A RITUAL - IN WHICH ODIN COMES OUT TO PLAY AND A NEW GODDESS IS BORN

 

This is an account of an unusual piece of sex magic, which I undertook with a friend.

TRIGGER WARNING: CONTAINS DESCRIPTIONS OF CONSENSUAL BUT VIOLENT SEX, AND FETISH WORK. PLEASE READ AT YOUR OWN RISK.

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Jim is a professional man in his late forties. As a young man he was part of a well organised cross dressing scene, where he travelled, partied and made friends. Cross dressing led him to develop a kind of alter-ego, whom he called Tracey Tempest. She dressed in anything from thirties show girl to high slut, and had the time of her life. Later, Jim married and gave Tracey up. Then he suffered a severe work accident, and lost some of his mobility and sensation. No longer able to function sexually in the way he used to, he found new excitement in the experience of pain.

When I met him in my role as a dominatrix, he had become a genuine masochist. He had continued to wear lingerie, but saw Tracey as part of his past. We experimented with heavy anal play and cock and ball torture, and we talked about Tracey a lot. Then he asked for a collaring ritual.

Jim is also a pagan versed in Celtic spirituality. He seemed amenable to some magical work, and we began to consider an unusual collaring. Collaring rituals are a feature of the BDSM community. They are sometimes akin to weddings, where a dominant partner collars a submissive in a public ceremony, thus taking ownership of the submissive partner. Neither Jim nor I wanted me to ‘own’ him. Ours was not the usual dom/sub relationship. While I topped and he bottomed, and I was the sadist and he the masochist, we felt we were equals in our play. The power play prevalent in the BDSM scene did not interest us.. He saw the collaring as a symbol of the relationship we had developed, and I agreed. So I began to make the magic.

We both have some Northern ancestry and I knew of the history of cross dressing and general gender bending in Norse mythology. Feminine behaviour exhibited by male divine powers was seen as highly transgressive, and also strangely and attractively potent. Odin, Thor and Loki all cross dressed at times and Odin has a dark feminine aspect in that he is able to practise the traditionally female art of seidr, or trance work.

The rune Ehwaz relates to this – it is the relationship between the rider and the horse, and it also relates to companionship and loyalty. The horse and rider idea appealed to us, as I would be the rider and Jim the horse.

I embarked upon two projects: a leaning in to the rune Ehwaz, and getting to know Odin.

I took out the first set of runes  I made and reconsecrated Ehwaz in blood, whisky, oats and sacred water. I carried it with me.  I wrote the rune each day in objects around me, in a manner probably no one noticed, using such things as clothes pegs, sticks and stones. I listened to Wardruna’s song about Ehwaz.

 

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=FlVM4n20pA0

Approaching Odin was a trickier matter, and I was nervous about this because he is both powerful and unreliable. I was becoming aware that I would have to ‘channel’ him, to find the male aspect of myself which would be an aspect of him as well. In meditating on him I learned less about the wandering, wisdom-giving psychopomp I had expected of him, and more about the ecstatic fighter. Odin means furious, and he commands the berserkers. He presides over half of Valhalla, and the trance and the lure of death. He’s not nice. I began to see him as he might be today. Today he runs a working class boxing club in a big city. He uses his young boxers as drug runners, dealing literally in ecstasy. He’s wiry, fit, middle aged, lost an eye in a fight some time ago, a really bad dresser who probably wears a belt buckle with a motorcycle brand on it. He is mysterious – no one knows where he lives or what he does with his money. Such things are not important to him. His lovers are mostly male and young, and he takes them as he feels. With women he is different, because for him they represent the Goddess. I asked Odin for guidance and got the message that for him to help me I must be prepared to fight for it.

I bought some clothing of a male cast, in grey, and also a suitably impressive strap on cock. I made a ritual for them. I anointed them with the same things as the rune, and (except for the strap on) kept them dirty. They would be worn only in ritual.

Meanwhile Jim prepared to manifest Tracey Tempest. We had decided that Tracey was essentially a goddess, a new goddess. We would manifest her in the collaring ritual. He bought clothing for her, and the collar and chain for the ritual. He arranged for a full professional waxing and professional make up. For Jim, in the past, the elaborate transformation into Tracey had been a true rite of passage, with a liminal state in between being Jim and being Tracey. Jim had developed his taste for sexual pain without Tracey in his life, and Tracey herself had been quite virginal, interested only in clothes and parties. Now, twenty years later, it would be a different Tracey Tempest who would emerge – older, experiencing some physical disability, and with a taste for heavy kink. As we prepared the ritual over months, Tracey’s desires darkened and strengthened. We wondered what would happen.

