Category: Sci-Fi & Fantasy Stories

Secret of Witchcraft Ch. 02

by A_Little_Show©

~~~~~ Chapter 2 ~~~~~

You should read Chapter 1 before reading this one.

To recap: The TV witch wiggled her nose to cast spells. Gwendolyn wiggles her clitoris. There's always some logical explanation for the results of Gwendolyn's spells, but that doesn't stop her from casting them.

Calder suggested I sit in on an introductory figure drawing course because it started at 5 p.m., and I could get to it without taking time off from my job at the Student Services office. For the first week, we drew little wooden mannequins in odd poses. After that, we drew our own hands. My pitiful efforts embarrassed me. Everything I tried looked like a child's stick figures.

Ms. Campin, the instructor, stood behind me making me nervous. "Look for the lights and darks. Try drawing only the shadows."

Some of the other students sniggered at me. I hadn't made any friends other than Calder because I lived alone away from campus. The food in the Atrium cost too much, so I didn't have a chance to meet other students while eating there. The closest I came to making a new friend happened when I stepped out my apartment door at the bottom of squeaky rotten steps to find a filthy smelly man peeing against the wall.

I waited for the old man to finish before introducing myself. "I'm Gwendolyn," I said and offered my hand. He flinched away from the gesture.

"George," he said, "Dragon Slayer."

I didn't skip a beat. I said, "That's interesting. I'm a witch." He regarded me with squinty eyes. "Walk with me?" I asked. "I'll be late for work if I don't keep moving, but I'd like to get to know you."

George followed a few feet behind me making me wary, but I could tell he had a good heart. It might be part of my craft. "I know where a key for the shop is hidden," I said.

"What shop?"

"The shop you peed on." I sounded sarcastic.

He didn't say anything more so I added, "It's full of comfortable furniture, and it'll be warm in the winter."

"Where's the key?"

"I'll make you a deal. Don't pee or poop or make any other messes near my door. Promise me, and I'll meet you outside the shop tonight around 7:30. I'll show you where to find the key."

He stopped following me when I turned the corner onto the block containing the Art Academy. I made a mental note to cast a spell asking where the key was hidden. I didn't know for sure a key even existed, but it would be a juicy coincidence if my claim to George turned out to be true. It felt like the kind of coincidence a slippery orgasm could assure.

I spent all morning scheduling plumbers and locksmiths and carpet people to fix problems students found in their college owned lofts. I overheard an argument between a couple of girls. They went into the mediation room behind my desk, but their voices carried through the wall. Amanda was upset because Margaret had a man sleep over in the girls' shared loft. Margaret insisted she never promised to be exclusive. Amanda accused Margaret of a spiteful transparent ploy to make her jealous. My ears burned.

I grew up in a sheltered rural town full of unemployed miners and little else. I knew what a lesbian was from TV and loose talk in high school, but as far as I knew, I had never met a lesbian. My boss acted as mediator and got Margaret and Amanda to agree that neither would have overnight guests without getting the other's approval in advance. My heart swelled when the two girls reconciled. I could tell they loved each other.

My lunch break provided an opportunity for spell casting. It's sometimes difficult to get in the mood for witchcraft in a public ladies room with people coming and going. I used Calder's studio while Calder was away teaching a class. I relaxed knowing I'd have the room to myself and took my time.

Calder's African fertility totem served admirably as a magic wand. The bumps along its shaft put me in a spell casting frame of mind. Once it warmed to my body temperature, it felt lovely. I played a game where I tried to count the bumps as they slid ever so slowly in and out of me. When my body neared climax, I asked where to find the spare key to the shop under my apartment. I had never asked for such specific knowledge before, so I worried it wouldn't work.

After my orgasm crashed, I walked toward the floor to ceiling window. I was nude, but I felt certain I'd know if anyone passing on the street looked up. My spent body no longer craved spell casting. I thought of half a dozen desires I'd like fulfilled, but trying to force another orgasm had a better than even chance of leaving me frustrated. A craving for companionship washed over me as I watched the foot traffic and rated each person for cuddling potential.

