Bella Donna, The Little Witch

  • Posted on April 4, 2022 at 3:17 pm

by Kinkys_sis

I’d always known I was only attracted to girls, but never understood why. I knew it wasn’t normal, and that made me strange, peculiar, different. Yet I didn’t seem so different to the rest of my peers.

So why did they chatter all day long about this boy or that boy, while I was busy thinking about how cute other girls were?

I didn’t let that worry me much, although at times it did leave me out of the conversation. They all saw me as being a bit aloof. Little did they know that I had my own thoughts.

It never got me down because I had a lot going for me. I was our school’s boxing champion at fourteen. I was the vice-captain of the under-sixteens soccer team and in the athletics squad.

In short, I was a school hero.

But there was something missing from my life. I desperately wanted a girlfriend, a sexual girlfriend rather than a pal. I already had plenty of female friends.

I spent hours considering, wondering which girl I wanted to make mine. More than that, which girl might be amenable to being seduced. I didn’t find an answer; didn’t even know if there was one.


I’d run miles that day, far more than I normally did. Perhaps that’s why I lost concentration – I was simply running on auto-pilot, my mind flitting from one girl to another as I worked on my mental tick list.

Then I was falling, tumbling head over heels down a steep hillside. I remember thinking This is bad before I saw the huge tree ahead of me.

A brief explosion of pain…

My first thought was of the hard, searing agony in my head. Then I felt sick to my stomach and nearly retched, but somehow held it down.

I vaguely heard a voice penetrating the fog that clogged my mind, but couldn’t fathom what it said or where it came from. Then relief — God, it felt good. It was cold, something very cold resting on my forehead. The pain eased a little, the flashes of light faded.

Was I dead? Were the angels talking to me? That was what it sounded like at the time. This sweet, gentle voice was soothing me, telling me to lie still. But then it was gone as everything began to spin. I drifted into blackness, everything fading away.


I felt like a drowning person, desperately struggling to reach the surface. I could see light, and fought to get to it. Once more, I felt the relief of something cold on my face.

I cautiously opened an eye, but that set the world to spinning again. I focused on a light somewhere above, concentrating as best I could. Finally, everything became steady.

This time, the voice was clearer, “Lie still, pretty one… don’t try to move.” The damp, cool cloth bathed my face once more.

A blurry image peered down at me. Fingers lifted an eyelid, examining. Then an awful smell as something wafted over my nose. Whatever it was, it worked — the fog was clearing fast. The last dizziness went away.

“Now close your eyes and rest.” I felt the lightest touch of fingers tracing across my face, then they drifted away just as I did.


I came awake with a start — where was I? The memory of falling flooded back – bouncing down the hill, tumbling over and over until I hit the tree. Then there was that voice I’d heard, someone soothing my pain away.

Carefully, I eased myself up on an elbow. This time, the room only spun a little. I took a deep breath, forcing myself to remain calm. Once more, I opened my eyes.

She was sitting right beside me, fast asleep with an open book on her lap. The strangest, yet most beautiful woman I’d ever seen. Her skin was a deep olive-brown sort of hue. She had an enormous mane of hair; rich, luxuriant black hair.

But above all, what made the woman stand out was her jewelry. Huge golden bangles hung from her ears. Beads and chains festooned her neck. Perhaps a dozen or more bracelets sparkled on each wrist. A real Romany gypsy, I suddenly realised.

For the first time, I took a glance around. Flickering candles lit the room, reflecting the bright, almost garish colours that covered every available space. I saw the curved ceiling, the hanging pots and pans… of course, I was in a caravan.

The sheet that covered me slipped down enough to reveal that I was stark naked underneath. First I felt embarrassed, then horrified to see the horrible bruises that were already showing on my bare body, so many of them. I let out a cry of pain when I tried to move my arm, then noticed the shoulder was covered with heavy tape.

My cry had awakened the woman. She reached out to ease me back down. Her voice, strangely accented, instructed me to be still. “Do not try to use that arm, not just yet. You dislocated your shoulder. It is now as it should be, but will be very sore for a while.”