Jim bought some very good whisky for Odin and we hired a kink friendly venue, owned by an acquaintance who was married to a pagan. It was decked out as a black tent, with a padded floor, and a simple but very sophisticated lighting and sound system. For music we would have Sibelius (Jim’s choice). I would make a circle, which is not my usual way, but I wanted to contain energy and this was as I saw it a risky piece of magic.

The risks were twofold and contradictory. The first risk was that we were attempting something new, in fact in my research I had come across nothing like it. So it might be new not just for us, but entirely new. It was also Jim’s first ever magical ritual, and while he had done his own research there is nothing like the real thing. There was a chance it might not come off at all, that it might just be lame and awkward. There was also the chance I may fully channel Odin and be unable to manage this, and in an altered state I could hurt Jim beyond his capacity or do some psychic damage to either of us. People in the BDSM community are used to this. There is a thing called ‘sub drop’ where the bliss the submissive experiences can give way to low mood and affective dysregulation as the endorphins and other chemicals leave the brain. It is fully understood that subs need to be cared for after they have been played with. It is the responsibility of the dom to do this. When domming, I am responsible for all aspects of my sub’s welfare. While I had become accustomed to this, the magic would add a dimension with which we were unfamiliar. Jim’s one final question to me was ‘Will Odin understand the safe word?’

Here is the ritual as I wrote it, with some wording from Jim as he considered Tracey’s emerging desires:

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RITUAL FOR TRACEY TEMPEST

I smudge the space.

Jim dresses and transforms into Tracey Tempest, goddess.

I dress in already consecrated male attire, vibrating the rune Eihwaz as I do so.

I set up the altar and the circle, the circle made with whisky, oats, rye and salt. There is a gap to the East.

I open the Temple.

I call the Quarters.- for me these are Lucifer, Belial, Leviathan and the Maori Death Goddess Hine Nui Te Po.

I speak to Odin:

All Hail Odin, AllFather, who hung on the tree Yggdrasil for nine days and nine nights and sacrificed himself to himself, in order  to bring us the wisdom of the Runes, Wanderer, Far seer, father of fury, dealer in ecstasy, shape shifter, master and mistress of transgression, rider of Sleipnir – I call you in the name of the Dragon, I speak to your dark power and I ask for your guidance in this my endeavour.  For I am NN, and I have dedicated my masculine form to you.

Pause.

I hail the Feminine Divine, by all her ancient names.  I hail Lilith, and the four Angels of Prostitution. I hail Tiamat, mighty ocean serpent in all her forms. I hail dark Hekate of the crossroads. I hail Astarte, my own dear Scarlet Woman. And now I call You, by the names of your previous incarnations. Inanna, Ishtar, Ashtartoth, Ashtarte,  Aphrodite,, Freyja, Epona, Brigid. I call the form across the threshold, traveller of Midgard and the Aether, dark eyed lass of the True North, own woman, into your own world. 

In the name of your True Self, I call the goddess Tracey Tempest.

Tracey Tempest enters holding collar.

We anoint the collar with blood and the rune Eihwaz.

TT says something like: This collar signifies.... By accepting this collar.....

I say: This collar signifies the importance of my relationship with TT. I accept the responsibility of pushing and controlling Tracey’s boundaries. I claim the right to sexual gratification from pushing and controlling these boundaries.

We pause to meditate on whatever gnosis is revealed to us.

We say: We declare this in the name of Odin, and in the presence of those entities who may help us and guide us.

I put the collar on TT.  I undo my fly to reveal my cock.

I say: In Nomine Draconis, in Nomine Serpens, for the Wolf and the Wyrm. And so it is.

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Here is my commentary, which I have also discussed with Jim. Firstly, it went well. The formal part of the ritual differed slightly from what is written above, but then they usually do. From Jim’s point of view, waiting outside the tent, as soon as I began to call the quarters the atmosphere became charged. When Tracey entered, a new virgin goddess, she looked both dignified and vulnerable, in black and white 1950’s swing dress with matching hand bag. Her collar was white leather trimmed with black, and her chain was long and silver. Writing anything in blood is a dodgy business but this time it was weird, trying to draw blood from Tracey, cutting her just enough to anoint the collar with her blood, drawing blood for the first time. After the formal part of the ritual I downed trousers without bothering to take them off, cut off Tracey’s panties with the ritual knife, and frankly pounded her. Jim said afterwards the sounds I made were not mine and not human. I certainly felt the God take over at times.

