Marisa Kirisame, the Ordinary Witch, thirty-nine years of age, unwed and single, mewled like a virginal teen. The actual teen in the room, intense of face and even more so of his grip, hauled her skirted hips toward a meeting with his own. The witch’s almost-middle-aged pussy descended his young, hard cock, inch by inch, until their groins were joined into a mess of mismatched pubes and perspiration. Marisa breathed of the musty air to bluster, remembered who the teen crowding her womanhood was, and swallowed the bubbling quip. The smarts behind those handsome brows of his might’ve been his father’s, but the sense of humour he’d inherited wholesale from his mother. The witch stifled the impulse.

A warm Summer’s afternoon was flooding around her rickety cottage in the Forest of Magic, brimming over the windowsill, washing around the witchery refuse and knick-knacks strewn about the floor, and finally scaling the bleached, old kitchen table on which Marisa currently perched with her legs out in an obscene M-shape for the young man’s benefit, the heels of her sturdy boots hooked by the table-top’s edge. A small coal-fire was crackling under the stove; atop it, a burbling pot of water from the witch’s well was steaming up the room. A worn, brass tea-set, attended to by a plate of chocolate-dipped, rice crackers, stood by a prim distance away on the table, awaiting such a time when the old maid Ordinary Witch of Gensokyo would finish having spontaneous, unprotected, penis-in-vagina sex with her best friend’s adolescent son.

There was a guarded conviction between Marisa’s throbbing temples that she hadn’t bargained for that last part. Had such been the case, the witch reasoned, she would’ve given the young man a smooth, clean-shaven pussy to debauch.

Not that she’d left home earlier today planning on it, anyhow. The two of them had chanced on each other in his father’s village workshop, where Marisa had brought for repairs a reagents box whose hinge had its pin winkled out by a snooping fairy, but which could yet be restored to its service. The man – a no-nonsense, well-off carpenter, who had married into then soon (some whispered, too soon) expanded the Hakurei family seventeen years before – lived in illusive separation from his shrine maiden wife. The couple plied their respective businesses most days of the year, yet should one tease either, they would boldly name the date of their previous, jointly-spent weekend, complementary with an affirmation of their feelings. They were simply that stripe of people; and, but for her understated jealousy for both, Marisa would’ve been the first to admit they were insufferable when together behind closed doors.

Their one and, so far, only child was, all told, another tale. Whether by his own, boyish designs or those of his parents’, the young heir to the Hakurei shrine had divided his formative years between his mother’s hermitage and studying the basics of hammering things into other things under his father’s wing in town. Neither had overmuch chafed at, or used of this arrangement to shift the teen off on the other; although, a witch could have been forgiven to think differently when the carpenter had requested, in return for mending her box, that she take and walk his son back to his mother’s place.

Who it’d been who’d broached first the idea that they should take a tea-break at Marisa’s was, all told, immaterial. Now they were here, having sex on the kitchen table like horny newlyweds the morning after the reception.

Taichi (the young man was, because Reimu had no imagination for names) let go of a doglike growl, anxious to do more than merely hold his cock sheathed to the wiry hilt inside the witch’s snug, wet pussy. Marisa’s head tipped back on her already unsteady shoulders as the teen unmoored his crotch from hers and withdrew his unduly mature manhood from her deepest reaches, scraping along the way some of the most vulnerable spots her lonely vagina had nurtured over her spinster years. A long, lip-biting moment later, and the bare, mushroom-shaped glans of his penis sprang free of her clinging labia with a spray of natural lubricant. Cords of tacky, milky-white stuff strung in abundance between her now-gaping slit and the underside of Taichi’s escaped hard-on, brooking no second guesses as to Marisa’s consent to the whole debacle.

She was wet. She was so completely wet for Reimu’s precocious son’s cock, it wasn’t canny anymore. The last time Marisa had felt this raunchy, she’d been less than half her age, barely Taichi’s, and wintering over at Kourin’s home. The novice alchemist Marisa of then had gotten into her hormone-abuzz head the brilliant idea to mix into her half-youkai childhood friend’s food a pinch of a haphazardly mixed love elixir. And though Kourin, who’d never uttered a word to confirm Marisa’s femininity, would do nothing still at first, it’d be in the dead of the same night that she would hear the door of her room squeak aside to admit in a panting shadow of a half-youkai man.

