Hidden from view, just off stage, I moaned in pleasure as the young, muscular stage attendant licked up and down my dripping pussy. Casper saw me in the throes of goddess-driven, blissful passion as we shared naughty smiles. He was on center stage, addressing the audience at his seminar. Distracting him while he lectured was now our game; it was fair, he did the same thing to me.

“Let me see a show of hands,” he said, his newly grown goatee giving him a Satanic look despite his license plate, “N0T S4T4N,” proclaiming he was not the Devil incarnate. “Who here believes that magick is real?”

A slight majority of the audience's hands went up. Slightly taken aback, I had expected a larger show of hands. Casper Montague floated upwards, his feet leaving the stage. Levitating several feet high he smiled at the audience of hundreds, literally basking in the spotlight.

“How about now?” More hands went up as he gently floated back to the wooden stage.

The years had been kind to my husband; yes, you read that correctly. I was now Mrs. Krys Montague. It was not a whirlwind romance, it was the slow evolution of love, natural and organic. Shortly after I discovered the key to translating the second grimoire, the “favorite day” being the date of my birthday, Casper and I became close friends, much closer than before. The bond between us, borne of the trauma of abduction and almost being sacrificed together, strengthened our friendship based upon kindred spirits. Over the years, that closeness grew into romance.

My healing session with Violet and Megan soon became common with several other students having romantic woes. I had become an unofficial love and sex therapist, a witch of renown, and an icon of loving equality between the sexes. “Lilith Aphrodite” had fallen into a life of helping others find love, joy, lust, peace, and balance. I was even invited to host several workshops at the convention we were attending.

Aunt Grace's third grimoire remained unread, never translated except for the first line. No hidden key or other voodoo to translate, just her heeded first instructions.

“Do not translate this book until you've found your successor.”

It mattered not; I had everything one could dream of. As I said, the years had been kind to Casper. They were much more loving and tender with me. I ceased aging. My skin remained smooth, pale, and soft; never a wrinkle nor a gray hair. Casper, not so much. We were happy, in love, wealthy, and the world lay at our feet. One might wonder if Casper ever discovered that I was kissed by my goddess, Aphrodite. If he knew, he never once spoke of it, only accepted. Luckily, his wild, partying, swinging ways were never abandoned, which allowed me to keep my energies at full force.

The odd thing about magick is that it is true, real, and one can achieve anything at all. They simply need the conduit and the faith. I had both, was the conduit. My faith was unshakable; my acolytes and students in the Church of Aphrodite were cut of similar cloth. I could do almost anything but only did so to help others, to guide them, to heal them.

Casper, always the showman, had the audience captivated. I believe that charisma is also a form of magic. If that were true, that made dear-hubby Montague the Wizard of Oz.

He addressed the audience, filled to near-capacity with Wiccans, Pagans, New-agers, skeptics, scientists, and journalists. “What if I told you that there is an overwhelming body of vetted, peer-reviewed scientific data that proves it, but has been suppressed and ignored?

“As recently as a decade ago a well-respected, prestigious psychologist by the name of Daryl Bem conducted iron-clad psychological studies over a decade. Following all rigorous standards of scientific experimentation he proved, beyond a shadow of a doubt that 'psi,' or psychic powers as we call them, is real; furthermore, he also proved that the future can affect the past as well as vice-versa.

“Was he heralded by his discovery? Was the fact that his results followed all standards admired? Were the facts that his results were replicated by independent studies the cause of a new frontier in science and psychology? NO!

“Scientists and psychologists united against him because they could not believe the results. His work was suppressed. Rather than the supposedly most brilliant minds in the world admitting that they needed to rethink, they rejected his experiments and buried them. The term 'Replication Crisis' evolved from those studies. Scientists changed their standards to disallow any proof of things they did not desire to see.

“In their defense, they had little choice. You see, if Bem is correct, and he is, then all of science is broken. That means that every single foundation of physics, science, and especially psychology is built upon an illusion.

“He's not the only one. Dean Radin, a PhD., an electrical engineer, and also one of the minds behind Project Stargate—that's the government psi project, not the fun movie—has also presented irrefutable evidence that magick, with a 'K', is real. Even Einstein himself knew this truth. His Spooky Attraction states that matter is energy and that energy interacts with itself, reforms itself, and does so across vast linear distances in zero time at all. Quantum physics has shown us that all things are energy, and that time, space, and reality are subject to our will.”

Grasping the head of the youthful man, blond and lithe, filled with all the enthusiasm and vitality of youth, my oozing, dripping cunny humped his mouth, positioning itself so his tongue hit the perfect spot on my clit.

“Yes, just like that, “ escaped my wanton lips through my moans. “Faster, harder, make me cum.”

Pulling his inexperienced hand to my cunt, I shoved three of his fingers inside myself, pistoning his digits until he got the idea. One hand grasping my engorged breast, the other beckoning to the cute black-haired young woman watching as soon as I felt her aura of arousal, I waited until she approached and kissed her, releasing all of my lusty desire, my passion, my urgent need.

