by Kezzy Sparks
He gets back into the house. There are things to do, and perhaps the most important—which he probably has left a little too late—would be to say hi and good morning to his fiancée. Indeed she must be upset because he let her down so much yesterday. A rehearsal, quite a major thing, had been scheduled for the evening, but he didn’t go. He gave her the rather unwieldy excuse that at his work they had had an emergency, and he had been called in from vacation to go to Albany to fix a major accounting glitch. “They will compensate me for it,” he’d said, “but I will be returning very, very late.”
All of it just to prevent them meeting up, and then she would want to come home, and then she would want to sleep.
Predictably, Megan had responded with frustration. “No, dear, why go all that way for those guys? Don’t they have replacements?”
“Very sorry, but for this particular glitch they don’t,” he lied.
“Okay then, see you.” She’d hung up.
It was good she hadn’t asked how he knew he would be late returning. And it was good, too, that he hadn’t previously given her a key, otherwise she would have had the motivation to come here, and then she would discover he hadn’t even gone anywhere.
He slept feeling bad, but he was at least off the hook for the time being. Honestly how would he have faced her while in the so-deprived state he is in?
Now it’s time to make up for the lie.
“Morning sweetie,” he calls. “I’m back,” he says, “all in one piece.”
“That’s great to hear, honey.” She forgives as always.
“You can’t imagine how busy things got,” he adds for good measure. “I only got back after one. You would have been so lonely had you decided to come and wait for me. You know I love you.” He sighs.
That settled, now he can take his shower, a thing yesterday he never mustered the energy to. Even as he was going to use public transit to go to Mel’s office, he never did. Now he must stink, and so shower he has to. There is also the off chance that while he runs his errands he might bump into Megan. And then if he is unbathed and disheveled, that will raise a major red flag.
He makes the whole thing short. There is no need to linger for long while gazing at such a sad phenomenon. He dries himself fast and is back to his bedroom. Since he is going out, he dresses himself nice, in a blue golf shirt and long jeans.
The bus stop is not too long to walk to; it’s right there where Dick ends on Genesee. On the bigger, more travelled road, it’s the quintessential Buffalo on a Wednesday morning. Cars race one another, bicyclists fight with their pedals, and horny young men make hurried passes at women. Life goes on normally for many, but not him.
“What a beautiful day.” The driver curtsies to him when he jumps in.
“Quite wonderful,” he says. But is it really?
Several empty seats beckon him at the front, but for some reason, he doesn’t like those. He trundles down the aisle, and people gape at him. Smiling faces, grinning faces. Some eyes look like they are going to undress him... Finally he sits near a window and concentrates on looking out, ignoring all the faces.
The bus goes like it’s scheduled, and eventually when it reaches Lafayette Square, he gets off. The main branch of the Buffalo Public Library, which will be his first stop, is located right there. He must do a research. It’s an idea that got into his head soon as he woke up this morning.
The glass doors are just opening as he wobbles in. Morning is a good time to come, because he has things to ask, and what time could be better than when the librarians aren’t too busy yet.
“Give me your best resource book on magic,” he says to the assistant at the help desk.
“Magic, magic, magic,” mutters the lady. She’s cute actually, with lots of pink on her lips. There are shades of that, too, on her cheeks, and her mascara has a touch of the same hue. “What kind of magic?”
“The bad kind.”
“Huh!” She gives him a quizzing look.
“Why are you surprised?” He doesn’t mean to be curt.
“Look sir,” she says, like a pro. “There’s no intrinsically good or bad magic. It just depends on what you use it for.”
All fair enough by his standards, and he is willing to let the lecture stand.
The lapel tag on the assistant’s blouse says her name is Kayla. She types something on a computer and runs a list, writing down some numbers.
In a moment, she steps out from behind her desk. “Let me show you, sir. Come this way.”
Kayla walks fast, and her generous rear bounces as she strides. They reach an aisle and she turns to point at some books. The neck of her blouse is cut low, and reveals a cleavage. Her breasts are big.
It’s not that Casey desires her, after all he is engaged to one of Buffalo's hottest, but her sexiness strikes him in a painful way. Women aren't for him anymore, and he isn’t the man he used to be. A natural joy that keeps the world turning is denied him. Those flirty looks Kayla is giving him as she guides him through a section won’t mean a thing. The idea of love is now just a bad fantasy.
He accepts a thick compendium, shows off his engagement band to the interested Kayla, and finally she is discouraged.
“Always a pleasure helping,” she says and departs for her desk.
Casey looks for somewhere to sit and locates a secluded reading room that is so quiet except for the whisper of ventilation air spilling out of a grill.
A Witch's Almanac, is the title of the compendium. The running tagline is All you need to know about magic and its mastery.
In a nutshell what Casey wants to discover is whether magic effects can be reversed any quickly. He wants to restore himself. Nothing could be more important than that.
Oh Jesus, the compendium is truly voluminous, and there is a lot to be read. In the world of magic, there are wands, brews, concoctions, portions, spells, amulets, protection circles, wards, guardian angels, familiars, both good and evil. It will be a while before he can even go through even just a quarter of it.
