Feeling the goddess pulsating inside me, her gift of passions beyond limit consuming my soul, I decided to walk in the park before indulging in a thrice-blessed shopping spree. I told myself that the calming, serene auras of natural creatures and flora around me were what I needed, while my truer self realized that I craved more sexual attention. My footsteps caused my loins to vibrate; my breathing caused my nipples to tingle. Lust, desire, and primal sex washed around me, a tangible force.
Less than twenty-four hours ago I was a forgotten nothing, out of sight, out of mind. Now I breathed the breath of desire, my Medusa-like glance causing passion, turning nipples and cocks as hard as stone. I could control with a word, enslave with a smile; my lust, somehow, possessed others, evoking pleasures of the flesh that fed my power and vitality. I reminisced about every person that had ridiculed, hurt, insulted, or ignored me. Entertaining vengeful thoughts, I entered the park, a small copse of glorious living nature nestled in the urban sprawl. The peaceful tranquility of naturally growing life calmed my nerves but did not assuage the feelings of lust that thundered in my veins, boiling away my blood, replacing it with desire.
Seconds after entering the park I glimpsed Joel, the cashier from last night, strolling down the path towards the diner. His eyes were immediately drawn to me, freezing him in his tracks, as he stared at me with undisguised lust. That brought a new crescendo to my already burning desire; my overheated cunt poured in response.
Wordless, my expression communicating my desires, my hand shot out and grabbed his junk. I felt it jump, coming to life in my grasp. My body reacted in kind, sending jumping jolts of primal heat through my entire being. The urge to taste his flesh, to feel him throbbing inside me, wrestled with my will for control.
“Hiya, Joel. Remember what I said last night? I’m up for it now if you have the time.”
He blankly stared at me. I continued. “What’s the matter, hot dripping pussy got your tongue?”
“Um, well,” he stammered. “You are so fucking hot! I’ll do anything you want, except I’m not Joel.”
“Yes, you are,” I corrected. “Joel from last night, who asked me out. You just want to hear it again, don’t you? I don’t want to date you, I want to fuck you.” My voice hypnotized with its lilting pleas for physical pleasure.
He was struggling with something. I proceeded to stroke him through his pants. I knew it wouldn’t help, but it made me feel so powerful, in total control. My efforts were rewarded with his tool rising to full mast, a very full, very long mast.
“I’m not Joel!” he blurted out in agony. “I’m Jake. We’re twins. Joel’s my twin brother.”
Jackpot!
“How delightful,” I cooed. “Are you two identical in every way? Is his cock as big, hot, and thick as yours?”
Jake smiled meekly. “I’m the better lover,” he said half-pleading, half-boasting.
I removed my hand. “I’ll be the judge of that.”
Feeling the piercing energy of his eyes upon me, I felt myself become overwhelmed with raw, passionate lust. Thoughts of expensive meals and luxurious clothes disintegrated, replaced with a divine need for physical release. My libido commanded that I have my next meal.
“I want to see you and your brother Joel at my apartment in ten minutes.” I pointed to my building. “Bring condoms.”
“I can’t believe this,” Jake exclaimed to me. “Are you serious?”
I smiled at him, running my hands over my torso to my delight. My tongue delicately snaked out and moistened my burning lips. “Ten minutes,” I reminded him. “I’m in apartment ‘F’…for fuck, because that’s what we’re going to do.”
Jake ran towards the diner, his shaggy blond hair bouncing with his steps. I casually strolled back towards my apartment, floating in the energies of the primitive, furred creatures hidden from view, but sensed with my new witch-keening. Stopping at an intersection of two paved, concrete pathways, I watched a young man, an artist, on his hands and knees, chalking down classical artwork on the walk.
Brilliant hues and figures, worthy of canvas rather than concrete, were expertly laid down as he worked, not at all noting the passersby and those like myself who lingered to appreciate his artistry. I could sense calming, bluish energy emanating from him, almost hearing his mental humming thoughts as he worked to create his temporary masterpiece, only for it to be washed away at the first rain. A golden sun shone on stormy clouds, and a curly-haired man, dressed in Grecian toga, plummeted downward, racing towards the earth, his artificial wings in flames. The rendition of Icarus was a sight to behold. It tugged at the doors of my perception, a Jungian archetype that refused to manifest.
