I Put A Spell On You
Life has offered me many pleasures but my greatest passion has always been to observe and poke the human mind. Humans are quite susceptible to small adjustments in their thought processes, in their environment, in their feelings. My dear mother had already hundreds of years ago, when I was still crawling around on a toddler’s legs, persistently spread the assumption that I had a sadistic humor: I enjoyed trying out my special powers in a way that it baffled, changed or confused people. I never intentionally meant to hurt anyone, and I doubt you would call the results of my actions hurtful. They are flabbergasting at most, amusing at least.
Today, well into the new century, I have well adjusted into the modern times. I dislike lasting connections who become shallow and distant with time, I instead like the instant depth of passion. Humans have the intriguing ability to let go during short encounters, to only later try to shield themselves again, even ashamed of their true nature. Friendships are of no interest to me, but the passion of a sinful night has always made my tingle. You might think that I am a cold person, but I am not. I am warm, I am interested. But I have never met anyone who is truly themselves for long enough to capture my need for anything of longevity. Sad, very much.
I enjoy watching their silent mating dances, their coquetting and winking, their smiling and giggling. Nothing has changed with new technologies. A different medium but the dance remains the same. Humans pretend to be who they want to be. They paint their faces, squish their bodies into uncomfortable clothing, bath in fragrances. Only to remove it all again for a moment of passion and pleasure.
But I digress. I am not much today. I am a cleaner at the university of a major city in Europe. I chose this profession, because I can observe, I can play. And then there is the broom, I have always had an affinity to brooms. It is funny, really. A witch that likes brooms? I like holding them, I like watching the movements they make under my command. And yes, at night I like riding one, flying on it through the cold evening air.
Tonight, I am sitting on my favourite broom. My long black skirt is waving in the rainy evening air, I am holding on to my pointy hat and my breasts are rather chill, being pushed up by a velvet corset. I land next to the house of the Dean of the university, making sure no one saw my odd arrival. Tonight is the annual masquerade to which all employees of the university are invited, professors and cleaners alike. Rather pretentious, if you ask me, calling it a masquerade. It is a rather dull Halloween event each year. Dress up and alcoholic punch. But I am here because it is a wonderful opportunity to observe.
I join the small crowd walking up the stairs to the front door, which is standing open. The majority of the party’s guests seems to have gathered in the large dining room. A dj is standing in the corner, lining up one meaningless tune after the other. Some guests are dancing, others lean against walls, sit on chairs or are standing in the hallway, lost in conversations with each other. Events like this rather confuse me. I choose to dress as a witch. It is the one time I can be who I really am without raising any suspicions. But humans are different. They dress up as who they would like to be seen as. They dress up as who they want to be, not who they really are.
I wonder why that is and silently schuckle at the costume choices. There is the shy chemistry research assistant sporting a superman costume. The Dean’s secretary, a grey mousy person you’d never notice, being a Playboy bunny. There is the rather obnoxious macho of a cook dressed like a 18th century Victorian gentleman. The very strict female professor of literature looking like a burlesque dancer. The shallow counselor sporting a Joker costume. The always made up and pretty physics professor covered in bandages to resemble a mummy.
A Halloween party really is the epitome of people showing who they really want to be. Not literally, of course. But showing how they want to be seen: strong, sexual, charming, sexy, entertaining, mysterious. I seem to be the only one who really doesn’t want to hide her true nature tonight. I want to observe. I want to see them lose all their wits and restraints. Not as who they are, but who they want to be. I feel the tingle between my legs. Maybe my mother was right. I am a sadist, I like to see others behave the way I want them to behave, just to observe. I am a sadistic voyeur. Be it. I shall watch them intensely tonight!
I open the pouch that is dangling on the side of my skirt and grab a handful of the silver powder I have carefully prepared all day. I open my hand, part my lips, blow the powerful glitter into the room, and whisper: “I put on a spell on you, and now you are all mine.”. I watch the small particles’ path through the room, flying into nostrils and landing on tongues. I smile. This is going to be interesting.
I lean against the wall and wait. Moments later the atmosphere of the room changes. An electrifying sexual tension seems to spread. I am content, my spell seems to be working. I watch confused looks turn into pleased expressions. They can feel it, but they are not fighting it. Nice! They want it. I might be a sadist, but I only like playing with willing subjects. My spell only works on those that sense its powers and agree for it to let it overtake them.
The tingle between my legs intensifies as I observe the shy superman turn into a strong and confident young man, who walks up to the Playboy bunny. He stands in front of her, looks her in the eyes, nods and seconds later the two of them are deeply engaged in kissing and removing each other’s clothes. Nipples get exposed, bodies grinding against each other. Superman’s first move seems to have given confidence to the others in the room. The Victorian cook approaches the seductive burlesque dancer who grabs his behind while he taps his hat. She pulls his hands to her breasts, leading him, while he courteously allows the woman to take control. Soon I find him lying on his back, naked, the literature professor riding him. The mummy-clothed woman looks up to the Joker, who wittingly whispers sweet words into her ear that make her giggle and spread her legs. Hands push aside bandages, and fingers dip into wet needy places.
And I observe them. Those silly humans, not really grasping what is happening, but just following their carnal needs, finally being able to be who they want to be. They seem to get as much sexual pleasure from their own realisations of their dream selves as from from their partners. Panting, screaming, gasping for air. Those silly humans, so easily persuaded, so easily seduced. I feel my power, I feel my own need. Still leaning against the wall, I pull up my skirt, and slightly spread my legs. I can smell my own arousal and feel the wetness of myself as my fingers circle my clit.
I free one of my breasts from its corsetty prison and pinch my nipple. I need to close my eyes for a second to enjoy the sweet painful sensation that sends waves of pleasure throughout my body. Glancing at the room again, I observe superheroes, bunnies, gentlemen, dancers, jokers and mummies being lost in their own sensations. Exposed breasts, naked butts, hard cocks, wet cunts. I timed this perfectly, all of them getting closer and closer to that one moment of truly letting go. I spread my legs event further, two digits now entering me, pushing inside, filling me. My other hand wanders to my clit, rubbing it, I feel myself reaching the point of no return.
“Now let go, my puppets!”, I whisper. The lamps flicker and suddenly everyone screams out in unison with me. The overwhelming feeling of the orgasm grips me as I watch explosions of juices, twitching of bodies, open mouths, crazed faces. I slide down the wall as my spasming legs can’t hold me anymore. I let out a long gasp of pleasure.
Silence. The dj stands behind the table, mouth open. A slow song starts to play.
I put a spell on you
Because you’re mine
You know I love you
I love you
I love you
I love you anyhow
And I don’t care if you don’t want me
I’m yours right now
I stand up, and pull down my skirt. I watch everyone else hastily looking for their clothes, eyes on the floor, faces blushed. I smile and walk out of the room, down the stairs, out on the grass. I climb on to my broom, and fly off into the night, laughing.