Sex Magic

A Tale of the Ancient Art of Sex Magick; or, The Strange Story of Peter and Celeste

He started the hot water flowing in the shower stall and turned to face the woman standing behind him, waiting expectantly. Gently grabbing her by the shoulders, he slowly turned her around and, forcing her to bend slightly at the waist, pushed her firmly against the shower wall; her permissive passivity simultaneously spurring and turning him on. Her arms were thrust out in front of her, palms flat against the tile wall, ass stuck out with her legs spread slightly, as he carefully forced his stiffened cock between the moistened lips of her vulva and

slooowly

pushed deep inside of her.

"

Mmmmmmmmm

, Peter" she purred melodically and he just couldn't help but let a smug little grin settle comfortably on his face. They were both stark naked, standing directly in the path of steaming hot water pouring from the chrome shower-head, and her full breasts began to sway lasciviously back and forth as he immediately started pounding furiously away at her pussy.

With each thrust she let out a steady "uhh" and, as he started moving faster, she pushed against the shower wall, forcing him further into her, filling her completely, stretching her vaginal wall to the very limits; her pelvic muscles tightening around his throbbing cock; clenching,

grabbing,

squeezing

his dick, like she wanted to hold on and never let go; the guttural sounds were issuing from her in a soft and steady stream now.

Closing his eyes, he leaned his head back, focusing intently on the entire length of his dick, feeling every inch of it as he – BAM! - pushed violently into her, pulled out, and – BAM!! - slammed forcibly back in again – her own thrusts in perfect synchronization with his own - moving in and out so quickly that he could already feel the euphoric sensation in his groin creeping steadily and inexorably towards an explosively massive crescendo.

She was coming repeatedly now and kept shouting "Yes!!" so frequently and with such fervor that it drove him

mad

with desire! It felt like his cock was

actually

swelling a little bit bigger with each violent stab, forcing so many beautifully lustful noises to flow freely from somewhere deep within her porcelain throat. As he began to reach climax he immediately withdrew from her, his firm grip now providing the necessary rhythm, and nuzzled up to the gentle curve of her creamy buttocks.

With his smoothly shaven scrotum nestled gently against the divide of her cheeks; eyes still shuttered tightly and teeth clenched in focused concentration; fist pumping forcefully against his thrusting pelvis, squeezing firmly around his cock as it swelled generously within his zealous grip; he slowly and quite deliberately discharged his warm sperm across the small of her back, the whole while grunting in tandem with the rhythmic spurts of semen bursting – indeed,

EXPLODING

- from the head of his pulsating dick.

Wave upon wave of pearly white jizz, working in concert with the overwhelming tide of pure ecstasy washing over his very soul, erupted from the mouth of his cock; not just amassing a sticky pool of pale molasses on her backside, but some globules actually getting as far as her middle back and onto her shoulder-blades.

Finally, after his seed had been thoroughly and utterly spent, yet before the pleasantly seismic convulsions in his cock had started to subside, he slowly let his shoulders sag as he let out a

loooong

, quiet sigh of satisfaction. He was dimly aware that the fingers of his free hand had found their way to his chest and were playfully fondling and caressing the erect nipple there; his other hand, of course, was wrapped tightly around his meaty shaft, amazingly still hard. With his mind's eye he could see a long, thin, gossamer strand of come - running from the puddle of sperm collected at the summit of her coccyx to the slick tip of his dick - connecting them together in the eternity of the moment as it wavered lazily in the steamy air just a split-second before it snapped in half and cut them off from each other.

Peter wearily opened his eyes, letting the hot water cascade over him, and looked down at his slowly deflating penis, still grasped tightly in his fist. "Jesus," he whispered, trying to slow his breathing, "that was one hell of an orgasm". He thrust his hands in the shower water, washing away the excess come. The woman didn't respond; but then, Peter had never expected her to. The woman, you see, had vanished.

Well ... to be a little more precise, she had never actually

been

there in the first place, being nothing more than a mere figment of his imagination – and a very

good

one, at that. But the woman, Celeste, was very much a flesh and blood person and he knew where she was ... or rather where she was going to be. Later that evening – in a few hours, in fact - she was going to be at the bar where her fiancé's band was playing ... and Peter was supposed to meet them there. Thaaaaaat's right, ladies and gentlemen, her

fiancé

. Peter, however, had never actually had sex with her (only in his boundless and vivid imagination) but he knew from watching her almost every weekend for the last year that she was every bit the wild vixen that she purported to be.

