Wisteria Robe
He went to the altar, laid his hand upon the stone and closed his eyes, calling the Wisteria Witch….
He watched the group of men and women gathered around the stone altar and breathed in the singing air of anticipation of what was to come.
The blanket of night and fog billowed around them like a mystic covering from the outside world.
The mist-formed shapes left impressions of embracing lovers. The ebony sky glimmered with an aura of power and waited for her presence.
The legend of the Wisteria Witch and her robe ceremony was deeply embedded in her homeland.
The tale of the sexual ritual of a witch, a high priestess with profound powers, was whispered among the natives in equal parts of fear and awe.
Few truly witnessed the sacred ceremony.
The ones that did witness kept its secrets.
The whispered chants of her name floated in the air. The goddess they all sought and feared. She was pure, raw sexuality manifested.
The willow and rowan swayed softly in unison with their partner zephyr. Leaf, branch, and wind merged under the moon performing nature’s own sexual rite.
He was uncertain of what to expect within the folds of the wisteria robe ceremony. He only knew that he was meant to be here. He felt the calling; the pull that tonight would alter his life and he welcomed the change.
He stood with pride and confidence under the soft velvet folds of the wisteria robe. The material stimulated your naked flesh; tiny life-like sparks caressed you everywhere at once, molding to your frame, worshipping you.
Naked glimpses of bodies teased the senses everywhere you looked. Hard nipples of women pushed enticingly against the caressing robes. Secret shadows and soft moans were hints of urgent passion flaring.
The hoods of the robes covered the guests’ faces adding to the aura of secrecy and sensual mystery unlike any other.
He was part of the semicircle around the back of the altar, yet felt apart. Tonight he would be the chosen one to touch her. He knew it because he felt the call and waited.
The mist flared higher, changing their frantic pose, colors mixed with the transparent miasma.
She was close. Her presence was felt before her form appeared. Currents of sweetness bred. His body tingled with sensation as the robe altered from light touches to excited petting motions, opening the full breadth and beauty of the sensual.
His body eased with joyful sensation, letting the robe and his surroundings touch him in ecstasy. From his inner core, an inside flame ignited to an overwhelming energy of linked spiritual lust.
Each body became combined to one. A current of pure lust, massage of heat, a force, as desire and passion expanded from the inside to the outside covering of flesh. Power. Raw hunger of each thought, each caress, each sensation of the group now one.
Cardinal desire fused heightened feelings of need until they no longer were a mass but one sensation of savage sexual essence.
Soft blue flickers of breath formed a ring of fire around her ankles. Worshipping, feeding.
Her gown was transparent, violet threads of glimmered nothing, touching her curves like a waterfall of desire. The garment split down the front of her being, drawing your attention to each secret tease of her body.
Her hair flowed loose, tickling the back of her neck and shoulders. The soft blue flames of luminous light flowed as she walked. Each step of pure blue flame floated around her, disappearing only to reappear again as each step glided closer to the altar and the gathered pagans that had come.
This night.
The night of the wisteria robe.
This witch.
The night of the wisteria witch.
No one moved as the ring of blue circled behind his or her body. No one moved, as the flames grew higher, alive. The flame ring crackled with vitality, forming a complete circle around them.
He thought about the flame and that there was no heat.
She turned to him with a tiny wisp of a smile. Her voiceless words echoed softly in his mind. “No heat?”
His body instantly withered with intense desire, need, and cravings of sexual release. “No earthly heat,” he corrected instantly and her smile widened before reducing the erotic torture.
Pausing at the stone altar she slowly slid her fingers under the violet strands of her gown. Instantly, hands of creatures not seen before, were there to remove the garment. He watched the small creatures, her slaves, with fascinated interest.
Small, almost troll-like beings swarmed her. Here, gone instantly. Conjured images.
Hundreds burst into the circle surrounding her naked form, fingers caressing and pulling at her body. She pet them with tenderness as one would a beloved dog or cat.
One was braver, or the leader. He placed his hand on her smooth mound. His finger rammed inside her folds. Her head snapped back. The wind carried the scream of her moan to every watching pagan. The jolt of sensation she was feeling quivered in each of them.
Moans filled the air, echoing her gasps. Her body twisted in shared ecstasy.
He stood transfixed as he watched the creatures touch her. He felt his skin tingle, indents of invisible fingers moved along his burning body. Every touch, every burning caress upon her flesh was transcended onto each of the worshippers.
