Wand Book and Candle Part 1
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Wand, Book And Candle, Part 4 free porn video
Wand, Book and Candle, Part 4
By Elliot Reid
The transformation slowed, the final change trickling into place. I
cocked my head at the caramel woman in the mirror and smiled a dazzling,
Colgate smile. My new face and figure was perfect in every detail, a
Xerox copy of the original. I was the spitting image of my new crush,
Tisha Williams.
I stared at my coffee-colored hands with their light fingernails, noting
the fine knuckle wrinkles. I then lifted my fingers to pat the frizzy
afro of Tisha's hair. She normally pulled it back and twisted on a
scrunchie to secure it into a black candyfloss blob. I did likewise. Now
my hands were free to explore Tisha's sensuous, swimmer's body. This was
the object of the transformation after all: to learn her physical
responses, to understand what turned her on.
My date with Tisha was on Saturday and I had every intention of sleeping
with her. But I needed to know how she ticked. I did this by becoming
her, or at least her doppelganger, for one night.
The very thought of being inside her skin was enough to make my cootchie
prickle. My hands started to caress my nude form, feeling out the muscle
of Tisha's athletic frame, while my lips smacked and my tongue ran
around my mouth, feeling unfamiliar teeth and tasting the bitterish
flavor of saliva I remembered from our last kiss.
It was weird to look at skin that was a light shade of chocolate. I now
had Tisha's mixed-race parentage. I wonder how the magic had rippled out
to fix that change in the world. Was mom now black? Was Dad?
I was too excited touching myself to be bothered to check. I was
learning how Tisha's tiny breasts felt when touched, from the delicate
undersides to the ticklish nipples, and what her wide, firm butt was
like when grasped and fondled. And as my hands slipped between my
powerful thighs, I discovered how her pussy felt when my fingers
deflowered her and started to stroke her moist spaces.
I slowly started to coax Tisha's body to orgasm, noting the sensitivity
of her boobs and the odd, sweet note that broadcast from her clitoris as
I thumbed it. Her pussy was not too tight, and I pushed two fingers
inside, hunting out the spongy area of her G-spot. The first time I came
I felt dizzy, as if bopped on the head with a fuzzy hammer. The second
time I felt like I was having to stop the urge to pee. When I relaxed I
was shocked by the juices that squirted out from my slit, soaking the
bed.
So Tisha could squirt? A small stream of fluid had spurted across the
sheets and the sensation it generated was incredible, making my body
spasm with pleasure. I flung down a towel to mop up the wetness, then
quickly went to work on my quivering clit, trying to see if I could do
that again.
The third time I orgasmed, the sap shot out almost a foot from my pussy.
That felt incredible and I was left panting on my bed, a sopping towel
between my legs.
I took time to recover and then went back to it again, probing, stroking
and feeling myself. Tisha's body was incredible. I couldn't wait to play
with the real woman.
*
In the dark, I poured earth onto the tiny, broken body of the cat. This
was the third I'd buried in the garden, the third whose life-energy had
been sacrificed to placate the wild magic. They had all been strays,
collarless alley-cats lured with the promise of food and then captured
and butchered according to ritual. They would not be missed.
I had some control of the magic now, each ceremony giving me a short
period of grace in which to safely work my wishes. I would walk barefoot
in a loose white dress around the concussed sacrifice, holding the two-
sided blade. I would slit its throat with one side of the blade and open
its belly with the other so that I could pull out the intestine, wash it
in wine and perfume, then burn it and breathe in the rich smoke. It was
a messy process. The blood was sticky and got everywhere, onto hands and
clothes. The entrails were not the only thing I'd had to burn, and I
started to buy cheap cotton nightdresses to perform the ritual in.
So far I had gone unnoticed, thanks to meticulous planning, ensuring
that Mom and neighbours were away or shielded from view so they could
not pry. But the difficulty of mounting a ceremony meant I was ever more
cautious over the choice of changes; less profligate with wishes.
