looked to be in her late sixties, maybe early seventies. Her long white hair was pulled back in a tail which hung over one shoulder. She was wearing a heavy turtleneck sweater under a pair of faded denim coveralls. The dog gave a low growl. The woman approached, and as I got out of the truck, I could feel her blue eyes on me, gauging, weighing, and measuring. The hair went up on the back of my neck, and I could feel myself starting to perspire. I felt an overwhelming desire for "flight" that I choked down hard. As the dog jumped from the truck, I held out my hand to introduce myself, but was cut off by the woman saying, "So, this is the one?" The dog gave a short bark and the woman replied, "Well, it took you long enough." Holding me with her eyes, she said, "No sense standing here. My name is Wilda. This here is Fetch. Come on inside, you have payment coming." She gave a short laugh as she turned and headed for the house. We entered the house through a side door and into a room that was bare except for racks with plants growing and drying on them. Wilda saw me looking at them, smiled, and simply said, "I'm a herbalist." That brought a small grin to my face, because I have been known to use (some would say overuse) herb from time to time. In fact, on the way here... Leading me into her kitchen she made a motion toward the table, so I took off my jacket and sat. Wilda made herself busy getting water boiling in a kettle, and from what I could see, getting a pinch of this and that from various containers on the counter. "I don't have any coffee," she said. "But you'll try some of my tea. You're sure to enjoy it." Fetch gave a low growl and Wilda spun to face her saying, "Go tend to your bastard...now!" Fetch backed up, turned and headed down a hallway and through a doorway. I again got the feeling that I should run. Wilda stood watching me, without a word and expressionless, as the tea steeped. She would test it from time to time with a finger to her mouth until she was satisfied. After pouring a large mug full and adding a piece of ice, she sat down across from me and slid the mug in my direction and motioned that I should drink. It was good. Real good. Spicy would describe it. Hit the spot, so-to-speak, on this cold day. As she watched me drink, she started humming or maybe it was chanting. She leaned toward me, looking into my eyes and asked, "How did Fetch find you?" I started to give the events leading up to this, and felt a sense of insistent calm and well-being pass over me. Wilda was still staring at me but with a smile on her face as she asked me, "You like that, do you?" I've been around the block a time or two and tried some things that were probably better left alone. I've felt rushes, brushes and downs with the best of them. Tasted colors, smelled thoughts before they were expressed, saw carnivals where others saw gas pumps... You get the idea. This was as different as night and day. Calm. Dead calm. Peace. Every sense alive and the end of the world couldn't make me want to use them. I remember her laughing and dogs barking. -------- I found myself on the shoulder of Highway K sitting behind the wheel. It was dark, the motor was running, snow was blowing in through the open window, Porky Pig was singing 'Blue Christmas', and a small animal had its paws on my chest; cleaning my face. My body ached, especially below the waist. Shaking my head to clear it, I put the truck in gear and headed home. The animal curled up next to me and slept. Poet & the Witch of Highway K Ch. 02 After a two-hour drive through sleet and snow, the animal and I pulled up to my place around four in the morning. It hadn't moved except to snuggle closer when I would roll down the window to smoke. Inside, I found the animal to be a male puppy, short haired, square muzzled, gray brown in color, with paws...well, let's just say I was glad I wasn't going to be required to buy him shoes. Later, the vet reckoned he was about 4 months old, healthy, and for me to expect a large dog. That vet was a master of understatement because what I got was a genuine fucking monster. I woke with the dog standing on my chest, a yard of tongue cleaning my face and a whine that threatened to change into a howl. Being still dressed, I got him outside. He did the standard dog thing, smelled everything and then pissed on it to show that he was boss. He ranged out pretty far for a young dog in a new place. He got as far as the spot where I had first seen his mother and then made a beeline back to the house. And that is pretty much the first step in a routine that we have kept to this day, which is going on three years. He ate like there was no tomorrow, sniffed around a bit, then curled up in the exact same spot as his mother. I headed for the shower, with my aches and a