Witch-sight can be very distracting. The golden sun slowly meandered towards the horizon, casting hues of pink, fire, and blue into the clouds as stars emerged from their hiding places, beginning their ceremonious waltz across the sky. I didn’t merely see light; I saw the active energy of the cosmos. Tendrils of solar energy snaked about the sky, weaving a web of pulsing life that permeated all, waving goodbye to the earth until the dawn. The cosmos whirled around me, an impressionist’s palette mixing and cascading. The energies of living things, all colors, and feelings, were mental glimmers of light and instinct all around me as I drove. Quite distracting.

The revelation that my esoteric keening had been absent astounded me. When I set upon the path of selfishness, that gift dissipated; I didn’t even note that it was gone, so intent was I on accumulating more power. The universe helped to recharge my waning energies, a purer, more natural energy, very different, almost the opposite, of the selfish power I had drained from others. Shifting into third gear, waving at the birds that fluttered around the car, I breathed in the natural essence that was the power of life and creation. The allure of the dark path may be seductive, but it pales when compared to the peace and serenity that comes with being in tune with the multiverse.

My energies somewhat replenished, my hair tousled and wild, my makeup pouty and perfect, I reviewed my music choices. I had never stripped before, didn’t even really know how to dance, let alone seductively, but it seemed to be the perfect place to find others willing to donate their sexual energy to recharge me. I chose a black lace, cotton thong and matching bralette that looked very enticing over my swollen breasts and a demure but sexy floral wrap-around dress. Treacherously high heels finished my ensemble, giving the entire outfit a swift kick towards slutty. I looked accidentally slutty, not intentionally brazen. For music, I chose some classic rock and a Gregorian chant, just in case.

The Diamond club sat just a few miles away from the airport. While not the classiest nightclub on the goddess’ green Earth, it did have a certain bit of sexy charm. A maroon awning, held aloft by gilded, Liberace-inspired poles covered the entrance. The full, glass front door was tinted with mirrored Mylar, allowing me to see myself, looking more sensual than “stripper material,” as I nervously approached. A piece of brown cardboard hung on some black yarn at eye level. It read, “press buzzer to audition.” I pressed the non-descript doorbell and waited, considering leaving and just heading out to Club Noir later.

A woman’s voice, slightly husky, very sexy, came over the intercom. “Are you here to audition?”

“Yes, ma’am,” I said letting what reserves of lusty energy I had left sweeten my voice.

“Turn the sign around, stand back and let me see you, then wait until the door buzzes.”

I did those things, noting that the obverse side of the sign asked whoever approached to text a number to be alerted when the next slot was available. I heard shuffling sounds from somewhere within the bowels of the club’s interior. An electrical buzzing followed. I opened the door and entered, my eyes not seeing too well in the dim illumination, hearing the door click locked behind me.

The interior was a layman’s version of sexy and luxurious, just barely on the classy side of gaudy. Soft, black carpet with fluorescent swirls here and there, glowing neon in the black lighting, covered the floor. An odd array of mirrors, mirrored square pillars, and faux diamond-encrusted mosaics lines provide trim and the ambiance of sleaze. Various gilded frames adorned the walls, some with more mirrors, some with pornographic black and white photographs of ladies sexual body parts or face shots in various stages of pouting, orgasmic bliss. An ornate bar, once more inspired by Liberace, took up the far left wall. Diamonds and buxom Barbie silhouettes in chrome adorned the bar. The entrance-side walls had a small cash register station on my immediate right. The lengths to either side were filled with various booths, two small and private alcoves on either corner. The main floor held the main stage, raised a few feet, with a padded railing running around it, slightly to my right, and a smaller stage about halfway between the center of the club and the bar on the left.

A DJ booth sat beside the main stage on the far wall, a raised terrace of sorts holding tables along the rest. The main floor was organized into tidy rows of tables. The lights and speakers were all nestled into the black ceiling. Overall, the effect was one of being slutty and classy at once—sort of a slut in an evening dress vibe. There was a powerful aura of raw sexuality about everything. Those same impressions were echoed in the woman that buzzed me into her lair.