A still, small voice inside mewled about the killing, raging at what I
was doing. But I no longer listened to it. My needs were greater, always
greater, my lusts insatiable.
I patted down the Earth, put away the shovel and padded inside, out of
the night, to have a shower and get the last of the blood off me. I
spent a long time under the water, letting it flow down my figure as I
tried to cleanse myself. There was always the small fear that there was
some Lady Macbeth stain or spot that couldn't be scrubbed away.
I was back in my own body now, my girl body, a form I'd refined over
numerous wishes until it felt like my natural form.
It was somewhere between the Olympian swimming champion I'd tried on
some weeks ago, and the Wonder Woman fantasy body. It was strong,
finely-muscled and taut. I'd kept Wonder Woman's broad-shouldered
hourglass, the dark hair and the chiselled face. My chest was more
modest than before, firm little B-cups with lovely, sensitive nipples.
Since changing back from Tisha's athletic form, the only addition I'd
made was her ability to squirt, which I was eager to try out.
It never occurred to me to change back to a boy. I enjoyed being a woman
too much. Even with all the crap that came with it, the bullshit I had
to cope with from guys, the way they talked over me, the way they
stared, I remained enchanted by my feminine form. I embraced its beauty,
poise and sensuality. I couldn't go back to being a man again.
Dad had an alternative explanation he gave me in a phone call two weeks
previous.
"You have come to the Tabernacle," he told me cryptically over the
phone. "Between right and left the bride approaches, in holy jewels and
festive garments"
"Which means what, Dad?" I asked, baffled.
"It means you have come into the presence of divine creation. You embody
it as a woman."
"You mean, I want to have babies?"
"Maybe. More like that you are creative. You are drawn to that aspect of
existence. Your life describes a narrative."
"Please talk straight, for once, Dad! I really need explanations! I need
to understand what is happening!"
"There are no explanations, daughter. Only meanings to find for
yourself. This is your story. I'm just a player in it."
"You say I'm in a story?" I said, infuriated.
"You are making one, yes. You are plotting a narrative. Only you can
divine the meanings and morality of it."
I took a deep breath, mind whirling. "Do I have free will in this story
or am I being puppeted?"
"Both, probably. I cannot be sure. If the story has a moral then you may
be a victim of your own free will. Your choices mean that your options
narrow."
"This makes no sense!" I shouted. "You are saying I'm trapped inside
this story? Some Kabbalistic metaphor?"
"That is one way of describing it, yes. Stories exist for us as a lens
through which we interpret the world. We turn to them to educate us, or
for moral guidance."
"There's a moral to what I'm doing?"
"Maybe. Maybe you will come out of this changed. Come out of this
wiser."
"I'm already changed. What is there left?"
"That's for you to find out. But have you not already learned
something?"
"I'm not sure I follow."
"What have you wished for?"
"I changed my body. Became a girl."
"Yes, you could have wished for wealth, riches, the world on a platter
and all you have asked for is to make yourself the person you want to
be."
I sat, shocked at the revelation.
"All else is trivial," Dad went on. "This magic is about shaping
yourself."
*
Helena. My name is Helena. It always has been.
Strange. I had wished for a new name to replace the awful feminized
version of Scott, my male name. The magic had spread its ripples across
the world so that everyone I knew remembered me as always being Helena
and cheerfully called me that. But like my unfamiliarity with each new
body I changed into, the name hadn't quite stuck in my head. When people
called out to me, it took a few moments before I realized who they were
referring to.
It had to be a Greek name, of course. I named myself after Helene of
Sparta, of Troy, of the Judgement of Paris. She who is the shining one,
the torch, the Moon, depending one which interpretation you read. I
liked the conjunction of Helene with Selene. It seemed appropriate,
connected to whatever Moon-magic had changed me.
I was now cycling down towards Tisha's house, wind whipping my hair
across my face. Scrunchies were never a hundred percent successful at
ponytailing my raven hair back. I thought I should get it cut, though I
didn't think a pixie cut would go well with this powerful body.