Standing within the ring of fire he watched as the creatures lifted her reverently unto the altar. She waved her fingers to them and smiled.
Each creature went to the guests, removing the robes. Her commands rolled silently, a melody of desire calling to her pets. She spoke to them as to whom she would be choosing this night.
The chant of “me” rang out. Silent pleads in their minds. Linked thoughts.
“Me. Let the wisteria witch choose me.”
Each had a deep-rooted appetite to be the one. “Me.” The voices grew louder, more urgent and he heard his own voice mingled with the others. “Me,” he begged, “Please me.”
The creature came closer to him and he smiled. Yes. Yes.
The imp looked up and smiled back only to take the hand of the female next to him. A shudder went through the crowd, equal parts disappointment at not being the chosen one mixed with excitement.
They all knew that with each sensation that the wisteria witch felt, they too would feel. Each touch, each soft gasp would vibrate to their very core and burn inside their flesh.
He watched as the eager chosen one ran to the altar to worship the witch lying there. He watched and felt the chosen one’s lips kiss the sole of the witch’s feet, waiting for permission to touch her.
The crowd waited in awe as the witch gave a small nod of her head giving the chosen female permission to continue.
His flesh quivered as the chosen one’s tongue licked up the witch’s calf to her inner thigh and finally to her pulsating wet pussy.
They all tasted her as the chosen one was, like the nectar of heaven.
Bodies around him began to merge, partners, groups, touching. Lying upon the earth, they copied the actions of the chosen one worshipping the witch.
He resisted the need to be one in the group, standing, feeling, and watching the two women on the altar, the goddess and the chosen one feeding from the flesh of the witch.
The creatures joined the withering bodies on the ground, partaking in the offerings, licking the women’s heated pussies, playing with their sensitive breasts, biting nipples from one to the other, taking them to the edge of release only to pause. Sensual torture.
Control broke; men rammed their aching cocks in wet holes of pussy, mouth, and ass. Hands grasped, pulled and pushed.
Harder movements, deep thrusts, release. Cocks being mouth fucked. Couples were on all fours, beasts and beauty fusing to one.
He stood and watched her, felt the sensations of the crowd, of the wisteria witch and nearly screamed with the need to be inside her. The witch lifted her head. “Forward,” she beckoned him. His steps were quick, eager and he too kissed the sole of her feet, waiting for her commands.
“Suck him,” she commanded the female slave. “Suck his hard cock for me.” The chosen one eagerly did the witch’s bidding; placing her lips still coated in her pussy juice over the head of his cock.
His eyes locked with that of the goddess as the slave sucked his cock.
“What do you want?”
“To bury my cock so fucking deep inside your pussy that you scream; to fuck you so hard that we no longer know dark from light, or sin from good. I want to be the beast that feeds and is fed from you until I scream.”
“Let me watch you fuck her. Fuck her like you want to fuck me.”
The chosen one crawled on the altar beside the goddess, lifting her ass in the air for him. Her tongue snaked out to the waiting pussy of the witch. Placing her hands behind her back, arching her body forward, the witch positioned herself so she was capable of watching him slide his cock inside the other and still be able to see the slave lick her pussy.
The crowd moaned and gyrated around them. Pagan slaves in sensual hunger. Feeding, being fed the gifts from the wisteria witch. The creatures lapped up the flesh of the bodies and they moved as one entity upon the earth around the three on the altar above them.
His cock rammed inside the chosen one’s pussy folds. With each thrust he thought of the goddess. Bucking his body harder and deeper into the woman who was moaning under him as she continued to lick and suck the sweet pussy of the witch.
Her tongue jutted in and out of the witch’s wet heat, until the witch placed her hand on the woman’s head and commanded her to move.
The three changed positions, as he knelt in front of her and placed his hands under the witch’s ass. The witch placed her feet on the stone plank on either side of him, lifted her pelvis and met his urgent trust.
So wet. So hot.
Her pussy met his, thrust after urgent thrust. The female slave, licked, caressed and touched each of them as they took from the other until they both screamed into the night under the power of the moon and the blessing of the willow and the rowan trees.
Took until the night blanket became the break of dawn, the blue flames became morning haze. They took until the echo of the wisteria witch’s cry of ecstasy ran over the homeland.
He watched the group of men and women depart. Breathing in the singing air of what they experienced; the ritual of the Wisteria Robe. The secrets buried within.
Once more he went back to the altar. Laid his hand upon the stone and closed his eyes. Calling the wisteria witch….
