Wicked Desires
A collection of Ring Dreams Snippets
by Jezebel Jorge
Copyright © 2012 Jezebel Jorge
Published by Jezebel Jorge at Smashwords
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Cover Art by Jezebel Jorge
All images were purchased from www.123rf.com
This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents either are the product of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.
These stories are dedicated to my awesome spirit guide Odessa.
Table of Contents
Wicked
Stealing My Heart
An Excerpt from Desire
A Message from Jezebel
About the Author
Wicked
What’s a witch to do?
Samhain– the most sacred, yet for Dinera DeFliehr, the most festive day of the year. As usual her husband of too many years to count was on the road, most likely spending his night screwing his twenty-year-old trollop.
The day she arrived in America as a fifteen-year-old bride Dinera placed a fidelity spell on him that had been impenetrable, at least until two years ago. The night he met the only witch powerful enough to counteract her spellwork.
Dinera sat in front of her vanity mirror naked, raking a brush through her long naturally auburn tresses. Despite looking damn good for thirty-four, his Odessa surpassed her European beauty.
It was as if William had stepped into a time machine to find a taller, lither version of what Dinera had once been. Longer hair, a more vibrant sheen of crimson, hanging all the way down to the curve of her tight little ass. Green cat eyes the color of polished emeralds. The trollop had firmer perkier breasts and six extra inches of height, giving her legs that just wouldn’t quit.
Dinera had curves and dazzling blue eyes the color of an iceberg melting in blistering sunshine. The very first words William spoke to her had been to compliment her eyes. Something about fearing that he could drown in their amazing depths of shimmering blue.
He had been quite the charmer back then and he’d been right to fear her power. Dinera was a DeFliehr witch from one of France’s most infamous families. Her mother had also married young, to a Romanian Prince. This union intermingled their royal and pagan bloodlines to make Dinera a witch of immense power.
If there had of been such a thing as American royalty, William Fletcher’s family would have ruled over The Crescent City. Yet, regardless of who they married, a DeFliehr witch never took the sir name of her husband.
His family’s First Street mansion, now that was another story. She’d taken control of that house the instant he’d carried her over the threshold. He’d been pussy-whipped since he’d taken her virginity on their wedding night.
At least until the trollop came along.
Dinera had never been averse to sharing, but not with someone who could match her spell for spell, and even best her on occasion. She cast William out of her bed the moment she realized Odessa had stolen his heart, right along with his dick.
It would be a very cold day in hell before he would be able to get her out of this house. That wouldn’t be happening until the day her ashes were returned to Europe.
Here it was, the day to honor the dead, and the only dead thing she had to honor in this country was the death of their martial vows. There wouldn’t be a divorce. His heart might belong to another, but he would be legally bound to her until his body was laid in the Fletcher crypt at the St. Charles Cemetery.
The only thing Dinera had given up on was William impregnating her with a girl child to carry on the DeFliehr name. All those loads of wasted sperm and all he’d given her was a son. She had given birth at seventeen and at the sight of the baby’s penis she’d turned him over to a nanny. Charles had grown into a teenage monster of a child. With no father around to teach him how to be a man, she doubted she would ever even get a granddaughter out of William’s less than attractive spawn.
Dinera stepped into a pair of white lace panties, selected a black bustier from her dressing room and called for her maid to fasten the many delicate pearl clasps running up the front. Normally she might have been aroused by the way Justine carefully squeezed her breasts into the rich silk fabric, pushing them up to make the most of her cleavage.
Justine stood a good five feet eleven in her uniform stilettos accessorized by fishnet stockings. Dinera always made the raven haired beauty wear a skirt so short it barely covered her butt cheeks. The twenty-something girl had mainly been hired as eye candy. She had less attractive servants to take care of the harder household chores.
With the bustier laced, Justine ran her hands over Dinera’s breasts as she admired her own image in the mirror. The white panties played up the pearls that would draw all eyes to the curve of Dinera’s breasts.
“Shall I pleasure you?” Justine asked.
Dinera’s mind raced back to the many times she had watched Justine take William’s cock in her mouth, sucking him until his body ached for release. After learning about Odessa, Dinera had refused to put her mouth on his penis or his lips.
While Justine sucked his cock, Dinera would lift her skirt and smack the girl's ass until Justine's pale backside displayed a pretty pink handprint. The dark side of her soul wanted the blows to cause Justine to slip up and take a bite out of William’s cock. Her body had other ideas because she couldn’t wait for Justine to take William right to the edge. Right to where his cock ached to be consumed my Dinera’s already wet pussy.
While Dinera rode William, Justine sat quietly in a corner masturbating and enjoying the show. After his release, William would lie back amidst the pillows and watch Justine pleasure Dinera, lapping up all his semen and making her scream with pleasure.