Meghan knew nothing of any of these changes.
"When can we start using the magic again?" she asked me with
increasingly annoyed regularity.
"I still haven't figured the code," I lied. The spellbook was in Greek,
in Dad's small, round hand, and I could read it perfectly, but I told
Meghan it was an alphabetic code that I hadn't yet cracked.
I think Meghan suspected I was lying so that she would stay trapped in
the willowy form the wand had given her. She was starting to get more
and more irritable toward me.
She was unaware of a little piece of magic I'd performed that made her
eyesight worse so that she needed glasses. The black plastic frames she
now wore gave her a hot librarian look.
I was secretly excited by the thought of being able to take away
Meghan's faculties. It thrilled me to inflict this small disability, to
demonstrate my control over her. I wondered what else I could do. What
if I robbed Meghan completely of her sight, made her a blind waif
dependant on my guiding hand? What if I took away her power to walk? I
had an image in my head of Meghan as a cripple girl in a wheelchair and
felt aroused by the thought of her vulnerability. I shook my head and
made that tempting thought disappear.
Though I refrained from making Meghan lame, I'd made a small change to
her demeanour, so that she became horny at the thought of being bound.
This led to an incredible afternoon of costume play, in which she'd
donned her Supergirl skintights while I dressed in a latex Catwoman
costume and tied her to the bed. The roleplay turned her on,
particularly when, in character, I pretended to use Kryptonite to rob
her of her powers.
As Meghan squirmed on the sheets, I'd unsnapped the crotch of her
spandex costume then bent down, my catsuit creaking, to kiss her
clitoris, my soft lips on hers, tasting her sex, before starting to lap
at her slit. I was enjoying the embrace of the black latex suit, with
the heels and mask. It was so stretchy over my talcumed body. It clung
like a second skin and made me feel shiny and sexy. As I ate Meghan out,
I used a spare hand to stroke my rubbered pussy. The sensation was so
erotic I came quickly; not a great orgasm, but the peak and relaxation
of a small climax that I could build upon.
In the roleplay I licked the bound Supergirl into a passionate
surrender, her will broken, made into my slave. After she had whimpered
her submission to me I unzipped myself from neck to crotch and behind to
my asscrack. Then I kneeled astride Meghan so that she could lick my
soaked pussy, her tongue probing my slit, bringing me to another minor
orgasm.
We continued like this for a while, playing out a scenario that resulted
in Meghan's escape followed by her capture and domination of me. Now I
lay tied to the bed, gasping while Meghan's hands quested inside my
unzipped costume, feeling my supple curves and fondling my tits until I
could stand no more. Then her fingers finally entered my vagina, wetly
moving in and out until she brought me to a full climax that left me
wrecked.
The sex was good but Meghan kept pestering me over the magic. In our
embrace after the cosplay session she quietly admitted that she was
desperate to try on a dick again. Her previous transformation into a
transsexual had been so intense that she couldn't get it out of her
mind. She wanted to fuck me, and fuck me hard; feeling that forceful
urgency that only men know. I promised to crack the magical code soon
and grant her wish. It was a small lie, but one that was rapidly growing
into an edifice of falsehood.
As I cycled to Tisha's home, beneath a sullen sky that seemed unable to
decide whether to rain or shine, I wondered how I was going to deal with
these lies. I could wipe Meghan's mind clean of them, I supposed. But
that would mean erasing her memory of the wand, and right now I needed
at least one person to confide in.
*
The door to the Williams home opened before I'd even hopped off my
bicycle. There was Tisha, standing in the entryway, in a skinny T-shirt
and sawn-off jeans that showed off her clean, shining limbs. She wasn't
wearing a bra and I could see the way her perky little boobs tented the
shirt, nipples hard and sharply defined by the thin cloth. Her smile was
radiant.
"Hey there, come in!" she sang as I climbed the steps to the porch.