She stood maybe five-and-a-half feet tall but towered over me in her stiletto heels, sharp metallic points on the ends, looking like silver daggers. She was dressed slutty-casual, not like a stripper, but sexy enough to make you wonder. A white t-shirt, sleeves torn off, split down on both sides revealing her torso, the neck ripped out and torn into a deep, loose “V” did little to cover her spandex jogging bra that didn't compress her ample, high boobs one bit. Tight yoga pants with a scrunched butt both lifted and separated her very muscular behind and wrapped her shapely legs in a way that made me instantly dream about how those thighs would look locked around my head. Albino hair, cut in jagged layers, highlighted her smiling face, setting off eyes the color of the sky on a sunny day.

Feeling my energies pulse with overpowering lust, I tried not to stare at the way her breasts jutted out, the hypnotic way the seam of her spandex leggings advertised that she was not wearing panties. I felt her energies surge into me, barely noting that her response to me mirrored my lust-filled impulses. Instant sexual chemistry erupted between us. My feelings of desire were muted when I noticed that she was holding a sawed-off shotgun in her hands.

Her eyes followed mine to her Remington. Her glowing fluorescent green nails glowed in the black light, a huge contrast to the polished gun-metal. “Sorry about that, a girl can’t be too careful. I’m Brooke.” She lowered the death-dealing 12-gauge.

She sighed and moaned, taking in a deep breath. It sounded sensual; my pussy flowed in response, my energy turning my skin hot. “I’m the owner, manager, and den mom here. Welcome to my place.” I shook her offered hand; sparks shot up my body and made my nipples tingle, my pussy lit itself on fire.

“I’m Krys,” I blurted out. “I’ve never done this before, can I audition?” It wasn’t what I had expected. I was hoping for lots of people, already feeling sexy and wanton, so I could recharge.

“That’s what you’re here for, isn’t it? I’d love to see you strip. It’s obvious you aren’t a dancer; I know most of the girls in town. Have a drink and I’ll tell you how it all works. Name your poison.”

Fighting back prophetic visions of me humping her face while she filled me with the energies of her arousal, I followed her towards the bar, watching how sexily she walked. She poured a huge glass of whiskey, poured one for me. She gulped, I sipped. As she sat, legs open, I tried not to stare, tried not to push her back and kiss her. Her eyes roamed over me with open lust; her hand would touch my arm, my shoulder, my hip, as she spoke. Each fleeting bit of contact sent mutual jolts into our bodies. The now-familiar burning need for sex grew inside me from an urge to an obsession.

She owned “the joint” and ran “a class act.” No junkies, no whores, no boyfriends, girlfriends, or others in the club, ever. Over a cold, stiff drink she bubbled out her life story. She was a dancer, obviously, without a husband, boyfriend, or girlfriend, very bisexual, and she bought the place from the previous owner and it was her life. She only expected the highest quality, cleanest, girls here and didn't put up with "any shit."

My audition process was “simple.” We’d pretend that she is one of my customers buying me a drink and I’d give her my “floor act.” After that, if I passed, I’d dance for three songs, one fast, one slow, and another of whatever I wanted. If I didn’t make her “wet” in both trials, I did not get the job. She laughed with gusto when I asked what a “floor act” was.

“Oh, you’re a virgin, aren’t you?” she guffawed. “Let me buy you a drink and I’ll explain.” She poured herself another tall glass of bourbon and topped mine off, going over to one of the booths on the wall and patting the spot beside her. I followed and listened.

“First off, Krys,” she began. “Dancers all use a stage name and have a persona, an act, in here. You want to keep your stripper name either very short or very memorable so the drunks can remember it. We all play a part, be it the slutty bimbo, the airhead, or the geeky cosplayer. When you’re in here,” she gestured around, “you aren’t Krys; you’re Mercedes the nursing-school dropout that left because you want sex all the time. Get it? Your job is to sell sex fantasy and deliver.”

I nodded. “How about Aphrodite, the goddess of love?” She perked at that.

I continued. “I’m a witch whose power is inciting lust and passion. I can imbue your drink with horny energy and make you crazy for me; my touch will make you need to cum. If I like you, I’ll take you to my lair and let you feed my lusty, horny powers by drinking in your passions and rewarding you with orgasms so intense you’ll become addicted.”

