by Tommy Twist
I turn around, knowing that my face is blushing a deep red. I feel hot and nervous. I've had handsome students before, but I've never been this taken by one! I take my book and read with them, refusing to let my eyes wander up to him.
Near the end of the half hour, I finally look up to find him watching me. No, it's more like he's studying me. I notice he has a tattoo on his neck, but I can't quite make out what it is from this angle.
We have our discussion, talking about magic and witchcraft in England in the 1800s. Most of the students ask interesting questions, spurring further discussion. A few ask stupid questions about witch hunts, but that's normal.
The handsome, dark student that came in late never says a word. He just keeps his eyes trained on me. I don't know what it is about him, but his gaze eventually starts setting me off and making me feel like I might have a panic attack.
I think about how handsome he is, and he smirks and shakes his head. This makes me paranoid, wondering if he can read my mind or if it was just a coincidence. Looking up to the clock, I'm relieved that class is almost over.
“Take your books home with you. I'll see you all on Wednesday.” I hurry to my desk, collecting my things, but I don't move fast enough. The rest of the class files out, leaving me alone in the room with the student that's torturing me.
“Miss Dogwood, I'd like to discuss your paganism.”
I turn, my eyes wide. “What do you want to know?” I ask, my voice shaking. I clutch my purse close to me, ready to hit him over the head with it if I need to.
“Are you a pagan, or are you a witch?” He asks, leaning against my desk. His eyes trace from my eyes, to my lips, to my neck. He scans my hole body.
Crossing my arms, I shrug. “I'm a pagan. I guess my rituals could be called witchcraft, but I don't do magic.”
“I see,” he says, nodding. And then, “I do magic.”
I can't help it. I roll my eyes. “Do you?” I ask, sarcastically.
“Yes. Would you like to see?”
I shrug again, waiting for him to pull out a deck of cards. Instead, he leads me over to the window and points to the big cherry tree outside. “See that tree? It's been growing for 38 years. It's going to die soon, so it's on its last little flicker of life.”
I nod. It's easy enough to assume that by looking at its gnarled wood and how few leaves it has.
“Pick a leaf on it, and I'll make it fall for you.”
I look at him, irritated at how stupid this is. “Fine. That one,” I say, pointing to the leaf on the far right, at the top.
He nods, and then concentrates on it. His face doesn't get red or anything, he just watches the leaf calmly. I watch it too, waiting to see if it will fall.
And when it does, for a moment I'm elated. Real magic! I'm enchanted by it until I realize that a breeze is blowing. The leaf could have been ready to fall at any moment. I sigh, my shoulders slumping. “Nice try,” I say, turning back to my room. I gather up my things while he watches me.
I turn, ready to push him out of my way in order to leave, but he just smiles. “My name is Elliot. It's nice to meet you.” He turns and walks down the hallway. I walk the other way, partially to avoid him and partially so that I can pick up some copies I made at the teacher's lounge.
When I make it out into the parking lot, I notice dark clouds covering the sky. “Weird,” I say to myself. It wasn't supposed to rain today.
That's when I notice him. The college I teach at is surrounded on all side by large fields that are sometimes used for festivals and fairs. Out on the West field stands Elliot, his dark hair whipping in the wind, his arms raised.
I'm alone in the parking lot. No one else is watching him. His voice cuts through the air and he screams, sending an energy wave that blows me back so hard that I fall on my ass, dropping everything out of my hands. And then he floats, turning towards me. His icy blue eyes are glowing now as he levitates off the ground, and he smiles a dark smile.
I scramble to my feet, leaving everything I dropped in the parking lot in order to get to my car, but Elliot appears before me. I try to scream, but nothing comes out, and I realize I'm frozen, unable to move.
“There's something about you, Miss Dogwood, that makes me curious. You're a pagan with no craft, and yet your blood sings to me like a choir of angels. You could do magic, if you let me teach you.”
I want to shake my head, to run away from this strange man. He holds me still with his magic and walks up to me. My body finally releases and I fall into his arms. Elliot holds me up, tilting my chin and kisses me. It's a soft kiss, but the energy behind it forces my eyes open wide. My fingers and toes curl, and I scream, trying to get away from him. Everything about him feels wrong!
But the longer he holds me in the kiss and the deeper the kiss becomes, the more right it feels. I start to kiss back, feeling his energy surge into me and my energy surge into him. Our bodies are connected, and I feel alive for the first time in my life.
“I told you,” he says as he pulls his lips from mine. I swoon and lean against him. “I can do magic.”
“You should have just showed me this in the first place.”
We stand there together, in the whipping wind and below the moody sky. We don't say anything, and we don't move because we know if we do our connection will fade.
“Come with me.”
I look up into his eyes and say nothing, and he knows what I want. He picks me up, cradling me in his arms, carrying me like a new bride into the field. He lays me down there in the tall grass, and he leans over me.
His eyes are so beautiful. The color isn't permanent, it moves and changes, swirling with his emotions. I want him to kiss me, so he leans down and presses his lips to mine again.
Elliot's hand strokes the skin on my neck, the lines his fingers trace tingling with his magic. My hands pull up his shirt and explore the muscles of his back. Touching his skin leaves my fingers on fire.
