Summertime Magic

When Seb found Michael's boxer-briefs carelessly slung on the bathroom rail, he knew he had everything he needed to cast a love spell. The rag was loaded with the cute stoner boy's essence, worn several days without change, and daubed repeatedly with lovely drops of pee. Seb rushed up to his attic room with his prize, sniffing them out and jerking himself dreamily in the afternoon heat.

Michael was such a total babe - a bashful straight-boy dropout, blushing and bleary-eyed from all the pot he smoked morning to night. Sebastian was crushing on him since the moment they met, but Mikey was always bringing girls home - a new blonde Devonshire hippy-chick every week. It made Seb so jealous. He just wanted to put a complete stop to it, tell Michael he's grounded like he was his Dad, and make him worship Dick instead.

He was actually old enough to be the lad's Dad. Mikey was only 21. He'd just graduated the same art school Seb attended 15 years before. But the age gap didn't bother him. Michael was begging for a Daddy with his hopeless wasteman behaviour. He needed someone like Seb to look after him.

They'd become housemates through a series of random events and mutual friends. Michael was the newest (and youngest) tenant in a busy house of 6 rooms with all kinds of comings and goings. Artists and musicians, lovers and brawlers on every floor. The old abode was a ruin of faded grandeur with cracked ceilings and creaky boards. Seb had lived there 10 years already, watching the world from his attic. It was the perfect hideout from which to practice his magic.

As evening wore on, bleeding wonderful colours into the sky, Seb guessed that Michael would be missing his trunks. He knew the skater-boy didn't have many. He kept close watch on Michael's laundry and never counted more than three shorts hanging. A blue-green stripy one, a purple stripy one, and a dark blue one, all shabby and threadbare. Seb watched fondly for Monday, Tuesday, Wednesday, glimpses of the purple stripes on the skater-boy's butt cheeks, counting the days he went without swapping them out for a clean pair. Michael never imagined anyone would be taking note of his pants habits, but Seb always checked.

It was the blue-green stripey one draped on his face tonight. The musk in Michael's cannabis pee-spots was mind-blowing. Seb had never experienced anything like it. It was at once the sexiest AND the most disgusting smell he'd ever gagged on. He couldn't get enough, hyperventilating to keep a steady hit blasting up his nostrils. He was in love, and he would cast a spell to make the boy his.

Opening his books, Seb did wonder for a moment if it was right? It wasn't - there was no getting around it. But he wanted Michael. Nothing would stop him. He knew he was about to do something wrong, and prepared himself mentally for the sin, brushing voices of conscience aside.

Seb had completed serval magic spells by now, surprising himself with a high success rate, but it was low-level thaumaturgy. He'd never cast a real spell on a whole person before. He didn't know if he was even capable of such grand magic.

He'd read enough to know he needed the help of an Angel. Several Angels were associated wth sex magic. Seb decided to invoke Babalon in the seventh Aethyr, D-E-O, using the seventh angelic call, which would open the Water Subtangle of the Watchtower Tablet of Air. At least he thought that was right? This was a fair bit beyond his level of expertise tbh. He never summoned anything before. It wasn't something a magician did lightly, and if you're going to pester an Angel you better have a good excuse.

Thumbing the pages for diagrams and guides, he checked a quick apotropaic ritual to protect himself from demonic influences. He also made sure he was totally fucking high on that mad heavy gange Theo sold them the day before. The spirits like it when people get high.

With these precautions done, Seb followed the steps laid out by the Mages and kind of spun out. He didn't see anything trippy the way he wanted to. Adepts were supposed to get crazy visions and float over the abyss, but Seb only heard a voice. It was a woman's voice, which he guessed must Babalon herself,

"What dost thou seek, Inamorato?" it soughed.

"...Michael," Seb muttered, sniffing the boy's panties dreamily, his mind a blot with thoughts of Michael's little willy.

"Thy desire betokens much desport," the Angel chuckled, "Should I grant thee dominion over him?"

"...yes" Seb sighed into the ether.

"Don his skibs, heshed with his malt, and thy puppet his peenie shall be."

He never heard those words before, but he knew exactly what they meant. That is all that was said. Seb passed out after that.

Michael woke the next day with a raging hard-on. He was rarely up at this hour, but today for some reason he was wide awake and horny AF. His pits smelled good, his dick smelled good, he felt so sexy. He thought it must be Theo's skunk giving him the stoner boner, but he was wrong.

