Twisted Forecast

CW: Contains mature themes and sexual content

Bullets of rain hammered the window pane as the raging wind looked for someone to take its temper out on. Something about the ferocity of the storm made the man flinch. She smiled at his reaction. People often reacted to the slightest and smallest of occurrences. A late train. A bad driver cutting them up. An empty carton of milk in the fridge; who the hell did that?! Easier to focus on the small stuff and spend a lifetime ignoring the elephant standing on their midriff. Human’s capacity for emotional pain was huge. They were addicted to it. Carried it with them wherever they went. Added to it wherever they could. Just as long as they could do so surreptitiously. They never wanted to take accountability for the stowaway. Let that sleeping black dog lay. Needless suffering was the most prevalent of all hobbies.

He misunderstood her smile. Saw warmth in it. “Looks like we’re stuck indoors,” he said with a shrug.

“Worse places to be stuck,” she waved a hand casually at the open fire. He nodded and gave her an appraising look. His meaning obvious. She was part of the place and he was glad she was here with him.

“So…” he began, then trailed off. There was an excitement to his demeanour. He couldn’t wait to get started. She found that they’d improved over the past few decades. Books based around magic had become more popular. Witches and wizards. Then the films followed and it was cool to like magic. Almost mainstream, but not quite. Magic appreciation remained within subcultures. The preserve of people who liked to think of themselves as alternative when they were anything but.

She liked them all the same. There was a quality to people such as these that she would not gain access to were she not to play their game.

Leaving him hanging, she walked over to the fire and added a couple of logs. Poked it a little, sending sparks upwards. The souls of the departed making a getaway before all that remained was dust and ashes. She felt him watching her. Their gaze was so often hungry. Always there was want. It should have tired her, but instead she enjoined them in that hunger. Understood its roots, if not the lack of ambition so many of them had.

She’d dressed for the occasion. It was important to look the part. Visual creatures needed clues and nudges in the right direction. There was the hint of stocking top as her skirt rode up. Heels rendering her legs more shapely. He’d spot the tail end of her tattoo and this would initiate a string of thoughts that would make coherence that bit more difficult. He was here for magic. He would not be disappointed.

She stood and turned to face him. He blushed as though caught in the act of something he should not have been indulging in. She smiled at his discomfort. Deepening it. Stoking his fires. He caught a glimpse of another tattoo. This time on her forearm. More intrigue to draw out his curiosity.

“Shall we?” she asked.

“Yes, lets,” he responded quickly, voicing his obvious eagerness.

She gestured to the large sofa. He sat, and she sat next to him. He smiled awkwardly at this. Their proximity implied an intimacy he had hoped for but did not dare believe was possible. Again her skirt rode up. Not too far. All in good time. This was all carefully choreographed. All about building up to a point where things got interesting. All part of the magic.

“I’ve never met a real witch before,” he said this quietly. A childish quality to his words and demeanour. She smiled. Her smiles moved things along. She had a suite of them. Just some of the instruments she played so that they danced to her tune.

“Tell me why you wanted to meet me,” she breathed the words out towards him. Further fuelling his want. Inviting him to be a party to seduction. Giving him the green light to conflate magic with sex. Sex had that about it. People thought it complex, but its reality was that it lingered in places of darkness and of intrigue. Arousal took the edge off the dark side of life just as any intoxication did.

“I’ve always wanted…” he paused to frame what it was that he wanted.

She reached over and touched his thigh. Leaving her hand there. He glanced down at her long, black painted nails. Another part of an outfit that made it all work for her. “I understand,” she said looking deeply into his eyes.

He sighed and that was when she knew she had him. Some would have doubts. Second thoughts that threatened to thwart the spell she was casting over them. They would squirm and eye the exit but never would they get away. The illusion of freewill was something she was adept at crushing as and when she felt like it.

Her magic was power. Power that she held over them. They wanted that. They became submissive as she rose before them. Some may fight it, but that internal conflict was always lost. The dark consumed the light. Snuffed out the guttering candle flame. Their courage would falter and in her they would see something they’d never seen before and would never see again.

That was the part she had never figured out. What it was that they saw. She doubted it was her. More something they clutched at. Hope maybe. Externalising their salvation. Outsourcing it because they doubted they had the expertise to come through for themselves. Failing to back themselves. Sabotaged by self-doubt and so opting for a fantasy to paper over an unfolding cruel reality.

Whatever it was that they did. It worked. Worked for them and for her. Never failed to work for her. She slipped her hand further along his thigh and was rewarded with a low groan. He was flushed with desire now. Could not take his eyes from hers.

“You’ve never been with a witch before?” her voice was low, almost guttural.

“No, I’ve always wanted to though,” he whispered his reply.

“Wanted to feel her magic as she seduced you?” she asked, already knowing his answer.

“Yes,” he almost gasped his response.

Her hand went higher, “give yourself to her no matter the consequences?”

He nodded now, not trusting his response as her hand went higher. Enraptured by her. Her power over him excited her. The anticipation of what was to come made her tremble, her breath ragged. Matching his.

Her other hand stroked his cheek gently. He barely noticed her tattoo grow, extending out past her caressing fingers. Wrapping itself around his head. Pulling him closer as she leaned into kiss him deeply.

She climbed onto him. Straddling him. Feeling his arousal. The tattoo on her thigh wrapped itself around his waist. He was pinned now. She had him right where she wanted him. She undid his jeans. Freeing him. Moving over him. Then she broke away from their kiss and smiled a predatory smile. Her hunger transforming her and revealing her true nature.

This was her moment. Triumph over her prey. Tightening around him and taking him. Penetrating him and feeling him pulse into her. Taking her time and savouring every sensation. Prolonging the pleasure for both of them.

He returned her smile. She froze as this one simple gesture shattered her world. She felt an alien force pulling at her and too late did she realise that her tattoo was being taken from her. Not that she could have done anything about it. Her power was only skin deep and without it she was only too human.

He continued to smile as the tattoo moved along his skin, tendrils rising from his collar. Up along that tantalising neck of his. Now he held her. Gently. There was a tenderness to his touch.

“There, that’s much better,” his smile remained, but now he looked hungry. The mirror of her. She looked for answers in his eyes and only found darkness. As he embraced her and his mouth found her neck she sighed in a wonderful resignation. The storm raged on, the soundtrack to his feeding upon her.