He caresses my chest, and then his hand slips into my shirt and finds my nipple. I gasp into his mouth, my back arching and my toes curling. The magical sensation of his fingers bring my nipples to life, making them hard and making the pleasure from his touches much more ecstatic than those from a normal man.
I spread my legs, my skirt hiking up around them as I wrap them around his torso. Elliot's sweet, soft mouth kisses down my body, sending chill after chill up my spine.
“I want you,” I moan. Elliot pushes my skirt further up my legs, exposing my panties. These, he pushes aside to expose my slit. He leans down and his hot tongue slips into my folds, and I feel like I'm having an out of body experience. When the wet, hot appendage hits my clit, I orgasm on the spot, flooding his mouth with my juices.
“Wow,” he says from between my legs, before digging in for more, sucking on my stiff clit and licking from my ass to my clit and then back again. His tongue wiggles against the sensitive nub each time, bringing me more pleasure than I have ever felt in my life. I feel like I'm being touched for the very first time.
My fists are gripping the grass, trying to keep my body under control and failing miserably. Elliot just holds onto my hips, keeping me still enough to keep eating me out. I gasp for air, finding it hard to keep up with my heart as it beats faster and faster, and then I finally feel that great release and my body spasms, my mind going blank.
When I come to, Elliot is kneeling between my legs, looking down at me. One of his hands is rubbing the front of his pants, where his large cock has swollen.
He pulls his penis out, stroking it a few times. It throbs with desire for me. One of his hands presses against my lower abdomen as he slides his cock against my slit. With a grunt, he forces his cock deep within me, and I feel my mind explode with sensations and emotions that I've never felt before.
My eyes shut and I let out a moan, trying to be as quiet as possible. “Oh my fucking god yes fuck yes,” streams out of my mouth, screams of profanity about how good his cock feels in my pussy as my juices gushes out onto
his cock, my orgasm forcing its way through my body.
His pace quickens as his cock pistons in and out of me. Elliot drives himself to his orgasm like a man possessed. With a grunt and one final thrust, he explodes into me and our souls connect in such a lasting way that I start to cry. His balls empty themselves into my womb, the hot seed spilling into my canal as I writhe under him.
Elliot leans over my body, his spent cock still inside of me, and kisses me lovingly. He pulls out and stands up, holding out his hand to help me up too.
“It's a full moon tonight. You should come by my place,” he says, winking. The swirling maelstrom in his eyes has calmed down, and though my body is still buzzing with sexuality I am calming down as well.
“I'd really like that. I want to know how a real witch celebrates the full moon.”
“Do you do your rituals naked?”
“Of course,” I say, wrapping my arm around his waist. Even though our souls are intimately twined, we still just met. The awkwardness is gone, but there's so much for us to learn about each other. I can't wait to find out his favorite color, his favorite food, if he worships any gods or goddesses.
“Then you've already got it down partially. There's more sex, though,” he says, pinching my ass. I let out a loud bark of a laugh before we exchange numbers and set a time for me to call him for directions to his house.
He walks me to my car, kissing me goodbye before turning to walk away. I watch him as he walks to his beat up pickup truck, and when he reaches his vehicle he turns again to look at me. “And ever though we're going to spend most of the day naked,” he yells, making me blush. “You should wear something sexy so it's fun to take off!”
Deal With The Devil
The Demon's Slave
Wren Winter
I wear a pentacle around my neck for a reason. Ever since I was a child, I have been a Pagan. Of course I went through the phases all young witches do, influenced by films from the Satanic Panic era that gave me the wrong idea about the world of witchcraft. It wasn't until I was about 16 until I came to be as I am now.
For a long while, I was a Wiccan. It was too white light and happy for me, though. No, I love demons. I feel a connection to them that I don't feel to any other deities. Now I practice daemonolatry, the worship of demons.
I've done every sort of spell you can think of: love spells, death spells, hexes and curses. Not all of them have worked as intended, but I did find that the propaganda we're fed about magic is all wrong. The rule of threes is a lie, energy cannot multiply itself like that. I may get punished for a spell, but the punishment is always weaker than what I sent out.
Of course I've loved working with demons. Most are straight forward, just going out and doing what you ask after a sacrifice of some sort. It's always something important to the person commanding the demon.
A few have suggested I give up my virginity, but I've known since the beginning that I would be saving that for something much bigger. Not money, or fame, or love. No, I have plans for the biggest sacrifice I can give. I want power.
Not the silly, mortal kind of power, either. I want magic power. I want to be as strong as any demon out there.
I had to search for ages to find a summoning spell that could call a demon strong enough to give me that power and yet weak enough for me to bind it.
I don't want it to kill me, after all. The ones with true power tend to be lazy, to want to be left alone.
Calling on them and making them work for you really pisses them off, and the one time I tried to half-ass a spell, I ended up in the hospital from blood loss and some gnarly scars that are still visible on my neck. Sometimes the scars even burn when I'm in the presence of something magical.