Some half-remembered lesson from Aunt Grace tore at my mind in response. It was the half-remembered specter of something mostly forgotten, mostly ignored. Mentally shrugging at the phantoms stuck in the basin of my consciousness, I breathed in his energy and felt calmed by its coolness. Continuing, I closed the distance to my apartment. Stares and propositions from others shattered that feeling of peace, replacing it with overheated lust that now seemed a natural part of me, my true state.
Arriving home, I hurriedly cleaned. Aunt Grace’s books and artifacts were tossed back into their box; fast food containers found their way into my empty trashcan. Turning on my pathetic, tiny stereo, I pulled up my “Self-Play” playlist. When I read, I’d sometimes listen to music as I masturbated. My “Self-Play” playlist was a collection of songs to accompany my self-pleasure.
Beginning with powerful, sexual songs, empowering feminine voices, the playlist moved from punk rock into rock and then into backbeat-heavy dance songs with sexual themes. Most of it was the throbbing, pulsing, dance music such as Lords of Acid, dripping with sexual overtones and hitting the perfect tempo to thrust your fingers deep inside yourself.
Rebel Girl by Bikini Kill blared out as I danced out of my jeans and shimmied into a long, flowing, wispy handkerchief skirt. My mind instinctively went into ritual mode and I fingered myself casually, awaiting the twins to show up.
Jake and Joel were slightly late, but they did arrive, all bashful smiles, shaggy hair, and tight muscles. Joel was still dressed in his diner uniform, Jake in pleated khaki pants and a V-neck shirt. I'd known they’d come; I'd felt it in my core.
“Hi, ah, what is your name?” Joel asked.
I laughed and pulled off my shirt. Their perverted eyes hungrily locked on my always-hard nipples; their slick tongues wagged in anticipation; their cocks sprang to life.
“Call me Aphrodite, the goddess of passion.”
Hands raised over my head, crossed at the wrists, I undulated around them, swaying in time with the music. Circling them slowly, my hands caressed identical cheeks and torsos. As the music grew more intense, the bass and drum lines dominating the flow of the music, my divine desires, boiling in my veins, became animated, possessing me with lust, infecting them, entrancing them into a sexual fervor. The primal power of sexual lust, heated passion, and the overwhelming need for physical pleasure overtook my voluntary actions, enslaving me to the rhythm. No longer a witch, mortal no more, I had become a bonfire of sex, ready to scorch my willing subjects upon the altar of my body.
My hips and ass were covered only by gossamer fabric so thin that even the light passed through. I ground my behind against one hardening groin as my lips sought a burning taste of the other’s mouth. Hard, nude nipples rubbed against their shirt fabrics, then their flesh, sending delightful jolts into my core. Jake’s thigh straddled, his fine pants darkening under the flow of my blessed, intoxicating liquid sex. I humped my wetness against him to every even beat of the vibrating bass, my ass pumping against his twin brother’s hardness with every odd beat.
Hands roamed over my torso, making my flesh sigh in heated response, as clothes were shed in tune with our dance of seduction. Feeling hot, hard, pulsing meat between my legs, I kissed wetly, harshly, overcome with the need for release. Turning around, spinning between them, I groped one, then the other, until I couldn’t tell either one apart.
Duplicate hard, throbbing cocks slid between my legs as I humped them to the tune of “Pussy” by Lords of Acid. The glowing, ethereal energy of their lust for me filled me with revitalizing energy, increasing my lust until their twin moans matched my own. My magickal lust flowed from me, combined with their energy, and then poured back into me. My body was alight, one giant nerve that only knew pleasure; my soul was in rapture. Our minds combined in our shared lust, our souls caressing each other’s where our mortal flesh touched.
The twins, Joel and Jake, were identical in every way, the same shaggy blond hair, youthful vitality, athletically toned bodies, and long, thin cocks. The incense of my sex sweetened the air as I moaned to the bass line, shedding my skirt and kneeling on my still-cluttered floor.
“Take me hard!” I begged. “Fill me with your lust, your power. I need it; I’ll die without your lust.”
Pulling one of them near me, I plunged my eager lips over his throbbing cock, forcing him into my mouth. I was rewarded with an influx of lust-filled energy that caused my cunt to gush. Slapping my ass, his twin, Jake or Joel, I could no longer tell which was which—no longer cared—knelt behind me and thrust his identical member deep inside my pussy.
