After a series of blockbusters, Steven Spielberg released 1941. It was far from a blockbuster although I like it and any movie with Slim Pickens. Critics hated it, saying the humor was forced and the entire film was excessive. Dear readers, welcome to my personal 1941. Regardless, I hope you enjoy it. If not (to quote my granny) “Tough titty said the kitty but the milk tastes good.” Thanks to Anna for providing the cover pic.

Being 2020, my Christmas wish to Santa had to be less frivolous than my normal request for a night with Mila Kunis. This year I would wish for the ability to avenge my most tragic loss. Many years ago my two siblings were captured and killed by a most-wicked witch. A very Grimm story. This year I would wish for the ability to destroy her. 

I realize I’m too old to be writing letters to Santa. But, I’m also too old to eat corn dogs and tater tots alone which I do every night. Always hopeful, despite a lifetime of disappointment, I jumped from bed Christmas morning and dashed to my appropriately artificial Christmas tree. Luckily I avoided a substantial pile of mouse droppings which proved those little bastards had been stirring all night.

Dangling from a scrawny Charley Brown-esque branch was an amulet with a Post-it note attached. The medallion was the silhouette of a witch riding a broom with a thick red line through it. The note provided the details: “Suzi per your wish this amulet will provide what you seek. You have but twenty-four hours to accomplish your quest or it will turn into a pumpkin. PS, would it kill you to wish for a cookbook? Your cookies suck!!! and you left low-fat milk. LOW-FAT!! How fuckin’ rude.”

Excitedly, I packed the amulet into my suitcase prepared to return to my hometown with bloodlust on my mind like Uma Thurman in ‘Kill Bill.’ To my relief upon landing at the tiny airport I had six-hours of holiday magic left. My first stop was the small town’s lone watering-hole, the VFW.

I saw her before she saw me, maintaining my element of surprise. The object of my surveillance was Mulva DeVille; my highschool drama teacher until I graduated three-year ago and left the shire for LA in search of acting fame and fortune. She was a doll. Unfortunately, the doll was Chuckie. What she lacked in beauty she made up for in unpleasantness.

The surly bitch was never encouraging. She told me as I boarded a westbound Greyhound that the only role I’d ever find in Hollywood was of the cinnamon variety. Even with her nastiness, I was excited to see her. Despite her teaching rage I found her classes inspiring and even found her oddly appealing while others considered her cold and sterile. The nerds even had a nickname for her: the Ice Planet Hoth.

I heard rumors of her bisexual proclivities but neither of us pursued it after she filed a pesky restraining order, effectively cunt-blocking me. Even in dim light, her red hair glowed like a space heater. Her skin was albino-pale but I had my methods of putting color in her cheeks. Both sets. 

I strutted past her at the VFW’s jukebox. She began singing along with the Eagles cover of ‘Please Come Home For Christmas’ in an unnecessary ploy to catch my attention. Slowing down I flashed my most seductive smile. Twirling her ginger locks teasingly she asked, “How’s Hollyweird treating you, Suzi dear?” 

“I’ve been very busy, thank you.”

Oozing condescension she continued, “Yes I can imagine. Those flapjacks don’t serve themselves at IHOP.”

Quick with my reply, “For your information, I’m not at IHOP. I’m a server at Blinkie’s Donut Emporium but I’m acting as well. You must have missed my cameo as ‘crack whore number-two’ on Sesame Street.”

“I shall always consider that my loss,” she dryly answered. However, I noticed she had taken my hand and was tenderly caressing. Mistletoe dangled from her belt buckle.

My pulse quickened. I didn’t want to appear overly eager so I changed the subject and my panties. “How have you been, Ms. DeVille?”

“Oh please, dear! Call me Mulva. Or Mommy if you prefer.”

“Let’s go with Mulva.”

“Dang!  Now, what shall I do with all those adult diapers I bought Black Friday? But, to answer your question this pandemic has forced the cancellation of all my drama curriculum so my liquid assets are drying up like a spinster’s nether region.” She always did project the prim-and-proper image. I don’t recall ever hearing her utter a vulgarity although I had spent many hours pleasuring myself in a girls’ restroom stall imagining Mulva on her knees describing my wet “cunt” in Dickensian detail.    

