Work Text:
Agatha trumps through the woods. Branches snag on dress and thorns scrath her arms and legs. She's tripped and fallen more than once, feet catching on hidden growths on the ground. She's far past The Coven's usual hunting grounds, even further past the parts the men in town go through. There is no cleared trail that she can traverse.
She's tired. Everytime she falls it takes her longer to get back up. It's winter, and while the first snow hasn't come yet, it is still blistering cold. Her fingers hold tightly to the whicker basket that she set out with. It's contents are sparse. Mother had sent her to pick herbs, and she knows if she does not come back with enough then she will be punished.
Agatha stumbles and rights her self kicking away a rock. It's a setup. She's meant to fail. She's not the best with plants, but even she knows this is not the season for half the things on her mother's list.
She wishes her mother wouldn't go through the convoluted methods to punish her. She would much rather prefer to just get the switch now than trapeising through the stupid woods only to get the switch when she came back.
She pauses looking at a group thin plants with pointy leaves. It looks vaguely familiar tho the name escapes her. She's not sure if it is one of the plants on her mother's list but grabs it anyways. She pulls the plant out of the ground and then sets up seperating them until she's got a small pile. Then she uses a bit of twine to tie it up and toss it in her basket.
A fine powder coats her hands from the plant, and she wipes it off on the side of her dress. It's past noon now. Mother put her out in the early morning without breakfast, and she wasn't able to snag any food to carry with her. Her stomach grumbles.
Agatha squints and looks into the trees. Lot's of things die in the winter. Lots of plants die in the winter. But there is always something growing. A splash of blue catches her eye and she turns quickly to see bird taking off in the sky.
She watches it go until it disappears beyond the trees. It must be nice to be a bird. To not be trapped. She looks at where the bird came from, and smiles.
Berries.
She's not too concerned about eating unknown plants. Thanks to Mother, she knows that while they may make her sick, most non magical plants won't kill her. The berries are red and fat and are clumped together on the branches of the tree. She's fairly certain that she's seen one of the other sisters using these berries to make jam. She picks one and eats it. It's sweet with a slightly bitter aftertaste, but it's not bad.
She goes through half the bush before she stops. Her hands are stained red, and she's sure her lips are too. The berries didn't sate her hunger but it allows her to focus on her task at hand.
She picks a few more plants and even finds a couple of mushrooms before turning around to go back home. There's a skip in Agatha's step as she walks. She found some poison ivy and placed it carefully between the herbs she had collected. The itch that's started up her skin will be well worth it because she knows her mother has even worse reactions than her.
It is to this day dream that she trips and falls again, this time fully breaking her basket. Mother would call it penance. Agatha calls it the worlds plot against her. She kicks at the basket, then at her fallen herbs and at the line of mushrooms that seem to be a part of a bigger circle.
She stare mournfully at the her goods on the ground. Her dress has one lone pocket that it no where near large enough to put anything but the handful of berries she took off the tree. Her baskets broken, her arms itch, and the sun is starting to set. Tears prick in her eyes. She fucking hates her life.
~~~
It's dark when Agatha gets home. The door slams behind her, and she can't even feel it in herself to be scared even though she knows Mother will be mad.
"Agatha," her mother sits at the table. "You're late."
Agatha grunts coming to stand in front of her. She scratches her neck and then at her arm. She was able to ignore the itching sensation during her trek through the woods, but as soon as she got in range of the village it was all she could focus on. It was like she was on fire. Every movement made her skin prickle.
Sweat drips down her face.
Her mother frowns looking at her. "Where are my herbs."
Agatha tosses a bundle on to the table. Mistletoe. She had realized a little bit too late that she shouldn't come home empty handed and as soon as had gotten to the village she went around stealing every bunch of mistletoe off of the towns peoples doorways.
"I couldn't find anything else," she says at Mother's unimpressed look. She knows her mother is not fooled, knows that her mother knows that those are the same bunches of mistle to that Ms Larkin sold at the market the other week.
She waits, rocking in place to see what her mother will say.
Finally Mother speaks. "Get your hands out from between your legs and have some decorum."
Agatha's brows furrow as she process the words, and then she freezes. Her hand is in between her legs, dress bunched up to press against her center. A blush rises up her cheeks.
"Sorry mother," she squeaks, but now that she registers where her hand is, she also realizes how good it feels.
She presses harder, rocking into her hand and a loud moan falls from her throat. It's soothing, almost. The heat and itching that has been plauging her half the day leave abate a little.
"Agatha." Her mother pushes back from the table urptly and Agathat quickly takes her hand away, though a whine leaves her mouth when she does so.
"I'm sorry mother." She quickly backs up as her mother advances on her. "I don't know… it just feels good."
Her backs against the wall and her mother leans over her. Agatha fidgits under her gaze.
"What did you eat?" she asks.
"Nothing," Agatha grumbles. "You wouldn't let me bring anything with me."
"Oh," her mother says. "So you don't feel hot? You don't feel itchy?" her voice drops. "You don't feel aroused?"
