Molly Sue Allen steps into Haggis’ cluttered trailer and shivers inadvertently. The old crone is staring at her the way men stare at her. The old lady looks lustfully and covetously at the buxom beauty. There’s no mistaking the intent of the look and there’s no effort made by the old lady to hide the intent of her look. Quite understandably, the look unnerves Molly.
Molly has the harsh, pretty face of a 1950’s movie starlet and the ripe body to match. Tall, long legs, creamy-white skin, and blue eyes, she’s a fantasy fuck. Being blonde with double-D tits, slim hips, a tight little ass, and having a large, ugly, downturned mouth that was made for fucking is icing on the cake. Her silky, honey blonde tresses drape shoulders and breasts. She’s shaved; no muff whatsoever!
The scantily-clad hag is filthy, smelly, and parasite infested. She has head lice, fleas, and crabs. Entrails smear her tits and torso. Her cockroach-infested hair hangs about in limp, stringy rattails that drapes her shoulders, breasts, and face. Her wild unkempt hair is geriatric; it’s grey and white just like her geriatric muff.
Her ragged clothes are so dirty, they’re stiff, and they expose more than they cover. They also stink like she does. Meat gone bad, smells better than the witch and her duds. Graveyard lichens and moss grow here and there on her filth-ingrained skin; skin that’s ashy-black in places.
Molly wants vengeance, and Haggis can raise the demon that can extract that vengeance. The girl is willing to pay any price. And, the price Haggis wants is a very high one. Half is in kind; half is in trade.
“I’ve got the kind we agreed upon.” Molly says nervously in her thick Southern drawl.
“Put it in there.” The hag responds, pointing at a serving bowl. Haggis’ raspy voice is deep for a woman. Masculine mannerisms. Masculine ways. The occultist walks, sits, moves, etc, just like a man.