Still holding hands as the flirtation barometer soared, I moved closer and whispered, “You’re a semi-sexy woman. Have you considered selling your body? Or at least leasing it?”

With the slightest of blushes, she whispered, “How much would you pay to rent me, Suzi?”

“That depends. Do you have change for a five?” 

She giggled and playfully slapped my forearm. Then in a false stern tone, “I should paddle your bum until you can’t sit for a week.”

“Oh! You didn’t mention a paddle…do you have change for a fifty?”

 After more suggestive banter we agreed to adjourn to her home. Calling an Uber she gave the driver her address on the corner of Toil and Trouble Streets.

Sitting in the back seat of the sputtering Corolla, Mulva and I sat close making tedious small talk. With her leg pressing against mine she asked, “Did you ever sell that marvelous play you wrote senior year?

“Oh, you mean the play you said had more holes than a junkie’s arm?” 

Again she slapped my arm and stage-whispered, “I was always so naughty with you. Perhaps you should paddle ME.” The driver immediately lost control and plowed over four Salvation Army volunteers. In the distance ‘Taps’ played. Normally I am very tentative during Phase One of seduction but surprisingly I felt less pressure than a Motel Six showerhead with her. I leaned in for a series of tender kisses. Electrical sparks shot down my spine like I had showered with Pikachu. 

Gazing out the streaked window I noticed a sign welcoming us to the sleepy town of Bedford Falls. I returned my gaze to my bewitching companion and realized it’s a wonderful life as I thought about springing my trap. I even paused to wave at old man Potter. My nefarious plan was advancing nicely. You see, I know what Miss DeVille doesn’t know I know: that she is a the witch responsible for the death of my two siblings. I had exhausted my tips from donuts, coffee, and blowjobs hiring investigators to confirm my conclusion. Now the denouement was near. 

Pulling in front of her adorable gingerbread cottage, Mulva and I strolled hand-in-hand up her walkway. “What a delicious home you have. The neighborhood kids must love it.”

She smiled wickedly before answering, “If these walls could talk!”

“If these walls start talking I’m bursting through them like the Kool-Aid man.” She gave my hand a reassuring squeeze as we stopped at the door.  “Suzi, I feel we have something special here so honesty is vital.”

“It is?  I mean yes it is.”

She began fidgeting like Trump awaiting an eviction notice. “The truth is… I’m in actuality a witch.” I feigned shock. 

“Like ‘Bewitched?”

She seemed irked by the question and ranted, “Bewitched was a terrible sit-com. I live in reality, a true witch who practices the black arts!”

“I’ve always wondered about the differences between black and white magic.”

She promptly explained, “Black magic is recommended for athletics and dancing. White magic is designed for the rhythmically-challenged and Nascar fans.”

She wasn’t finished. “I can even use spells to help your acting career as I did for Clint Howard. You didn’t think he succeeded purely on his rugged good looks, did you?” She was certainly making it difficult to kill her.

Opening her door, strains of ‘Witchy Woman’ greeted us along with a bubbling iron cauldron sitting in the middle of a very active room. Present were two flamboyant young men, whom Mulva introduced as, “Werner and Herzog visiting from the old country.” They were dressed only in matching mesh banana hammocks and grinding against brooms suggestively. In the corner sat a decaying pirate who was Bogarting a joint of skunk diesel. His left hand was missing, replaced by a steel hook which he was using as a roach clip.

The parrot on his shoulder was flapping its wings wildly amid a chronic contact high while squawking, “Polly wants a cracker… make that a Twinkie.”  

The last remaining member of this motley crew entered from the kitchen; a lovely, diminutive brunette dressed in a maid uni and carrying steaming mugs of witch’s brew. A fat black cat purred while rubbing against the witch’s legs.  “That’s my familiar,” she informed. “The cat not the girl. The girl is my acolyte, Zelda.”

I chimed in, “Zelda, you say. Her legend precedes her.”