Seb had woken in his room above at much the same time. Unusually alert, the practical details of Babalon's spell became clearer as he pondered his dream of the night before. She had awarded him command and mastery of Michael's stubby. When he wore the boy's stolen boxers, anything he did with his penis would be dittoed by Michael's own. As above, so below.

Wasting no time Seb reached down for the stolen shorts, snatching another sneaky sniff before pulling them on. The stroke of Mikey's shabby fabrics gave him a thumping stiffy before they were even up, and he let the waistband slap loudly on his belly as he nestled them into place. He could see it all in his mind's eye - a projection of the fit-lad's cock and balls superimposed on his own. If Seb touched his dick, Michael would feel it too.

In the room directly below, their beds almost aligned, Michael lazed in a sexual swoon. He was hard because Seb was hard. His penis obeyed Seb's penis. With slow deliberate caresses, Seb ran a sensuous finger up and down his shaft, making Michael cringe with mysterious pretty feelings at the base of his handsome choad,

"...woah, fuck!" Michael gasped, staring at his dick in astonishment.

"Yes Mikey," Seb whispered, having heard Michael's innocent exclamations through the power of his magic.

After giving the lad a few minutes of this teasing arousal, pushing his fingertips over his thighs and behind his balls, he jumped into the main event and took a firm grip on his long rod through the cotton of Michael's shorts.

Michael tensed,

"Fuck! What the...!?"

Seb wanked himself steady and true, and Michael had to endure the same, his erection surging with unnatural, borrowed lusts. He surrendered to the hex, his whole body curving to Seb's rule, his groin shredded with enforced pleasure. And as he breached climax, Michael's dick became a fountain, the cum gushing upwards to spray his chest and bedsheets with generous splashes, his mind gone blank in the bliss.

Panting in the mess, Michael took stock of what had just happened to him. That was the best squirt of his whole life, and he didn't even touch his dick once! A total hands-free cum of heavenly dimensions that came out of nowhere. it made him feel kinda Boss.

He got out of bed with more than his usual swagger. Where were his missing boxers tho? The blue-green ones were his favourite, and he couldn't think where they might be? Wiping himself down, he tried to focus his thoughts on the day ahead, but all he could think about was how sexy he was. His nice boner wasn't going down either. Slipping into his dirty purple shorts, he buttoned his jeans and made for the kitchen in search of coffee.

He decided to go shirtless. He knew that Rosy and Seb both fancied him. He'd seen them checking him out, and he wanted them to see just how fucking hot he was today.

As luck would have it, Seb was already downstairs balancing a percolator on the hob.

"Morning, Mate," Seb grinned, his enormous pupils dilating to take in the vision of cocky, boyish fitness that stood before him. .

This was just the kind of attention Mikey had been hoping for, clocking how Seb shot glances at his nipples and purple shorts. Their connection felt electric today. Little did he know his missing boxers were on the gayboy standing there. Seb could see the lighting sparks leaping between them, the spell keeping them in contact, their cheeky boners in sync.

This feeling went unspoken, both chatting with one another like normal, but the eyes communicated more than their words. Michael couldn't help but wonder about his friend. How was Seb still single? He was obviously a really hot guy, even a straight lad could see that. The salt and pepper grey hairs in his temples and his beard only improved his manly looks. He was tall and broad and in great shape. Always wearing his cut-off black vests. Sure he was a bit spooky with tarot and that, but Michael thought the magic stuff was kind of cool and mysterious. He'd asked him about it once or twice. Seb even promised to give him a tarot reading, but they hadn't got round to it yet.

All these thought's were Michael's own. Babalon might have granted Seb power of his body, but his mind was out of the bargain. If the boy enjoyed any aspect of the bewitchment it was genuine, and standing now in the presence of his secret master he felt a nagging sense of attraction.

Michael couldn't hang about though. He had a band practice to get to. Seb wished him the best with the rehearsal and went back upstairs with his coffee. Rosy yawned into the kitchen next, but her flirtations didn't hold Michael's attention somehow. He took his cheeky semi with him to the studio instead.

It was the first time he ever got their before the others. Mickey was usually always late. The guys had even formed a habit of showing up later than the agreed time to save them waiting for him. He was just so full of beans today, and itching to hop on his drums. Setting up to his satisfaction, Michael ran through his favourite beats.