The rest of the afternoon passed in a blur as I crosschecked student enrollment forms at my desk. I didn't feel like going to class, but Calder and Dr. Henri put me in it as a favor. I loathed scorning a favor. The new lesson involved drawing my own reflection in a mirror. I threw everything Ms. Campin taught to the wind and embraced the Calder scribble technique.

A tickle traveled down my arms to my fingertips. I twitched and danced with charcoal in each hand. My eyes closed, and I recalled the excitement Calder exhibited after my first drawing. The self portrait I crafted was meant to please Calder with Ms. Campin's rules forgotten.

I opened my eyes to find half the class gathered behind me. Ms. Campin stepped between me and the easel and lifted the drawing for close inspection. I hadn't properly seen it myself when the instructor held it up for the class. The sheet of paper contained my likeness in a funhouse mirror context. I recognized myself among the sloppy swirls and smudges.

Ms. Campin said, "See me after class."

She sounded fearsome, and I worried she'd make me late to my meeting with George. On the other hand, George probably didn't have a watch. I sat on my hands for the rest of the class while everyone else worked. I daydreamed about possible locations for the key.

After class, Ms. Campin said, "You're very talented."

I said, "Thank you."

"It's a good thing you aren't in this class for a grade. I'd still give you an F."

I looked bewildered. Everyone else liked my drawing.

"Your expressionist style is remarkable, but I'm trying to teach realism. You don't seem to understand light or form, and yet, your drawing masterfully mixes them. It's almost playful."

I didn't reply. I wasn't sure what she meant.

"Why did you close your eyes?"

I said, "I don't like seeing it half done. It looks silly until I'm done."

"Huh." Ms. Campin shrugged and walked out of the room carrying my drawing.

I rushed home and arrived within a few minutes of the promised time. George startled me by walking out of a shadow.

"Hello George," I said. "Shall we find the key now?"

"I looked in the window," he grumbled. "What's wrong with the furniture?"

I guessed. "The owner bought antiques and upholstered them for resale. The ones in the shop were half completed when he shut down."

My eyes were drawn to a burned out security light over my apartment door. "George," I said, "You're taller than me. See if you can reach up to the light. I think the key is behind the glass in a spot were there's no mortar between the bricks."

George couldn't reach it, so I said, "Kneel down. I'll stand on your shoulders to get it."

George got on his hands and knees. I took off my shoes and stood on his back. With my toes extended, I managed to feel the object I knew would be there. I scraped at it with my finger until it fell to the ground with a tinkling bounce.

"Let's check it out." I hopped off George and slipped my feet into the sandals. He struggled to stand, and I imagined I heard his bones creak with each movement.

There was no electricity in the shop, but there was a bathroom with a toilet and sink, and the water still ran. I put my hand on George's shoulder. He flinched but didn't move away. "George," I said, "I've been a little worried living upstairs alone. I'll feel much safer knowing you're right downstairs."

He sat on a dusty chair and considered my words. I turned to leave, and he said, "I'll protect you, Gwendolyn."

"Thank you, George."

I climbed the stairs back to my apartment and flopped onto my futon. I needed to eat something, but my mind spun so many questions about witchcraft that I needed to let the thoughts settle. A reasonable person might have said it was just coincidence that the key existed at all and was hidden in the first place I looked. A reasonable person might have said I overheard the landlord talk about the key and forgot or my subconscious noticed light glinting off the key.

But what about my expressionist drawings? I supposed the talent might have been there all along, and it was coincidence I used it right after asking for it. How did the drawing work? I had no idea how each drawing would look until I saw it complete. They looked wrong until I added the last line. How did I know when they were finished?

I devised an experiment: I planned to ask for two improbable events - one while casting a spell right before my orgasm, and the other after. If one thing happened and not the other, it might be a clue. If both or neither happened, I'd learn something, too. Maybe the sometimes tiresome effort expended masturbating wasn't required at all.

I stirred macaroni and cheese on the stove while I contemplated. When my stomach was full and my bladder empty, I stripped and ran a bath. As I soaked, I stroked. Tension built with each finger motion. I spread myself open and dragged the length of my middle finger over my erect clitoris at a slow deliberate pace. I felt the ridges of my fingerprints tickle me, and the dimple under each knuckle tugged and released with electric intensity.