“You, too,” I commanded the third stagehand upon seeing his rather large member straining against his pants. “I need one of you in my ass, one in my pussy.”

Lowering myself to my hands and knees, one of them straddling me from above, the other beneath me, I felt the wonderful sensation of being invaded by two cocks at once. The woman's pussy was hairy, natural, and dripping with desire. Her nectar tasted tangy and sweet at once. Moaning into her essence, I felt the divine rapture of orgasms ripping through me. My delight shot through them as our souls connected, our bodies became one. Coming back down to the material plane, I could still hear Casper lecturing about how magic is energy, real and tangible, and science is afraid to embrace it although there's overwhelming scientific evidence to back it.

Later that night, in our hotel suite, an orgy, spurned by the divine lust of Aphrodite, fueled my powers, allowing me to bless those around me with happiness, joy, and horny satisfaction. Life continued like that for years, decades. All I had ever wanted was to be desired, noticed, and appreciated. I not only received that but so much more beyond my wildest dreams. Now that I have the grimoires, the world is mine. Although it took time, years really, I had grown into my powers and abilities and used them as a responsible force of good in the world. Aunt Grace had done so; I was just far too naive to understand.

Only one tragedy assailed me in those years of happiness. It was not Renstar. Whoever had escaped that day of the fire disappeared, beyond my magickal keening. Casper, my beloved, fell victim to cancer. Despite my powers, my abilities, my magick was not strong enough to counter the gods. A long period of mourning and ensuing legal battle over control of Langston manor with his sister—whom Casper referred to as a Mongol, Genghis Cunt—followed.

I retained the manor, Casper's royalties, and his legacy. I also met his niece, Matilda, Tilda for short. Casper's sister, Gwen, was a harpy by any metric of measurement. On her third or fourth husband, concerned only with herself, she had no time for her young daughter of ten years of age, or was she eleven? Gwen neither knew nor cared.

I met Tilda at the funeral, she crying over her lost uncle who was always nice to her.

“Have some Pez, dear. I promise they'll make you feel better.”

The years flew by, a long story of sex, desire, lust, passion, and helping others to achieve their best states. I never seemed to age, only changing my hairstyle, by magick, as the mood suited me. Gwen, now on her sixth or seventh husband, was more than happy to shove her daughter into the arms of Aunt Krys, Tilda's favorite relative and seemingly her only friend.

I taught her the ways of magick, the rituals, the energies. We played games, all designed to help her achieve the greatness I saw in her. She learned the Witches Cypher, especially adept at decoding invitations for fun road trips or to go get ice cream. She grew into a fine young woman, beautiful, gentle, sweet, and filled with untapped power. Of all my friends, of which there were many, all my students, and all I loved, Tilda was, by far, the best adept and my favorite person in the world.

I readied her for my final departure, constantly alluding that one day I'd just disappear, off to Summerland, the land of eternal bliss, to be reunited with Casper and Aunt Grace. They were there; I knew it. I could now even commune with them.

It was finally time to decipher the final grimoire. It was nothing more than a treatise on how to prepare my tomes for my successor. I did as Aunt Grace bade, burning my grimoires in my ritual. It took weeks, but I finally penned in all my knowledge, all my advice, and all of my warnings. I begged Aphrodite, all the gods, to not let Tilda fall into the traps of folly I had done on my journey.

Tilda was off at college, our communications growing more and infrequent. She never told me why, but I knew. The poor girl was just like me, an echo of my former self. I only needed one more power to complete my journey. I needed to find the portal to Summerland. Aunt Grace's books, now antiques, pointed the way. I needed to head to the orient to find it.

I wrote my will, leaving the wealth, the estate, everything to Tilda; I just knew it would piss of money-grubbing Gwen. I sealed up the important books, my grimoires, some artifacts that held fond memories, and wrapped her favorite childhood Pez dispenser, a comical devil she had named “Uncle Casper,” into a box for her to discover. On top of that was a note.

Tilda;

If you are reading this I am either missing or dead; I knew this day would come. I have instructed my lawyers to deliver my most prized possessions and the estate to you in the event that I do not check in with them for more than one year and seven days.

Of all my prior students, friends, and relatives, you, and you alone, possess the knowledge and power to achieve true happiness. You are also my favorite person on this Mother Earth. You may not believe it right now, but all of the games we played and the adventures we took in your youth were in preparation for this moment. I used to be exactly like you; my desire to live the fantasy life drove me to unravel the mysteries of magick and the universe. Beware the allure of selfishness.

Sealed in the box are the secrets to my youth, my wealth, and my power. All things imaginable are possible if you have the key. You must simply decipher the secrets in my grimoires and lay yourself open to change with perfect faith and perfect acceptance. You know how.

I shall see you beyond the veil

Krys.

The cycle was now complete. I had a long journey of discovery ahead of me. My mind was lightened by the fact that wherever I went I'd spread love, acceptance, lust, and desire. I had willed it and found so much more. My goddess had bestowed those powers upon me and charged me with spreading pleasures of the flesh. That I did. I would do so once more.

THE END