He grabbed the bar of soap from the soap-dish and smiled, thinking of her again. He had never before, until recently, masturbated while daydreaming about any of the women he knows personally (he always just fucked them if they would allow it - and if they wouldn't ... ehh,

fuck

'em) but there was just something different about this one.

Every time her seductive form materialized in his mind, all the blood from his brain would course directly to his dick, and he wouldn't be able to think clearly until he could "relieve the resulting tension"; so, whenever it was convenient, he would jerk off excitedly while gleefully picturing her, say, choking greedily on his sumptuous cock, gluttonously devouring the thick flood of warm, salty sperm flowing smoothly down her throat as he furiously unloaded his essence directly into her.

His penis, now largely flaccid, moved ever so slightly.

Lately he's found himself entertaining the notion that she just might be interested in him ...

may

be. And he desperately wanted to believe that she

was

interested, because somehow, inexplicably, he had managed to convince himself that not only might she be willing to engage in something similar to the pounding fuck-under-a-steady-barrage-of-hot-water he had just envisioned, but that she might actually be excited by the prospect of performing some of the lewder acts from the carnal depths of his imagination.

He slowly turned the bar of soap around in his wet hands, building up lather, thinking. Well, he hadn't

quite

convinced himself of it, but he really did believe that he could use his charms to get her to like him ... in friendship at the very

least

, if sex was irretrievably out of the equation.

Because, even though she's so unbelievably erotic and sensual, even though she has the ability to effortlessly command his complete attention whenever she's near, even though his hard-on intensifies by at least 10 percent whenever she even looks in his general direction, let alone directly at him; all he

truly

wants is to talk to her and get to know her a little bit better. For all her exotic beauty and irresistible sex appeal, she actually seems like an interesting person, and ... yeah, yeah - blah, blah, blah –

bullshit

! While there was

some

truth in all that, he had to admit that he

mostly

just wanted to fuck her ... and I mean fuck her

gooooood

. And he

knows

he could do it, too, given the chance. And he's certain – no, make that

positive

– that she wants to fuck him as well.

The sound of the shower spray reverberated loudly in the small bathroom, as he absently ran the bar of soap up and down his chiseled arms, under his armpits, his smile slowly giving way to a small frown. Aww hell ... he had to face up to the facts - she never even gave him the time of day. In fact, it was likely that she wasn't even aware that he existed at all.

He considered this for a moment.

No ... that wasn't exactly true, he thought, as he swiftly scrubbed the soap across the washboard surface of his well-toned abs. He

has

caught her, on several occasions, looking at him with what he can only describe as cautious scrutiny, the faint suggestion of a smile hiding somewhere on her lips, looking at him like she's carefully studying him, curious – liking what she saw, but wanting to know more ... or maybe just letting him know that she's aware of him, biding her time, waiting for him to make his move - with a subtle hint of invitation, and all the possibilities that implied, lurking deep within her cobalt eyes; perhaps even wondering just how brash and bold this cute guy might actually be. And she

has

spoken to him - a number of times – although he had to admit to himself that it was usually when she was merely letting anyone within earshot know every

exhausting

detail of her life. The woman could certainly talk an awful lot about herself.

But, he remembered, she's engaged to that worthless piece of shit, Joe Killian, the singer in that talent-less band he was going to see later that evening. He never much liked the guy (or the band) but Joe had asked him for some help mixing the band's sound and Peter needed the extra money; anyway, it was an opportunity to see Celeste. And he was fairly certain that she'd never cheat on the guy

anyway

, for

some

strange reason – he's overheard her say as much to all the poor bastards who inevitably accost her wherever she goes, to no avail (but not before getting a free drink out of 'em, though).

He just couldn't figure out what the hell she

saw

in the guy in the first place, that's all. Well, maybe the guy has a really big dick or something, he pondered half-jokingly - who knows? Peter chuckled slightly as he contemplated that. Well ... certainly

Celeste

would know.