Was it the heat in that basement studio, or was it the music making him so hard in his pants? The rhythms just felt so sexy, he was getting more of those hands-free pleasures from this morning. But it wasn't his dick this time. It was his butt. He'd never felt butt feelings like this before. The beats were teasing somewhere deep inside. It was just so naughty and nice.

Soon the lads arrived, cracking jokes about Michael's miraculous punctuality and plugging their guitars. They got right into the set they'd planned for the upcoming gig in Falmouth. Everyone was vibing, the grooves were sweet, and Michael was on fire. But the weird butt feelings kept surging through him in lovely waves. It got so intense at moments that he dropped a beat. The fellas were starting to notice and throwing glances his way.

Back at the house in his loft, surrounded by candles, Seb writhed. Under the stolen shorts he was wearing, he'd pushed a vibrating butt plug in his ass. He knew Michael was playing with his band. He knew they were watching him flounder on his drum stool. He was going to give him his first buttgasm right now, and there was nothing he could do about it.

Michael moaned like a girl as he shivered, inaudible over the sound of the band, but his face gave everything away. The guys knew what they were watching. Their drummer was having an orgasm before their very eyes, and Michael wanted them to watch.

What the fuck was happening to him today? He woke up a sex maniac, but the sensations were just too delicious. It was like a hidden sexuality was suddenly on show - desires previously unknown revealed - and he loved it. He wanted the sex to conquer his good sense and spill over into his life. Even if it shocked his bandmates he knew they'd secretly enjoy it. Who wouldn't want to watch him cum? He was the sexiest lad in town.

The dirty moment inevitably dawned upon him, and Michael nearly feel off his seat. The music stopped to let him groan in the glory of his mystical coitus. Speechless, the boys covered errant boners with their guitars and saxophones.

"...fuck!" Adam, the bassist, eventually managed to whisper thirstily, speaking for all off them in their amazement.

"You really like that song, huh?" Jonny quipped, relieving some off the crazy tension with a joke.

Michael mopped his brow with a towel, flushed with embarrassment,

"...uh," he struggled, unable to respond.

"Let's try the breakbeat one," Jonny cut in, eager to move on from the incident, and the guys jumped on his cue.

Michale played well enough after that, but his fire was spent. A hundred questions distracted him. A meaty little semi still swole up in his crotch, leaking salty drops of shame. Where was all this sex energy coming from?

Working this kind of magic took it's toll. Seb was burnt out. Overcome with fatigue he'd been drifting in and out of sleep all afternoon, but at last he felt restored, and still wearing those precious shorts, he threw open a skylight and clambered out into the sunshine.

Standing on his rooftop high above the city Seb could see everything. His cute victim was lying on the grass in St. Andrew's park, toking innocently on a spliff with a group of mates. He'd left his band behind and was chilling in the sun. Seb couldn't leave him unmolested a moment longer, his next torment was long overdue. With a cruel grin, he pushed his big dick through the button-fly of Michael's shorts and let pour a sparkling torrent of piss - over the edge of the house, crashing noisily on the patio four stories below.

On the far side of town, Mikey sat bolt upright. He was pissing his pants - the hot liquid gushing from his crotch, the clammy sting of wet denim on his thighs, the total inability to stem the flow, and the blind, bad-dream panic of doing it in public.

"What the fuck..." his mates gawped, staring incredulous at the burgeoning wet patch in his jeans.

On his knees, dumb with shame, Michael could only wait for the flood to subside. And when it was done, his sluggish day-long semi stiffened into a full-blown hard-on, undisguised in the taut fabric of his sodden trews.

What was wrong with him? How could he piss himself in front of all his mates, and why was the disgrace so fucking sexy? He wanted them to point and jeer and take photos. He wanted the lads to bully him and girls to laugh, but they were so sympathetic. His friend were nice people, and they told him to take off his jeans and cover up with the picnic blanket.

Michael didn't follow their advice. Babbling a tumble of apologies and made a quick exit. It was a long walk home, but he wanted everyone to see his piss patch. It was unbearable but kind of awesome, scoring the laughter and derision he'd wanted from passing strangers instead. Gangs of fit lads, pretty girls, all checking him out and pointing the finger. He was giving in to some of his lowest impulses - feelings he hardly knew he nurtured. He was acting like some sort of faggot, and honestly it felt great.