The owner of the venue asked me to perform some sort of blessing for his prosperity and success and so I smudged everything again and asked for a blessing. Our ritual was the first time he had hired the space, and he has now had some successful dance parties and BDSM events so I guess we helped a bit.

Sequelae – I warned Jim that he could experience sub drop, but also strange dreams and associations, and brief changes in mental state, that can come after any powerful piece of magic. He told me the next day he slept well. Very strangely, although there was blood on the collar, there were no marks on his shoulder where I had cut him. Tracey has now asserted herself fully in his life and we had a further outing where in male attire I led her, with collar and chain into a dance party. Tracey now has a blog and a Twitter account. She is manifest in the world. 

And as always, blessings on you, gentle reader

 

 

 

 

PROSTITUTION AS CIVILIZER: WE ARE THE DESCENDANTS OF SHAMHAT THE HARLOT

In the Epic of Gilgamesh, Enkidu is the wild man. He is a hairy, naked man of great strength and divine provenance, who lives with the animals at a water hole. People are frightened of him. Gilgamesh the King of Uruk is both concerned and fascinated. He appoints Shamhat the Harlot to tame him. Shamhat finds him by the water hole, with the animals, and strips before him. They spend six days and seven nights together in sacred sex. By the end of it, Enkidu has lost some of his physical powers. He can no longer run as fast as the animals, and his thinking has become wide and far seeing. The animals shun him. Shamhat has done her work as a woman does for a man, as the Epic puts it. She dresses him, teaches him how to drink wine. Enkidu grieves for his lost strength and innocence, but he has a purpose, now that he is fully human, to meet Gilgamesh, who has been dreaming of him, and confront him. 

Much of the ensuing Epic is about the bromance between Gilgamesh and Enkidu. It is seen as an allegory of the uneasy pairing of agriculture/the city/society/artifice and foraging/rural/solitude/nature. Shamhat, by making Enkidu fit for society, changes his body and his brain. She is the woman of the city, the woman of art, the prostitute. She is Babalon, the Red Goddess who faces savagery without repulsion, but with love and creativity. She is the fire of lust who ignites the desire for communion. 

Whores have always been civilizers, women of the city. I now present you with the worst segue ever as we cut to the Otago New Zealand gold rush of the 1860's. 

 Gold mining culture was overwhelmingly male. A 1962 estimate found 150 women to 11,500 men. Official attempts were made to import women, mostly as domestic servants to the middle classes, (you really couldn't get the help, you know) but also as wives. The idea was that women were a civilizing influence on the rowdy miners. Women worked on the gold fields as store keepers, bar tenders, miners - and working girls. Gradually the gold rush ended, cities sprang up on the wealth of the gold, and the sex ratio evened out. Shamhat had done her work again. New Zealand's wild west was won by women, among other things. Here is an amusing take on this, by Adam Ruins Everything, 'How Prostitutes Settled the Wild West'.

 https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=fMycRBIXTWk

Second worst segue ever. Cut to sex work today, and how Shamhat continues her work. 

I get a phone call. I tried to do anal on my girlfriend and she didn't like it, says a forlorn young male. You're doing it wrong, I reply. Come and see me and I will teach you. 

I don't even need to ask questions over the phone to know where he is going wrong. This poor young Enkidu of love needs some skill and some self discipline and to be shown how to work towards the spine, and how we have two sphincters. He needs taught. Men are not born knowing this stuff. We are not born knowing this stuff. We don't know that basic human urges can be transmuted into art, beauty, poetry in the sexual act.

Any good working girl has the wisdom of Shamhat. She will be a teacher, a coach and a counsellor. I worked with men who needed to know specific things, about themselves and their relationships. I worked with one man through the breakup of his marriage, his depression and his new bond with his children. I over and and over taught young men raised on porn about actual human bodies and their limitations. I blew minds, sometimes by doing things that seemed to me to be quite basic. I taught patience and discipline and confidence and respect. Sounds like I was a model of virtue!

Enkidu grieved the loss of his savagery and cursed Shamhat at the end of his long life. He was angry with Shamhat for making him soft, I guess. But also far-seeing and complex and reflective. When Shamhat pointed out to him that she had taught him the benefits of the human world, he saw reason, as he was now capable of doing. He blessed her and told her she would always be desirable. 