I shrugged; honesty is always the best policy.

“Well, that’s certainly different,” she beamed out. “Now, pretend that I’m a customer and try to seduce me with your personality. I’ll start with the most common stuff. Is ‘Aphrodite’ your real name?” she finger-quoted.

I stared into her pale blue eyes and smiled, letting all my pent-up desire, my overwhelming need for an orgasm erupt in my words and flow into her. “Well,“ I began as I placed one of my hands on her hot thigh. I heard her sharp intake of breath as my insane need for her lusty passions transferred to her flesh, felt her body shudder and quiver in response. “My real name is ‘Venus,’ so it’s close. My parents were witches, like me, and they filled me with the power of passion.”

“I believe you,” she said. Her nipples stuck out, almost as hard as mine perpetually were. “What can you do, witch?” she said. She reached out to grasp my breast.

I let her get close then playfully batted her hand away. Arching my back, hands roaming over the floral fabric of my dress, I cupped my breasts and held them in front of her. My self-touching soaked my lace thong. “You can look, but not touch…until I say you can.”

I took her drink and held it in front of me, pretending to concentrate. Breathing slowly, gathering my powers and shaping them into a manifestation of my will, I grappled with the alcohol in the glass, seeing the ice cubes melt under the heat of my soul. I persuaded the once-living, now-altered drink to accept my energies and charged it with the need for an orgasm; it was merely transferring my own needs into the vessel. It drained me, but not so much that I was exhausted again.

“I’ve cast a lust spell on your whiskey. As soon as you take a sip, you'll begin to feel the horny, burning desire that pulses through my body, drenches my thighs, and makes me need sex.” My voice was husky, impassioned, more of an orgasmic moan than spoken words. “Your soul will be linked to mine, feeling the boiling sex that pounds through my body until you cum.”

Brooke looked at me with open desire; her tongue moistened her lips; Eros himself played a symphony in her blue. She took a sip, a gulp, then slammed the drink down in dismay. Her body quaked as she moaned.

“How did you do that?” she screamed. “That’s amazing! It actually felt like I was drinking a liquid orgasm! Can you do that with my vibrator?”

I laughed, feeling her connection with me deepen. I could sense her thoughts, see her aura in my mind’s eye. My witch-sight told me that she was pulsing in tune with her heart. Her aura was all purples, reds, glowing orange, shot through with silver, all the colors of physical, sexual desire. “It’s my ‘floor act’; I’m a witch!” I told her. “Shall we finish our drink?”

“You pass!” she blurted out. “Let me see if you can dance. Do you have music picked out?”

I smiled as seductively as I could. My primal instincts to pursue pleasure were almost overpowering. I picked up my phone and put three songs into a new playlist.

Brooke got up, downed her drink, moaning as the warming alcohol mixed with the fiery energy I had imbued it with. “Interesting choices,” she said. “It fits your horny-witch character.” She went to the DJ booth, fumbled with some cables, activated the lights, and plugged in my phone.

"Here's how it works." She started. "I'll sit up against the stage in 'pervert row' and be a customer. At the end of the first song, you should be down to your lingerie, topless by the second, full nude by the middle of your third song. Be sure to seduce with your body and give them a good show so they spend money. You can strip faster, but that’s the minimum. Any questions?”

“Yes,” I admitted. “What’s pervert row?”

Laughing and caressing herself as she looked at me, she replied. “It’s the row of chairs right in front of the stage. That’s where the perverts sit so they get a good view of your cunt.” She started the music, stopped it. Running over to the bar she refilled her drink and held up the bottle to me with a questioning look. I shook my head but downed the rest of mine. Running back to the chair she selected, front and center, she plopped her glass on the drink ledge, stuck her finger into it, and sucked on her finger as she went back to the booth and restarted the music.

I climbed up on the stage, letting my mortal coil recede into hiding. I didn’t need it, only to surrender to passion. I allowed my lust, my passion, my inferno of desire to consume me. The tribal, drumming beats of Witchy Woman by the Eagles blared out as the lights began to dance in sync with the music. Throwing my head back, hands raised, wrists crossed, I closed my eyes and swayed to the music. My Aphrodite-kissed energy flowed out of me, instinctively, as my essence sought her soul through the ether. Connection made, I penetrated her emotions, using my magick as an esoteric phallus, thrusting deep inside of her.