William’s cock was nice enough, she supposed. Not that she had a lot to compare it to since he was the only man she’d ever been with. She might have been a virgin in terms of male penetration on her wedding night, but she had enjoyed the pleasures of a female numerous times since that first curious experiment with a girlfriend on a weekend sleepover. Since that night she had always preferred a woman’s touch over that of her husband’s.
“Would you like me to pleasure you?” Justine repeated, already down on her knees ready to service her mistress.
As she should be, considering how well paid Justine was as a companion for hire.
“Not now, my lovely one.” Despite her kind words, Dinera roughly pulled Justine up by her ponytail for a brutal kiss. “I have business to attend to this evening.”
Dinera slid into a silk skirt and turned for Justine to fasten the zipper. Then she sat back down for her servant to lace her black calf length soft suede boots.
With that task completed, Justine asked, “Shall I call the car for you?”
“No, I’ll take the street car to the French Quarter.”
While Justine went into the closet to fetch her cape and purse, Dinera opened her jewelry box to retrieve her favorite necklace, a family heirloom. A pentacle pendent encrusted with rubies. She slipped the silver chain around her neck, and smiled with self-approval as the pendant fell just above the cleft of her corseted breasts.
The cape completed her ensemble with the rich blue velvet perfectly matched to her eyes lined with a shade of
kohl that made them even more spectacular than usual.
“Will you be needed my services later this evening?” Justine asked, not daring to look Dinera in those mystical blue eyes.
“You are excused to go visit with your gentleman friend until I call for Jerome to bring the car for me.”
Dinera was well aware of Justine’s coupling with her young black driver. The girl had no idea that the large mirror directly in front of her bed was actually a one-sided window to a locked room on the other side of the wall.
There had been many a lonely night when Dinera had pleasuring herself while watching Jerome fuck Justin until the couple collapsed in sated bliss. She liked it best when he did her from behind. That position provided a most enjoyable view of Jerome’s long thick black cock slamming into Justine’s deliciously wet pussy.
Those vivid memories sent a surge of heat between Dinera’s legs. Maybe she would have to reconsider calling Justin to her bed later that evening.
Until then, it would have to be business before pleasure.
~ 2 ~
“Nice costume, lady,” a deviant teenager said.
Dinera simply smiled and accepted the compliment. Her outfit was no costume. She dressed like this every day of the year.
Maybe taking the St. Charles streetcar in the midst of the evening commute hadn’t been such a good idea. Except that she enjoyed the stares of both the men and women that perused her body with heat in their eyes. She almost felt sorry for these nine-to-five commoners making their daily trudge home from work.
It wasn’t as if being William Fletcher’s wife wasn’t a job. That house had been in a horrible state of disarray when she had first taken over the place. His money might have paid for the prime First Street property, but it was her inheritance that turned that old house back into a mansion worthy of being occupied by a DeFliehr witch.
The evening had begun its descent from dusk to darkness when Dinera got off the streetcar at the last stop in the French Quarter. Despite the rapidly fading light, she bought a bouquet of roses from a street vendor and fearlessly entered the St. Louis Cemetery.
Little things like muggers and street thugs meant nothing to a witch of her power. She strolled through the cemetery until she reached the ornately decorated Fletcher family crypt. Dinera placed the roses in a silver vase attached on outside wall.
She lit a white candle pulled for the folds of her cape and unlocked the door with a key dangling from a silver chain with another one of her pentacle amulets.
The heavy door creaked open and she stepped inside, scattering the wilted roses from her previous visit. Placing the candle on the floor, she knelt beside it to thank William’s parents, grandparents and great-grandparents for her New Orleans home. Although she had never personally met a single Fletcher enshrined in this crypt, she considered this people to be her only family on this side of the Atlantic Ocean.
As much as she loved her adopted home in New Orleans, on nights like this she ached to be back in her native Romania or her father’s French homeland. She knew her mother would be in Transylvania tonight sitting beside the grave of her father. DeFliehr witches were always cremated so there would be no ancestral graves of the omen kinfolk.
After paying her proper respects, Dinera left the candle to burn itself out in the crypt and carefully locked the door behind her. She looked up at the angel atop the crypt and wondered what William might be doing at that very moment with his beloved Odessa.
A good little witch would have packed up her bags and headed back to Europe. Dinera might be little in stature standing just above five feet tall. However, she was about as far from good as a witch could get. If this Odessa wanted William as badly as he claimed, then she was going to have one hell of a time pulling Dinera’s claws out of his back.
It wasn’t about love. It hadn’t been about love since the birth of that useless boy child. This was a magickal power struggle. No one took what rightfully belonged to her and in Dinera’s eyes William was her property, much like her First Street home.