I asked to be able to draw in the realist style. I invited whatever power grants my wishes to share my orgasm. My finger moved in a blur jacking up the intensity of stimulation to the point of pain, and I shook so much with the orgasm that I splashed water out of the tub.

When I caught my breath, I asked for the companionship of an equal who would love me, and I could love in return. I stayed in the bathtub until the water drained and my skin dried. My legs fell asleep, and my mind hardly worked. I considered sleeping where I was, but I mustered enough energy to flop naked on the futon before I closed my eyes.

I dreamt of a handsome blonde lover who penetrated me with enthusiasm. As he bucked against me, I tickled my clitoris and tried to cast a spell, but the orgasm wouldn't come. My lover whimpered and banged me with ever more intensity. Somehow, I knew tragedy would strike if I couldn't bring the spell to completion. The more I fretted, the further my orgasm retreated.

I awoke crying with frustration. I only had ten minutes to get to work, but I remained naked, and the walk always took at least eight minutes. Adrenaline gave me a boost, and I threw on a wrinkled cotton summer dress, slipped on my sandals, and flew out my door. My inner thighs felt damp and chapped. The uncomfortable walk took forever, but I arrived just as my boss unlocked the office door.

Fidgeting in my office chair did nothing to relieve my frustration. My teeth ached with the need for an orgasm. I grit my teeth and tried to distract myself with paperwork until lunch. I waited in the hallway wiggling and squeezing my thighs until Calder left his studio for class. The moment he entered the stairwell, I sprinted to his door counting my self fortunate he never locked it.

I wondered what spell to cast and decided to make my orgasm a freebie. Maybe that's what the dream meant. I should lay off the spells for a while. After thinking about it, my attempt to test witchcraft seemed ungrateful. I looked a gift horse in the mouth.

Still standing, I spread my legs, bent slightly at the waist, and leaned forward against the glass of the window. The posture pressed my forehead, nose, and breasts hard enough to squish them. I bunched up my dress to access the center of my pleasure and absentmindedly stroked. I wondered if the equal who would love me passed below on the sidewalk. I wondered if I already knew the person.

Bright noon sunlight on the street left me half shadowed inside the studio. It amused me to see strangers glance at me with a double take. So far, none of them had stopped to see what I was really doing. I think they only noticed my face and breasts, and my dress concealed every part of my breasts except a hint of cleavage. I pitied the pedestrians for failing to spot my bare pussy deeper in shadow.

I clasped my hands together and rocked my pelvis to press hard against my hands. My first spells were cast by rocking against things. I didn't develop more subtle and sophisticated spells until much later. I returned to the origins of my ability with nostalgia. I forced every concern from my thoughts and concentrated on sharing my pleasure. "Enjoy this with me," I thought.

The orgasm disappointed me, but it scratched the frustrating itch I had suffered since waking. My inner thighs were a damp mess, and I craved a shower. I ended up washing with scratchy paper towels in the ladies' room and toweling with toilet paper. It took the remainder of my lunch half hour because I hid in a stall whenever anyone entered.

In class, Ms. Campin directed us to draw a statue placed in the center of the room. I recognized it as naked Venus standing with little Cupid clutching her leg like a toddler wanting to be lifted. I cringed because the instructor held Calder's African fertility totem by its tip. She swung it side to side while she commented on drawings. Why did she have it? I hadn't washed the thing after using it the day before.

Would I be able to draw with realism? The answer, sadly, was no. Not every spell works, and spells that work can surprise me with unintended results. I told myself I was no worse off than before I conceived the test. As I scribbled with demoralized boredom, another test occurred to me. I wondered if I could cast spells while having sex with another person. I was a virgin, but I had an urge to experiment.

The next day at work, I used the Academy's Internet to read about witches. Everything I found described witches working naked in groups. An article explained how a coven of witches worked "skyclad", meaning they danced naked. They shed their clothes to get connected with the Earth. Some covens hosted warlocks for special rituals. It all made sense to me. I felt ready to try sex magic.

I supposed a lot of girls my age developed an interest in partner sex. The allure became obvious even though I hardly considered it before. Of course, my realization presented new problems. How did young women select partners? What mating rituals would lead to the kind of sex I deemed appropriate for spell casting? Would it be wrong for me to cast spells to compel partners into my bed? Would I be raping them?

