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.