"What does it mean?" Agatha's not scared, no matter what anyone says. She's just… concerned, becuse she does feel all those things.
Mother steps back. "If you didn't eat anything then it doesn't mean anything."
"Berries." Agathat fishes the remaining one out of her pocket and presents them to her mother. "I had some berries, but only a little, and I felt fine afterwards."
Her mother's eyes widen and Agatha allows herself to feel just a little bit scared.
"You ate mistletoe?"
Agatha glances at the bundle on the table and the berries in her hand. " B-but it doesn't look the same," she stutters out.
"Of course it doesn't you stupid child." Her growls. "You ate wild mistletoe. Who knows what other magical creature did to it before you got there. Clothes off."
Agatha hurries to obey, pulling her dress over her head and dropping it on the ground. Her undergarments quickly follow. Mother picks them up and takes them outside.
Cold air blasts through the room when the door opens and Agathat shivers, nipples straining. Her hand finds its way down again, and she's surprised at how wet she is.
She probes, caustiously slipping a finger inside. Now that the barrier of cloth is gone her senses are hightened, and her eyeroll as her hand moves in and out.
When Mother comes back in Agatha is on the ground. Her face is pressed against the floor and her butt is high in the air as she rocks back and forth onto the fingers that are in her cunt.
There's a puddle of slick underneath her. It slides down her hand and on to the ground. Her other hand, the one not pistioning in and out of her hole, is underneath her. It kneads at her chest, alternating between pinching and rubbing her nipples.
"Mother," it comes out as a restless gasp. "It hurts."
"Good," her mother says. "That should teach you to run around eating berries instead of doing your assigned chores."
"I'm sorry," Agatha cries. The pleasure she feels is borderline painful. Always present, but never satisifying. She switches from rocking on her fingers to grinding her palm against her front.
"Come here."
Agatha looks up to see her mother sitting in a chair. The punishment chair. With great effort she takes her hand away from herself, clasping both hands in front of her.She shakes her head against the floor. "I'm sorry, I'm sorry. I won't touch myself again. Mother please don't make me get the switch"
Her mother scoffs. and snaps her fingers. "You are not getting the switch, but if you don't get here and put yourself over my lap you won't like the consequences."
Agatha crawls, she feels too weak to stand. With every motion forward her thighs rub and her clit pulses. It takes everything in her to continue on untill she's kneeling by her mothers feet.
Her mother grab her by the hair and yanks, pulling her up and over so that she's lying on the other woman's lap. One hand rests on her back while the other cups her pussy.
Even that slightest touch feels like soothing balm to who over heated system. She rocks back, trying to get more of her mother's touch, and she's surprised when her mother actually lets her.
"There are two ways that you can end the mistletoe's effect," Mother says. "The first is too wait it out, but this is not a whore house, and I am not going to be kept awake by you moaning like a bitch, so we will go with the second way."
Her mother reaches down and pulls something out of bag that Agatha never noticed. Its long and wooden, and Agathat realizes with a start that it is a wooden penis.
"The second way," she says bringing the wooden phallus to Agatha's cunt, "is to let someone else bring you to completion."
She slowly starts pushing the penis in.
Agatha panics. "It's too big," she cries. He hands scramble and clutch at the leg of the chair as her mother forces the wooden phallus into her.
Her mother bottoms out, and then drags it back out slowly and painfully settling into a steady rhythm. "Let this be a lesson to you then, to not eat things that you don't recognize."
The chair creaks as her mother fucks into her. Tiny little gasps escape Agatha's mouth each time her mother pushes in, and whimpers each time she pulls out.
The pain from the wooden penis quickly changes to pleasure. It's large and drags against her insides. She clenches around it, walls fluttering. Agatha moans. "Mother."
A smack sounds through the room and Agatha keens as pain blossoms from her behind. A gush of fluid leaves her, dripping on to the floor. A flurry of smacks come and Agatha's face burn as she squirms on her mother's lap.
"Are you taking pleasure from this?" Mother is enraged. Her hits become harder, moving in time with the wooden penis.
Agatha can only answer in garbeld moan. Words have left her. She lays limp over her mother's lap, only focused on the growing pleasure come from her center. It spreads outward burning through her veins.
"I knew you were wrong." Magic sparks in the air. "I knew from the moment you were born." Her mother's panting now, wailing into Agatha in ernest. The flames in the fire pace jump and pots and glassware on the walls and shelves shake and crash together. The room darkens.
There's a flash of light and Agatha spasms. Her stomach tightens and her legs jerk and shakes rack her body. Her cries crecsendo as she falls over the edge.
Her mother pushes her off her lap, and Agatha lands on the floor with a thump. The phallus is sitll in her and she curls up, the remains of her mess sticking and cooling on her skin.
"This room will be spotless by morning," Mother says. Her voice shakes. "You will get rid of evidence of your debauchery. You will meet with Sister Carol first thing in the morning and present yourself accordingly."
Mother watches as Agatha sits up. The penis falls out of her, a gush of liquid following. "Do you understand?"
Agatha nods weakly. "Yes Mother."