Checking the center pole for strength, it became my lover’s body in my passion-consumed state. I caressed it, stroked it, licked it, imagining its girth plunging inside my dripping cunt. Wrapping my arms and legs around it I humped the chromed steel to the music, running my free hand over my body, under the skirt of my thin dress, panting with passion. Feeling my wetness soak my lace cotton thong, I slid myself down the pole, writhing on the stage, letting my heat consume me, not caring who watched, not noticing her. I could feel her pulsing through my loins; that was enough.

Crawling across the small stage, loosening the tie that kept my light, floral, wrap-around dress shut, I showed off my legs, bent over to give a peek up my skirt, sat on the stage, writhing in horny passion, and caressed my breasts, then my thighs. Brook watched me, silent, mesmerized, as I teasingly loosened the dress, one humid thigh on either side of her, and slid my hand inside my panties, feeling the waterfall of wetness gushing out of me. Slowly drawing my hand out, just barely giving her a glimpse of my trimmed, red pubes, I made sure she saw how wet I was, then licked my fingers clean as I threw my legs over her head, spinning around, regained my feet and walked back to the pole swinging my hips in needy desire.

Dress hanging open, sometimes revealing the black lace that contrasted with my pale, smooth skin, I flipped and twirled around the pole, clawing at my own body, leaving marks, not to be sexy but because the goddess had double-charged me with the need for sexual pleasures. As the final stanzas of the first song drew near, I teasingly revealed my body, first the back, then the front, dropping the dress between my legs from behind and humping the cloth as I pulled it forward, between my parted legs.

My second song, Fuck the Pain Away by Pink, began. I was already feeling the overwhelming desire emanating from her, increasing my urgent need. Her primal sex impulses were so vivid, so strong that I could barely do anything other than feel the pulsing, pounding, incessant need for sex flowing into me.

Overtaken by the music, hips bucking to the rhythm, hands molesting myself, my cunt dripping, I made my way to her. Thrusting my ass into her face, feeling her hot breath and tongue on my flesh, sending delights and promises into my primal self, I turned and pulled her face into my snatch with force. I used her face to masturbate myself for a moment and somehow found the strength to pull away. My thighs felt like fire beneath my ungentle touch.

I grabbed her hands pulled them to my heaving tits. She squeezed my nipples as I moaned in passion, my face close to her lips. Hooking her fingers under the lace, I writhed out of the confining bralette, kneeling in front of her, topless. Cupping and squeezing my breasts, my nipples harder than they’ve ever been, I kept squeezing and humping towards her, thrusting my hand over my panties, pulling the gusset aside.

Forcing myself to not give in to the rapture of the goddess that was pummeling at my core, threatening to possess me, vibrating my clit with its energy, I forced myself back to the pole. As soon my lace cotton-covered groin made contact with the metal pole, I couldn’t take it anymore. I bent at the waist, my ass to her, and violently shoved my panties down and off of me. Picking them up, still convulsing to the urban beat, I ran them over my scorching thighs, sopping up my freely flowing juice. Turning towards her, I made to throw my panties at Brooke but paused when I saw her. My infinite, torrid lust was flowing into her as well, charging her beyond mortal control.

She had pulled up her shirt, her breasts exposed over the top of her bra. One of her hands was down the front of her yoga pants, the other holding one of her nipples up to her mouth. She licked and sucked her tit as she fingered herself furiously. Her hand moving beneath the tight, stretchy fabric was enough to give me that final nudge. I surrendered to the gifts of the goddess and let my passion consume me.

Perched on the padded railing, legs spread, I arched back and spread my sex wide for her. “Please make me cum, I need to cum. Fuck me with your tongue!”

She quickly bent forward, mashing her lips against my wet folds, and ran her mouth and tongue over and across me. My swollen clit vibrated to her touch and she quickly sucked it into her mouth, her tongue swirling over my sensitive nub like a tornado.

