RANDOM EROTICA PART ONE: BLOOD MAGICK FOR ADVENTUROUS GIRLS

 

BLOOD MAGICK FOR ADVENTUROUS GIRLS

The young woman in the sex shop is beautiful. Deep laugh, wide brown eyes, more curves than a scenic railway, a sweet faced priestess of love, in black tights and a low cut shift dress.  I choose a black lace bodice that shows a lot. I ask her, do you think it is too revealing? Honey, she replies, it will look absolutely fine on the floor. But, I say, I still want some advice, come into the changing room and tell me what you think.

She comes in, closing the curtain behind her. A mistake, perhaps.

Immediately I take both her wrists and tie them to the hook conveniently placed high on the wall. I take out my athame, my ritual knife. Her eyes widen even further, but she says nothing. God, I want her. The soft give of her, the firm squeeze of her, the sweet clefts and crevices of her. I show her the knife, with its specially sharpened steel blade, and its antler handle. I cut her right breast, just a nick, and she gasps. In horror or delight, I don’t care which. I caress her left breast, and with my finger I trace the blood I have drawn around her nipple and down her stomach. Then I enter her with my fingers anointed with her blood. Blood is not a bad lubricant, but I don’t think she needs it anyway. She’s plump, but she’s supple. I lift her leg and it goes neatly up the wall, so I can see her exquisite cunt. It is pink and dark edged, and now tinged with a glossy red. I lay the flat of the knife blade against her clit, very very gently. I turn the knife, and penetrate her with the antler handle. Her orgasm sends a ripple through her body. I remove the knife, lick the blood and sexual juices off it, and kiss her full mouth. For a heady moment, both our eyes are closed.

When we open them, we discover we have an audience, of sex shop patrons. They are grinning and some seem clearly aroused. It looks like fun is about to break out. I decide it’s my turn. I unhook her hands from the wall, but keep the ties. I pull her to her ample knees, and lie back with one leg thrown over her shoulder. There is just enough room in the changing cubicle for me to recline. I drag her head between my legs, and feel her hair wash my inner thighs. She laps greedily at the salt lake of my cunt, flicking her tongue up and down the tower of my clitoris. I take the ritual knife form where it has dropped to the floor, and without her knowledge I cut off a curl of her lovely dark hair.

It is a magickal memento. A piece of her. A link. I can use it to draw her back to me any time I want. But I won’t. She is too beautiful not to be free.