Before he hasn’t gone far, Mel calls. It’s fine to answer since he is in a private study room.
“I reached the point where the lines crossed,” she informs.
“Who did you meet there?” Casey wants to buy a gun and go shooting up people.
“No one in particular at this moment, but I’m getting some vibes.”
“Am I allowed to come there?”
“Please don't.”
Twenty
Snug in her blankets in Bryant—Client E opens her eyes. It’s a morning like no other; what could anyone ask for in life?
Things went along really fucking well at the end. She has The Mage’s dick catcher on her nightstand. The fight started off nasty, and she had never expected to see the things she saw, but she survived. Those feral cats, Jove, how violent. She can’t imagine facing another battle like that, but then when you want what you want, you gotta get what you want.
The Boss. How great is that man. How steadfast and unflinching in battle, truly a great leader. She owes him more than just a ton of cash, and from today she would like to be his protégé and follow him till many years into the future when she will be able to stand on her own.
Last night had to be celebrated in some way, and the moment she said goodbye to the warlock and placed the catcher on her nightstand, she rushed to her fridge and opened a wine bottle. She gobbled down three glasses, all the time gazing at that receptacle’s sweet contents: Casey. She knew his thing very well. She knew what it could do, and the pleasurable memories flooded back.
Her phone beeps. It’s a text from The Boss.
“Morning Cutie, how are you?”
“Fine, Boss,” she texts back. “No woman could be feeling better than I am.”
“Good, I like to hear that.”
“I owe everything to you, Boss.”
"Anytime, never mind.”
She puts her phone down and licks her lips. Now she means to enjoy what she fought that hard for, and
how better so than to first brush off that old wine that she never got to before she slept. Gently, she raises herself, and in a moment, she is off to the bathroom. The atmospheric feeling is so surreal; magic does work wonders.
At the sink, she doesn’t take a lot of time, and as soon as she is back, she slips again into bed. The penis catcher is only an arm’s length away. She opens it once more. This is the last time the loot is in The Mage’s container, because once this episode is finished, the set is going into the brand new pink case she bought. Seriously The Mage’s catcher is so unsuitable, it must go into the trash.
Desirously, she grabs Casey's prick, and it comes alive in her hands.
Is this you, man, here with me?
Without further ado, she shoves the dick into her mouth. It becomes even more erect and takes up all the space in there—as lively as though the man himself was here. Oh Jove, it’s as hot as it is hard. She works it with her tongue to exhaustion and almost can’t breathe when she finally eases it out. Wow, so fantastic.
This certainly needs another celebration. There is still some wine left in the bottle. She takes a direct gulp. Honestly, she is in no hurry to swallow, and she just lets the warm flavorful liquid burn tarty rivulets on her palate.
“Ain’t nobody stopping us now,” she sings to herself after swallowing. “Hear that, Casey!”
What she has just done was only a beginning—she now must finish the act down there. She is already butt naked in her sheets, there is nothing to take off. All she needs do is put one pillow under her back for maximum comfort as she positions her body to fuck herself.
Happily, she grabs the dick again, and it goes hard. This thing is marvelous. She pokes the whole shaft of it right into the deepest parts of her, between her legs. The pain and pleasure is unbelievable; it’s almost like Casey himself was on top of her. This thing is sure to go a long way.
Before she brings herself to a climax, a wicked little plan hits her. Why not let the whore, Megan, know what’s going on. It should be a double pleasure to taunt her while having her bridegroom’s dick right inside the pussy.
She still has Megan's number, after having saved it eighteen months ago from Casey's contacts. Briefly it hurts to remember the pain she suffered, storing that number for so long while waiting for a day of confrontation. Well, now is payback time.
She scrambles her caller ID before she calls; it’s something she learned to do ever since joining the tech bandwagon.
“Megan Jenkins,” the slut on the other side answers.
How so formal. Rotten whores hiding their dirty ways.
The first thing to find out is if Casey has let the slut know what’s going on, and if so, whether the wedding will still happen. Armed with the knowledge, she can devise ways of hurting Megan far more painfully. First, however, she has to provide some sort of identity. “I’m a former college mate of yours. I got some news.”
“Your name, please?”
“Doesn’t matter, you won’t remember.”
“Give me a hint.” There is a bit of insistence in the bitch’s voice.
“Call me Sue. Sue Ann Marie.”
“I never knew anyone with that name: Sue Ann Marie?” Megan snorts.
To that, Client E responds like a seasoned pro. “Memories fade after some years, don’t they, Megan? Thank God mine didn't.”
“Fine, so how can I help you, Ann Marie, or is it Sue?”
“I recently turned psychic, and I don't see good things.”
“Psychic, really? What isn't good?”
“The wedding—by the way you’re going to wed, right?”
“Yeah right, this coming weekend.”
Ah, yes. So the fucker didn’t let his slut know he is now neutered. Megan doesn’t sound like the kind that would let a wedding go on after learning of such a catastrophe. She must have loved Casey for his penis, and would abandon the relationship the moment she learned it wasn’t there anymore.
“There’s truly some bad stuff around the corner,” E continues.
“What stuff? Be specific or I have to go.”
“Well, the wedding could happen, but the honeymoon certainly won’t be good.”
