A Peasant Girl – Chapter 12 by St. Bobo

“I haven’t got all day,” said the witch Peshka derisively as Anna’s father slowly, almost shyly, removed his clothes. Amazingly, Sergei Ivanovich seemed to be uncomfortable with the idea of fucking in front of the crone; it was like her touch on his genitals had unnerved him. Anna could see the witch’s eyes darting over his naked body, but the old woman was too skilled to let on what she was thinking.Anna lay back and waited for the inevitable penetration. Then she was shocked to hear her father’s voice cracking. “I… I can’t do it while you watch. Your eyes are turning me to stone.”

“You’re as bad as a woman,” said Peshka with a harsh laugh. “You think it is something I haven’t seen before? I cannot help you unless I see the act.”

“Look at my manhood, look how you shrivel it with your stare,” protested Sergei Ivanovich. “How do I know your touch didn’t do something to me? How do I know…”

“My touch did something to you all right,” cackled Peshka. “Your little man stood up for me then. Perhaps your mistake is in trying to sire on a slip of a girl. Maybe your heart isn’t in it. Maybe you want a woman, not a child.”

“Until you arrived, I had no problem sticking it to the whelp, and filling her womb too,” said Anna’s father, angrily. “My mind and my heart are set on swelling her belly with my son, and no one else’s.”

“Then if you don’t want my help…” trailed off the witch suggestively.

“I want the help, but not the audience.”

“Then let me help you.” Anna was surprised to see the witch get to her knees in front of Sergei Ivanovich and begin skillfully taking him into her mouth. At her touch, Sergei Ivanovich shrank back but she was relentless, and soon, far sooner than Anna had hoped, his shaft was hard in the witch’s mouth. “So I am not an audience,” crowed Peshka. “Now mount her before I lose my patience completely.”

Anna’s father seemed like a man possessed; he numbly did as he was told. Climbing between Anna’s legs, he slowly inserted his entire hard length into her, then paused as if waiting for instructions. “Go on,” Peshka nodded. Sergei Ivanovich took his daughter firmly by the hips and began thrusting his pelvis against hers, building up a rhythm which teased Anna with moments of pleasure even as it revolted her. The head of his cock tickled her deepest spaces, and she felt the cool hand of the witch as she wrapped Anna’s legs firmly around Sergei Ivanovich’s back.

“Bring your knees back to your chest, girl,” said Peshka, and Anna reached down and with her arms drew her legs back until her feet rested under her father’s chest.

“By all the saints, she tightens,” said Sergei Ivanovich breathlessly, slowing his thrusts momentarily. Then he stopped completely. “What in the Devil’s name are you doing, witch?” he shouted, nearly pulling out of Anna’s well-used opening.

“Helping you,” Peshka said from behind him.

“Your fingers… the Lord said it was a sin…”

“Quiet, fool,” said the witch, not unkindly. “I am not a man, am I? It is not another man inside you.” Anna realized that the witch must be putting a finger into Sergei Ivanovich’s anus. “It will make your seed more vigorous,” said Peshka with finality. “Now keep thrusting and don’t stop for foolishness.”

Anna’s father began again, slowly at first, then with renewed vigor. “By Saint Stefen, the witch is right,” he said, half to himself, but half to Anna, who was stoically clasping her knees to her chest beneath him. “It quickens in my loins even now. Make ready, little mother! I think this might be the time!” He gasped this last and jammed his shaft deep inside his daughter to begin to splash her womb with fierce blasts of jism, which kept coming until she lost feeling inside her. The pressure on her body was intense and it built until she was shocked to find that pleasure ran through her, and she grabbed hold of it and tried to lose herself in its clutches.

When she came back to herself, her father was seated beside her on the bed and Peshka was examining them both. “She should keep on her back afterward,” said the witch. “And you should keep inside her for a time after as well.” She ran a finger over Anna’s hole, collecting a few drops of what must have been a flood. “I cannot get over the taste of you both, how similar it is,” said Peshka. “But I do not think that is the problem. I think the problem is with you.” She pointed at Anna’s father. “You have fathered before, but so long ago I wonder if the seed remembers how to do its work.”

“I am as healthy as any man…”

“Foolish,” interrupted Peshka with a dismissive wave. “You might try for years before she got with child. If she was fertile always, it might happen, but she is not. She has her peaks and valleys, like any woman. And there is the problem of her, as well. She is untested. Perhaps she was taken too young.”