Then and there, Kourin, who could watch her change her undies and bat no eye, would softly ask the paralysed witch whether she had been asleep. Once she’d vouchsafed no reply to either effect, the half-youkai had knelt on the bed, thrown the witch’s blankets, peeled down her bloomers, propped her butt on a pillow, pulled his cock out and then given Marisa the nonstop, squirting, nightlong fucking she would end up schlicking to for the rest of her puberty.

Would that she’d noted the proportions. She might’ve been the one with a moneyed husband now.

A bid-dicked youth with a rugged libido was, however, a close favourite. The piquancy of his being her best friend’s son stoked the areas of Marisa’s conscience she’d have thought long smothered by her spinsterhood.

And then there was Taichi himself, with the Hakurei name and hair, but his father’s shoulders and jaw, and his very own prick slobbering precum over itself after the kiss with Marisa’s womb.

The teen juddered in his tension, sighed his arousal, and then licked his lips to speak.

“… Auntie Marisa?”

She hadn’t it in her to look the strapping, young man in the eye. She poured her gaze instead at the strapping, young cock rearing a handspan away from her nude pussy.

“Mnn. Whaaat—” she breathed, “What issit, stud?”

The witch’s flat belly tensed from the crotch up when Taichi leaned against her to lay the underbelly of his shaft across her opening and clitoris. The excess of his impressive, bellied length stuck out over Marisa’s blond bush, as though to menace the Ordinary Witch with a vision of how much cock her old maid’s pussy would have to accommodate. Too bad for that fantasy, they both already knew.

Taichi grasped her by one pink knee, nudging it farther out yet, sending tiny pangs of submission tickling up the inside of Marisa’s chest.

“Iffen—” the teen began, ran the ensuing terminology through the adult filter, and said anew, “Iffen I put it in now, auntie Marisa… I’ll not stop.”

Marisa’s teeth nipped her bottom lip. That’d be half the ideal outcome. “… Can’t be helped,” she egged him on, “can it?”

Taichi’s cock twinged, all the while his scruples seemed to flex in his stomach. A stomach like that could flex…

“… I’ll come inside you, auntie Marisa,” Taichi rasped at length. “Um. In your baby-room.”

And that would be the other half. “Can’t be helped,” repeated the witch, sweeter, “can it? When a man needs to go…”

The youth’s grunt expressed a bucketful of doubt, though it was a leaky bucket.

Maybe it’d had the right. Maybe it could have been helped. Maybe it wouldn’t have required helping to start if Marisa hadn’t left the top three buttons of her shirt undone after changing out of her outdoors clothes; for sure it wouldn’t have if she hadn’t bent down to pick up the clutter from the floor as low as she had. Could be that she hadn’t had to jokily insinuate herself onto the teen’s lap or call him “hubby mine” after he’d helped her strike the fire under the stove. Maybe, just maybe, she shouldn’t have secretly dabbed her lips with kava oil on the astronomically off chance she might find an excuse to smooch him on his. Or, somehow, the tip of his dick – without arousing undue suspicion.

With a bad grace, as though navigating a spotty, intersocial affair, Marisa Kirisame considered that none of this would ever have warranted such heavy-handed means if only she’d thought wiser than to drop in on her married wife bestie – intending to drink her under the table – while her son had been overnighting at that one of his homes. The shrine maiden divorced from verticality, and the task of dragging her off to bed deferred to the shrine’s enduring komainu, Aunn, the Ordinary Witch then, too far in her cups to stop, had dug her dirty claws into the remaining of the spectators.

To wit, she’d grilled the young hunk on the number of girls he’d wooed so far and, once he’d sworn on a round zero, laid him out, cracked a phial of perfumed oil and meticulously re-evaluated his heterosexuality. Thrice, because all the letters in “the Ordinary Witch, Marisa Kirisame” didn’t add up to “basic self-restraint.”

What could she have pretended to her hungover self? That she’d really meant to stop at riding him to an orgasm through her bloomers? That she hadn’t said, “aw, fine, but jus’ this once” when he’d asked afterwards to stick it in? That the first, real dick in well over a decade smearing its fresh, hot cum all along her pussy walls hadn’t been a spur to her self-esteem? Sober Marisa wouldn’t have listened.

Sober Marisa had anywise still nearly leapt out of her knickers when Taichi had suggested they give this sticking-it-in stuff another “try-out” while the water boiled for their tea.

They had tried it out, at that. And the aftermath of priming Marisa’s pussy for the young man’s long, hardy cock alone had seen its first insertion to a smooth, untroubled finish all the way in at the witch’s cervix. The sheer amount of Cowper’s he’d spilled inside her could have well knocked a younger girl up.