“Why wouldn’t it? Are you a real psychic?”
“Yes, of course. How would I guess you had a wedding planned...?”
“Ann Marie now don't say this. Don’t jinx me.”
“I’m just letting you know like a sister. There's nothing to look forward to.” She pushes Casey’s dick deeper into herself by squeezing with her legs. If only Megan was a little more patient, the client would make sexy swallowing noises just to increase the mystery.
“You know what: goodbye.” The line starts to beep.
The Client grins to herself, barely managing to stop herself from emitting a ghostly cackle. Casey is sweet between her legs while that slut wallows in blissful ignorance. The episode has gone great.
And now she can finish pleasuring her body. She thrusts Casey in deeper, working him harder until in no time she is screaming in a blinding orgasm...
***
After finishing, she wipes it, and now transfers it into the special box she bought. Even a newborn baby being placed into a playpen would not receive the utmost attention that the client lavishes. Done, she then tosses away the useless red catcher to the door where it lands with a loud, hollow clang. Whoever came up with the saying empty tins make the loudest noise was so fucking right. That thing is now destined for the garbage chute.
Now even happier with herself, she can’t resist the temptation to torment Megan once more. This time she will tell it exactly like it is. She grabs her cell once more and programs it for a hidden ID.
“Friend, I gazed into my crystal ball once more and saw another big thing.”
“To hell with your ball. What do you want?”
“Megan listen. I know you aren’t taking this seriously, but there’s a big problem.”
“What now? Don’t bother me. I don’t know you.”
“There has been an accident, and your fiancé is not the same anymore. He is completely transformed.”
Megan gasps, and the client senses a change. Something has hit home, and the slut wants to hear more of this part. “What do you know?” she stutters.
“A lot—ok, let me spin again,” E says. “Sweet Jesus, you know what, your fiancé has been redefined.”
“Redefined?” Megan gasps again. “Am I hearing you right?”
"Yes,” says Client E. Indeed she now must have gotten things right, because Megan sounds concerned. Casey must be acting strangely, and the slut has noticed. “And I mean transformed in a bad way,” the client adds.
Suddenly she thinks why not just drop the bomb right away before the whore hangs up. “He’s now so inadequate for the marriage, believe me.”
“Whaat!”
“I mean totally incapacitated.”
“Stupid, stop it.”
The phone beeps hung before the client can spew out the longer phrase she had in her arsenal. He is now biologically incomplete, and therefore, no longer fit. And were it not that it would give the whole plan away, she would have wanted to really say it: that your boyfriend’s cock is now fodder for my vagina...
***
Anyway the message has been sent, and next is to invite someone she wants. It’s a guy called Ty, whom she knows from her old stripper days. They dated and became lovers on and off for a good while. In truth, Ty was enthusiastic about the affair and tried to be sweet, but he was no great performer in bed, so she had to drop him when she found Casey.
Although she hasn’t spoken to him in years, he must still be around here in Buffalo. Where else anyway would he go—he is a struggling actor, and Hollywood would never welcome him. He has tried many things, but last time she knew he was hoping to get into adult video stardom but, honest to Jove, that’s not anything he is made for.
Why not call him over, then, as an old friend? They could do something together. It should be fun. The only pro
blem is can she actually attach Casey’s things on him. Will she manage the needed magic?
Suspended in self-doubt, the Client weighs this little bottleneck even more. Eventually she concludes it’s doable, for anything that has been ripped off by magic must sure retain the potential to quickly reattach. The secret would only be to know how to unlock that potential and tap into the residual magic energy.
To her advantage, she has been in the Scarlet coven for long enough to know and understand the power of words. Especially whispers and soft chants. Perhaps the only thing needed could just be one tiny song. Hell, then, why not try it? She must dial him.
Reaching again for her phone, she surprisingly realizes she hasn’t forgotten his number even though it’s been a long while. The trend these days is for people to rely on contacts stored on phones, but then those devices do get lost or stolen. Just like happened to her Samsung a year ago, with all the tons of data it had. She is a genius, then, for memorizing the number. Or maybe Tyler really meant something to her once.
“Ty, thanks for answering; can you please come and see me?”
“You know, Eve, I’ve always liked you.” His voice has always had that mellow, pretentious-actor tone.
“Good, come on over; would you like to party?”
“On a Wednesday, really. Eve, are you serious?”
“Yes.”
“But I was hoping to pass by the gym. You know I gotta stay fit for my gigs.”
“Miss this and regret it for the rest of your life.”
“Alright, I’ll pop in. Still live at the same place?”
“Yes, and I’m getting some beers.”
Sex party on a Wednesday! Is it she who has bounced back to the real, fun life like this? Honestly, it’s hard to believe.
Twenty-one
A rustling under her hotel room door wakes The Mage up, and she blinks. Must be the inn’s rep pushing in the bill.
Last night, after scaring that stupid Breaker upstart, she asked Fred to drive her here to Orchard Park. Cautious about going back home to Alden after what they had done, she got a room in an inn. She worried The Breaker might follow, and then she’d see where The Mage lived, and that wouldn’t be a smart thing to give away. No, not so soon anyway.
