Shianne the Witch

Author's note: this fictional work contains incest, scenes of fictional mind control, reluctant, dubiously consensual sex or such scenarios.

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My name is Shianne. I was nineteen when I got the heavy leather book as a present from one of my favorite aunts. Her name was Mara, and she had just died and left me the tome in her will, as I'd always shown interest in it when I visited as a child. I cracked it open and perused its pages, finding some recipes for tea and many herbal remedies. After flipping through some of the pages I shut it and put it on a shelf where it waited for three years before I finally remembered it around the end of October.

In those three years I had fallen in and then out of love, grown and become more confident about my interests and wants. I finished college and started a business in my hometown selling rare plants that allowed me to pay for my first apartment. I got into knitting, tarot, painting and even took up writing a bit. In that time the book sat on my shelf, occasionally catching my eye and reminding me that it was still there. One day on the recommendation of one of my friends, I began to inform myself about witchcraft.

The more I read about the different paths, secrets and truths present within the arts of the witch the more I was engrossed in the idea of being a witch. It felt so right and the more I studied and tried, the more I enjoyed it. There was something very freeing and exciting about being able to create a ritual or spell to help me or others.

Growing up, I was always the most well behaved of all my siblings. My parents were hardworking and strict but always very loving. They taught us how to work and save and they never shied away from expressing their displeasure when we did something wrong. I had 6 older brothers and being around all that trouble disposed me naturally to being quiet and reserved. I was always very responsible and I never gave my parents anything to be ashamed of. I was a good girl, and witchcraft was something I could never have imagined indulging myself in. It became my dirty little secret, the only thing I kept from my parents.

I was twenty two when I finally got around to reading the grimoire. It was a rainy day and I had finished cleaning my apartment and there was nothing to do. I had just finished studying a book of dark symbols, and something on my bookshelf caught my eye. I had never noticed it before, but the spine of my aunt's grimoire had a curious design, a stylized eye.

I took the book from the shelf and opened it. The smell of the paper and something distant and mysterious filled me up with warmth and made me nostalgic. This was the same smell that came from her house when she would sit with me and let me draw while she made her medicines. She would always let me give the funniest names for all the plants she cared for and used in her brews. Together we would make them into characters that lived in her house and I remember dreaming that the plants would come alive at night to play and cavort throughout the house.

The first pages of the grimoire were filled with notes. Anecdotes and musings about the recipes and spells and rituals contained therein. She was an old-fashioned woman, and her handwriting was very curly and beautiful, almost like calligraphy. The pages were yellow and brown with a leathery quality. Thin, but not brittle. The edges had been carefully cut with a knife or scissors and the writing was faded a bit, but still easy to read.

She wrote about her travels throughout the world, about the different traditions and people she met along the way. Spells and incantations, as well as various notes and scribbles about potion making were tucked into every space of every page.

She spoke of her first experience with magic, an exorcism of sorts, performed on her family farm when she was only 18. My grandfather had used his secret abilities to force a demonic spirit out of it's host and back to whence it had come. The spirit had taken possession of one of the workers on the farm, a young woman named Maria who had come from the mountains. My grandfather, being the kind man he was, offered her a place to stay and offered to help both her and the spirit move on. Maria's spirit was restless and confused and the spirit refused to let her go, holding on to physical life and Maria's body as a hostage.

Grandfather sent everyone from the farm except for Maria, himself and Aunt Mara, who had always been gifted in the healing arts and was studying medicine. They locked themselves in the barn for three days. At the end of the third day they emerged, the spirit having returned to its realm. Mara wrote about all she had learned about spirits and demons, their desires and how to draw them from a human form without harming the soul of the host. Specifically, my aunt noted the power of eroticism to lure and control otherworldly forces. According to my grandfather, it was the allure of physical pleasure that these creatures craved most.

After that Aunt Mara began her study in earnest, traveling all over the world. Her writing was full of adventure and wonder. I was engrossed in the book and spent the entire evening and night reading about the many experiences she had had and the secrets she learned. I found myself excited to try some of the spells I'd found in her notes, jotting them down in a journal of my own for later use.