Taichi wavered, anyhow. The youth could be keen as quicksilver but, every so often, his mother’s mulishness flashed a hoof. The fact of his gliding his cockhead down to align it with Marisa’s agape slot was, it could be conjectured, the other shoe dangling.

“… Aunn taught me,” he at last confessed, “that I oughtn’t to come inside… um, human girls. ‘Cause, it makes a baby, see.”

That gave Marisa a bit of pause. “Aunn did?” she said. “That pure sweetheart?”

The young man’s abs managed to flutter guiltily.

Then again, the worldly-wise witch figured, altogether too many of Gensokyo’s boys got their first, toddling experiences between some naïve fairy’s thighs, and fairies had never once been lacked for around the Hakurei hill. Not the least of which was the clever trio from the old tree. It’d been perhaps a matter of time before the shrine’s guardian walked in on the Hakurei boy doing something pleasant but ill-informed to Sunny’s or Star’s petite bodies. Or trading coffee beans for Luna’s.

A shame. That was what it was. Of all the nice, young men in the land, Taichi had deserved the most to bust his first nut under his mum’s mature, single friend.

“Aw. Now, now,” Marisa glossed it over. “No worries, muffin. Auntie Marisa’s a witch, twig? Witches’ve their tricks. Hexes an’ alchemy, what have you. I’ll not get with child ‘less I wan’ to; and, trust you me, at my age that would be— wait, wait, no, don’t put that— oh, hffffuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuckfuckfuck— hyan?!”

The terminating cry had fled Marisa’s throat, belying said age, because Taichi had crammed the last, thickest inch of his cock into her drenched pussy with a coercive shove. Groins smacked into each other, slimy from the nectar and the precum the witch’s labia had peeled from the youth’s erect length.

Marisa’s thirty-nine-year old head swooned like its teenaged version had when Kourin had inadvertently discovered her G-spot. Taichi hadn’t even to do that; from her slick, swollen petals to the destitute heart of her womanhood under her bellybutton, the witch’s vagina was being dominated by the girth and the bent of the young man’s indiscriminate penis. Spasms of a maidenish near-orgasm wracked Marisa’s belly muscles, delicious and tingly in their aftershocks, wringing the teen’s slippery cock top to bottom inside her honeypot. Taichi, however, wasn’t to be appeased merely by interrupting an elder and then causing her to squeal like a shrine maiden accepting a fat donation in her offertory box; he mashed his robust hips into Marisa’s thighs, as if attempting in all juvenile impudence to convince the witch she still had decency to give up.

To her discredit as the elder, she did. She renounced it to the utmost by rallying her composure and leaning back on wobbly arms to reposition the youth’s cock inside her quivering, horny pussy. Taichi caught on like the cheeky monkey he was; his chin thrust bullishly out as his hands vised the table-top on either side of Marisa’s not insubstantial ass, feet shuffling apart, getting set to fuck his mother’s best friend and blow a load in her womb. This had to be Gensokyo’s gutsiest boy, Marisa thought, albeit with a name to stand on. There was no guessing, sans the obvious, what would happen, and it would happen, when Reimu set him loose on the realm’s complacent youkai.

“This isn’t very nice, issit,” she clipped his pride while she yet could. “Makin’ an older woman moan like that? With your prick in her cunt, no less! Not the most nobby.”

Taichi’s features, when she ventured to look, were steeped in his mother’s keenness. “… You liked it,” he pointed out. “You did. Could feel you floodin’.”

“Oh, bulldust,” bluffed Marisa, if only because she’d been floodin’ way ahead that occurrence. “Not what I’m palaverin’ on, anywise. There is things older women don’t stomach bein’. Witches, ‘specially. Shown up by some callow, young buck, for instance. We got airs to keep up, us elders an’ betters. Got to make it sound our doin’, fuckin’ you. Our, wossname, preerogotive. Twig?”

Taichi smacked his mouth shut. The twig stuck in the verdant soil of the teen’s worldview and, in a matter of seconds, spread out a lifetime’s worth of roots. The glans of his wood-stiff cock quit, for the moment, its bullying of Marisa’s cervix to molest the folds of her emptying vagina on its slow, deliberate withdrawal. The hung teen removed his penis from the witch’s hold, causing no small measure of inner turmoil as he did so and, for balance – as well as because all Hakurei were sore losers by heritage – he slapped Marisa’s clitoris several times with its swollen head.