Her neon fingernails caressed my ass, gently fucked me as she greedily lapped up my nectar. Quickly succumbing to divine glory, I screamed that I was going to cum. As my moans grew louder than the music—my third song, Magic Man by Heart—one of her digits found my sphincter and easily plunged inside, my sea of sex juice providing lube. I exploded in a squirting, gushing, torrent of orgasmic bliss. My cunt soaked her face, her still lapping as if her life depended on it, soaked the rail, and spurted onto her hair.

Feeling my soul being ripped away, once more across the universe, beyond the pale, into the kingdom of Aphrodite, I saw my goddess looking on with pleasure; she fed off my lust, restored my depleted energy with white-hot, searing bliss.

Through my mortal eyes, I saw Brooke, finger-fucking herself, her bra and shirt pulled up, exposing her perfect, large, round, full tits, both of them wet with her saliva, reddened from her sucking. I pulled her up on the stage, close to me. Stripping her quickly, my flesh sending electric jolts of sparking lust wherever it touched her, I stripped off her yoga pants, admiring her wanton, soaked, bare-shaven cunt. Her lips stood out like butterfly wings, red and swollen with carnal lust. I could smell her passion in the air, taste her arousal on my lips.

Returning her favor, I laid between her legs, my tongue circling her clit fast, my fingers simultaneously probing her velvet folds, her asshole, and thrusting in gently, then hard.

“I fucking love you, you fucking witch!” she screamed.

Her hips bucked, her moans pierced my ears. Her thighs clamping around my head, making it hard for me to breathe, she unleashed a violent, convulsive orgasm, moaning “nnnngh, aaah, nnnnghmph” while she pulled on her breasts so hard I thought they might burst.

Her release caused a literal eruption of life-giving passionate energy. The fires of her physical lust, conjoined with her soul, flowed into me. What tenuous hold I had on the mortal plane was shattered by the influx of passion-borne, horny energy she released into me. Once more I knelt before the divine, radiant, beauty of Aphrodite. She looked upon me with love and understanding.

"I beg your forgiveness, my great Goddess," I lamented to her. All about me the passion, lust, and desire were flowing.

My goddess filled my soul with her warmth and love. “Ye have not offended, my blessed and most favored of my children. What trespasses trouble thee?”

“I have denied your gifts of love unto others; I have been insolent, prideful, full of selfishness and wrath. I beg of your divine mercy.”

The Goddess' laughter was the flapping of wings, silver bells gently falling down a knoll, mirth, and wisdom. "Thou sleekest penance from me, She who made Polyphonte lie with bears out of preference, she who sparked the Trojan War in competition for divine beauty? Our darkness is a part of nature, just as the day is consumed by the night and reborn. There is no mercy to beg; no affronts have been made, my child. Go forth now, once more into the realm of mortals, and spread my worship.”

My Goddess, Aphrodite, pulled my soul into her. For a brief moment, I knew the delights of lust-filled divinity. The cosmos erupted; all of creation reformed itself with me at its center. All the answers to life's mysteries were laid bare, just barely beyond mortal comprehension. My metaphysical body exploded into molecules of lusty pleasure, true magick. My entire universe exploded into an orgasm beyond description, propelling my soul back to the mortal plane, back onto the stage, Brooke, a mass of cum-soaked peace beside me.

The music had ceased some time ago, I didn’t know exactly when. She lay over me, her very shapely ass over my torso. She was looking into my eyes with affection and love.

“That is the best fuck I’ve ever had,” she cooed out. “If I can see you for sex, later, you can work here whenever you want!” she said.

I laughed.

I had no intentions of working at the Diamond club; I merely wanted to recharge my energies.

“Sport sex,” she corrected quickly. “I’m not saying that I love you and want to move in and serve your every desire, Aphrodite. I just need more of you.”

I smiled and kissed her. Stars exploded, planets manifested, choruses of elementals danced in response to the touching of our lips. The mutual passion of shared souls, joined for the moment, spanned eternity and infinity.

"I'll come by and dance if I ever feel like it," I told her. "Give me your number and you can come over and partake in one of my rituals."

