She was a witch

       
I'd known she was a witch from the second day of our acquaintance.              
             
(We met via an online older men and younger women dating site.)              
             
We'd been online friends for more than a decade.              
             
She was divorced, I was in a sexless marriage.              
             
Yes, there had been online sex--              
      the usual:              
            stripping (sometimes to music),              
            posing,              
            exploring/displaying for each other's eyes,              
            every form of auto-eroticism imaginable,              
            and, of course, masturbation.              
             
I wrote her into several of my erotic short stories;              
she has (had?) the only copies. Damn.              
             
We'd actually met twice.              
Kissing, necking, petting--              
that's as far as we'd gone in person.              
             
Hadn't chatted, texted, or messaged since she got re-married.              
             
October 1st, Yahoo email out of the blue.              
             
She had a favor to ask.              
             
Would I?              
Could I?              
Maybe?              
Join her for a "little" celebration/ceremony on the 31st?              
             
She guaranteed I would like it.              
And, if it worked, "liking" it would be the understatement of forever.              
             
Sure,              
I was definitely up for it.              
             
I flew into Austin, at dusk, the 31st.              
             
She met me and we drove out of town.              
             
A small meadow, surrounded by trees.              
      Trees were mostly bare, that time of year.              
      Grass was dry, brown and was trampled down --flat.              
      Not a blooming flower in sight.              
             
She asked me to carry things from the car.              
      Big bundle of something white,              
      small basket of candles,              
      bottle of wine (red),              
      five narrow bladed 8 inch long silver knives with gold handles,              
            each had a different colored stone in the hilt.              
             
Carried things to the center of the meadow.              
             
Unfolded the white bundle;              
      large;              
      silk;              
      13 feet or so across;              
      from star point to star point.              
      Twisted black and red silk rope sewn to white silk cloth.              
      Perfect five pointed star containing a pentagram.              
             
(I told you she was a witch.)              
             
Staked the points down with the daggers.              
      Silk rope had a loop at each star point that just fit the dagger.              
      Stretched tight.              
             
When I reached to smooth the wrinkles out of the silk,              
she grabbed my hand.              
             
Nothing inside the pentagram,              
nothing touches the silk,              
until exactly 11:13 that night.              
             
Late enough by then,              
that it would have been pitch black,              
if it hadn't been for a full harvest moon.              
             
Some would have called it a witch's moon.              
             
Carefully put a candle at the pentagram points,              
(not the star points),              
without touching the silk.              
             
Time for a glass of wine.              
They were large glasses.              
Half bottle didn't filled the two glasses.              
Crystal, I think.              
Old, I'm certain.              
Odd tint to the glass.              
Red?              
             
These were her rules:              
             
      I could only drink from her glass              
            while she held it to my lips.              
      She could only drink from mine              
            while I held it to her lips.              
             
      one sip              
      I removed an article of her clothing              
      one sip              
      she removed an article of my clothing              
             
      stripped by the end of the first glass              
             
      one swallow to remain in each glass              
             
I was shivering, she was covered with goose bumps.              
      Was it that cold?              
I was a little dizzy, she seemed so too.              
      Was the wine that strong?              
             
Take the last swallow of wine into your mouth, do not swallow.              
She did the same.              
Kiss, mix the wine, swallow, half for me half for her.              
             
Really weird effect that had.              
Dizzy, shivers, erect nipples (they actually hurt --an erotic hurt) on both of us.              
             
Poured the remainder of the wine into the glasses.              
             
More rules:              
             
      Same rules on drinking from each other's glass.              
             
      No clothes left now.              
             
      one sip              
      suck, nibble, tongue massage her nipple              
      one sip              
      she did the same to me              
             
      another sip              
      another nipple              
             
      and another sip              
      finger caresses her clit              
      and another sip              
      stroke my dick              
             
      keep it up until the glasses had only one swallow left in each              
      stretch it out until 11:13              
             
      set the glasses down              
             
Light the candles.              
                    
At exactly 11:13,              
      hand in hand,              
      fully aroused,              
      engorged,              
      wet running down her legs,              
      stepped over the red and black rope and into/onto the pentagram.              
             
These were her instructions:              
             
      She would lie down within the pentagram,              
      head to one point,              
      a hand to each of two more points,              
      and feet to the last two points.              
             
      I would lie down on top of her.              
      Interlock her fingers with my fingers,              
      Wind my legs around her legs.              
      Stick my tongue in her mouth.              
             
      I was to fully penetrated her,              
      as deeply as humanly possible.              
             
      We were to lie there,              
      without movement,              
      entwined,              
      aroused,              
      engorged,              
      wet pooling on the silk,              
      completely engaged,              
      motionless.              
             
      At exactly the stroke of mid-night,              
      I was to thrust into her,              
      one thrust for each stroke of the clock,              
      on the 12th strike,              
      we would cum together.              
             
If "things" did not work,              
      we would have a decades worth of delayed sex,              
      on a silk pentagram sheet in the woods at night under the full moon.              
      Drink the last swallow of wine.              
      Get dressed, pack up, and leave.              
      I would be on my return flight by noon.              
             
If "things" did work,              
      sometime between the first and 12th stroke,              
      we would become observers,              
      no longer controllers of what our bodies did.              
            The thrusts would become forcefully painful.              
            Erotically painful for both of us.              
            We would cum together on the 12th stroke;              
            at 12:30, cum on its single stoke;              
            at 1:00, cum on its single stroke;              
            at 1:30, cum on it single stroke;              
            at 2:00, cum once on each of its two strokes,              
            at 2:30, once;              
            at 3:00, thrice;              
            and so on.              
             
      At some point we would loose consciousness,              
      awaken at dawn,              
      share/drink the last swallow of wine -as we had with the first glass;              
      and again lie down;              
      in each others arms;              
      wrapped/wound around each others bodies.              
             
      We would be so drained and parts of our bodies so sore,              
      we would be unable to have the sexual release our              
            all consumingly aroused bodies would demand that we have.              
      We would be trapped on the silk pentagram sheet until we did what we could not do.              
      Unable to dress, to pack, to return to Austin.              
      I would miss my flight.              
             
      To eventually die there on the pentagram,              
      or to orgasm,              
      would be our fate.              
             
      And if we did somehow orgasm,              
      its violence might well kill us.              
             
The first strike of the clock,              
my first thrust - - -    
   
   
This group of interrelated poems now has reached seven.  
 
http://deepundergroundpoetry.com/poems/73509-she-was-a-witch-for-the-halloween/  
 
http://deepundergroundpoetry.com/poems/131827-she-was-a-witch-here-is-part-two-of-the/  
 
http://deepundergroundpoetry.com/poems/152515-t-was-a-bloody-drink-to-please-hell/  
 
http://deepundergroundpoetry.com/poems/181254-she-was-a-witch----part-three/  
 
https://deepundergroundpoetry.com/poems/240717-equinox/

https://deepundergroundpoetry.com/poems/288096-october-again/