With her coven, she chants a love spell. Speaking in an ancient tongue, she easily entrances me.

How can I resist her shadowed form drifting through October's chill? Resembling a bride, she wears virginal white. But in my bed, she's far from pure.

Her mouth is that of a sullied angel. She takes me deep; her throat, serpent-like, constricts around my flesh.

Issuing a cry, I come. I taste my semen in her kiss.

"You're now bound to me," she whispers. 

The woman needn't have relied on sorcery: I was always willing to trade my soul for her touch.