The Witches of Scarbeck

(futa/f, growth, size, excessive cum)

A bored young witch is a dangerous thing. Much like a bored young anything, their boredom leads them to act on a whim, and acting on whims invariably leads to consequences.

Take, for example, the whims of Miss Jennifer Lapwing, apprentice witch and horny teenager. Jenny was attractive by anyone’s standards (and in the quiet village of Scarbeck, nestled deep in the heart of the Yeovan Tors, the people had pretty low standards to begin with).

Now well into her seventeenth year, her looks were really starting to blossom. Inquisitive brown eyes and long auburn hair, lips that seemed always on the cusp of a kiss, slim waist matched with womanly hips and breasts so exquisitely formed and remarkably large all formed a package that would make her stand out as an exceptional beauty in any of the continent’s most populous cities. Here, in a village with barely two hundred inhabitants, she was forever the talk of her neighbours and peers. Indeed, her unnaturally good looks were the source of much envy and a few nasty rumours amongst many of the other girls and women of the village, and the source of continual daydreams and furtive night-time fumblings amongst the men.

Jenny was bored of Scarbeck today. To be fair, she’d been bored of it from the day she’d first arrived nearly a whole year ago to train under the stern but fair tutelage of Mistress Letitia Hawthorn, the most formidable witch in all the Tors. Prior to her apprenticeship she had been a carefree and popular girl growing up in a busy market town, the only daughter of a doting mother and a kind, hard-working father. It was only as she entered her teens that she realised she was different, that she had abilities she couldn’t understand or control. All of a sudden any talk of marrying a nice young man or inheriting the family tailoring business was replaced with talk of apprenticeships in far away places to learn discipline and self control. It’s well known that an untrained witch stands a much higher chance of ending up embroiled in dark forces beyond their control. One minute Jenny was happily growing into a young woman, safe amongst her friends and family and the town she’d always known, the next she was being packed off to the bloody Tors to live with some mad old woman. All for accidentally levitating a fork at the dinner table.

A year later and that resentment hadn’t quite dissipated. Mistress Hawthorn turned out to be a lot less mad than Jenny had anticipated, but studying with her was certainly far from fun much of the time. Witching, it turns out, is less about spells and potions and more about bedside manner and poultices. She was so bored of poultices.

The worst thing about being a witch, though, is the effect it has on boys. Take Jed, the blacksmith’s son, for example. His rough good looks and burgeoning muscles were a source of endless fascination and lust for Jenny, but talking to him was impossible. One glimpse of the pointy hat and his eyes began swimming with apprehension. She had once attempted to better explain the basics of magic and the purpose of witchery to him to try and allay his fears but he had responded by simply blinking, moistening his lips and mumbling “so… you don’t just turn people into frogs n’ that?”. Boys were, as far as she could tell, pretty bloody stupid, and as such something of a lost cause.

Mind you, she still wouldn’t mind trying one out. Just once. Just to be sure. Even if men themselves were useless, penises (from what little she knew of them) always struck her as rather interesting. She could certainly see how they could come in handy for one or two things… Yes, penises at the very least were an inviti

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