At this, he furrowed his brow and listened to the droning hiss of the falling water as he tried, unsuccessfully, to keep an unpleasantly vivid image from forming in his mind; one in which Celeste, wide-eyed with disbelief, her mouth hanging slightly open and locked in a small smile of astonishment, waits in eager anticipation for that asshole to slide an obscenely enormous (

nooooooo

- it couldn't be

that

big!) cock between her legs.

This uncomfortable thought sat uneasily in his mind for about half a minute. Naaaaah, Peter finally concluded, the guy doesn't

have

a big dick; he just

is

a big dick and

she

can't tell the difference. He would, therefore, just have to get her to

see

the difference. He laughed aloud this time.

But the truth was, she mostly just seemed unaware of (or indifferent to) his very presence. So, simply put ... he just didn't have a fuckin'

clue

whether she was interested in him or not - but being an optimist at heart, he trusted his instincts and hoped for the best. Besides, he told himself, running the bar of soap in lazy circles across his broad chest and feeling slightly better, it would be difficult to be friends with a woman if you're constantly picturing her with your cock stuffed deep in her mouth.

A mischievous smile spread slowly across his face as

this

vivid image began to take root in his mind. He felt a pleasantly familiar pressure building deep in his groin and, still grinning wickedly, looked down at his ballooning penis, a hard-on of massive proportions (at least for his modestly average size) growing quickly in both length and girth. Damn, he was ready to go again! But he wasn't really surprised much by that; Celeste

always

had that affect on him - just

thinking

about her, and he's up-and-at-'em, ready to fuck.

And that, he proudly mused, is a trick that has often come in handy in the past. After he's finished banging some randomly-chosen drunk chick that he'd managed to convince into fucking him and he's already shot his wad all over the poor girl's tits, but still feels that she needs to experience more, all he has to do is picture Celeste, say, straddling him, riding him cowgirl-style, lustily impaling herself repeatedly on his swollen cock, yelling his name over and over again at the top of her lungs between multiple shouts of "Oh dear God" and "Oh sweet Jesus", her sweat-glistened breasts jostling up and down in syncopated rhythm with her forceful, downward thrusts, and suddenly ... he's good for at least another half-hour or so, give or take. Sometimes, having a good imagination can

really

pay off. Well, he still had some time before he had to meet them and he was getting hornier by the minute, sooooooo ... deciding to put his imagination back to some good use, he put the bar of soap back in the soap-dish and gently began stroking his rock-solid cock.

Celeste lay stretched out on the sofa in her living room, watching T.V., wearing her favorite black laced panties, no bra, just a concert t-shirt with the rock band's logo pulled taught against her ample breasts. She delicately fondled a hardened nipple, poking roughly into the fabric of her shirt, as she fondly thought about the cute guy she'd seen at the bar the other night; the one who wouldn't – no ...

couldn't

- take his eyes off her. She smiled, thinking of him again.

This particular guy from the other night, she couldn't remember his name, he was a funny one. Not funny like he made her laugh (which he didn't), but funny in a ridiculous sort of way. Like the way he had gotten all excited when she'd smiled and accepted his drink offer, as if he'd thought he was going to get lucky right there and then on the bar itself, while the bartenders, waitresses, and patrons looked on.

She remembered thinking that she'd have a little fun with him then, so when she asked him if he wanted to dance and he had blurted out a drunkenly exuberant "Absolutely!" she was pleasantly rewarded with the sight of him practically falling all over himself, leading her by the hand to the makeshift dance floor in front of the stage.

From there it was easy. Flashing him her most winning smile and giving him a look she was

sure

he saw as a prelude to some impending sexual encounter of the first kind, she proceeded to bump and grind, like she was performing a striptease: hypnotically shaking her luscious tits in his face to the driving beat of the music, accentuating the enticingly deep crevice of her cleavage whenever possible; rubbing her shapely ass into his crotch, feeling through her thin skirt his

tremendous

hard-on pressing roughly into her; allowing his hands to move freely up and down the delicate curves of her waist and hips, a goofy smile plastered on his face the whole time, surely realizing that she wasn't wearing any panties.