Annoyed, Mulva replied subtlely sarcastically, “Yes, I’m sure she’s never heard that idiotic Nintendo reference before.”

I cornered the petite young woman and immediately hit on her like a slow-pitch softball. “You are such a dainty creature. I want to serenade you with the perfect song. Perhaps ‘Tiny Dancer’ by Elton John?”

A melodic voice cried out from the closet, “That’s SIR Elton to you, skank!” I was momentarily puzzled…puzzled as to why he was still in the closet.

 Rancid smoke from the cauldron was making it hard to breathe. The small room was as smokey as a reefer addict’s attic. To provide relief from my hacking cough, Mulva offered sanctuary inside her bedroom. The first thing I noticed there was a large bed shaped like a pentagram. It must be Hell to find fitted sheets for this contraption I thought to myself but another question came to mind.

“I’m very curious, Mulva…”

“I can cure that easily enough without spells, darling.”

“Not that! I’m curious if witches worship Satan?”

She contemplated briefly before answering, “Worship… no. But we are friends on Facebook.” Apparently, growing bored with my cross-examination she suddenly began to undress, down to her  pussy-pink bra and thong. I motioned her to continue because like an estate sale ‘Everything must go.’ Laying her gently on the complex bed, I stripped and crawled beside her.

I started with her bosom, which was as flat as my singing voice; kissing each stiffening nip before nibbling, biting, twisting, tugging, and salivating upon. I had nipple clamps at my disposal but they became tangled into a large knot like the ball of lights in ‘Christmas Vacation.’ Relying on Plan B I raked my fake nails beneath her tiny swells, leaving vivid marks. This caused her to arch her back pressing her boobs into my face like nursing an infant. Which led me to wonder where she stored those Depends she previously mentioned. 

Kissing my way down her flat tummy, tongue swirling in her belly button before I finally arrived at her honeypot. Pushing Pooh out of the way I was surprised to discover her pubes were trimmed into the shape of a question mark. Upon noticing my discovery our eyes met and she said, “Riddle me this Batgirl! What is pink, juicy, and sweet?” I shrugged, in no mood for conundrums. Unphased she answered, “My peach,” while pointing between her unsightly legs.

I leaned closer, inhaling deeply as her scent caused my nose to scrunch and wriggle like Samantha Stevens. “A very ripe peach,” I added before covering her puss with my open mouth and sucking violently, like hitting a clogged bong. I suckled so hard her vaginal lips stuck to my cheeks like a facehugger from Alien. If I sneezed, her perky tits would go up a cup size. So I sneezed. Twice!

Finally freeing myself from the vice-like suction I flipped her over then roughly pulled her cheeks apart before spitting on her winking rosebud. Too aroused to even attempt a Citizen Kane reference, I spread the pooling saliva around and inside her anus. She was by now writhing and whimpering like pornstar Chastity Lynn in ‘Shindler’s Fist.’ Unbeknownst to her, I came bearing gifts: a powerful anal toy called the ‘Sodomizer 1000’.

With the flick of a switch, it could elongate, double in girth and spin and whirl at jaw-dropping speeds. Plus it promotes regularity. Pushing it inside I flipped the power switch and yelled, “Go-Go Gadget.” I also left teeth marks beneath her curves. Souvenirs for her to take straight to Hell. I deftly fastened the clown’s nose/ball gag as a precaution but not before she uttered an incantation. But, what kind of spell did she summon?

The answer came quickly as in a bright flash of orange light a riding crop appeared, levitating above us. As it swished magically through the air it began to play Devo’s ‘Whip it.’ The symbolism was not lost on me so grabbing it I brought it down on her bare bottom with the power of a Keith Moon drum solo. It was obvious she was getting into it. After every swat, she would coo like Baby Yoda and lift her ass invitingly.

I was so distracted I was slow noticing two large hands gripping my ass and guiding me down over Mulva’s sweaty back. Feeling the commotion she looked over her shoulder at the new arrival. “Suzi, I see you’ve met Dick Warlock, my friend, and mentor.” And so I met Dick Warlock and if his erection was any indication I would also meet Warlock’s dick soon as well.