Thusly, I left the Diamond club, with a sex-job in hand whenever I felt like it and a devout worshiper of my lusty flesh, driven almost insane with lust for me.

My dress thrown on, not even bothering to tie it closed, I reclaimed my old Volkswagen from the parking lot and made it back to Langston estate. I wondered how Casper was doing. I made it home without incident, the creatures of the night keeping me company.

Langston estate was exactly how we had left it when abducted. I surveyed the grounds, looking for other possible attackers. Moving slowly through Casper’s mansion, noting that his renovations were quite skillfully executed, I turned off various appliances, televisions, and finally his laptop. His hand-written notes beside the computer had a list of possible people “the Goddess” might be. My name was not on the list. Regretfully, I now had to show him my true essence; the dripping pussy was out of the proverbial sack.

My door jamb was damaged by my previous assailants but I managed to force it shut. Some quick pounding with a handy rock gave me some sense of security, closing the damaged door to the point that I could latch the deadbolt. Ascending the winding stairs to my tower, I unearthed Aunt Grace’s trove. A quick cleansing spell and White Sage pushed the vileness away; peace and serenity were restored to my inner sanctum. Vowing to put more potent protections in place, I looked at the first grimoire and felt compelled to translate the entire volume.

Translation had been on my list, always shoved away in my lust for power. Some people can learn by being told; I had to learn the hard way. Slowly, one phoneme, one phrase, at a time, constantly consulting the key, I began making sense of the disregarded lessons. That’s exactly what they were, lessons. Falling into my old habits of translating and masturbating, my fingers plunged into my pussy, over my clit, my nipples proudly standing up for more attention as my mind looked on, in awe, over the revelations of what was revealed. Aunt Grace’s previously ignored wisdom outlined all of my folly, the warnings, and the cures. It was a case of the Priestess preaching to the Coven, arriving at the solution, literally, a day late.

“Beware the coldness of energy. If it is not natural and warm, even hot, you are taking and shall pay the price.”

“You cannot increase your power by taking. What is taken must be returned, times three.”

“Beware of losing the higher octave of yourself. That path spirals ever-downward.”

Hours ticked by, the night giving way to dawn, then to afternoon. Captain Flash Rogers fed my body, Aunt Grace’s words expanded my mind. My hardwood floor was soaked with the juices of my orgasms; my body impassioned, my soul lurching in the cosmos. Albeit too late, I finally heeded her words of warning. Somewhere through her words, something clicked within my mind. I was meant to be a giving child of light; only through giving my gifts would I ever truly be happy.

Taking a break to feed myself something other than Pez, I reopened the second grimoire and idly scanned the muddled nonsense. Then I saw it! That first line between the aside-symbols, I had missed a character! Once more extremely familiar with the key, I easily saw that in my haughty rush I hadn’t translated the symbols.

The first line was a warning as if Aunt Grace knew. It was not “U RUNE ADY.” It was “U R UNREADY.”

“You were right, Aunt Grace,” I said to the ether. For want of a nail, the kingdom was lost. For want of an "R", I was almost murdered in a blood-ritual sacrifice.

Later, as I finished a large section of the first book, telling how I can use my ritual and connection with the forces of magick to create calm and peace around me, I noticed something odd between the null/comment characters.

“Book ‘2’ shift key.”

Excited, I scanned the other sections and found the rest of the message nestled in side comments.

“Forward,“ and “favorite,” and “day.”

I didn’t know the exact meaning, but I knew it was my clue! Embedded in the text of the most boring sections of the grimoire was the hint to decode the second book! “Book two, shift key forward, favorite day.”

The events of the day and my constant masturbation hadn’t sated my overpowering hunger for carnal lust; my passions were on overload, my energies restored by my patron goddess and ritual. A quick text to Brooke, “Want to do dinner?” was answered within seconds with “YES! Tell me what to wear.” A concurrent text, this one from Casper, announced that he was fine, would be home tomorrow morning, and that we’d need to talk.

If never worrying about things was good enough for Aphrodite, then I would follow the examples of my Goddess. I headed out into the night, waving to the bats just as I did to their avian cousins of the day. Brooke eagerly awaited, begging with text messages every thirty seconds, to lay with me.