Never once looking to learn its effects on the witch’s expression, the teen asked, “… Can I have sex with you, auntie Marisa? Now? You’ll not be readier.”

Marisa crushed out the erotic, affirmatory moans she’d salted away across her bachelorette’s life. For now. “… Jus’ like that, stud?” she returned. “For nothin’? Pooh.”

“For lighting the stove,” he put forward instantly. “That why you had me help, right? So’s I’d say this now? I mean, you can do magic.”

The bottom of the witch’s face turned into one, big, sleazy grin. Was that the Hakurei intuition for you, or what? “For lightin’ the stove!” she said outwards, mock-exasperated. “For real, stud? Aw, what the drat. Let’s. Let’s get you your rewa—” her voice hitched, “—wah, aaarrrd. Mnn, fuuuck, there,” she gasped, “there, that spot, cupcake, keep hittin’ that spot…!”

And Taichi did, albeit would’ve still even had he purposed otherwise.

The footsies, scares and pretending all dispensed with, the gifted young man drove his erect, hale and hearty cock into then out of the old witch’s spasming, gushing pussy. The cruel ridge of his upwards-curved glans missed none of Marisa’s base, female triggers, even in default of especial finagling on her part; it knocked into her G-spot on every insertion, softer or harder depending on the moment, and then snagged it again on each retreat; it rubbed up the entire, sensitive, front wall of her pussy then scrubbed the rear one on the way out. Marisa’s ruffled, inner labia strapped the girth and toured the length of the youth’s shaft: from the tip to the base then back up without a snag – every raw, veiny inch of his arched cock scoured of first then daubed again in an older woman’s love potion.

Some fairies did not know how good they had it.

The cheek-flushing raciness of the taboo, intergenerational sex saw Marisa crane from her half-lying position to glimpse the exact place where Taichi’s penis was receiving a wealth of (ostensibly redundant) education inside a more than twice-older vagina. Instead, the Hakurei boy’s greedy humping saw the hells of her boots slip the edge of the table. There was a spell of frenzied scrambling contingent whenever fornicating was abruptly disturbed, the conclusion of which left Marisa’s legs slung over the teen’s muscle-stacked shoulders and her ass pinned under his hips in a textbook, albeit pepped-up, missionary style.

Marisa treated her not-nephew to a defiant smile lasting exactly the span of time required of a young priest to begin exorcising an old witch in the only real way it worked.

The kitchen was fogged with steam, swirling around confusedly, rushed only by the two’s randy motions and impassioned gasps, when Marisa’s over-teased, senior pussy at last deigned to submit to the younger cock’s perseverance. The thoughtless fluff between her ears, the stiffness of her nipples scraping her camisole, the welling pressure in her groin and the tremble of her thighs were incontrovertible; and, a delirious grin plastered on her chapped lips, the Ordinary Witch bored her dreamy eyes into those of her best friend’s adolescent son.

Understanding gelled over the blind, male arousal. He scowled like his mother and swore like his father.

And then, he thrust his hard, bent cock, thrice in a swift, savage succession, into the soaked, peaking pussy of the woman who’d unintentionally gotten them together in the first place.

The orgasm kicked Marisa’s feet out wide, slugging into her desolate womanhood like an Oni’s fist, if the fist was wreathed in orgasmic lightning. Girly fists balled at her chest, eyes flipping up in their sockets, the Ordinary Witch creamed herself for the first time in forever without a care for where and how much she was squirting. Cramps of vicious, blissed-out ecstasy shunted in waves from her groin, up her tummy and unimpressive bust, causing her to flop atop and thump the table-top like a beached mermaid. She tried at least to keep her mouth modest – then didn’t.

Were an adventurous soul to slink beneath the sill of a window on Marisa Kirisame’s cottage in the wilds of the Forest of Magic, they would hear, perchance against their purer intentions, what the eminent, human magician of Gensokyo sounded like when overcome by the first, wicked climax from genuine sex with a man in a little over seventeen years.

They would hear, additionally, what the same magician reckoned of boys who hadn’t the tact to wait till she was done to grab her ass and roll her around like a sentient but comfortably handleable sex-doll.

Oddly, swearing aside, she concurred with them at volume.