My mouth released its grip on the now-jumping cock long enough to cry out to Aphrodite as I pushed back hard, as fast as I could, to meet the pleasures of the flesh impaling me. Horny, long-lanced doppelgangers took me from both directions. Their identical storm clouds of energy rained pleasure and lust with every thrust, every suck, and every movement.
The music reached a frenetic pace, devolving into “bum-ba-dum, da- bum-bum,” made for sensual Rave dancing. We moved together, locked in our own, sensual dance, in perfect synchronization with the music, synchronized to each other. They were entranced, lost in their passion, possessed by the demons of desire. My body between them, I thrust back on one hard cock then forward onto another as my drooling mouth gulped and slurped, my dripping cunt squeezed and throbbed. Without any preparation or provocation, my soul and spirit rose into ritual trance mode, a state that only knew desire, the pleasures of the flesh, while still holding a lucid mind.
My screams and moans drowned out my stereo; their cries of pleasure matched my own. Feeling their energy, twin to twin, swell and cascade both around and into me, I could sense their impending release. Adding desperation and urgency to my movement, I clamped my sucking jaws on one cock and allowed the twin manhood inside of me to slam into me, over and over, fast, hard, and deep.
They came in unison, deep down my throat and deep into my clenching pussy. Their simultaneous ejaculations caused my body to release a fireball of furious lust that erased my very soul from existence and reformed it into a more powerful entity than I had been before. My sense of sight left the mortal realm, plunging through eternal blackness, then into red and green foggy clouds, and finally into an entire universe being born in an explosive display of misty colors and stardust.
In a heap, we collapsed onto the floor.
“You are the best fuck ever,” one of the twins said to me.
I could feel their primal sexual energy diminishing, their flesh cooling, what little life-force they had left feeding me. Cum had escaped my greedy lips and dribbled down my chin. I scooped it up, playing with it as I smiled in the glow of my power, and rubbed it into my skin. The very powers of life and creation lay within that jizz; I could feel it being sucked into my being.
“You boys were the best cocks I’ve had all day,” I told them. Technically it was true. “Now get dressed and leave me. Don’t come back unless I invite you.”
Their powers deflated, they having fed me the energies of their passions, I helped them dress and saw them out. That serene feeling of calming peace within me lasted for mere minutes before my lust began to boil once more.
In the past ten hours, I had received more attention, had more sex, than I had in the past ten years. Sated for the moment but with my loins still dripping, now a combination of young man cum and my own lust, I smiled to myself and pulled out Aunt Grace’s grimoire. Giggling over the cum stains on the floor, grabbing Captain Flash Rogers from my purse to pop some Pez, then swishing my purse into the box containing my aunt’s secrets, I settled back on my perch near the wall, rickety TV tray at the ready.
To my delight, some of the characters were readily decipherable without consulting the key. I worked, much more quickly than before, decoding the instructions on controlling my powers.
I knew, instinctively, that my lusty powers energized Aphrodite. The power of faith and prayer that feeds manna to the gods was the essence of divine power. Channeled through passion, love, lust, and desire, the pleasures of the flesh invigorated my Goddess in a more pure, more potent version. The release of lusty passions, pleasures of the flesh, more pure and primal than thousands of praying devoted followers, held the very power of life, death, and creation. In exchange for my divine worship through such acts, I became her vessel on earth, bestowing her gifts upon others as they flowed through me. The circle of both life and magick completed itself through me; I could give, and receive in turn. By bestowing the blessings of Aphrodite, I received them back, amplified, as well as powers beyond the dreams of mere mortals.
I understood that my powers somehow caused rutting lust in others and that their horny passion fed me. The goddess’ own words returned to me: “All that you give shall be returned to you times three.” With the “Screamer”, Stanley, and then the glorious twins, Jake and Joel, I could feel, almost taste, nearly see their power flowing from them and into myself. Once I could control it, the world would be mine; I would become more powerful than Helen of Troy or Cleopatra! Nodding to a picture depicting Alice Kyteler, infamous for her feminine and witchy wiles, I pleasured myself, absentmindedly, as I worked on the tome.
“Controlling your powers,” was the first line of the section. Thank you, Aunt Grace.
“The key to controlling your powers is controlling ‘you’.” A quick introspection convinced me that I was in perfect control. That archetype knocked once more on the doors of my perception. It didn’t matter. I was in perfect tune with my goddess, in perfect, total control.