He went to the altar, laid his hand upon the stone and closed his eyes, calling the Wisteria Witch….
He watched the group of men and women gathered around the stone altar and breathed in the singing air of anticipation of what was to come.
The blanket of night and fog billowed around them like a mystic covering from the outside world.
The mist-formed shapes left impressions of embracing lovers. The ebony sky glimmered with an aura of power and waited for her presence.
The legend of the Wisteria Witch and her robe ceremony was deeply embedded in her homeland.
The tale of the sexual ritual of a witch, a high priestess with profound powers, was whispered among the natives in equal parts of fear and awe.
Few truly witnessed the sacred ceremony.
The ones that did witness kept its secrets.
The whispered chants of her name floated in the air. The goddess they all sought and feared. She was pure, raw sexuality manifested.
The willow and rowan swayed softly in unison with their partner zephyr. Leaf, branch, and wind merged under the moon performing nature’s own sexual rite.
He was uncertain of what to expect within the folds of the wisteria robe ceremony. He only knew that he was meant to be here. He felt the calling; the pull that tonight would alter his life and he welcomed the change.
He stood with pride and confidence under the soft velvet folds of the wisteria robe. The material stimulated your naked flesh; tiny life-like sparks caressed you everywhere at once, molding to your frame, worshipping you.
Naked glimpses of bodies teased the senses everywhere you looked. Hard nipples of women pushed enticingly against the caressing robes. Secret shadows and soft moans were hints of urgent passion flaring.
The hoods of the robes covered the guests’ faces adding to the aura of secrecy and sensual mystery unlike any other.
He was part of the semicircle around the back of the altar, yet felt apart. Tonight he would be the chosen one to touch her. He knew it because he felt the call and waited.
The mist flared higher, changing their frantic pose, colors mixed with the transparent miasma.
She was close. Her presence was felt before her form appeared. Currents of sweetness bred. His body tingled with sensation as the robe altered from light touches to excited petting motions, opening the full breadth and beauty of the sensual.
His body eased with joyful sensation, letting the robe and his surroundings touch him in ecstasy. From his inner core, an inside flame ignited to an overwhelming energy of linked spiritual lust.
Each body became combined to one. A current of pure lust, massage of heat, a force, as desire and passion expanded from the inside to the outside covering of flesh. Power. Raw hunger of each thought, each caress, each sensation of the group now one.
Cardinal desire fused heightened feelings of need until they no longer were a mass but one sensation of savage sexual essence.
Soft blue flickers of breath formed a ring of fire around her ankles. Worshipping, feeding.
Her gown was transparent, violet threads of glimmered nothing, touching her curves like a waterfall of desire. The garment split down the front of her being, drawing your attention to each secret tease of her body.
Her hair flowed loose, tickling the back of her neck and shoulders. The soft blue flames of luminous light flowed as she walked. Each step of pure blue flame floated around her, disappearing only to reappear again as each step glided closer to the altar and the gathered pagans that had come.
This night.
The night of the wisteria robe.
This witch.
The night of the wisteria witch.
No one moved as the ring of blue circled behind his or her body. No one moved, as the flames grew higher, alive. The flame ring crackled with vitality, forming a complete circle around them.
He thought about the flame and that there was no heat.
She turned to him with a tiny wisp of a smile. Her voiceless words echoed softly in his mind. “No heat?”
His body instantly withered with intense desire, need, and cravings of sexual release. “No earthly heat,” he corrected instantly and her smile widened before reducing the erotic torture.
Pausing at the stone altar she slowly slid her fingers under the violet strands of her gown. Instantly, hands of creatures not seen before, were there to remove the garment. He watched the small creatures, her slaves, with fascinated interest.
Small, almost troll-like beings swarmed her. Here, gone instantly. Conjured images.
Hundreds burst into the circle surrounding her naked form, fingers caressing and pulling at her body. She pet them with tenderness as one would a beloved dog or cat.
One was braver, or the leader. He placed his hand on her smooth mound. His finger rammed inside her folds. Her head snapped back. The wind carried the scream of her moan to every watching pagan. The jolt of sensation she was feeling quivered in each of them.
Moans filled the air, echoing her gasps. Her body twisted in shared ecstasy.
He stood transfixed as he watched the creatures touch her. He felt his skin tingle, indents of invisible fingers moved along his burning body. Every touch, every burning caress upon her flesh was transcended onto each of the worshippers.