"Hey!" I responded. "You all alone?"
"Yeah, the folks will be gone all day, we have the run of the place."
The interior was cool and cluttered but tidy. We drifted into the
gleaming kitchen, sitting by a huge granite-topped counter while Tisha
fished for sodas. As she leaned into the fridge I drank in her figure,
with its wiry shoulders, strong back, bubble ass and muscled thighs. I
could remember how it felt to wear Tisha's body, the way her muscles
moved and slid, and her powerful limbs swung. It was a tight little
body, beautiful to inhabit.
"I shouldn't really drink this, what with training," she turned,
grinning, pushing a glass of Sprite towards me, ice glinking in the top.
"I think we're allowed an occasional sin," I smiled back, sipping at the
soda.
"Yeah," she agreed, slyly, as if thinking of something else.
"I was surprised you came," she added. "Normally don't you hang out with
Meghan?"
"Yeah, but since the pool I, uh, I wanted to see you." I hesitated,
remembering Trisha's and my little tryst in the swimming pool, where we
kissed and masturbated each other.
"Yeah, I don't know what happened there," said Tisha, getting down to
business. "But I liked it. And I really like you."
"I like you too," I said, weakly. "I think of you a lot."
There was an awkward pause, and then we found ourselves smiling at each
other. It wasn't necessary to say anything else. It was enough just to
have said it out loud.
Tisha walked towards me, took my hand and pulled me into the lounge.
*
The lounge was tidy, with a sharp light coming through the window. There
was a break in the cloud outside and it warmed the room.
Tisha drew me to the couch and we collapsed onto it, bodies pressed
close, limb-to-limb, no boundaries.
Feeling bold, I nuzzled Tisha's neck, lightly kissing it and breathing
in her aroma. My face brushed against the mass of kinky hair.
"Can I touch your hair?" I asked her, suddenly possessed of the desire.
There was a pause. "A lot of white folks ask that," she said, with a
faintly flat inflection. Then more warmly she said: "But I'll let you
touch it, yeah."
For a moment, I thought of telling her that I'd been black briefly, if
only for one night. In her body I'd stroked her hair, surprised by its
softness when I'd expected something more wiry. But it would have been
crass to give up that secret.
Now my hand came up to cradle Tisha's head and run my fingers through
the frizzy mass, enjoying the silky, fluffy sensation. Tisha responded
by turning her head and leaning in to kiss me on the mouth, her generous
lips parted. In moments we were tongue to tongue and I tasted the spice
I remembered from being in her body.
We held the kiss for a long time, tongues dancing and tasting each
other. Then our hands started to wander. My hands worked from neck to
shoulders, to sides, before coming up to brush against Tisha's breasts.
I felt her body shudder at the touch. I knew from experience how
sensitive her boobs were and how to touch them. Once, in Tisha's body, I
was able to make myself cum simply by playing with her boobs and I
wondered if I could reproduce that here, by gently flicking her rock-
hard nipples through the T-shirt. I felt the intake of breath and the
shudder of flesh as I strummed her teats with my fingers.
Tisha wasn't to be outdone. She was delighted to discover that my tight
pink top zipped open; she tugged down the zipper to reveal my bra.
Reaching inside my top, I felt her fingers dance across the lace,
feeling out my soft curves and giving them a gentle squeeze. Then she
pushed the brassiere upward to bunch just below my collarbone and I felt
a cool breeze on my puffy little teats, which rapidly began to harden.
I'd magicked my own breasts to have acute responses to caresses, and
Tisha's fondling soon elicited an low moan, unbidden from the back of my
throat.
Breaking the kiss, my hands started to stroke Tisha's sides, then glided
down past her hips, taking in those strong, smooth legs of hers. Then
they came up to grab the hem of her T-shirt and tug it off over her
head. In return she pulled my top off me and untied me from my bra,
which was flung onto the nearby clothes heap.