She fetched a mug, brought it to me. “Let me help you drink this. You will not like it, but it is necessary for your recovery.” She was right, it was the foulest stuff I’d ever tasted, but I did as instructed and swallowed it down as fast as I could.

She sat once more, watching me as I began to drift again. I was almost asleep when she said, “I need to go out for a while, but my daughter will watch over you until I return.”

Opening my eyes, I saw that someone else was now seated in the chair – a little girl, who was smiling at me, “Sleep,” she said, “I will be here.”

I knew at once that it was the angel I’d heard earlier. The sweetest voice, coming from a vision of purest beauty. She touched her lips with a finger, then laid it on mine. “Go to sleep… dream of nice things.”

I felt her pull the sheet around my shoulders as my eyes drifted shut. Her hand seemed to brush against my breasts for no obvious reason. Was she feeling me up? Don’t be ridiculous, I told myself just before I fell asleep.


It was dark when I woke, though a small lamp burning in one corner gave off a little light. I was bursting for a pee and I seemed to be alone. What should I do?

I began to raise myself, conscious of my shoulder, then felt the weight of an arm that lay draped across my bare tummy. Now that my eyes had adjusted to the gloom, I saw that the little girl was lying there, pressed to my side. It was too dark for me to make out her features, but I noticed with a start that she was naked, just like me.

Her eyes flashed open as I moved. “You are awake.”

My head hurt when I nodded. “I need to go for a… a pee.”

The girl carefully sat up in the bed, then stood. Fetching a robe, she draped it over my shoulders, though she didn’t bother to cover herself. “I will help you, but try to keep your bad arm still. Here… swing your legs down, then stand very slowly.”

I ached in a thousand places, each movement an agony. The girl helped steady me as I struggled to my feet. Holding me as gently as possible, she led me to the door. I saw her pick up the oil lamp on the way. Four wooden steps led down to the ground. My shaky legs barely held me as I cautiously descended.

She lifted a bucket that hung on a hook at the side of the caravan, then set it on the ground. By then, I felt ready to burst. I felt myself sway when I tried to crouch, but the girl reached out to me, held me steady.

I’d never peed with someone at my side before, but this was no time for embarrassment – my need was too urgent. When I finished, I slowly pushed myself back up. The girl reached for a toilet roll that had been placed near the edge of the top stair, then peeled away a length of the paper. I was shocked when she didn’t hand it over, but reached out to wipe me herself.

As she led me back inside, I saw there were only two bunk beds. Her mother was asleep in one, and the other was where I had been until just a moment ago. The girl took my robe away, leaving me naked again,  and helped me back into bed.

“Do you want something to drink?” she asked.

I shook my head … ouch! Wincing from the pain of it, I burrowed back into the comforting softness of the pillow. The girl didn’t speak, just climbed into bed and stretched out next to me. Clearly, this bed was only meant for one, which explained why she’d been so close when I woke.

It had been chilly outside, but now I felt the little girl’s warmth as she snuggled close. Before she drew the covers up, she gently touched what I suspected was a nasty looking bruise. Then she leaned in and kissed it. “Your injuries will soon heal; my magic will soothe them away.”

She had placed the lamp nearby, so now I could clearly see how lovely she was. I placed her at ten, perhaps eleven years old. She watched me as I studied her, then spoke softly. “I had a dream that a beautiful girl would come to me. Now you have, only not quite the way I expected.” She shook her head. “Something less painful would have been better.”

Suddenly, she drew forward and kissed my mouth. As she gently broke away, I heard her sigh, “You are my dream girl.” Then the girl rested her head next to mine. Once more, her arm was lying across my body, only not on my tummy this time. Her wrist was just brushing the underside of my left breast.

My mind was in a whirl. I’d also dreamed of a girlfriend, many times – but naturally, I’d been thinking of a girl my own age. Now, here was this little-girl beauty, assuming that I’d been delivered to her, claiming me as hers.

I knew this was wrong, she was much too young, yet… I couldn’t help the tug in my heart. Slipping my working arm under the girl’s neck, I pulled her closer.