Standing within the ring of fire he watched as the creatures lifted her reverently unto the altar. She waved her fingers to them and smiled.
Each creature went to the guests, removing the robes. Her commands rolled silently, a melody of desire calling to her pets. She spoke to them as to whom she would be choosing this night.
The chant of “me” rang out. Silent pleads in their minds. Linked thoughts.
“Me. Let the wisteria witch choose me.”
Each had a deep-rooted appetite to be the one. “Me.” The voices grew louder, more urgent and he heard his own voice mingled with the others. “Me,” he begged, “Please me.”
The creature came closer to him and he smiled. Yes. Yes.
The imp looked up and smiled back only to take the hand of the female next to him. A shudder went through the crowd, equal parts disappointment at not being the chosen one mixed with excitement.
They all knew that with each sensation that the wisteria witch felt, they too would feel. Each touch, each soft gasp would vibrate to their very core and burn inside their flesh.
He watched as the eager chosen one ran to the altar to worship the witch lying there. He watched and felt the chosen one’s lips kiss the sole of the witch’s feet, waiting for permission to touch her.
The crowd waited in awe as the witch gave a small nod of her head giving the chosen female permission to continue.
His flesh quivered as the chosen one’s tongue licked up the witch’s calf to her inner thigh and finally to her pulsating wet pussy.
They all tasted her as the chosen one was, like the nectar of heaven.
Bodies around him began to merge, partners, groups, touching. Lying upon the earth, they copied the actions of the chosen one worshipping the witch.
He resisted the need to be one in the group, standing, feeling, and watching the two women on the altar, the goddess and the chosen one feeding from the flesh of the witch.
The creatures joined the withering bodies on the ground, partaking in the offerings, licking the women’s heated pussies, playing with their sensitive breasts, biting nipples from one to the other, taking them to the edge of release only to pause. Sensual torture.
Control broke; men rammed their aching cocks in wet holes of pussy, mouth, and ass. Hands grasped, pulled and pushed.
Harder movements, deep thrusts, release. Cocks being mouth fucked. Couples were on all fours, beasts and beauty fusing to one.
He stood and watched her, felt the sensations of the crowd, of the wisteria witch and nearly screamed with the need to be inside her. The witch lifted her head. “Forward,” she beckoned him. His steps were quick, eager and he too kissed the sole of her feet, waiting for her commands.
“Suck him,” she commanded the female slave. “Suck his hard cock for me.” The chosen one eagerly did the witch’s bidding; placing her lips still coated in her pussy juice over the head of his cock.
His eyes locked with that of the goddess as the slave sucked his cock.
“What do you want?”
“To bury my cock so fucking deep inside your pussy that you scream; to fuck you so hard that we no longer know dark from light, or sin from good. I want to be the beast that feeds and is fed from you until I scream.”
“Let me watch you fuck her. Fuck her like you want to fuck me.”
The chosen one crawled on the altar beside the goddess, lifting her ass in the air for him. Her tongue snaked out to the waiting pussy of the witch. Placing her hands behind her back, arching her body forward, the witch positioned herself so she was capable of watching him slide his cock inside the other and still be able to see the slave lick her pussy.
The crowd moaned and gyrated around them. Pagan slaves in sensual hunger. Feeding, being fed the gifts from the wisteria witch. The creatures lapped up the flesh of the bodies and they moved as one entity upon the earth around the three on the altar above them.
His cock rammed inside the chosen one’s pussy folds. With each thrust he thought of the goddess. Bucking his body harder and deeper into the woman who was moaning under him as she continued to lick and suck the sweet pussy of the witch.
Her tongue jutted in and out of the witch’s wet heat, until the witch placed her hand on the woman’s head and commanded her to move.
The three changed positions, as he knelt in front of her and placed his hands under the witch’s ass. The witch placed her feet on the stone plank on either side of him, lifted her pelvis and met his urgent trust.
So wet. So hot.
Her pussy met his, thrust after urgent thrust. The female slave, licked, caressed and touched each of them as they took from the other until they both screamed into the night under the power of the moon and the blessing of the willow and the rowan trees.
Took until the night blanket became the break of dawn, the blue flames became morning haze. They took until the echo of the wisteria witch’s cry of ecstasy ran over the homeland.
He watched the group of men and women depart. Breathing in the singing air of what they experienced; the ritual of the Wisteria Robe. The secrets buried within.
Once more he went back to the altar. Laid his hand upon the stone and closed his eyes. Calling the wisteria witch….