"Michael!" a voice called suddenly across the street.

It was Basia, a fox he met at some Dub party and someone he'd been crushing on all summer.

"Oh my god, what happened?" she marvelled, gaping at the boy's pathetic condition.

"I, er... I pissed myself," he cringed, loving her astonishment and pity.

Being already smitten with the boy, Basia's motherly instincts took over and she resolved to see him escorted back home. She did her best to put him at ease as they walked, but his abashment was never full allayed.

Once safely shut behind his front door, hidden at last from the eyes of the world, she hurried him past a tall housemate on the stairs to spare him another second of shame.

Seb thanked Babalon for contriving to make him aware of this spontaneous liaison. Michael's dicklet belonged to him now, and no hippy chicks would be enjoying its attentions. Ascending the stairway to his rooftop stronghold, he locked himself up in his chastity cage - a black silicone trainer - concealing it neatly under Michael's green shorts. That would see to it. Getting comfortable on his bed, he waited for the magic show to begin.

Downstairs, Michael and Basia were making out like crazy. It had been a mad day, but this was how he would find relief - All Michael's sexual tension and confusing kink finally given release with Basia. He turned his thoughts to normal passions, making love to a pretty girl. But something was wrong? He felt kinda numb down there?

Locked down like this, Seb could feel just how much his bestie want to fuck his date. This denial was going to be agonising. It was definitely the meanest trick he'd played on Michael yet, but it was just too nice to pass up.

The poor stoner let his girlfriend tease and caress him all over, and Seb felt her touch the same way Michael had felt his. She even put the lad's flaccid willy in her mouth, causing Seb to burst out with astonished laughter. Even within it's silly cage, his penis tip shivered at her kiss. But no matter how sexy Basia got, and no matter how much Michael might want her, she wouldn't be seeing any dick action tonight.

How was this even possible? Michael had been stratospherically horny all fucking day, unable to control himself, pissing his pants and suffering filthy orgasms right in front of all his mates, but as soon as he'd got his crush alone in his room, he couldn't perform? Michael pashed with her, licking her breasts and going down, but although he got her moaning he never got hard.

Nothing made sense anymore. Least of all that he actually enjoyed the embarrassment. Was everything sexy now? Even the most galling humiliations? Who was doing this to him? Michael couldn't shake the haunting certainty that he was under a sleazy and jealous curse.

Seb wasn't done however. Placing a rattling vibrator on the tip of his cage, he got ready to draw forth a dirty soft-cock ejaculation, all wet and girly. Michael squirmed with the weirdness of the sensations controlling him. His penis, floppy as a fish, nonetheless tingled furiously. Basia watched utterly bemused as her impotent beau swept himself up in a bizarre reverie. Before either of them knew what was taking place, his little fella weed a naughty puddle of useless dick juices onto the mattress. Michael blushed through quickened breath, his gaze pleading with the girl to break the awkward silence.

She didn't stay much longer. Alone with his shame, Michael sparked up another joint and crashed into a deep sleep.

An Angel came to him in his dream, through veils of mist and rolling steam - a tall, beautiful woman who called herself Babalon. She embraced him, wrapping her wings around him, and holding him close a while.

"The Archangel Michael," she said at last, and taking hold of Mikey's junk, she led him up a flight of heavenly steps.

The cute stoner could only follow in nervous amazement, the tickle touch of her divine fingers on his balls as he climbed higher. At the top they met his housemate Seb.

"Saint Sebastian hath been at work for thee," the woman smiled.

Even within the dream Michael puzzled this strange statement. How could Seb be working for him? Or did she mean working magic?

Now he understood everything. Seb had been with him all the time. The spooky hunk had cast a spell on him. How had he not seen until now that Seb was in love with him? All the signs had been there. Perhaps he did know it was more than just a passing fancy, but Seb didn't need to be jealous anymore. He'd shown Michael a side of himself he never knew existed - the butt sex, the shaming, the denial. It was all totally fucking awesome, and he wanted Seb to give him more.

Drawing near to his mysterious friend, Michael let himself be swept up in a tender kiss. He never kissed a guy before, but this felt great. His penis was Seb's rightful plaything, and his poor heart fluttered with dewy adoration. Bathed in golden light the couple floated into the sky. Babalon was gone - it was just the two of them rising into the sun. Gorgeous and lovely, endless and true.