As always, blessings on you, gentle reader.

BODY FLUIDS - WELCOME TO THE PANGOLIN TRIBE

 

I can't drink coffee and the woman won't make no tea
I can't drink coffee and the woman won't make no tea
I believe to my soul sweet mama gonna hoodoo me

-                                                -  Blind Lemon Jefferson, ‘Blind Southern Blues’

For me, sexual fluids, blood and piss are sacred. I suggest you treat them the same way.

I have mentioned in previous posts the anthropology around this, but I will recap to make this post more standalone. A valuable take on this is still Mary Douglas’ ‘Purity and Danger’, her seminal (haha) work published in 1966. Following Durkheim, Douglas explores the notion of dirt and its cultural symbols. Two of her ideas are useful here:

1.     Dirt is something out of place. Ketchup is not dirt on your sausages but it is when it falls on the floor. Soil is clean in the garden but not on your shoes.

2.     Dirt is also something that is in between states. Here Douglas cites Sartre’s essay on stickiness. Stickiness is repulsive to us because it is in between a liquid and a solid. It is thus disconcerting because it behaves like neither. We do not know what to expect.

Something can be sacred in its place, when it does what is expected of it, and when it is considered clean. Something can be profane when it is where it shouldn’t be, or it is in between states.

Body fluids are not dirty when they are inside the body. But the body is porous and this is perplexing. Blood, piss and sexual fluids are problematic because they enter and leave the body. Menstrual blood is particularly so, for many cultural reasons but because it leaves the body spontaneously and is associated with other powerful and cultural ideas about fecundity and the traditional magic of women. 

Very problematic things can be both deeply profane and greatly sacred at the same time, or depending on what is done with them. Things of the body often fall into this category. The Aghori, Left Hand Path Sadhus of India, deliberately deal in defilement. They drag the bodies of dead humans from out of the River Ganges, which itself is holy, and eat them or sit on them and meditate. Some of the highest Tantric rituals involve ingesting the substances of the body such as faeces. Thus the Sadhu or Yogi develops a practice where to the pure, all things are pure, and transgression serves as sanctification. This is called antinomianism, and it is sometimes considered a theological ‘out’ for people to behave badly. Like, I am way too spiritual to obey your silly laws. However, true antinomianism is a discipline and involves doing things you don’t want to. It is not your desires that are sacred, but your actions, how you play with the substance of those desires.

It is not only the things of the body that can be problematic. Some things are anomalous in themselves. According to Mary Douglas, avoiding these anomalous things strengthens the definitions to which they do not conform. For the Biblical Hebrews, the codification in Leviticus of what can and cannot be eaten helped to set them apart from others during a time when their identity was under threat. They could eat animals that had cloven hooves and chewed the cud, for example, as these animals were considered wholesome and clean. But what about pigs, which had cloven hooves but did not chew the cud? These animals were to be avoided. Just as it was unclean to mix fabrics in clothes, it was unclean to eat ‘mixed’ animals.

The Lele people of the Congo dealt with the issue of anomalous animals in a different fashion, not simply by avoiding them. Their most problematic animal was the pangolin. It was neither one thing nor another, and in a structural sense it was seen as being in between states in the same manner as stickiness. The pangolin had claws, climbed trees, and had scales. Yet it was not like other animals which had these features. Snakes had scales, and the Lele did not eat things with scales so they did not eat snakes. But they did eat animals that climb and had claws. For them the pangolin was a bit like those body fluids that are both very sacred and very profane. So there existed semi-secret pangolin tribe of very high status men, who had fathered seven sons, and who engaged in certain rituals. They were the only ones allowed to eat the pangolin, and this expressed their power and influence as well as their innate magical ability to manage these dangerous contradictions.

So, welcome to the pangolin tribe. Because that is what we are, we magical hookers and happy bedroom magicians and vampires and Red Goddesses and Gods.  We manage dangerous contradictions and we deal in the sacred and the profane together. We are not disturbed by in-between states because we live there ourselves. We mix up our own weird stuff. We are a rare breed and we are powerful.

Of course we literally do deal with bodily substances and we do it safely so we and others are protected from disease. It is the cultural and symbolic element that makes it magickal. This is why we should respect body fluids. I suspect this is also why, in folk magick and hoodoo, body cast-offs such as hair, and blood, are used in spells. Or why poor Blind Lemon Jefferson couldn’t drink his coffee, because he feared his woman had put menstrual blood in it.