All the while Joe was watching from the stage, giving her a knowing smile, aware that she was just having a little harmless fun, secure in the knowledge that she only had eyes for him. And she had to admit to herself that it

was

fun; she just

loved

flirting with men ... or "playing" with them, as she liked to think of it - in fact, she

lived

for it. They just didn't always realize that it was

just

that: flirting. And Joe, bless his heart, didn't seem to mind much at all - hell, being in a band, he had all sorts of girls throwing themselves at

him

every time he sang; she felt, then, that she should be able to enjoy the advances of men just as freely and wantonly.

But there

were

limits, of course; she knew Joe would never,

ever

cheat on her, just as she would never even

think

of cheating on

him

. She just liked the attention men showered on her, that's all; it made her feel irresistible ... and powerful. And men were

always

showering her with attention.

Well, finally there was the inevitable mix of surprise, confusion, and hurt on the guy's face (with, most likely, a fair amount of anger thrown in for good measure) when, after the song had ended, she politely said "Thanks for the drink", then, as an after-thought, added "Oh ... and the dance, too", turned to her fiancé on stage, blew him a kiss and yelled "I love you, honey!" so the entire bar could hear, and sashayed over to the table where her girlfriends were sitting, trying unsuccessfully to hide their amusement at the whole spectacle.

This was one of several time-honored "games" she would "play" with the multitude of men who hit on her in the various dives that Joe's band played in around town. If the guy got

too

pissed off about it, all she'd have to do is tell Joe and he'd take care of it (usually just glaring at the guy was sufficient; Joe was pretty big, muscular), but this guy just sort of -

collapsed

- in disappointment and sulked off to lick his wounds.

Her smile faltered slightly as a momentary twinge of guilt swept through her. And, she reminded herself, she

had

thought he was cute: those gorgeous eyes, his beautiful smile, that unbelievably tight ass. Even now, just thinking about him, she found that her hand had strayed down under her panties and was delicately massaging her ginger pussy, her moist twat tingling with the potential energy of a pent-up and powerfully potent orgasm just waiting for its chance to go off.

Slowly, reluctantly, she removed her hand from her panties and turned off the T.V. in mild disgust – there was just never anything

good

on! Getting up, she stretched her arms and yawned as she shuffled into the bedroom, thinking that she'd take a short nap and, afterwards, a shower before heading out to the bar for the evening. She sat down on the edge of the bed and thought again about the other night. That guy may have been cute, she told herself, but cute guys are a dime a dozen and

none

of them can compare with Joe.

Still stroking his hefty hard-on while picturing Celeste in various compromising positions, Peter closed his eyes and remembered, years ago, running into a guy he knew who had recently returned from a lengthy trip to the Far East (I realize that probably sounds a little odd, considering the circumstances, but bear with me). Now, lest one should raise an eyebrow at the mention of yet

another

male in the midst of an intrinsically heterosexual fantasy, the reason this particular man merits any attention at all is that he is the one who related to Peter the legends that still circulated in some parts of the Orient concerning certain mythical "lost" texts of ancient magical sexual techniques involving, among other things, something the writings referred to as "Astral Coupling" – or, loosely termed, long-distance sex.

Of course, Peter thought it was all bullshit, but the idea had intrigued him immensely at the time and ever since then he had wanted to give it a try - just for shits and giggles, as they say. His friend had said that the ancients used this technique (as well as others) to seduce women who were unattainable to the average mortal man: the wives and concubines of kings and emperors. Once the woman experienced this "psychic reaming", she would supposedly be driven to seek out the physical form of the spirit that had copulated with her and consummate the corporeal side of the relationship. All the man had to do then was make himself easy to find. Hell, as stupid as all that sounded, he was beginning to think that was probably the only way he could ever get into Celeste's pants. Therefore, it was worth a try.

From what Peter could recall, the required ritual was ridiculously easy. The basic idea was to clear the mind of all thought, save that of the woman to be seduced, and recite the appropriate incantations ... and that was all there was to it. But, what were the words?? It had been so long, he couldn't quite remember, but for some reason the phrase "kanar sudtraya" sprang immediately to mind. Yeah, he was pretty sure that was it. That was what his buddy had told him; just repeat the words "kanar sudtraya" over and over again, while mentally fucking the woman in every convenient orifice and in every conceivable way, until his astral spirit simply left his body. Well, that certainly

sounded

easy enough.