Since then I've been taking my time, pouring through old tomes that speak of horrifying monsters and terrifying rituals. I'm past being touched by the fear of the occult. I've worked with it for far too long.
Unlike some witches, I don't have a familiar. I don't need one for comfort like some witches do. I work alone. I spell, conjure and hex alone. More often than not, ritual circle are also useless for protection unless of course I'm dealing with powerful demons.
The weaker ones, as I mentioned, tend to be eager to please. I sometimes wonder if they are tortured by a lack of social interaction. They just seem to hang off of my every word and happily follow my demands.
The poor things are always to frail and thin, as well. Sometimes I feel pity for them, and consider taken one as a familiar, but I know I can do nothing for them. They made their decisions in life. Those who didn't, know no other life anyway; they were born from Lilith's womb.
The goddess Lilith was once Adam's first wife.
She was created of the Earth, just as he was, and so she rightfully thought they should be equal. The pig of a man tried to rape her when she would not lie below him, and so instead of suffer that indignity, she flew out of Eden and became the mother of demons. She births thousands every day.
She is also my patron deity, my most favored goddess. My sacrifices to her are the largest, especially bright red apples. Some say she is one of Lucifer's wives. I have to wonder why such a strong woman would stand to be one of many wives at all.
I check the sky from the North window. It's a full moon. Demons tend to despise the full moon, since it has healing properties, but I need full lunar strength to do what I'm about to do.
The plump silver sphere in the sky will act to weaken the demon I am about to summon, giving me just enough time to make my demands and banish him before being harmed. Tonight I won't be neglecting my protective circle.
Drawing the circle in a thick line of salt, I make sure to make it larger than usual. I need to have room to draw my devil's trap that's large enough for some rough sex, while leaving enough room in the circle to let me step out of the devil's trap if the demon refuses to cooperate.
The only worry is if someone breaks the circle, letting any other demon outside of it to break the trap. Looking over the line of salt with a knot of worry in my stomach, I decide to draw it a bit thicker before getting to work on the trap.
The trap I've chosen is a heptagram, from The Lesser Key of Solomon. The book calls it The Grand Pentacle, and is one of many symbols that demons must obey when shown them.
There are other symbols that can be used, such a pentagrams, but in my experience none have been as strong as this one.
Holding the chalk in my hands, I use the stiff tool to lay down the thick lines of the heptagram, drawing mostly from memory but carrying a photocopy of the symbol in case I forget anything. My breathing slows from the calm ritual of drawing, my mind focusing on the intention of protecting me while giving me power.
It's not necessary to give a devil's trap an intention; it'll work on its own. But in my time as a witch, I've come to give everything an intention. My life has become one large magic spell.
A powerful sigh slips through my plump lips, forcing any amount of anxiety out as I build myself up. The magic flows around me, sifting gently over my skin as goosebumps rise to the surface. I take the bowls I set aside in the circle, each holding a different ingredient necessary for the summoning.
The smell of dragonsblood incense gently touches my nose as I mix it with my own blood, and soil from a crossroad. I mix it with the finger bone of a nun. Don't ask me how I got it, you won't like the answer.
With the thoroughly mixed paste, I draw out the sigil for the demon Azazel. I inhale and close my eyes, empowering my breath with a demand for him to join me.
I don't exhale, though. The wind is drawn out from me as the room goes cold. There is a wet, sticky feeling to the environment now. I work to keep my heart beat calm, knowing that the demon is in the room with me now, watching me for any sign of weakness.
I know better than to give in. A human can never be dominant over a demon, but in order to survive you have to at least pretend to be equals. Let them know you're scared and you're done for.
The demon's power surges arou
nd me, and knowing what I am about to ask for and the sex that will be demanded from me has my nipples stiff and hard.
I can feel myself getting damp. I haven't masturbated in weeks in anticipation for this very moment, and now my body is achingly ready for what's to come.
“Why have you called me to the mortal world, Morgana?” The heat and anger behind his words threatens to overpower me, to send me into a panic that could literally be the end of me. Forcing myself to breathe slowly, I choose my words carefully.
“Azazel, I have called you here to make a deal.”
A chuckle surrounds me, mocking me. I slowly open my eyes.
Floating an inch above the ground is a tall, powerful man. No, not quite a man. His feet are hooves, his eyes a bright and unnatural yellow with a wicked glow to them.
Demons do not ever clothe themselves, and my eyes cannot help but wander to his pelvis where a thick slab of meat lays, swaying slightly as the demon floats with each breath it takes. I was expecting it to be large, but not THIS large!
I force my eyes up to Azazel's face again, worrying about the peculiar grin. “And what is it you would ask of me?”
I gulp down my fear. “I wish to be as powerful as the demon-goddess Lilith.”
The laughter that follows my statement does not seem to come from the demon but from the entire room, loud and terrifying. Still, I do not allow my fear to get the better of me. “In exchange, Azazel, I give you my virginity.”
His eyebrows raise. He seems to think for a moment, considering what is to happen. From what other demons have told me, taking a human's virginity is as close to a drug as demons can get. It's intoxicating and even Lucifer himself can rarely deny a chance to enjoy it. Azazel's faint smile returns and he nods.