PISS

Urine is generally considered to be weaker magically than other body fluids, but I am mentioning it here first because it is such a common fetish for male clients. In magic, it is often considered along with other body fluids or just as something that might be more convenient or less noticeable than other more powerful things such as blood or sexual fluids. There are few rituals that use it alone. Although of course if you like it you could always make up your own! Notably, the psychoactive ingredients of the mushroom Amanita Muscaria don’t break down in the body and therefore it is possible to trip using the urine from humans or animals (often reindeer) who have ingested the mushrooms. I imagine sharing ‘shroom infused piss could have its magical aspect.

Urine used to be medicine, It was when early scientists discovered bacteria that urine came to be seen as dirty. Urine has been used for sores, burns, infections, nappy rash, ‘the vapours’ and to prep for surgery on battlefields. Science seems to come and go on its medical usefulness even now.

There is a correlation between healing and magic, as evidenced in our language. See above for the use of the Greek word pharmakon, for example. In a time when magic was what you did not who you are, medicine looked like magic and may have carried the same mystery, complexity and intuitive heft. And where there is curing, there is cursing. ‘All things are poison and nothing is without poison; only the dose makes a thing not a poison’ states Paracelsus, who was an alchemist as well as a chemist in the early sixteenth century.

If you treat piss as sacred you will see golden showers in a different light. You could consider it as a libation to a deity. Piss in a special consecrated vessel and offer it up. To yourSelf, your Goddess, the Earth, or your sexual partner or client. The showering aspect can also be treated as a purification rite. Let the piss flow over your body onto your roses!

SEXUAL FLUIDS

For the purposes of this book, sexual fluids are all sacred including yours. Treating them as such will incur the respect of any powers you work with, and does not undermine your safety. Infection control still applies.

In Tantra, the withholding of semen is a vital lesson for those who can produce semen. Cum-less orgasms are considered whole body/soul orgasms and are exercises in total control and self discipline. The metaphysical mixing of red and white, of cum and blood, or of male and female energies, creates the juice by which the kundalini snake rises from the sacral chakra where it lies, curled, and propels the yogi into enlightenment.

This is a lifetime study as I have mentioned before and I know little of it. Sex workers who claim to be tantrika often aren’t. It is worth examining such claims carefully. Learn what you can. Being mindful and intuitive and generically spiritual with your clients or partners is not tantra.

Tantra also falls prey to the binary tradition of male and female energies. I think real life is a lot messier than this, thank the Red Goddess. We are a mixture of energies and of course our first sexual experiences are usually solo. This sort of yoni and lingam stuff also makes no account of any other sexual experience than heterosexual. And traditionally it the male yogi who benefits.

I can say something about the power of sexual fluids and make some suggestions as to their quick and dirty use.

Sexual fluids are essential to anoint or consecrate magical tools, potions or general items. They are an intimate part of you, after all. They breached the body, they are indicative of those dangerous in-between states of things mentioned above. Many cultures consider them to be unclean. Use them to charge sigils (of more later) or place them directly onto your altar to indicate your magical intention. Drinking or eating them empowers you – you are literally empowering yourSelf. Ejaculate into a cup or your hand, or spread vaginal fluid onto a wafer, or lick it off your athame. Then charge it by dedicating it to the powers you work with, as part of a larger ritual or just by making a short punchy magical statement.  Then ingest it.  So mote it be, or whatever.

I have done this with clients, but it is the kind of thing that horrifies many men, and I am surprised who is shocked by this. Choose your partner wisely!

Now the endless debate – spit or swallow. Apart from the issue of infection control, I consider swallowing cum to be taking in a form of spiritual essence. In that sense it is vampiric. During my whoring days I would become empowered by it. If I did it several times a day, by the end of the day I would feel like more than myself. I would have had my share of oxytocin for sure. Take it in your mouth, and then dribble it into your partner’s mouth. If your partner has a penis, using your tongue, or a clean instrument such as a urethral rod, open out the eye of the cock and drip in the cum. Or blow it into their ass (gently, unless you want them hurt).  

These are simpler methods of an old magical practice. In that form of sex magic, the man charges his semen in the vessel of the woman’s cunt. Then he removes it from her, in that charged state, and uses it for his own purposes. It might be to make a magical ‘child’, which is often in more modern times considered to be a creative project rather than a literal child. It may be for his own magical ritual. The cunt (or the ass) is the vessel, but it is the ejaculating partner who takes the active role and is thus in charge of the charging, so to speak.