“By now your varied powers should be becoming known.” Varied powers? I wasn’t aware of having various powers. All I knew is that passion, lust, and primal need coursed through me and caused others to react in kind.
The thought of gaining more powers than those to turn others into my power-feeding sex slaves had appeal. I felt as if I were on the precipice of true power, power beyond my desires, the power to reshape my reality to conform to my will.
Excitedly fingering myself, drawing nearer to a self-induced orgasm, I plunged forward.
“Repeat your ritual until you can see your chosen power and command it at will.” I’m way ahead of you, Aunt Grace; I’m already deep into my ritual.
“Then teach yourself to achieve that state instantly. When you can do that, at will, your power will do your bidding.”
Her final line, the last line in the first grimoire, gave me pause. “Be warned. Taking control is taking. All that you take must be returned according to contract ‘STOP’.”
What contract? Did my favorite aunt sign a contract with demonic forces? Did she manifest the Lords of Darkness instead of the bliss that is Aphrodite? I needed to think.
Deciding that it was time to fulfill the promise to myself of a fine dinner and shopping spree, I showered and gave blissful tribute to Aphrodite by caressing my dripping snatch as the steamy water rained upon me. Once more donning witchy eyes and barely dressing, all in black, I drove to the more affluent part of town and enjoyed being doted over by commissioned salespersons, then by hunky waiters.
The sillage of divinely bestowed sex magick emanated from me like a fine perfume. It was glorious; I bathed in the attention. I didn’t partake of any pleasures of the flesh. Something in what I had deciphered struck a chord, a dissonant chord that reverberated through my mind but still denied me understanding.
Choosing sexy, flowing, shimmering fabrics and plunging necklines and high slits, I reinvented myself as a sexual goddess in the flesh, silky smooth, sensually-heated flesh. A black lace choker around my neck, a gift from a doting, hard-on wielding attendant, escalated my new image from sophisticated sexiness into the overpowering realm of demure beauty with underpinnings of untamed sexuality. A treasured find of designer flats, lacing their way up my smooth, glowing calves, was perfectly suited to my new physical artistry.
Feeling finally full in my stomach, having had sexual relations three times in a score of hours, and properly attired to match my new status, I reclaimed my vehicle and loaded it with my purchases. The gods, themselves, seemed to be granting their favors still more. Lights changed, as if by magic, removing the need to stop or even slow down. Cars parted like the Red Sea, in the lanes before me, allowing me to easily travel the distance across town. I knew that I had the favor of the gods, that I was above mere mortals, when they bestowed the greatest blessing of all upon me. There was a vacant parking space directly in front of my apartment building.
Dusk began to encroach on the daylight as I paused beside my Volkswagen and drank in the sights of the new night being born, the vibrant swirling hues of cavorting clouds, and felt the presence of thousands of creatures, large and small, hiding just out of sight. I left my shopping bags in the trunk of my car, wanting to get back to taming the powers that came by intuition, unbidden. My scuffed and dull door, with “F” screwed slightly crooked onto the front, contrasted with my affluent, designer clothes.
Stripping off my perfectly form-fitted dress before the door latch clicked, I sat on the floor and began my ritual. Easing and slowing my breath, banishing all thoughts except my lust and my goal from my mind, my hands emulated my previous lovers’ touches, igniting my flesh. My mind elevated itself into the plane of creation itself; my hands and fingers busied themselves between my legs.
My folds dripped with my nectar to lubricate the rubbing of my fingers. My fluid tasted sweet, like ambrosia upon my lips. I painted myself with my nectar, tasted my own sex, increasing my burning, horny, need. My legs quaked from my urgent probing; my breathing became ritualized heaves of sexual pleasure. I could feel the Goddess coming near, answering my sexual pleas for her favor, more power, more delights, for control.
“Fuck you, needle-dick!” I heard being screamed through the walls. Melissa, the “Screamer”, was having one of her, not too uncommon, fights with Jeff. “How about I tell my roommate that you’re fucking me behind her back, you fucking bastard!”
His shouts matched hers in volume as they cursed and swore at each other. Their infrequent fights almost always led to some extremely vocal makeup sex. The distraction tore my consciousness away from the powers of life and creation, causing me to plummet back down to earth. Sighing to the gods I redoubled my efforts, forcing their distracting negativity from my realm. Their screams and the crashes and thumps that accompanied them, faded from my perception.