The next morning, my alarm woke me from a deep sleep. I got ready for work and headed to the shop, opening at 10am. My mind was full of the book and I barely registered anything happening around me. I found myself doodling strange patterns and sigils in the margins of receipts.

On my lunch break I decided to run home and grab the book to bring back to the shop for the second half of my day. It was a slow day and I wanted to keep exploring it's dense pages while I waited for closing time. As I reached my apartment, I felt a chill and sensed someone else was near. The door was cracked, but no one was inside. My things were all in their usual places, nothing out of the ordinary aside from the book. It was lying on the floor in the center of my living room, its pages open to a portion I had not yet read.

I bent down to pick up the book and as I did, my eyes met with a strange drawing of a figure with wings, horns, and hooves. Despite these features the figure was clearly female, it had large pendulous breasts and a serpent slithered around its limbs, the serpent's head near the figure's vagina. I looked away, unable to process what it was I had seen. When I looked back the page was simply lines of writing, as though the image had been some sort of hallucination.

I was confused and shaken, feeling cold and a bit frightened. I didn't understand what I'd seen, but I felt a need to read the grimoire more closely. I flipped the page, but the image did not reappear. I put the book on my table and closed it. The binding was rich dark leather and brass fixings. The book seemed extremely old, but despite this the structure of it was in phenomenal condition. It opened and closed as though the spine had been broken a thousand times, but when it was shut there was no crease to be seen. I ran my thumb over the eye symbol absentmindedly.

The image from the book had stayed with me. It felt like the tome was trying to communicate something to me, but I had no idea what that could be.

I went back to work, taking the book with me. It was busy when I got back so I wasn't able to read as much I wanted. Throughout the afternoon I kept catching myself doodling the same figure, her long black hair falling around her face. Her body was sensual, and the image was clearly sexual, though there was something ominous and frightening about the horns and wings. I would never have called myself a lustful person, but something about the image resonated with a portion of me I usually kept tucked deep away.

The day passed and eventually things slowed down to a trickle. It was an hour or two 'til closing time, and I found myself sitting back in my chair in the back of the shop. I was leafing through the pages of the book. Suddenly, I felt a powerful urge to touch myself. My hand reach down to my crotch, my fingers slipping down beneath my waistband and panties. I was extremely wet, the folds of my labia smooth and slippery. I spread the lips apart and slipped a finger inside myself, massaging the walls of my vagina. I heard a noise and snapped out of it, shocked at what I found myself doing. I had never touched myself at work before. I was so embarrassed that I hid in the bathroom for a brief moment, washing my hands and face. What was happening to me?

I went back to the cash register and finished out the day. When I got home, I was exhausted and a little freaked out. I spent the evening readying the book, forgetting to eat as I devoured the text. I had finished the portion that was my aunt's notes. The pages that came afterwards were covered in strange runes and diagrams, some of which I recognized and others that were completely foreign to me. I had used runes, or at least their basic forms, during my time experimenting with witchcraft. I didn't know the true history or meaning of the magic surrounding the elder forms, but I often fell on them for their ability to capture complexity and offer simplicity when creating a spell or charm.

Many of these sigils and runes were unknown to me, and I ran my hand over them, whispering the tones and sounds of their shapes, trying to work out what they sounded like when spoken aloud. These mysterious ciphers captured my attention and kept me engrossed for hours. As I reached a certain portion of the grimoire, I realized that the night had given way to a new day. I got up and stretched, my joints sore and mind tense. It was still early in the morning. and there were things I had learned that I felt an overwhelming urge to put to the test. But first, a bath. I was still very worked up from the feelings the image I'd seen the previous day had provoked in me.