Austin Osman Spare, an early twentieth century magician who is sometimes considered the founder of chaos magic, developed a solo version. He made clay vessels with narrow necks into which he could ejaculate. He buried the vessels, adding to their contents from time to time. He maintained that these vessels provided effective magical power.

I am suggesting something different. In the examples given above, the woman, or male bottom, or any bottom, is not just the vessel. They have taken the essence of the male, and they do with it as they choose. Receptivity is not passivity. Taking his essence puts you in charge, because you’ve got it and he hasn’t. The other aspect of this is your own fluids are also in magical play here. This is a mixing of fluids, essences or vital forces.

I don’t have experience of this sort of sexual fluid magic from an LGBTQI+ point of view. However I did practise magic with a gay male friend and the sense I had of how he worked was that by alternating topping and bottoming it is possible to get the same sense of balance that is more obviously attainable by people of opposite identifying sex.

BLOOD

Use your blood in magic for anointing precious objects, tools or sigils. Blood is a sacrifice, in that you are giving up part of yourself in order to gain passage to non-ordinary reality. Nightside entities are particularly interested in it. It can also be used in potions and in the folksier types of magic to influence people without consent.

Use only a drop. It’s your blood after all. Don’t give away too much of it. Use a diabetic lancet and just prick a finger.

This sort of blood sacrifice must be distinguished from self-harm. If you harm yourself by cutting, you risk developing an unnecessarily complicated relationship with blood work. Self-harm by cutting changes your state of consciousness by releasing hormones such as dopamine and anandamide. Letting out a drop of blood to anoint a sacred object does not in itself change your state of consciousness. It is the dedication of it to the work at hand that does that. You might say that it is the conscious willingness to make the sacrifice that does it. Blood sacrifice should be self-limiting unless there are particular reasons to give more blood. There are reasons, for example making art or writing, but in general a drop is sufficient. 

OTHER THINGS

Some people use spit as a magical fluid. Blind Lemon Jefferson's woman could have spat in his drink. Think of the associations of contempt we have with spit. 

Some use breath, which contains and symbolizes our life force. Breathing on an object is sometimes done. 

Shit - no. I can imagine this as a great test of the magician's ability to break taboos. It can also be a sexual fetish. But really, no.  

The principle here is that magical toggle between sacred and profane. This is best done with respect, for the deities or powers you work with, the fluid or material itself, and for yourSelf. 

As always, blessings on you, gentle reader.

THE DAUGHTER OF LILITH: TWO EROTIC STORIES

 

A LITTLE FEROCITY

I first caught sight of him in my mirror, when I was at the vertical pull down. He was a big, blond man with shaggy hair and a shy grin. He was working his pants off, and I soon saw why. His personal trainer stood behind him, and as he straightened up she put her finger tips lightly on his back, to check his posture. She was endearing. He was endeared. He sweated for her. He did one more for her. When he stopped, collapsing on the bench, he raised his eyes for her approval, and looked boyishly delighted when she smiled at him. She in turn chatted, sat with him, made him squirm. Despite his loose shorts I could see he dressed to the left.

I’d been playing Watain’s ‘All that may bleed’ through my headphones so I could not hear their talk. Not that I cared – it was the body language that had me intrigued. He’s a sub, I thought, clearly, even if he doesn’t realise it. If she gets it even slightly right, she could do anything to him with a firm voice and the promise of a smile.

Today, watching them, I felt wicked and powerful. Perhaps I could do a little Lesser Black Magic. Perhaps, using only my will and a focused imagination, I could make shit happen. I changed the music to Ordo Equilibrio’s Walpurgisnacht, and spoke to Lilith, great demon goddess of all succubi, with words I will not here reveal. My man was on his hands and knees (bless him!) on a bench with his cute little mistress at his side. By now I was behind the couple, pedalling on the static bike. I focused on his ass. I watched how his buttocks moved. I imagined the crevice, the blond hairs around his perineum, his puckered anus. I visualised a black glass dildo, with a spiral screw – nothing too intense, it might be the poor darling’s first time. I formed the dildo carefully in my mind, in all dimensions, and then mentally slid it into him.

He winced, and reached around, and adjusted his shorts. The magic had worked.

Now I focused on her. There had to be a sexy gym instructor mistress archetype to tap into. Lilith, awaken her. Make her fierce of eye and harsh of hand. Teach her to demand her due, to bestride her man, to fulfil her own desires. I formed in my mind the image of her, sweet, freckled, brunette, slim arms and strong legs. I dressed her lovingly in low cut leotard and tights, and gave her a cat o nine tails to play with. I cast the image into her etheric double, and then I did nothing at all. I finished my workout, and went for my shower.