An endless eternity of nothingness followed as the avalanche of their obscenities faded into the ether. My soul left my body to fend for itself while it traveled the cosmos, delighted in the wonders of the mysteries beyond the veil, and entered into the kingdom of delights, the demesnes of my patron goddess, Aphrodite. I had become a disembodied avatar of my lust; my passion was my body. My mind reeled at its own power, was awed by Aphrodite’s infinite powers.
She welcomed me into her court with an impassioned kiss on my lips and a bliss-filled orgasm through my essence. I was made whole again in her Olympian version of heaven, serviced by other souls, all of us joyfully entranced in her orgiastic desires. I gave all of myself to them, my powers ebbing from me as others drank of my magick, only to be instantly refilled with renewed force, heated and amplified under her divine gaze.
I felt myself, despite no longer being of mortal flesh, become hot. A furnace-like heat enveloped me; I could feel the flames of passion lick at me, singeing me. The smokes of passion filled my lungs, causing me to cough.
To cough?
My alarmed physical body grasped my soul and fearfully pulled me back into itself. Something was wrong! Body, mind, and soul met once more, shoving myself back into my mortal coil. My eyes snapped open with a gasp of alarm.
The first thing I saw was the large puddle of my sex juices on the floor between my open legs. The countless orgasms I had received in the paradise of Aphrodite’s favor were mirrored in my physical being. Coughing, unable to draw a breath, I noted the air was hot; it stank of burning chemicals, burning wood, and melting plastics.
My apartment was filled with smoke! Red flashing lights shone through my window; blaring “err-ah’s” of sirens split the night silence. I could hear screams through the apartment wall. Springing up, my ritual forgotten, I yelled, “Are you okay?” through the wall, pounding my fists on the drywall. The drywall was flaming hot.
Whitish gray smoke was billowing out of the heating vents. Amazingly, I didn’t panic. With flames pushing their way through the wall between my and Jeff’s apartments, I calmly scooped up my purse and the pictures of Aunt Grace and set them into the box along with my notes and the first book of her Grimoires. Thankful that I had previously stowed away everything else, I retrieved Captain Flash Rogers and threw my discarded, three-hundred dollar dress over my shoulder. I popped another Pez, bade my dump of a home goodbye, and casually strolled out the door.
The hallway was in flames; the fires dared not touch me, lest I unleash my mighty magick wrath upon them. The fire elementals, efreeti playing on the physical plane, lined the hallway as I moved towards the door. Taking the form of living, hungry fire, they bowed to me as I passed.
The eyes of Police and Firemen popped out of their sockets when they saw my slightly singed, nude body emerge, unscathed, from the burning building. Their lust, passion, and carnal thoughts, dirtier than my nude, soot-covered body, caused my passion to explode once more; my heat made the budding inferno that was my apartment building seem lukewarm.
Stopping at the street, I set down my treasured inheritance and poured myself into my dress. Burly, muscular men, adorned in fireman hats came to my rescue, as if I needed their help. My assurances that I was fine were ignored as their hands probed my body “for injuries.”
Unlocking my Cabriolet and putting the slightly-singed box in the back seat along with my cash-filled purse, I saw the “Screamer” being led out by three men in first-responder garb. She smiled at me through her oxygen mask; her hands were cuffed in front of her.
“She’s the one,“ a burly policewoman said to a man I assumed was her superior. “She started the fire.”
Long, phallic hoses began their assault, despite me overhearing that the first floor was totally devastated. All my belongings, my entire life, were in those four tiny, thin-walled rooms. I didn’t even have insurance; I could never afford it. I felt elated! I had gone about reinventing myself, to recast myself in my new image, an acolyte of Aphrodite, perhaps the only acolyte. The goddess had burned away all vestiges of my former self.
I had been torn asunder by the powers of life, death, and creation and forged, anew, as a completely different person. Good old “what’s her name” had died in the fire. Timid mousy Krys was gone forever; she had been replaced by KRYS, the goddess’ agent of passion in the flesh.
Refusing offers of a place to stay, or to be held as a mistress, I climbed into my soot-covered car and slowly wound my way around the fire engines, news crews, and gawking bystanders. Showing that she has a sense of humor, my goddess caused the Talking Heads to play on the stereo. “Burning Down the House” blared from my speakers as I drove away, laughing. I was free of all former ties.
Recalling a luxurious hotel I had seen during my shopping trip, I wondered if they took cash.