An early evening was spilling over the Forest of Magic, although unlike its forerunner, it hadn’t a toss to give about percolating through the lush, Summer-time treetops. This was, it could be, for the best as, in a purling creek behind the witch’s cottage, two figures were standing up to their knees in the water, wearing nothing but their birthday suits and a pointy hat in one case. In the shade accorded by the trees, nobody could see they were kissing with rather an ardour while sponging each other off. Unless, of course, the somebody had brought along any eyes.

Marisa, feigning a respiratory need, plucked her tongue out of the handsome teen’s mouth and let herself to droop from her tiptoes. The crook of Taichi’s brows conveyed he had something of a critical stance on breathing at this time, but would indulge the foible out of tentative respect for the company. Marisa snickered and, very slowly, hunched down to soak the sponge anew in the creek’s cold waters – taking every womanly care that her face brushed as near as possible without skewing her hat by the teen’s nude groin where, preposterously, his rude cock was standing tall yet again.

Three. Three teeming loads of his spunk had to squeeze inside Marisa’s cramped womb before he’d stooped to go soft. One yet on the table, except switched around in doggystyle; another on the floor of her bedroom, with Marisa twirling her waist on top; and then a third, in the speedbump position on the witch’s bed, with her bubbly ass acting the speedbump. Taichi had done as he’d threatened, sheathing his cock to the jewelled hilt each time, impregnating his mother’s best friend thrice over on the promise that her “tricks” would spare him the later embarrassment. Marisa was an alchemist of some foresight; she’d down the relevant tincture as called for, though not yet; it’d be futile to do so, after all, were Taichi to simply knock her up again.

Which, the unabashed erection prodding the brim of Marisa’s hat signed, was very much on the table. Or in the water now, as it were.

The Ordinary Witch stood up, at once vexed with herself and giddy from the knowledge that she could arouse a man so, even at her age. Taichi wedged that chink in her seniority wider by leaning down, seizing her ass in both hands and spreading its cheeks until the water from the damp ends of her hair streamed down the crack and across her exposed butthole. Marisa shivered inside the teen’s sinewy, conscience-melting arms, and not in the least because the water was cold.

Gods of Gensokyo on a stick, how came he hadn’t had a girlfriend yet? Sex wasn’t everything, candour where due; and yet, where his father had seen even falser of a start, he was the Hakurei shrine maiden’s husband now. Marisa was intimate with the arrangement, and it’d certainly not been to do with the man’s silver tongue. The then-apprenticing, up-and-coming carpenter had been hired to fix the shrine’s battered storm doors, nothing else; it’d been by chance that Marisa had earlier arrived at her bestie’s with a crate of plum wine from her Winter stocks. It’d been by just the same that the carpenter’s work had expanded to other, rickety appliances, and the pair of hostesses had determined to let him at it and finish the batch off alongside a warm bath.

They’d been drunk as queens by the time they’d heard a diffident knock on the bathroom’s door and, with the tacitly shared responsibility of those so-afflicted, they’d bid the man to join them for a dip.

There was not a week in Marisa’s ever-solitary career when she didn’t ponder a scenario where she’d been the one who’d gotten pregnant that evening.

“… Auntie Marisa?”

The witch shouldered aside the ancient regret and eyed the shy beginnings of chest hair on her new one.

“… Mm. Sure,” she said presently. “Sure, fine, stud. What’s the harm? I ain’t ever been fucked outdoors, either…”

Taichi eschewed his distaste for breathing to reply, found he had really nothing to add, and took it back with interest. Marisa giggled around his tongue, age be damned.

“You mustn’t, mm, tell your mother, twig?” she managed to tell him, cupping the curve of his cock in the sponge down below. “She’ll stick me arse-first on her gohei.”

Taichi nodded, a picture of seriousness. Never mind his fingers sinking deep into the plump hemispheres of her butt. “I hear that,” he promised.

“You do, at that,” teased Marisa, “don’t you?”

The teen contrived not to contrive to look ashamed. “… Auntie Marisa, though?”

“Yeah, cupcake?”

“You don’t want to, um, rest?” he asked her delicately. “You’re like a fairy, but you’re human. An’, um, what with your studyin’ habits—”

“I’m a witch, bucko,” Marisa said, once again cuttin’ to the core of the magic apple. “Witches can ride ‘eir brooms all day on end some days. We’re sturdy stuff.”

And that, said her tongue to the teen’s, was final. Taichi swept her up, princess-like, onto his arms, bound for the standing stone in the creek’s bend where the thesis would be put to a test.

What Taichi couldn’t know was that, long as he stayed faithful to his word, Marisa’s broom would see much diminished use in the foreseeable future.