Again she sighed, then I felt a delicious shock of arousal when her hand covered my breast. Even in my battered condition, my nipple responded to the intimacy of her touch. I was wondering whether to kiss her myself, but she seemed to know what I was thinking and shook her head. “Not just yet,” she whispered. “Time for you to sleep, my dream girl.” That was the last thing I remembered.


The sounds and smells of cooking dragged me from a deep slumber. I was alone in the bed. Moving slowly, I sat up and tested my muscles. It didn’t feel too bad except for my head and shoulder – they still ached badly. I hadn’t realised that my head was bandaged, not until I reached up to find out where the pain was centred.

The girl’s mother, now busy over a small gas stove, had noticed me moving. “How do you feel, little one? Are you hungry?”

Actually, I was starving, come to think of it. God knows when I’d last eaten. In fact, it suddenly occurred to me that I didn’t have a clue what day it was, or how long I had been there. So many questions buzzing through my head, and I needed answers.

I forgot all that when the door opened and I saw my little angel, carrying a bowl of hot water. Her eyes lit up when she saw me sitting on the side of the bed. Her smile was something else, so very beautiful. She came straight to me, and her mother didn’t bat an eyelid when she kissed me full on the lips.

She took a flannel from the bowl and said, “Sit still.” I obeyed, drinking in the sight of her as she washed me. She examined my bruises as she went – sometimes nodding approvingly, frowning at others as she gently touched them.

When she had finished, the girl draped a linen sling around my neck, then carefully guided my bad arm through the loop until it was supported. It wasn’t until she fetched the robe I’d used earlier that it struck me: I’d been sitting there quite naked the whole time. More surprisingly, I didn’t feel at all self-conscious.

“Come, eat,” the mother said.

She served scrambled eggs, along with chopped fried tomatoes and bacon, which I managed to eat one handed. My angel laughed when she saw me chasing the last few pieces of egg around my plate.

I took coffee when asked, and it was delicious. Now I felt much better.

“So, tell us… what is your name? Where do you come from?” the woman asked me, adding, “You can call me Rose.”

For a moment I felt panicky, unable to remember my name, but then it formed in my mind. “Elizabeth… no, wait… it’s Liz.” Then I panicked again. “How long have I been here? Did – did you find my phone?”

They each took one of my hands, then the mother spoke. “Calm yourself, child. Two days you have been here… and yes, we have your phone. We should maybe have phoned the police and told them of your accident.” She nodded toward the little girl. “Bella asked me not to… she said it was meant to be, your coming to us. She sees things, does my Bella, I have learnt to listen. But still, I worried someone might be fretting over your disappearance.” Her eyes met mine. “You still do not say where you are from.”

“Near to Dereham, but no, no one will be worried about me. My mother is in America, I’ve been alone for a while, and I don’t expect her back for weeks yet… months, even.”

So. My angel was named Bella, and her mother’s name was Rose. Gypsy Rose, I told myself, and almost laughed at the thought. And Bella … that put me in mind of belladonna, also known as deadly nightshade. Or bella donna – beautiful woman. Her mother said she saw things, so must be the former, but I couldn’t believe there was anything deadly about her.

When I mentioned being on my own, little Bella gave me a dazzling smile. “Then you can stay here with us, with me! You heard me call and you came. I knew you would. You really are my dream girl.”

Bella unfastened the bandage that was wrapped about my head, and her mother examined the wound. “You took a very nasty knock, Liz, but it looks to be healing fine.” She held my face and peered deep into my eyes for what seemed an age until she finally said, “Yes, you are okay. There is no lasting damage. The pain should disappear quite soon.”

Clothes were a problem. My running things were badly torn from the tumble I’d taken. I mentioned that to Rose and she replied, “Will we ride to your home and fetch some things? It is about eight miles from here, I think.” She’d clearly decided I would be staying with them. When I saw the longing in Bella’s eyes, I had to agree. How could I refuse my new-found angel?

It was only mid-morning. Rose quickly hitched the horse, and before long we were bouncing and swaying along the country lane. Before our departure, she told me to return to bed, insisting that I still needed rest.

Bella was seated on the bed next to me, her fingers tracing exquisitely across my bare skin. Despite the desire I felt, I still wasn’t comfortable with letting myself go with this child – a beautiful child maybe, but still a child. She saw my doubt and began to whisper to me in a steady chant.