After I came out, I walked past an alley at the back of the gym. There they were. He knelt on the ground in front of her. She had a foot on his back, and a hand in his hair, holding his head very firmly in position. Of course he had one hand steadying himself and the other reaching up to stroke her breast. Of course he was licking her delectable cunt. Of course he was as hard as he could be, and pre cum was dripping on the concrete. He brought his hand down to touch his cock, and she did what any jealous goddess would do. She kicked him in the face. He groaned, perfectly poised between pleasure and pain. He was going to go home, frustrated, desperate, and owned.

I walked on. My work was done.

 

 

GYM MISTRESSES

My gym is the old fashioned sort, with a locker room. The showers are cubicles, but the locker room is communal with a wall of lockers and a long slatted bench. So here is the scene.

It's just on closing time, and I have seen no one else in the workout room. I emerge from my shower wrapped in my damp towel. She is there, in the locker room, my sweet daughter of Lilith I had so shameless manipulated into a snarling domme. a few days beforehand. She is standing over him, the nice, blond young blond man she'd kicked in the face last time I saw him. He is on his back, lying strapped to the slatted bench, at about knee height. He is already sweating, and hard. I mean he is sweating hard, bless him.

I say baldly, is this your slave? May I talk to it? You. The noise, you can stop that. I will shut you up.

I straddle his head, cup it in my hands, look into his eyes and sit on his face. He shuts up all right, especially when I pinch his nose. When he gasps, I grind. His face, my cunt, slick wet, he finds my clitoral hood piercing and tongues it. I let him.

His cock is erect. Daughter of Lilith, I suggest, give it a slap will you honey. Again. Good. I move back and we stand on each side of the nice young man, where he can see us kiss, and gently stroke each other's breasts. Hers are small and an adorable mouthful. I bite her nipple and she lays her head into my shoulder with a sigh. I run a hand down her hip and she parts her legs slightly for my fingers. Briefly, I am in love.

He's watching us, the sick bastard. This time It is I who slaps his cock down. Lilith's daughter sits astride him, facing his feet. She's getting the hang of this. He rims her. He has no choice. His tongue pokes her little pink anus. She hovers above him, so he has to work at it. He wants her pussy. He can see it glisten.

I punch his cock, a little, and hold his balls in a nice squeeze. I want him hurt, but still functioning. I run my hand up and down his cock. It's a pretty one, I give him that. Not long, but veined and very hard. I think the Daughter is about to orgasm. He's licking her pussy now, and she's leaning forward, displaying her clit, as he flicks it with his hard working tongue.

As I watch I discover almost unconsciously I have two fingers in my own cunt. I am over this. I think I need this cock, now. I bear down and ride him. I don't care if he cums. Let him, the poor dear, he has earned it.. As have I.

I lick it off his stomach, and hold it in my mouth. I lean over and kiss her, and transfer it to her mouth. We have the perverse joy of mutual swallowing. And now the poor dear belongs to both of us.

SHOWING THE IMPLEMENTS

I was an Amnesty International supporter for many years and wrote enough letters for many a despot to quail in their boots. So plainly I oppose political torture of any sort.

Sexual torture, when safe, sane and consensual, is a different matter. With the right amount of mind fuck, it can be an act of magic. Here I have taken advice from the experts and this is a useful old trick from the CIA which I enjoyed immensely.  

Show the implements. I am back to the idea of fear vs dread, which I mentioned previously. You want to arouse dread in your sub, the kind that cannot be adjusted to, the constant mind fuck of unpredictability. Working with dread keeps both of you on your toes. You need a keen mind, an ability to be flexible and mentally nimble, and in this case you need a range of implements. Showing your implements lets the future unfold for your sub right in front of their eyes. And it is nasty! As well as unpredictable. Let the sub choose from a range of implements, for example choosing one of two canes or one of three dildos. Then you use the one they didn't choose. This gives them the illusion of control, and then dashes it. Because in the end, who has control? Who decides? Mistress decides. Oh yes, Mistress always decides.

Implements from sex stores or websites are often pretty but not very effective, especially for the experienced masochist. As I often say, no one wants the small one twice. So you need a range, and home made or improvised is often best. Because I specialized in cock and ball torture, the most extreme things I ever used were a palm sander and a cheese grater. Use clothes pegs for nipple clamps; they are much fiercer. The fun comes when you take them off. 