In the bathroom I drew the bath, tucking a few specific herbs and flowers into the water following a recipe I had found in the book, allowing them to steep as the tub filled. Scented steam rose from the water. The smell was bitter and sweet, somehow both fresh and deep. I lit a white candle and placed it near the tub. It had a pure, clean scent that contrasted with the heady aroma of the flowers in the bath. I took my clothes off slowly, watching my body in the mirror. Something about the aroma of the bath made my head feel foggy and my erogenous areas scream to be touched.

I recalled how I'd touched myself the previous day and my fingers remembered, my slit slippery and warm when I touched it. I stepped into the water, sensing a tickling on the edge of my mind. The soap and herbs had created a bath that was incredibly smooth and sensuous, a thick layer of scented foam and bubbles covered the surface, lapping at the edges of the tub. Steam rose up into the air as my body sank deeper into the fragrant pool. Under the water I began to touch myself, my hands passing over the small rounds of breasts, the soft skin warm and fuzzy under my fingers.

I closed my eyes, feeling one of my hands pass over my slit, sensitive in the warm water. The other found my right nipple and gave it a firm pinch. My body became more awake as I spread my legs and began to manipulate my vulva, the sensations tingling through my vagina as I touched myself with more fervor. Small bursts of arousal coursed through my head and I began to build up an orgasm that sent my back arching out of the water, my tummy lifted into the air as my hands gripped my body tightly.

My thumb continued to circle around my clitoris as the trembling ran through my body. I collapsed back into the bath, panting and exhausted by the intensity of the feeling. Somehow, it felt like it had been a while since I'd done that. How long exactly? I wasn't sure. After breaking up with my last boyfriend six months ago I'd sunk myself into work and side projects. I hadn't really gone on dates since and hadn't fooled around with anyone. What was wrong with me, and why was this book making me feel like this? I wondered.

My mind wandered to the portion of the book I had just started reading which spoke about the powers and dangers associated with the red arts of passion. The text had elaborated on a similar ritual to the one Mara had performed in her youth and tied it to mythos concerning the goat-headed god and its sisters. I'd grown up with stories of satyrs from books and the fact that my aunt saw this beast as a true entity struck me as fantastical. I could cast minor spells and affect small things by tugging at the strands of fate like any witch, but major arcana such as the book described was possible only by breaking the veil with acts of great power.

What did any of this have to do with the image I'd seen of the woman I now called her, the one I couldn't shake from my thoughts, her naked body driving me crazy? Shakily, I stood up, draining the bath and rinsing myself off with a cold shower. I dried and did my hair, the scent of the herbs still on my skin and mixing with my shampoo and conditioner. As I was stepping out into the hallway of my apartment, I heard my phone buzzing somewhere in the couch where it had been dropped sometime in the night, forgotten in favor of the book and it's dark secrets. I walked over to the couch and reached down between the pillows searching for it with my hands.

I located it just as the call ended. I checked the caller ID to see it was my youngest older brother, Arthur. Even with six siblings calls were rare, and I wondered why Arthur would be calling me. Then I noticed the time, swearing loudly as I realized I was 30 minutes late for work. Cursing and swearing under my breath I grabbed my bag, threw on some clothes, and skipped breakfast entirely, practically running out of my apartment. Once outside I booked it to the shop, making a ten minute walk in less than five. I rounded the corner to see Arthur waiting outside of the shopfront, looking worried and annoyed.

"Arthur? Hey what are you doing here?" I was worried he was upset with me.

"Are you okay? Why did you not show up for work? You never do that."

He looked angry, but that quickly changed to concern as he looked at me. "You look a little frazzled, is everything alright?"

"Yes I'm fine, sorry I'm late, I overslept," I was speaking fast. "My alarm must have broken. Were you here to get some flowers?" I said sheepishly. "I can give you the regular discount, don't worry about anything,"

I pointed him towards the door. Arthur sighed and put his hand on my shoulder.

"It's Lily. She's convinced I'm talking to the cashiers at work again. I've done everything to try to prove to her that she's the one and only for me, but she gets so jealous."

He looked over at me a little sadly, walking up to the storefront with me as I unlocked the door and turned off the shop alarm system.