Without even offering a handshake he plunged his member inside my well-lubricated snatch and began pounding me like a non-union carpenter. Fucking like a rabbit who had been away from home too long, his body stiffened and he deposited a creampie large enough to stock a Hostess warehouse. Catching my breath I contemplated my true mission. The black cat clock showed I still had a little time left on the amulet.

With us both still in the throes of ecstasy she pulled me close, snuggling and sharing radiant body heat. I made eye contact and received the greatest shock of all; a tear was flowing down her cheek. Looking ashamed she quickly wiped her tear and whispered, “Suzi, I’m so confused. If a witch falls I love she loses all her powers and I’m worried this is happening to me with you.

“That didn’t happen on Bewitched.” Once again the mention of Elizabeth Montgomery seemed to set her off. With the anger of the Gestapo during Yom Kippur she grabbed my shoulders and bellowed, “if you mention that fuckin’ show one more time I’ll turn you into a horny toad!” Her vocabulary seemed to be expanding.

“Can we omit the ‘toad’ part,” I teased. She leaped from the bed and stood glaring down at me, arms akimbo. Her love for me seemed to have magically disappeared like Covid was supposed to. I looked down noticing the intricate trails of varicose veins covering her legs. She caught my reaction and began chanting. Within seconds her legs, which were resembling a road map of Iowa, had now transformed into legs Gal Gadot would envy. I began making wolf calls like a Brooklyn construction worker when she grabbed a large sheet of heavy, clear plastic and spread it over the floor.

I’ve seen enough Tarantino movies to realize its purpose: to protect her carpet from blood splatter. “Are you going to kill me, Mulva?” I nervously asked.

She immediately doubled over in laughter before explaining, “Of course not, you goofy muggle. I’m only going to urinate all over your pretty face.”

“Are you sure you don’t want to kill me?”  Before she decided I realized I had only thirty-minutes remaining. I opened my clutch to withdraw the amulet then slipped it over her head. The instant it touched her flesh her skin began to sizzle and smoke like generic bacon… mmmm bacon! Her howl was ear-shattering. No doubt heard by her coven.

Her eyes were filled with terror as she grasped the situation. My siblings must have shared that terror in their final moments. The slightest compassion I felt for Mulva vanished.

Grimacing, she asked, “Why are you doing this?”

Happy to provide exposition I informed the whimpering witch, “Long ago my dad was stationed in Germany. My siblings, Hansel and Gretel, were captured by you then cooked and eaten.”

“I did no such thing!”

“Yes, you did! You even posted your recipe on Pinterest.”

“But, did you notice how many shares I got? Besides, I can’t remember every Tom, Dick, and Hansel who dropped by my cottage for a sugar snack.” With that, her body convulsed and thick smoke billowed from her open mouth. She was either dead or a new Pope was elected. I was now concerned with how to get away from her angry coven. To my relief, I heard them suddenly cheer and harmonize to ‘Ding Dong the Witch is Dead.’

Peeking through a cracked door I was overwhelmed by the jubilation. There were Werner and Herzog going down on each other in the mathematical sixty-nine position. They resembled two lifeguards simultaneously demonstrating the proper usage of a snorkel. Additionally, I hadn’t heard that much gagging since the McRib returned.

Next, I spotted Zelda bent over a couch with the pirate hovering behind her. His stainless steel hook was penetrating her anus like hooking a marlin. I hoped the steel remained stainless when withdrawn. With the debauchery at full speed, I barely noticed the cottage shaking and crumbling. The stoned parrot was flying erratically squawking something about an ancient Indian burial ground.

I took that as my cue to exit. I ran to the awaiting Uber where I found the driver cursing while disinfecting the slimy area where Mulva and I sat.

“Where to, toots?” he asked.

“Take me to a cheap motel. I need a long, hot, shower after tonight.”

Driving away as the cottage imploded he turned facing me. “I know just the place. The Bates Motel.” Finally, I could rest in peace.  

This story is protected by International Copyright Law, by the author, all rights reserved. If found posted anywhere other than with this note attached, it has been posted without my permission.

Source link


Please enter your comment!
Please enter your name here