Listening to Bella’s words, my resistance slowly faded, while the need to make love to her only grew stronger. The smile on her face told me that she knew my hunger, longed for it. “You have no choice,” she murmured, “you are mine, Liz… let yourself come to me, I am the love you have waited for.”

How could she know such things? So young, and yet there was something about her that said more. Her fingers found my breasts, lingering here and there. She circled a nipple with a fingertip, only barely touching. She watched my face, she read my expressions, understood what I was feeling.

“You love me, you cannot resist me. I am the one you have been searching for, you are the one that I knew would come. Relax, surrender to my touch. Feel the love I offer, it is yours to take.”

She took a nipple between her fingers, gave it a pinch. I heard my gasp as my body pulsed with feelings… God, such feelings. I reached for her with my good arm and pulled her in, seeing a look of triumph in her eyes.

Then her lips met mine. Her lips, so beautifully soft, so sweet. As I drew her even closer, the kiss became something I’d only dreamed of. My heart surged, my pulse raced, I sucked her in. I was lost to this girl. I suddenly felt a need, so much need… and all for my angel.

Angel, devil, witch? I no longer cared, all I knew was that I had to have her.

Bella gave my tit a hard squeeze – how could she know how much I loved that? – then laughed joyfully as her hand crept lower to stroke my belly. She spoke again. “Feel my love, Liz. It is all for you, my dream girl. We were meant to be one, you and I. Now join with me, love me.”

My reservations were gone, my thoughts were only of Bella. God, I adored her.

Her fingers were already halfway there, but the heat was upon me and wouldn’t be denied. I seized her hand in mine and thrust it between my legs, pressing it to my pussy. “Love me, Bella,” I cried, “Please love me – I need you so much!”

Her tinkling laughter was like music, the scent of her skin intoxicating. Bella delved into me – I didn’t know how little girl’s fingers could go so deep, but they seemed to fill me completely.

Lord, how she loved me. One moment caressing me deep inside, then briefly teasing my clit before sliding down again, between my pussy lips… and further. There was the sweet shock I experienced when Bella touched my rose, a place I’d never thought of as a source of pleasure. Her fingers trailed up and down the crack of my bum – God, the sensations that gave me! I felt the need for her to press a finger inside… but she didn’t, just tickled around and around my most private place, serenaded by the melody of her laugh.

Then her fingers vanished; Bella was no longer touching me. I waited, nothing. Opening my eyes, I found her studying me with a searching look. “My beautiful Liz… do you understand now? You are now mine, my lover forevermore. Are you willing to accept what I offer you?”

I gazed into her eyes and saw the love, it was everything I’d ever wanted. “Bella, my little witch… I love you, I am yours.”

She fell into my arms, our mouths crushed together, and we began to make love for real.

The caravan rocked as it moved along. Was it the roughness of the lane, or perhaps our urgent fucking?

From somewhere above I heard a laugh. It was Bella’s mother, welcoming me to their family.

The End


24 Comments on Bella Donna, The Little Witch

  1. David says:

    Very interesting story, well written and detailed but would love to see a sequel. One thing I noticed was where Bella was naked when she took Liz outside to pee but then pulled a tissue from her nightdress to wipe her.

  2. EvadZA says:

    Very good and interesting.
    Yes sequel please.

  3. Kate says:

    Delightful story! A sequel would be absolutely wonderful

  4. Jake says:

    Interesting build up, As stated by the others, a part 2 or more is definitely needed. Off to a great start.

  5. No One says:

    Fun and original story. I like the air of mystery surrounding everything that’s happening, and a little preteen witch (and seer, apparently) is a cool and interesting character. I kinda feel like Bella’s dialogue is a little too stilted for a girl her age, though. I’m sure that’s partly intentional with the whole witchy vibe, but for my personal taste it’s a bit overdone since she sounds more formal than her mom even. Unless… there’s a revelation about her true age coming? I suppose that’s possible since she acts very maturely. Well, in any case, still an interesting tale and I’m looking forward to the aforementioned sequel.

