Free WitchsSmokeAaron by M. Garnet

Chapter One
    As the element of smoke, he could go anywhere. There was almost nowhere that he could not slowly drift under, around, or through. It was not the need to go to places that tore at his mind, it was his need to be corporeal. To finally be his complete self. The witch had not been totally cruel, as he had found after trial and error, because he could make a portion of his body part of the mortal world. One hand, a foot, his cock, his lips or his eyes, but it took a great effort and then there would be the need to rest before he could do it again.
    He had found out he could touch mortals with the smoke, and they would feel it. Of course, everyone smelled the smoke. Surprisingly, the smell was pleasant. He found this out through the reactions of others since he had never been able to draw into himself any of the smoke. He heard others talk about the odor of sandalwood and cinnamon. They found it disturbing, but it entertained him. He had been locked in this ethereal realm for centuries, so he had long days and nights to experiment. He had now found out how far he could go. How angry he could make a mortal and how lustful he could make them. He could bring them to eventual high orgasms that they did not find with mortals. He could make them hateful and angry until they actually hurt themselves. But then he stopped because they sometimes hurt others.
    Still, he cursed the witch who had placed him in this form and even more he cursed himself along with his three brothers for their act that had caused the witch to place the charm. No, not a charm, it was a damn curse. But one he had come to accept that he had earned.
    They knew she was the daughter of a witch. They did not know how powerful the witch was. At that time, in that old century, there was a witch in every village, one living in every forest. No one paid them much attention unless you needed a charm for clearing the water in your well or curing a cough. Unlike today, everyone knew they were real.
    He and his brothers were of the age, late twenties, early thirties, when they felt they were invincible. What was worse, they were blessed. They were tall and broad with chests and shoulders that made men move out of the way and women move in. They had their mother’s soft lips and their father’s black eyes and black hair that was full, and their ego let them wear it long. They drank heavy, fought hard, and whored whenever the chance was given. Usually, it was given often. Life was short and uncertain back then. There was so much that could take the life of a man, a woman, or a child.
    Wars, short and long, were always prevalent. If the enemy did not kill you, a wound probably would. Plus the enemy, on both sides, killed non-fighters. One did not take food with them in war. The fighters lived off the land and often just killed the farmers and took what was needed.
    Life in general was rough, and women died in childbirth. Children died early so that the ones that lived were the strongest. Every decade, a disease swept through populated areas, and, again, only the strong survived, no one understanding why the Gods took who they wanted.
    Living at the edge of the mountains, away from the seas, in the large sprawling stone manor that someday some archeologist would title a castle, the four brothers had survived childbirth and grown to be strong. Others of their siblings had not survived, and their mother had succumbed to childbed fever.
    So they grew up strong and fought and won. They did what they pleased because no one told them they could not, especially when they led and won the skirmishes against the small invaders. Mother was not there to teach them manners, Da did not listen to the priests of the Catholic religion so they seldom went to services. The money and prestige that was their family’s had prevented problems from those who were jealous or objected when they lay with the wrong wife. The pride of their father in having four such strong handsome sons let him