Ebony Witch Conjurer – Love Spell Woes

“I’d like a love spell.”

Willow looked up from the book she was reading behind the counter, and regarded the patron with curiosity, before she flatly replied, “I don’t do love spells.”

His crestfallen pleading was even more curious, “what? But but.. I heard you were the best in town and I am in love with this woman, and she won’t talk to me, she blocked my number, I don’t know what else to do.”

“You have a good cry, beloved, and find a new lover.”

He persisted, “please, I’ll do anything. I have money, I’ll pay any price.”

The ebony witch put the book down, and placed her hands on her luscious hips, “who gave you my name?”

“I was told not to say.”

She laughed, knowing full well that by the time she was done with this desperate, lovesick white boi, he would tell her anything she wanted to know.

Love Spells Come With A Price

“I need you to understand why I don’t do love spells,” she began, “first, they are very potent – if and when they work – and my spells always work.” She continued, “so potent that once they take hold, the recipient of the spell, will usually go mad. For you, and from themselves.” Stepping out from behind the counter, the ebony witch was barefoot, and wore silver anklets, and a long, flowing yellow dress. Her hair was pulled up into a high bun, silver chandelier earrings dangled from her ears, and there was an amulet hanging from her neck. As she got closer, the scent of her struck him. Honey, coconut, and jasmine flowers filled his nostrils.

“Second, the spells demand a price much higher than just your money. It requires blood, a belonging of the intended, and.. this love does not die, even if your intended, should perish. Are we clear?”

He hesitated, and then shook his head yes. Willow chuckled, “so you better take real good care of that lover, because if you don’t, she might start to smell.”

Once she saw that he was not going to turn heel and run, she named her price, “200 virgils, a lock of your hair, a drop of your blood, a lock of your woman’s hair, and a cup of her first morning release. Bring that back to me in this glass, along with this jar of dirt, that you are going to masturbate into, and sleep with by your bed. I expect payment now, and you must be here by 3am on the dot. If you are too late, or too early, I keep the money and you pay me double.” Holding her hand out, she waited while he fumbled with the leather satchel he was carrying, and handed her crisp stacks of 100’s. He watched her hand close around the stacks of money, her nails were short, and rounded, but unnaturally shiny, catching the flickering gleam of light that splashed through the windows of her shop.

She handed him the jar of dirt, and the glass with a fleshy wrapped cover over the top. Upon closer inspection, it looked like the hide of some animal, or.. “hey uh, what is this?”

“Don’t ask questions, you wanted a love spell, now leave the shop and do your bidding.”

Ritual Union

He returned the next day, with the items requested, and fresh scratches on his arms and legs from the fence and wires he had to climb through, to get the personal artifacts needed. Sweating as he remembered her warning, he walked into her shop at 3am sharp. Willow opened the door wearing yellow still, this time the dress was sheer and flowing, and she was still barefoot. Her hair pulled up in the front, and down in the back.

Handing her the glass, jar, and other items back, she gazed at him intently, and then gestured for him to follow, locking both of them inside. Leading him to a back room, she ordered him to undress completely, and then poured and rubbed a strange smelling oil, all over his naked body. Skin slick and glistening, Willow made him sit in the center of the room, and spread his legs. He started to get a little nervous when he saw the way she stared at what was between his legs, but then a strange relaxation washed over him.

“It’s time,” she said, standing over him, placing the items between his legs. “Start stroking and close your eyes. As you stroke, I want you to chant, “guardians of the east, enter the light,” keep your eyes closed and chant, and pay no attention to what you feel and hear around you, most importantly, whatever you do, do not stop chanting, do not open your eyes.”

He thought her request was a little odd, but if it would bring Marsha back to him, he would do whatever it took. Closing his eyes, he began stroking and chanting, he was amazed by how hard his dick got, as he kept chanting, and stroking. Suddenly he heard a strange scratching sound, like something was trying to claw its way out, and the air in the room felt hotter. Then he heard the scratching accompanied by whispers from something that did not sound human. He began sweating.

The voices whispered, louder and louder as he chanted and stroked and the scratching increased in volume. Something touched his foot, he jumped, but kept stroking and chanting. He was now terrified and afraid to stop, but equally afraid to continue. Whatever touched his foot began sliding up his leg, curling around his thigh, slithering up his back. Then he felt more mysterious things touching and moving up his body. Throughout all of this, he was still rock hard, and despite whatever was happening, growing more and more aroused.

Carnal Desires

The air in the room got thick, he started to get dizzy, but he kept stroking, chanting, sweating. His body lifted off his seat, he continued, and then he felt it, and his voice shook. Someone had picked him up, lifted him into their lap, and now whatever it was, they were about to make him see stars. He was quickly filled, and while all of this occurred, he realized he could not stop stroking or chanting, and he could not open his eyes, even when the thrusting started.

It was over just as quickly as it started, he was instructed to go home, and given a vial of something, the ebony witch would not say what it was. He called in sick, and slept most of the day. When he awoke, he had missed calls from Marsha, then the doorbell rang. The spell had worked, he and Marsha becoming passionate lovers. She never asked about the scars on his legs and back, or the snake tattoo just above his tailbone. In fact she seemed to be oblivious, to anything but worshiping him, in a way that began to make him feel unworthy.

Time passed, Marsha becoming more aggressive in her passion for him. He felt like he was losing his mind, and then he started having flashbacks of the night he did the spell. He began remembering that not only was he chanting, and stroking, and getting fucked by some otherworldly dick, he was also telling her anything she wanted to know. The color drained from his face, as he realized that he had told her the name of the person who had given him her name. He told her things he had never told anyone.

Walking back to the train station the next morning, he reached into his satchel to get his phone, and noticed an envelope inside. Curious, he opened it, but could not read the writing. The air on the station platform grew thick and hot, causing alarm. As the train pulled into the station, he looked down the platform, and saw the face of the man, that had given him the name of the ebony witch. He was pulled underneath the concrete platform, too quickly for anyone to hear him scream.

The Man Without A Name, A Faceless Friend

Call me, to fill in the blanks. 1-800-601-6975 is the number, ask for Duchess Willow.

@DuchessWillow_ Twitter

willow@enchantrixempire.com

 

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