    Oh um… you might want to avoid the word “gypsy”, though… It’s considered a slur.

  6. kinkys_sis says:

    Only in America. It’s perfectly acceptable in most of Europe.

    Gypsy, Roma and Traveller ethnic groups
    The term ‘Gypsy, Roma and Traveller’ has been used to describe a range of ethnic groups with nomadic ways of life.

    Quote from Government website.

    In the UK, it is common in data collections to differentiate between:

    Gypsies (including English Gypsies, Scottish Gypsies or Travellers, Welsh Gypsies and other Romany people)
    Irish Travellers (who have specific Irish roots)
    Roma, understood to be more recent migrants from Central and Eastern Europe

    • Rosie says:

      Umm. Not exactly. Most of the groups are seeded from what Americans would know as Iran, specifically the Zagros. They spread early and I’d suspect the Irish tradition is a reflection of the Sinti/Romany and related that got there way way back (I’d be thinking mid to late Roman empire).
      Being of Brexitstani descent I don’t trust the British government as far as I can throw them and the only person I’d vote for is the guy who plans to walk in with quad H&K P90 converted for 9×25 Mauser Export linkless belt (ala Black Hole) . If you want to know them go ask them but don’t expect them to be warm and snuggly. You will have to earn their trust and respect.

  7. Erocritique says:

    I would concur with everything that No One said except the part about “Gypsy” universally being considered a racial slur. Nothing in the story suggested that the label of “Gypsy” had a negative connotation. “Gypsy” in this case simply served as backround information to support the magical themes. Someone else mentioned the magically appearing nightshirt, but that is a minor element that could( and should) easily be edited.

    • JetBoy says:

      The nightshirt error (mine, I suspect) got fixed days ago. Should have mentioned it earlier, I suppose.

      • Erocritique says:

        Yeah, I read the story days ago before the edit. I didn’t see your trademark “fixed” when I decided to comment so I assumed “the nightshirt” was still present. My bad.

  8. kinkys_sis says:

    I never intended to cause any controversy. I am far too young to be racist, most of my generation do not think that way.

    I assure you all that in Europe at least – the term gypsy is not a slur. Gypo is, just as Paki is.

    In the Uk today, Travellers are associated with urban trouble, but gypsies are not.

    • Erocritique says:

      Clarification of acceptable usage of certain words or labels is a good thing. We can all still learn a thing or two. Those of us from the states can benefit from other perspectives, and hopefully, vice versa. Cheers.

    • No One says:

      Oh, I certainly didn’t mean to imply that you had any ill intent. 🙂 It’s just that sometimes people are not even aware of what can be offensive. Though in this case, it seems like the situation is more complex than I thought.

      I think I found the same document that you quoted earlier, and it also says: “We asked many members of the Gypsy, Roma and Traveller communities how they preferred to describe themselves. While some find the term ‘Gypsy’ to be offensive, many stakeholders and witnesses were proud to associate themselves with this term and so we have decided that it is right and proper to use it, where appropriate, throughout the report.”

      So it seems like thoughts on the word can vary quite a bit, but that’s interesting. I didn’t know that some communities self-identified as “Gypsy” in an official capacity.

      Still, the story does mention specifically “Romany Gypsy”, and it should be noted that the Romani people at large are generally, um, not fond of the term, shall we say. Per Wikipedia: “In the English language, the Romani people are widely known by the exonym Gypsies, which is considered pejorative by many Romani people due to its connotations of illegality and irregularity as well as its historical use as a racial slur. […] At the first World Romani Congress in 1971, its attendees unanimously voted to reject the use of all exonyms for the Romani people, including Gypsy, due to their aforementioned negative and stereotypical connotations.”

      So… I don’t know. It’s a bit iffy. It seems like it’s generally bad but some communities do embrace the term. I personally wouldn’t use it, but I also didn’t mean to create any kind of controversy here. Just… food for thought, I suppose.

      • kinkys_sis says:


        I guess I was trying to paint the picture of the character. Right down to the old and highly decorated horse drawn caravan. Swinging buckets and all.