With our upper bodies nude, we could kiss each other and play with each
others' bosoms. Tisha's perky titties were ripe for sucking on, and she
let me latch on to those pea-like nipples with their broad, bruise-dark
surrounds and suckle hard, making her shiver and spasm. I alternately
sucked and tongued her chocolate buttons until I felt her tense body
subside, as if a minor climax had relaxed her.
At first, Tisha only fingered my boobs, clutching them and thumbing my
puffy teats so that I would gasp at the sensation. Then she too went
down on them and began to lick and suckle. My breasts were not pointy
like Tisha's, but fuller and rounder so that they hung rather than
thrust out. Tisha would squeeze each breast slightly to direct the
nipple into her mouth. She slurped enthusiastically, working her tongue
around the sensitive surround. My head relaxed back into the couch
cushions, eyes fluttering at the eroticism.
When Tisha's hands glided down to lift my skirt and start stroking my
thighs, we seemed to cross a threshold. We paused to hurriedly undress.
I tugged down the skirt to pool at my feet while Tisha unclasped her
pants and slid them down her coffee limbs. Now in only our panties we
jockeyed for position on the couch. Suddenly I found myself on my back
with Tisha over me, crouched like a predator, nuzzling at the breasts
pooling on my chest while a hand sought out the silky skin of my inner
thighs. My legs parted, opening up the white cotton covering my mons
pubis to Tisha's touch.
The first touch was the gentlest thing, a butterfly caress of my slit
through the fabric. But it was enough to make me quake and I knew that I
was growing moist inside. Now that Tisha was in control I just let her
work me for a while, rubbing my panties so that my clit began to
engorge. A tickling sensation wound up and down my body. I squirmed a
little and panted at each touch.
Then I felt Tisha's hand slide inside my underwear, a moment of
exquisite intimacy. Her fingers rubbed at my labia, before slipping
between them into the slick wetness of my threshold. They hunted out my
clitoris, to start stroking the tiny button, something that made my body
surge and spasm with pure pleasure. I broke a sweat and felt my womb
grow hot and juices flood. Oh, how I loved this touch, as Tisha expertly
dialled my clitoris up to eleven with her fingering. As Tish worked my
crotch I couldn't prevent my hands from cupping my breasts and clamping
my nipples between eager fingers. The breastplay overwhelmed me with
joyful eroticism.
I came quickly, and this time it was with an intensity I'd rarely
experienced. I gulped deeply and gave an enormous moan, crying out
Tisha's name. Waves of orgasmic pleasure crashed through me, but Tisha
seemed determined not to give me any respite.
By now my panties had been pulled down to tangle up my ankles. With what
little control I had I kicked them off so that I could again spread my
legs and allow Tisha full access. She kept rubbing my vulva, not letting
my arousal subside. Then she clambered down to position her head between
my thighs.
By now, I was trembling with anticipation. I felt her soft lips kiss my
labia. Then I felt her fingers peel me apart and her tongue start to
lap, licking up my juices. I felt transcendant at her touch, so horny
and sensitised that I could barely move or function. My hands, still
partly on autopilot, clutched my boobs, keeping them engaged in the
loveplay, occasionally flicking at the nipples so they shot pleasurable
prickling sensations up and down my spine.
But most of the pleasure came from between my legs, where Tisha now had
a rhythm going, alternating tonguing me with small nibbles of my lips
and clit. I couldn't stop my breathy moaning, which grew sharper and
harder as she raised me toward another climax. There was that building
tension, that sensation of cresting. Then I came and crashed, gulping
down great lungfuls of air. And I felt that sensation I'd had in Tisha's
body, of wanting to pee and release, and I realized I'd squirted, right
into Tisha's face. As I came round I saw that her chin and jawline were
wet, and she was licking her lips. Some of it had dripped onto her
chest.
Like a panther she padded up the couch so that her face was right in
mine.
"Lick it off," she smiled.