cup of coffee to keep me company. I sat down in the tub, my heels up against my ass and chin on my knees and hoped the hot water raining down on me would work its magic. It did...in an unpredicted way. A slideshow of images and sensations began to flash behind my eyes. A hallway, a room, various stages of being undressed, flat on my back, someone sucking, biting, licking my neck and chest, a sagging belly over my face, a wet pussy sliding over my nose and onto my mouth, being made to suck and lick, more sucking and teeth on my thighs, balls and cock, being smothered, coarse hair in my mouth. Slack breasts and belly up and down, up and down as they rode my cock. Parts of the show began repeating, almost as if it was more than a one-act play. Laughing the only sound. Being put in my truck, driven down the road and made to move behind the wheel. Laughing slowly receding. The book flipped back to the beginning. Luckily, the cooling water jerked me away from a repeat performance. Wiping down the mirror I found hickeys covering my neck and chest, my nipples red and swollen. Almost afraid to look, but knowing I had to, my lower stomach, upper thighs, cock and balls was a mass of hickeys and human bite marks. I sat and stared at the dog, smoked two bowls, took three of the pain killers left from my shoulder surgery, and took a bunch of pulls off a bottle of Jim Beam while I waited for the water to get hot again. It wasn't the pain. It was the show. Part of me was raw when I started that second shower. All of me was raw when I finished. The next morning I loaded up the dog and took him to Linda's house. I made sure to wear a wool scarf, because while we both know that we're not an exclusive couple, in my mind it doesn't pay to broadcast other friendships. Linda agreed to watch the dog and hinted at some slap-and-tickle when I got back, but I begged off. He was chasing her cat around the house when I left. I drove up and down Highway K I don't know how many times before I realized that I should've brought the dog. Linda told me that when he wasn't chasing the cat he would sit by the back door and whine. Maybe it was my imagination but I sensed a feeling of relief as the door shut behind us. I made the little son-of-a-bitch earn his keep when we got back to Highway K. Rolling down the passenger window, I wound him up saying stuff like, "Find your mama boy. Where's Fetch?" and so on. He took me right to it. I got out to look. The mailbox and post was lying behind a drift and some scrub was pulled across the drive. The old bitch didn't want to be found. On the way home he let me know in no uncertain terms that he didn't like pickles on his hamburgers. Seven days later the dog and I made another trip to Highway K. As we pulled up to the house, Wilda was at her place on the porch holding a shotgun with Fetch sitting beside her. As I climbed out of the truck she called to me, "What do you want, boy?" I walked slowly towards her, looked into her blue eyes and said, "More." She began her laugh and began walking to the door with a small come hither wave of her hand. Fetch stayed outside. I sat at the table watching her go through her ritual, but when she slid the mug to me, I unzipped my jacket, pulled the 45 from the shoulder holster and chambered a round. Pointing it at her I said, "Your turn." She shot a glance towards the shotgun. I stood and quietly said, "You won't make it. Drink up, girl." As she sat in a zombie like state, I emptied every container I could find into a trash bag, pulled every plant from it's pot or from where it hung drying, drug it all out into the yard and burned it as the light of day began to fade. She put her coat on with a little help and walked slowly out to my truck with just a suggestion. I grabbed a heavy quilt from her bed and put both dogs in the house. I drove about 10 miles and left her sitting on the side of Highway K with the quilt over her shoulders. I picked that spot because it was about a quarter click from the entrance to a hospital. I headed for home after collecting both dogs, but not before lighting a candle and turning on the gas for one burner of the old stove. I know that some of you wonder why I didn't just give as good as I got. The only answer I can give you is that I may be a lot of things that you wouldn't want your mother, sister or daughter to be around, but I'm definitely not a rapist. I can imagine that some of you think I should have gone to the law. With what, a sore cock and a puppy dog? I'm far from being a religious man, but I'd like to leave you with a saying and my thought on it. 'Vengeance is mine, sayeth the Lord'. While that may be true, it sure seems as though the Lord uses the hand of man to extract that vengeance on more than a few occasions. I figure I cut out the middleman.