Excerpt

Isabelle stepped into her nest as she skimmed her hands down her body. It wasn’t perfect, but it would do...as long as she stayed out of sun without skin protection...and didn’t make sweets and junk food her primary diet. The last thing she needed was to have her hourglass figure morph into the size and color of a cherry red tomato. She might have more sand in her hourglass than some women, but at least she was mindful of how quickly that sand could shift.

Sitting cross-legged on the quilt, she crinkled open the brown paper bag that contained the items for the spell. The shop owner had been very specific that she not view the contents of the spell kit until she was ready to cast the spell. She then provided Isabelle with a list of other items to gather and placed the kit in her hands...but only after she’d extracted Isabelle’s promise to not peek into the kit. Now her heart thudded with excitement as she looked inside and found a white pillar candle, a bag of sea salt, a small box of matches, a packet of herbs, two small vials -- one green, one blue -- and handwritten instructions on thick yellow-brown parchment. Breath held, Isabelle reverently pulled the paper out. It was crisp and cool in her fingers. The edges were ragged and burned as if the page had come from an ancient book. She knew that wasn’t possible since the wording for her spell had been written at the top. Light cast shadows over the old-fashioned script and she smiled. The bold strokes were clearly written with a fountain pen.

Quill and ink.

She glanced around, unsure if she’d thought that or if the words pushed into her head from another source. She shrugged away the feeling of being watched. In all the years she’d been coming here, she’d never seen another soul, except the man who cared for the lawn. Back to the spell.

“It is important to conduct your casting at precisely midnight on the night of a clear, full moon. Failure to do so could result in the spell going awry. On the off chance the spell does execute despite any errors, the events will be short-term and negate further attempts at casting. Connect the votive candles by sprinkling a solid line of sea salt between each one,” she read aloud. “This will make your circle complete. Now light the candles. It is important to not leave the circle during your casting. If you must do so, clear a gentle path for yourself and then re-close it when you return. Much like a room, one cannot leave the circle without properly opening and closing the door.”

That made sense.

Isabelle weighed the bag in her hand a second or two, then poured the salt as directed. After lighting the eight candles, she picked up the instructions.

“Empty the herb packet into your bowl. Add enough water to create a thin paste. Let it steep while you continue with remaining preparations.”

She frowned. Didn’t steeping indicate the water needed to be boiled first? The instructions said nothing about hot water, and the shop owner told her to take along an unopened bottle of spring water. Isabelle also didn’t have anything other than her finger to stir the mixture. There was old silverware in the kitchen. She could use one of those spoons.

She scrambled to her feet to fetch one, then jerked herself back just in time. Leaving the circle without opening a “door” was a no-no.

Isabelle scanned her work thus far and decided her finger would suffice. She dumped the mix into her bowl, stifling a sneeze by pinching the bridge of her nose as particles drifted into her nostrils. The leaves soaked up the water instantly. No stirring required.

“Cool.” She dared a sniff. Mint wove a spell of its own around her.

“Open the green vial and rub oil thoroughly over all parts of your body that you are able to reach, ensuring extra care is given to all your erogenous zones.”

Her watch beeped. She unlatched it from her wrist and placed it beside her. Less than five minutes before midnight was here. Isabelle smeared oil down her neck, over and under her arms and legs, over her breasts, her stomach, her hips...and, lastly, her pussy. The excess on her hands she managed to wipe on her lower back. As she set the empty vial aside, a rush of warmth dusted over her skin, quickly followed by a tingly sensation in her nipples and clit. Both were hard and getting more so with every second.

She pressed her fingertips to her pussy to ease the sensation. It only made things worse. Isabelle jerked her hand free, crossed her legs, and snatched up the instructions.

“Rub the oil from the blue vial over the pillar candle. When sufficiently covered, insert it... You’ve got to be joking.”

Isabelle picked up the candle and began to wonder if she hadn’t been screwed out of twenty dollars. Now she knew one of the reasons why the shop owner wanted her to wait to open the kit.

Well, she’d had worse things up her cunt before. That frozen hot dog she’d tried once was an experience she never wanted to repeat. Isabelle thought it’d never thaw enough to pull out -- much worse than getting one’s tongue stuck on a metal ice cube tray. In any event, she was now beginning to ache so bad down there she needed relief of some kind. If she was screwed, she might as well get some enjoyment out of it.

She dutifully rubbed oil over the length, mesmerized by the feel of slick combined with hard, the cool that changed to warm. Her thoughts drifted into lascivious pursuits, fantasies dreamed of but never fulfilled, disappointment in lovers coupled with hope she’d one day get things right. It was her fault, they’d claimed. One part of Isabelle believed that, while another rationalized that since she could get herself off just fine, perhaps the fault was theirs.

Blood thrummed in her veins. A draft hardened her nipples. Her clitoris swelled while her pussy begged for the makeshift dildo inside it. When she’d emptied the vial of the last drop, Isabelle stretched back, thighs wide, and slid the candle against her crotch. Her labia grabbed it and sucked it deep inside. Her clit kissed the surface in what felt like little sucks. Contractions rippled inside her cunt, tightening and releasing in hope of an orgasm to clutch around the hard surface.

Impossible as it sounded, it felt like the candle was reshaping itself to conform to her needs. It filled her vagina, nudged her clitoris -- it took control.

Lost in the wonder, Isabelle pressed her fingers over her clitoris and  tossed her other arm over her head. Her fingers smacked against the parchment, reminding her of the instructions. She fumbled for the paper while she flashed mad circles over her slick clit.

Drain water from herbs into glass. Fill with water. At the first stroke of midnight, drink it all.

Isabelle crumpled the paper in her fist as orgasm seized her. It rolled through her like a giant wave. Her pussy muscles clamped down so hard on the candle, she knew she’d find marks on it when she finally pulled it out. She sagged into the quilt as the sensation eased from her. Somehow she forced herself to continue the spell. She left the candle in place -- at this point she wasn’t sure she ever wanted to remove the heavenly wonder. Her arms felt like noodles as she forced them to work, draining the herb concoction into her bottle.

Thumb over the top, she gave it a shake. The contents now shimmered like gold dust in the candlelight. She brought the top to her lips and waited. With the first beep of her watch signaling midnight, Isabelle chugged the contents...and tried her best not to spit it back out. Gone was the pleasant scent of mint. The concoction now tasted like...

“God, I hate licorice!”

She tossed the bottle away and wiped the back of her hand over her mouth. Don’t throw up. Don’t throw up.

The plastic clattered to the floor. She’d breached the circle.

“Aw, shit.”

Isabelle flopped back onto the quilt. The room spun around her, her stomach did flip-flops. She focused on the window, how the moonlight slanted shadows into the room. Another mistake slammed into her -- she’d forgotten to account for daylight savings time. Technically, it wasn’t midnight. It was...

Her body tightened again of its own volition, rolling her through another mind-bending orgasm. She fisted the quilt beneath her, thrusting her hips up to capture the moment.