I complied, starting to lap at my juices on her face. It didn't taste
bad, but was largely bland, but with a slight sweetish tang. I licked,
then kissed her mouth, then licked again. I came up from my repose on
the couch to lap at her chest where my juices had sprayed and tracked
drips down to her belly, and so I found that I was licking my juices off
her titties.
Tisha hugged me tight to smear some of the wetness onto my body. I was
now lying in the wet patch I'd made on the couch. I wrestled her a
little so that she now lay on the damp spot and I could get to work on
her. It was the second half of the game and time to change ends: for me
to bring her to climax.
Tisha stopped me before I could get too far. Squirming out from under
me, she grabbed my hand and wordlessly led me upstairs to her bedroom.
I couldn't take my eyes off her nearly-nude body as we climbed the
stairs. It was as if seeing her for the first time. I drank in the way
her muscles moved beneath her skin, the way her tiny breasts jiggled,
her natural poise and grace.
As we padded into the dim warmth of her bedroom, I understood why he
brought me up here. She had towels laid out on the bed. She knew she was
going to squirt. As Tisha slid off her panties and beckoned me to lay
down with her, I could see where my juices were drying on her skin. I
began to lap at those spots I'd missed and she giggled at the ticklish
licks I gave her belly.
Then I was back to tonguing those sweet breasts of hers, while our legs
intertwined, my smooth limbs sliding against her muscled thighs and
calves. My hand slid down over her stomach to touch her vulva and stir
the fleshy pudding around her clitoris. My practice in her body soon
paid off and I felt her stiffen and relax as I teased her pussy. Then I
slipped a finger into her slick, moist slit to explore inside.
I could tell from Tisha's gentle sighs how much she enjoyed the slight
thrust and screwing motion of my forefinger as I pumped it inside her,
making a wet popping noise. I had to shift to get a better position to
finger-fuck her. My thumb still stirred her clit until I could feel her
vibrate and I knew she was at the tipping point. My forefinger had found
the small spongy spot inside Tish's vagina, just where I'd remembered
it. As she began to climax I pressed on it, at the same time applying
pressure to her clit. Tisha gave a great sob and gripped the bed.
"Oh my god," she squeaked.
Suddenly I felt fluid flow around my fingers and hand. She started to
squirt, sending a great gush of warm juices spraying out between her
thighs, across the towels and spattering my body.
I was surprised for a moment. I could feel the droplets track down my
body to drip onto the towels beneath. But I didn't want to stop. I knew
from experience that Tisha's clit was now engorged and super-sensitive,
that there was another orgasm in there. So I kept working at it, while
with my free hand I wetted a finger on the juices trickling off my body
and used it to lubricate one of her nipples, working the slick wetness
around the hot, hard nub.
"Oh shit!" Tisha called, as I brought her up to climax once again. She
stiffened, then subsided and then she released a stream of hot cum
across my forearm and the towels. The jet wasn't much but I felt soaked.
I sucked some of the fluid off of my arm. It had the same slight
sour/sweet taste as my own wetness, which was unsurprising given the
fact that I'd magicked myself the same responses as Tisha. Then I lay
down face-to-face with Tish to kiss her, returning some of her ejaculate
to her.
"Mmmmmm..." murmered Tish through the kiss. "That was nice. You really
turned me on."
I broke contact and sat up to look down at Tish, to drink her in.
And then I nearly fell off the bed. My face a mask of horror.
For a moment I was looking at Tish, and she had no limbs. Just smooth
stumps where her arms and thighs were. She smiled at me, lovingly,
joyfully, torso writhing on the sheets. The stumps twitched a little, as
if waving.
I felt my gorge rise. I was on the verge of hurling.
And then the image passed and there was Tish, and she was whole. She had
a strange, concerned look on her face.
"Helena, what's the matter?"
What's the matter?
The matter was that for a brief moment, a nanosecond before the shock
had kicked in, I was really, REALLY turned on by what I'd seen.
This magic was getting out of hand.
Fawn
- 04.06.2021
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