        • Rosie says:

          Look up the steam lorries, you might be interested in the old rigs. Powerful in torque but low in HP and a lot of the drivers used to pull sleeping trailers based on the Romany/Sinti dualie axle kit.
          PS keep fairly clear of these rigs at shows and the like. They’re quiet and some have pressure release valves firing down and to front or side. You don’t want to be in the way when it blows down, especially the high pressure steam cars – superheated steam will literally melt your face (think Indiana Jones & the last Crusade “you have chosen poorly” scene).

  9. Amanda Lynn says:

    Whenever I hear the word, Gypsy I think of the Cher song.

    • Purple Les says:

      Yeah, and ‘every night the men would come around, and lay their money down.’ I guess we do seem like old timers, Amanda Lynn, well me at least cause I remember listening to that on the radio, and feeling glad Cher was going to make it okay without Sonny . In that song it does have a negative vibe to it, but Cher, or the writer of the song calls them out on the hypocrisy.

      I did see on one of our PBS travel shows where the host visited Gypsy people in Romania, and when he asked them what they preferred to be called, Gypsy or Roma, that person he spoke with said they preferred Roma. It’s a difficult time to live in with knowledge of what is right and wrong. None of us here mean to offend anyone else but it happens by accident sometimes. We’re all brothers and sisters, no matter what some may be called either correctly or in correctly.

  10. BlueJean says:

    A very interesting story.

    I loved the Gypsy imagery. It fills the narrative with colour and really sets the tone well, although it does seem a little out of place in a modern day setting. My first thought was that Liz had somehow travelled back in time or possibly to an alternative universe, à la His Dark Materials. Perhaps part two will reveal the truth of that.

    As someone else mentioned, Bella’s dialogue seems way beyond her years in the final parts of the story. Maybe there’s more to her than meets the eye, too. Having had a witch or two sneak into my own story, I know how tricky they can be…

    Either way, I think this first part ended at the perfect point, giving you a great opportunity to go in any direction you wanted for the sequel. My advice is to give yourself no boundaries, let your imagination run wild and surprise us all.

    • kinkys_sis says:

      In Europe the real romany gypsy still exists, although maybe quite rare.

      I see nothing wrong with my dialogue. It’s almost my age and it’s exactly how I would speak. But for my readers, maybe I need to take a step backwards and speak more childish.

      I am most likely the youngest writer on here. I have always strived to write ‘older’, perhaps I made a mistake? Or maybe, you are all behind the times?

      • BlueJean says:

        It wasn’t my intention to offend you. I was merely offering some feedback, in a way I wish readers would on my own stories. The comments that offer praise boost our confidence and let us know we’re writing something that people are enjoying, but the comments that offer constructive criticism drive us to improve as writers, and that’s incredibly important.

        There’s nothing wrong with the dialogue per se, it just puts me in mind of a different time period. Unless I’ve missed a major phonetic shift in the last thirty years, I doubt kids are all talking like characters from Wuthering Heights these days. But yes, it’s quite possible I’m behind the times.

        Again, the Romany motifs were great but placed into a modern day setting they come across as, dare I say it, slightly stereotypical?

        But it’s your story, your rules, so if you feel that’s where the tale needs to go, forge ahead. I’m simply offering a reader’s perspective.

        Just to reiterate – I really liked the story, and I’m looking forward to the next part.

        • kinkys_sis says:

          Please don’t misunderstand. No offence taken at all. Your commnets are always welcome.

          The dialogue thing just puzzles me a bit. It’s my style.

          • Rosie says:

            My suspicion is you are genius or borderline genius IQ. I’ve met a girl like that and she understood concepts that made my brain ache. I’m 145 IQ, she’s 163 at 12 (when she was tested). It’s hard to double de clutch the mind sometimes. It’s why I stay away from people, especially at the moment.
            Oh and for those in Brexitstan – the Covid hammer is about to drop – BA2.2 – and vaccine gives you between 6/12 months best guess. Be very worried if we get an African or South American derived variant.

  11. kinkys_sis says:

    I’m not sure about your first part. Yes, advanced and mature but a ‘genius’ no.

    Not sure what the second part has to do with things.

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