"She doesn't actually believe that does she?" I asked, slinging my bag with the book inside it over the shop counter. "Like, it's gotta be a control thing."

"That's what I keep telling her! I've got everything to prove to her, I've been going to stupid goddamn anger management classes but she doesn't fucking listen, she just always thinks I'm fucking around no matter what I do." Arthur responded.

"Yeah man that sucks. I mean flowers might help I guess."

"They can't hurt. I hope. Anyways I'm sorta late for work now too."

"Sorry. You didn't have to stick around to wait for me."

"I was worried! That's what big brothers are for. Like I said, it's unusual for you not to be punctual."

"Thanks. It's unlike me, I'll agree."

"Yeah. What's going on? I can tell something's off."

Being the 'youngest' older brother, Arthur was closest to me in age, and we had grown up companions in a house of much older siblings. He had always been able to gauge my emotions better than the rest of them, though he recently had been distant and preoccupied with his fraught marriage. We often shared a lot of confidences, and he was always helpful and kind. He cared about me a lot and I liked that about him, but with all the issues he was dealing with at home lately I never liked imposing my baggage on him. Despite this, he had a talent for sniffing out bullshit that gave me nowhere to hide when he tried.

"Nothing really! Just-"

Before I could continue Arthur cut me off. "You're working too hard, Shianne. I know it. I can always tell when you are."

It was my turn to sigh, my shoulders slumping with the thought.

"That's probably a part of it, but there is something else. I'll be honest."

"Let me hear it, Shi," my brother was serious, "you can talk to me, I won't bite, unless you ask me to."

I felt something shift subtly at the back of my consciousness, like a shadow uncurling slowly. Almost at the same time I felt a warmth build in my crotch. I noticed the width of my brother's shoulders for the first time, and understood why his wife was so overprotective of him when my eyes strayed down his torso to his pants, seeing them tight and full. I shook my head to clear away the wave of eroticism and lust which had suddenly flooded my body. My entire lower half ached with desire, and I shuddered. What was wrong with me? This was my brother. I had never entertained him as a potential partner before in my life, and the thought filled me with disgust, but also a deep lustful attraction.

"I need to make a sale Arthur, do you mind?"

He stepped aside to allow another customer to be rung up. He waited patiently while I worked to calm myself down. I could tell he had something on his mind as well. When I finally had a moment, he headed towards the display of bouquets. I made my way over to him, finding that each step closer to his form standing in the sunlight streaming through the window was harder and harder for me to resist.

There was something about his confidence, the sharp contours of his shape and that body language that screamed of a sexual prowess that captivated and aroused me.

Somehow I found myself fighting the urge to jump into his arms and let him fuck me hard right there and then. Several phrases of ancient runic text I'd read from the book leapt to my mind unbidden and I found myself uttering them under my breath as I approached him. Arthur's body stiffened as whatever incantation I had cast bound him. He turned, his eyes running up and down my body. His cock shifted visibly beneath his slacks as he was drawn to me, staring me down with desire and lust. It was obvious to anyone who would've seen us that this was no ordinary interaction. My brother's need was transparent to me, his cock outlined in his tight clothes.

"Arthur, what do you think if I shut the store early today."

"You only just opened up, and late at that."

"I can make up the sales numbers. Something has come up and I have to attend to it. Actually, it's something you might be able to help me with."

"Oh?"

I couldn't believe myself, but I needed my brother right now. It had come on suddenly, this hunger and desire, and the need to do what I was about to do was stronger than any lust or duty I had ever experienced in my life. I hurried to the front of the shop and flicked the lock on the door, switched the phone off and flipped the sign to say the shop was closed. Taking Arthur by the hand I led him to the room out back which I used for inventory and storage. The smell of various potted flowers, moist dirt, and wooden boxes emanated throughout the entire space. Up against a far wall was a metal desk at which I typically kept myself busy with various tasks. I tugged my brother in through the doorway and pinned him to the doorframe. His eyes were full of lust and there was something different about him, a carnal fierceness which I now detected in his voice as well.