“Make up your mind, woman!” spat Anna’s father. “Is the girl fertile or not? Will she bear for me or not?”

“You could try for a long time and damage her,” said Peshka in a clinical tone. Anna felt damaged already. “You say your son had her first. Perhaps he should get her with child.”

“No!” shouted Sergei Ivanovich. “My son has a wife of his own; he cannot share mine.”

“Then you must keep trying, or find another, perhaps a proven mother,” said the witch, gathering her cloak around her and preparing to leave. “This one will bear, but perhaps not for you. That is my final word.” So saying, she left Anna and her father naked in the room.

“I should have known,” said Sergei Ivanovich in a low growl. “My son. My son should get you with child. My seed is old. It’s all just old wife’s garbage!” He stormed out, calling behind him, “The witch says stay on your back. I’ll be back when my strength returns. You will have my child.”

It seemed, however, that the witch was wrong. Anna’s bleeding did not come on schedule and Sergei Ivanovich grew cautiously optimistic. Each day when Anna did not bleed, he kept her in bed, fucking her more gently now that it was possible that she was with child. “It may simply be God toying with me,” he would mutter to himself, but Anna could tell. She was carrying her father’s child. It shredded her inside, brought up pain she had thought she was immune to by now.

After another week even her father agreed. He called Peshka back, supposedly to check on the mother, but in reality just so he could crow that she was wrong. She sniffed Anna’s cunt, made a cross over her, and said, “I never said never. I said perhaps. The child will not be healthy, you should know this.”

“What do you mean, not healthy?”

“She is too young, you are too old, and she is obviously your kin. A winter conception bodes poorly in any case, but all these things combined… the child will be sickly, if it lives at all. You want my advice, you will end it before she dies too.” Peshka nodded to Anna. “The birth may well be her death and the child’s, and then you will be without either.”

But Sergei Ivanovich kicked Peshka out and came back to Anna. “What does the witch know anyway?” he said, half to himself. She thought you would never get with child in the first place. Now roll over; I want to give you a present for being such a good little mother.”

Anna rolled, guessing what the present would be. Her father laughed and pulled out his cock, which was stiff from the excitement of it. He had wanted this, Anna knew, and now that he had it he would never let it go, not if it meant her death. His manhood drove into her cunt forcefully, and she gasped as it bottomed out inside her. “We’ll have to make sure you’re nice and wide for my son’s passage,” her father said behind her. “And when he grows, little mother, he’ll take over for me on the farm, in town, and in bed. You’ll like that, won’t you little mother? Your son giving you babies too? His little boy cock stuffing your whore cunt full.” As he talked, he drove into her. “And I won’t have to stop fucking you for nine whole months,” he crowed. “No more bleeding for you, little mother.”

Anna began to swell, which drove her father crazy with desire. He made sure she had the best food he could buy, but though he didn’t make her work, he wouldn’t let her wear clothes at all. He seemed to like to see his daughter filling up with his child, her breasts swelling and drooping, her belly growing. Anna could see the changes too, but they did nothing but cause her pain. The sickness, not just in the mornings but all day sometimes, the constipation, the need to piss at any time with no warning, all compounded to drive the knife that was her father’s baby inside her deeper into her heart.

And she thought of Noor too, wondered where she might be, why she had not come back. Anna wondered if Noor would be able to love her now that she was carrying her father’s child, and that thought that she might not made Anna weep. Many things made Anna weep now.

One day her father brought her brother and his wife to the house, and Anna expected that he would give her clothes to wear. But her father simply showed his son in to Anna’s room. “She’s glowing with it,” he said, glowing a little himself.

“We’re trying for our second,” said Vladimir. “Carrying suits Ilona, and we want to have another son.” It was the first Anna had heard of her nephew.

“Ah, but this will be my son and my grandson,” said Sergei Ivanovich.

“She does look good carrying,” acknowledged Anna’s brother, leering at her a little. “I could take her right now.”

“Not now,” said her father, looking angry. “She’s got to rest up.”

They went out and downstairs, but Anna could hear them arguing. After a minute Ilona came in, cradling a baby in her arms. “So it’s true,” she said, shaking her head slowly as if she didn’t believe it. “With your father’s child?” Anna couldn’t say it; she just nodded. “I wondered why we hadn’t seen you,” said Ilona. “You’ve never even seen little Vladimir.”