On her way to the cemetery entrance Dinera encountered a group of teenage thugs. The night’s waning moon provided just enough light to illuminate the face of her own son. Fueled with anger she marched right up to him, yanking a can of beer from his hand and pouring it on the ground.
Her high heel boots gave her just enough height to smack his face. The blow wasn’t hard enough to hurt, just enough to make him blush with embarrassment. He’d inherited her pale complexion and red haired temperament, but he knew better than to talk back to her.
“How dare you disrespect your ancestry on the most sacred night of the year?” For further emphasis she smacked his other cheek. “If you are not home in your room in fifteen minutes you will not be leaving that room until Winter Solstice.”
“But Mom, it’s Halloween and we're just having fun.”
“It’s Samhain. The night the veil drops and we are closest to those who have passed over to the other side.” She looked around the group of boys. “This is the night the dead walk among us. Not a good night to be loitering in a cemetery, especially this one.”
Right on cue, an ear piercing wailing and keening cry filled the air. Dinera knew it was Mammam Merci, the city’s most powerful Voo Doo practitioner, visiting with her dearly departed husband.
Those boys didn’t, and even if they did, Mamman Merci’s magickal powers were strong enough to fill even the bravest and most rational person’s heart with fear. Wordlessly, they all rushed for the entrance to the cemetery.
“It’s straight home for you,” Dinera reminded her son.
She would have liked to have paid her respects to Mammam Merci, but Dinera knew the Voo Doo Priestess only wanted to converse with her husband’s spirit tonight. Every Samhain Mammam Merci held a twenty-four hour vigil by his crypt while someone else tended to her French Quarter shop.
Outside the cemetery gates she looked around for her son and his hoodlum friends, but they were not to be found. A police officer nodded to her politely and she gave him her most seductive smile.
“Thank you for watching over our loved ones tonight,” she said.
“Just doing my job,” he said. “We’ll have three officers here after the little ones finish their trick-or-treating and the real shenanigans get under way.”
“Please make sure no one bothers the little black lady sitting by her husband’s crypt.”
“Mamman Merci.” He smiled. “Her nephew is covering the overnight shift. He requested this position to keep an eye on her.”
“That’s good to know,” Dinera said. “Have a blessed Samhain.”
“You too ma’am.”
Ma’am… Did she look old enough to be called ma’am? Although the young officer probably thought he was being polite, Dinera threw open her cape to let it be noted that she wasn’t ready to be called ma’am just yet. She turned to walk away after noting the appreciation in his eyes as he took in her pushed up cleavage, slim waist and shapely legs.
That made her feel a little better as she walked to the front of the St. Louis Cathedral and paused for a moment to take in the building’s incredible majesty. William descended from a long line of devout Catholics. His relatives would probably be spinning in their boxes inside that crypt if they had lived to witness him marry a witch.
That Cathedral stood so impressive that Dinera would have willingly gone through with a ceremony of his faith, had his mother still be living when they were married.
She pulled her cape snuggly into place and stepped inside the church, stopping in the little shop off the entranceway to buy blessed candles from a nun. Stepping into the sanctuary always took her breath away. Whether one chose to worship a God or a Goddess this place just screamed holiness.
Dinera picked a quiet corner of the altar to kneel and light her candles. One for the deceased Fletchers, one for her father, one for every DeFliehr witch who had came before her, and one for her dearest friend.
Lois had been killed when her
plane exploded in mid-air while en route to New Orleans on New Year’s Eve almost two years ago. With a chill slipping down her spine she lit the final candle to signify the death of her marriage to William Fletcher.
The only marriage vow she intended to honor would be ‘until death do us part’.
~ 3 ~
Dinera always came out of St. Louis Cathedral feeling like a coven of angels stood guard at her back. Ignoring the French Quarter revelers she slipped down a side alley and climbed the stairs to Mamman Merci’s shop. A store so exclusive there were no signs of advertisement or even a number on the third floor door.
She rapped on the door and waited for the attendant to request her personal password. No one entered Mamman Merci’s sacred domain without her advanced approval.
A deliciously melodic voice sang out, “Your name and password please?”
“Dinera DeFliehr,” she replied, before speaking her password in French.
The door flew open to reveal a busty woman with skin the color of a starless night with no new moon in sight.
“Blessed Goddess.” The woman smiled, revealing teeth as white as her skin shone black. “Ms. DeFliehr, it is my honor to be of service to you.”
With her crown of cornrows and a sliver of a red satin dress the woman looked like a Nubian Goddess straight from the pages of one of many mythology books that filled the DeFliehr / Fletcher library.
“Dinera,” she said extending her hand, “and you are?”
“Rosette, Mamman Merci is my great aunt and I’m here from Haiti as the chosen one to learn her craft.”
“What a fitting name,” Dinera said, still not releasing her hand. “For one as beautiful as a rose.”
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