In some cases it is not safe to improvise. I would not recommend anything that splinters or comes apart if inserted. Implements must be able to be disinfected using proprietary toy cleaner or Oxyvir.  Urethral sounds or electrical toys are best bought from sites you trust. It is worth asking wise subs what their worst mistakes were. For example, do not insert an egg whisk in your ass. Don't insert anything you aren't certain about getting out. 

Here is a poem about implements. 

IF I REALLY LIKE YOU

If I really like you
I will hurt you

I will be your kitchen witch.
I will hurt you with
The wooden spoon
The box grater
The sharpest knife.

I will be your handy man.
I will hurt you with
The plunger
The screw driver
The electric sander.

I will be your woods woman.
I will hurt you with
Wasps
Ropes
Nettles.

I will be your fashionista.
I will hurt your with
My belt
My highest heel
My chains.

But only if I really like you.

As always, blessings on you, gentle reader. 

THE COMPASSIONATE VAMPIRE

     'Christ is coming, and so am I'

                    - Puscifer 'Rev 22:20 Dry Martini Mix'

 He's a big man, in his forties, a project manager for a building firm. His dusty boots and high viz vest are in my porch. He is standing naked in front of me. His eyelids flutter, eyes half closed. His whole body shudders in anticipation. I step towards him, slow and measured, high heeled. I am holding a trouser hanger with large metal clips. The clips are set at the width of his chest. I clamp each clip to each of his nipples. He groans and steadies himself with a hand on the wall. 

Power sheets off him; there is so much of it, it caresses my skin. I can almost see it. He is a man of huge vitality.

I take hold of the trouser hanger and lead him into the bedroom. He is a happy mess and I am a happy vampire. 

By the end of our session, for which the nipple clamping is only the start, he is a different creature. He is relaxed and calm. He is clearer in his thinking. His smile is gentle. I have drained the fuck out of him, and he is the better for it. 

One of my clients said to me 'I would date you, but you would leave me a husk'. A husk! A little Qliphotic reference if he only knew it. I laughed at that. 

In the magical community, vampirism is often considered to be a Bad Thing. Excuse me a minute while I roll on the floor laughing. It is all about ethics. Taking someone's power without consent comes with consequences. All magic comes with consequences. All magic involves power and all magical relationships involve the exchange of power. My project manager did not consent to having his power drained. I didn't say, and by the way, I will drain you. But there are always unpredictable elements in the sexual exchange that you can't consent to beforehand. If I took too much power, or was too rough with it, I would not have repeat clients in my whoring practice. If I misused the power I got there would be consequences. I absolutely don't believe in the law of three or any of that Wiccan stuff. There is no need to gloss this stuff. There are always consequences.

By power I mean something like energy but a bit more positive, something like life force or vital force or mauri (in Maori) or megin (in Old Norse). The channeling of power is a major part of magic of course and in sex power is always manipulated and usually exchanged. It is just that most people don't know that. 

It is a bit of a cliche that men in positions of temporal power are more likely to be submissives or masochists. It seems to be true. I like masochists. I really like masochists. They are usually intelligent and insightful and they generally take good care of themselves. I have said before that anyone in the BDSM world is already ahead of vanilla people in terms of self knowledge. Masochists are my favourites. 

Some people have too much power, especially men. If they don't take good care of it and let some go from time to time, it goes bad on them. I imagine such men can become cruel or violent. A delicious flogging or an exquisite nipple clamping with truly ferocious implements can do wonders for power in a man. It can drain of the excess and keep it all flushed out and freshened up. A serious draining does such men a favour.

After such a session I would have more power, of course. Even outside of frank BDSM sessions, I could end up buzzing with it after a day of whoring. I was a happy little vampire. I then had the responsibility of dealing with it. Used for self care or for helping a distressed client or friend, a bit of extra power is a fine thing. Checking chakras for blockages, making sure everything flows and glows nicely.

If you have too much power, for example after a stonkingly hefty ritual or some brilliant love making or from exercise or music, here are some good ways of letting it go. They are essentially the same techniques as for any grounding. 

Dance. Eat something. (Food is usually wordly, profane or noa [in te reo Maori]). Go on all fours and let power drain into the earth. Walk bare foot in grass or water. Wash your hands. Get a good flogging or some cock and ball torture (lol!). 

And as always, blessings on you, gentle reader.