The flame of the candle glimmered in the darkness of her bedroom. Becky shivered, naked, in the cool, air-conditioned air. Opening her drapes, the light of the full moon flooded through the window into the room, illuminating an irregular pattern onto the rug.
Positioning the black candle she’d found in Starr’s supplies on the cedar chest at the end of her bed, Becky shifted her weight on the mattress before striking a match. The smell of sulfur filled the night air along with the sudden flame.
Again, the illumination fell to the rug beside the bed, and her gaze was drawn to the odd pattern created by the panes of the window and the moonlight. Blowing the match out, she grabbed the candle, the paper, and the bell from the chest.
Stepping onto the rug and into the nocturnal glow, the moonlight bathed her bare legs with caressing silvery fingers, cool but exciting. She shivered; her nipples hardened. Not knowing why, exactly, she said, “This is where I need to perform the spell.”
Trying to remember all the instructions she’d read, she placed the items within an outline of the individual panes and drew an imaginary pentagram. Finally, she enclosed the entire setup within a circle. Taking care not to step outside the circle, she knelt and lit the candle.
For a moment, she didn’t know what to say. Passages from Hels Grimoire
filtered through her mind. The spells had been a mixture of different traditions and they had all been dark and frightening. The one, pertaining to what she wanted to accomplish, stood dominant in her mind’s eye. Taking a deep breath, she proceeded with an improvised version of some of what she remembered reading.
“Oh, great Universe, hear me. I am not a daughter of the dark, but I have a great need that my normal channels have not answered.” Becky hesitated, as a wave of sadness swept through her, but she continued, “Maybe I am unworthy because I desired the love from one who belonged to another.”
A mental picture of her mother’s laughing face appeared, quickly replaced by another, brutal picture of passion, betrayal, and death. Clenching her hands into fists, Becky closed her eyes and continued in a firmer voice. “I don’t know any more.”
Opening her eyes, she raised her face to the moon’s calming rays. “I only know I still need and desire the touch of a man. A man who can give me the kind of love that I witness in other couples. A man who can quench these wild, brutal desires I keep hidden in the deepest part of my mind.”
Her voice quavered. “Surely, with all the passion I have within me, there is someone out there in the universe who can share it with me and teach me what to do with the chaos that burns within my heart ...”
She dropped her chin to her chest. Tears, fat with inner torment, dropped from her cheeks and pounded the carpet like small torpedoes. “... and within my soul,” she whispered.
Several minutes passed with Becky in that position, still as a statue. Not a sound echoed throughout the house. Calm returned. She lifted her head. Holding the scrap of paper she’d cut down to size in the shape of a circle around the sigil she’d designed, she offered it to the unknown powers with which her sister communed on a regular basis.
“The energy I create tonight, I offer to you. With this sigil, create one who hears my need and knows my loneliness.”
Placing the scrap beside the candle, Becky sat back upon the rug. With grim determination, she pushed what nervousness and reserve she still harbored at what she was about to do down. She was tired of waiting for Prince Charming to ride up on his trusty steed, like all those sweet, magical fairy tales told her about. If white magic couldn’t give her what she needed, she was in such a state of mind that she’d try anything, including reaching out through a darker form of magick and grabbing what she wanted. The time for waiting was past.
With legs spread wide, Becky circled her clit with her fingers. A deep sigh of relief rose from within her chest, as spirals of need and pleasure spread throughout her body. Tense muscles relaxed and her vagina opened with a rush of juices that trickled down her cheeks onto the rug beneath her where she sat in the center of the pentagram.
Her tempo increased; her pelvic muscles clenched tight, released, and repeated. A shudder shook her body; her mouth parted on a moan of desire. Closing her eyes, a form in the shape of her sigil rose in her mind -- dark and masculine. She couldn’t see a face or features, but it didn’t matter.
Dipping her fingers into her pussy, she pushed as deeply as she could, feeling not her own hand, but a cock of the male-image in her mind. He was with her, possessing her, taking what he wanted and giving her what she needed -- fulfillment, union.
Strong hands gripped her shoulders, pushing her back against the carpet, as he thrust into her over and over. Her skin burned with the sensation of his mouth and teeth upon her skin.
A moment of fear speared through her, but Becky forced herself to relax and let what was happening happen. She tossed her head back and forth, writhing upon the carpet, allowing the figure from her mind to take control. She couldn’t move anything below her shoulders. It was as if something of great power held her down, keeping her in a position of his choosing. Taking what he wanted of her. She should scream, or fight, but, God ... it was so good.
The momentary fear of being restrained evaporated as wave upon wave of pure ecstasy pulsed through her body. It was unlike any orgasm she’d ever experienced, going through her entire body from head to toes and she wanted it to go on forever.