I considered myself an ethical witch, so I decided to foreswear using witchcraft to snare partners. I planned to rely on the special magic granted by nature to all young ladies. The only stumbling blocks were my ignorance and complete lack of feminine wiles. I considered my options and had an epiphany. It would be wrong to compel a man, but if he pursued me into my bed, it was his choice.

My firm resolve not to chase a mate left me with an unsatisfied craving for companionship and no idea when or if a man would take an interest. Being an ethical witch could be a lonely existence. Witches in the stories worked in groups. Maybe they did it for companionship. I needed a coven. I needed confidants, and dancing naked in the moonlight sounded fun. Casting spells with my coven would be awkward, but I didn't have to rush things. I could wait to see how comfortable I was when the time came.

Ms. Campin played with the fertility totem during class again. She held its base in one hand and pet the shaft like she might pet a cat with her other hand. The motions were lewd enough to make me blush. Other students showed surprise, discomfort, or amusement. Ms. Campin either didn't realize how her absentminded actions looked, or she didn't care.

We drew a chipped plaster replica of Michelangelo's David. The gouges and divots made it more interesting to me. My struggle with the realist style eased because I was drawing a subject that didn't look real. The broken stump of the statue's penis drew my eye. "What a coincidence," I thought. On the day I develop an interest in sex with men, the cock I see up close is broken.

Ms. Campin's fingers slid over the bumps that gave me so much pleasure from the black ceramic cock. It aroused me in an indirect way. Recent memories of fucking myself with the totem produced a shadow of yummy sensations between my legs, but there was something else. I experienced a premonition of Ms. Campin fucking the toy. It pleased me to imagine my magic wand bringing her pleasure. I could almost feel a ghost cock attached to my clitoris and plunging into her.

By the time class was dismissed, I got so worked up that I couldn't delay long enough to walk home. I felt and urgent need to cast a spell. Students lingered in the classroom and the hallways. I considered the ladies' room down the hall. I picked the supply closet in Ms. Campin's classroom. Its door offered privacy. All I needed to do was slip inside without being noticed.

I knew my actions were impulsive. I should have been able to wait or at least think more clearly about the location. Spells were usually a deliberate action, but rare ones seemed eager to cast themselves. My pussy throbbed with a spell demanding attention. I wished to start my quest for coven members right away, and coincidentally, my wish was about to be granted.

I tore at my clothes until nothing shielded my dripping crevasse from my fingers. As I sat on the cold dusty floor in the supply closet, the vision of Ms. Campin fucking the totem returned. Somehow, I knew she lay on the floor of her studio right above the supply closet. She dragged the tip of the ceramic penis over her breasts. Her legs parted.

A spectral shadow of the totem felt heavy between my legs pulling my labia and clitoris with gravity. Ms. Campin's hand wrapped around the shaft and squeezed my ghost cock in ways that made my eyes roll back in my head. She thrust the cock into her pussy, and my hips bucked with matching rhythm. I savored the unanticipated sensation of pushing myself into a lover who accepted my invasion with enthusiasm. I felt my orgasm building as a kind of pressure needing release. My body vibrated with bizarre sensations of impending ghostly ejaculation.

I was not fond of Ms. Campin, but the intimacy we shared formed a bond between us. The spell I cast at the moment of our mutual climax joined us. I discovered the ritual for forming my coven as witchcraft seared my soul with pleasure. I had my first coven mate. I giggled at the absurdity of the way I lost my spiritual virginity.

My limp body collapsed in a heap on the floor. My head thunked against the leg of a folding table, but I hardly cared. I felt the weight between my legs dissipate at the same time I heard the totem clatter on the floor above my head. My arms flopped to my sides mirroring Ms. Campin's contented abandon. My mind reeled at frightening speed. I became certain of two things: Shared pleasure enhanced my craft, and I would enjoy finding more coven mates.

Written by: A_Little_Show

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Story Tags: masturbation, witchcraft, college, orgasm, exhibitionism, art, virgin, longing, sundress, nude

Category: Sci-Fi & Fantasy Stories