Secret of Witchcraft Ch. 04byA_Little_Show©
~~~~~ Chapter 4 ~~~~~
You should read Chapters 1 through 3 before reading this one.
To recap: Gwendolyn masturbated to thrill her instructor but encountered only scorn. The fertility totem Gwendolyn used as a wand brought pain and enough pleasure to inspire more experimentation.
I couldn't wait to get home and try a few of the sexually deviant ideas cascading through my imagination. On the way, I found my groceries in the alley where I left them. The lunch meat and cottage cheese had withered in the heat too long, so I tossed them in somebody's trash bin. I set the African fertility totem in the bag with almost as much reverence as I imagine a boy has for his own penis. In a real enough sense, the totem had become my penis.
I didn't get the chance to play with my new toy for quite a while though. In fact, a day that started badly was destined to get much worse. I didn't realize how much danger I was in.
The Art Academy and my apartment were both located in a neighborhood called Over-the-Rhine just north of down town. People talked as if it was some kind of ghetto, but the buildings looked like palaces to me. Over-the-Rhine made my home town look like the poor hick backwater it probably was.
At home, everybody knew who I was. As a kid, I skinned my knee outside the barber shop, and a man I did't recall ever meeting before that moment called my mom without asking for the number. Intellectually, I understood I was a stranger in my new neighborhood. I harbored a general concern for my safety, but I hadn't developed the eyes to perceive actual threats.
Two boys who probably should have been in school stepped in front of me blocking my path along the sidewalk. I said, "Hello," in a wary voice.
"What you got there?" one of them asked while looking into my bag. He loomed tall enough to see inside without craning his neck.
"Just food," I replied and pushed between them.
They let me pass, but they followed close behind and taunted me. "Where da pretty little t'ing go'in?" one of them asked rhetorically.
Brisk walking failed to open any lead on my pursuers, but I resisted outright running.
"Don't cha' go so fast. Talk wit us a while."
I stopped and turned to face them. I said, "OK. What do you want to talk about? It's a hot day. Do you think we'll see any rain?"
The boys laughed, and some of the tension faded. "I like dis one," the shorter guy said.
"I'm Gwendolyn." I extend a hand as far as possible without dropping my bag. Nobody shook my hand. That worried me more than being followed.
"Let me have da bag," the taller one said.
If it had contained only groceries, I would have handed it over. Maybe they were hungrier than me. It might have been the right thing to do, but I had no intention of handing over my shiny new cock.
"Guys," I said, "I need to get home before my food spoils. Why don't we talk another time."
"Where do yah live?" one asked.
I dreaded the idea of telling them or leading them to my apartment. I concocted several lies I could use. The one that seemed most promising was, "With my dad, the police man, a block from here." I wish I had said that. Instead, I foolishly refused to lie.
The taller one grabbed both my arms and made me drop the bag on the sidewalk. Irritation more than anger surged through me. I still didn't realize the darker dangers of the situation. As the tall guy manhandled me, the other one dug through the bag. He skipped over the black ceramic cock several times. He probably really was hungry.
"No'tin good," the shorter one said, but then he added, "Dis one a freak. She like em big an black."
"Well give her to me den," the other said in a sinister tone.
I decided to run for it without my cock if I saw a chance. My mind reeled with an intensity of fear I never imagined possible. It made me feel like vomiting. I think I wet my panties a little. I struggled against the tall guy's grip on my arms to no avail.
I thought maybe I should have asked for kung fu skills during one of my many masturbation sessions. I thought maybe I should have asked to look dangerous or unapproachable. As my thoughts turned darker, I imagined cursing them with impotence, blindness, or worse. I couldn't exactly masturbate to orgasm right then, but I told myself that if one of them raped me I'd try my best to have an orgasm and they'd never be the same after.
I know those thoughts made no practical sense. Fear addled my brain. Fortunately, the boys didn't seem eager to escalate their violence. Occasional cars passing on the street slowed to observe my struggles against the assailants. I hoped someone at least called the police even if the person wasn't willing to help me directly.
We were in the middle of a block, and there were no obvious places for them to drag me that would get them out of sight. I told myself they wouldn't rape or kill me right on the sidewalk in the middle of the day.
The tall one released one of my arms and used his free arm to wrap around my breasts. I don't think groping me was his primary intention. He adjusted his hold to keep me captive while freeing one of his hands. The shorter guy put his large palm on my cheek and said, "pretty little freak."
I screamed. I should have screamed sooner. I don't know why I didn't. I screamed, "Help." I screamed "Rape."
The boys let go just long enough for me to bolt past the shorter guy. I ran until my sides hurt and then ducked into a coffee shop. I panted to catch my breath as I peered out the window checking for pursuers.
When I made it home, I knocked on the back door of the upholstery shop hoping George the Dragon Slayer would be there. He wasn't, but the door wasn't locked, so I went in and wrote a note on the wall with a pencil I found in a drawer.
Clomping up the rickety stairs to my apartment comforted me. The wooden treads groaned and creaked reassuring me nobody could sneak up to my door. The door itself seemed sturdy. I hadn't considered the defensibility of my apartment until that moment. A kitchen window and a bathroom window faced the same back alley as the door. The upholstery store sign partially block my two large windows on the front of the building. I could work with it.
I walked to my kitchen counter and started a list, "1) Anyone who climbs the stairs and wants to harm me falls through the rotten steps and breaks a leg. 2) Anyone who tries to climb through my windows to harm me gets cut bad and retreats. 3) Anyone who frightens me gets a terrible debilitating headache. 4) Anyone who witnesses someone hurting me comes to my aid."
I reread my list. All those things could be explained by coincidences. They fit within the rules of witchcraft. Multiple accidents happening to invaders might stretch the bounds of plausibility, but I didn't know the limits of witchcraft. Analyzing the spells gave me the same impression I had when I cast the spell to find a key. Such deliciously convenient coincidences felt almost inevitable. Only the last spell felt wrong. Compelling strangers to aid me troubled me almost as much as compelling affection.
My stomach grumbled with hunger, so I took a break to eat the last of my generic brand crackers and a can of pear slices. When I returned to the list, I wrote, "What a lovely coincidence: nobody wants to hurt me." One spell had the potential to solve the entire problem. The next step required me to get in the right frame of mind for the Earth shattering orgasm I would need to give the spell extra strength.
As soon as my mind turned to the subject of orgasms, the loss of my beautiful black cock struck me with dread. Where did the boys take it? What would they do with it? How could I get it back? What if they broke it? I held the edge of the counter to steady myself. The crackers started crawling back up my throat. I struggled to suppress panic and choked back my meal.
I heard a timid knock on my door and somehow knew it was George. When I let him in, he fussed and fidgeted about my note on his wall. He said he didn't see it for a while in the dim light and worried it had been there for days and he had failed me. I reassured him and recounted my experience being mugged.
"I'm OK now, George. I'm more concerned about you. Are you upset?" I asked.
"It's part of my condition," he replied with a glum expression on his face.
"What is your condition?"
"I have delusions of grandeur with a persecution complex."
"So, you're mentally ill? Is that why you were homeless until we found the key to the shop?"
"Yeah," he said while wringing his hands and looking at the floor. "I escaped because they were poisoning me."
I guessed. "You didn't like the medicine they gave you."
He shook his head, "No."
"Do you mind if I bounce some thoughts off you? Can I get your opinion?"
He brightened and said, "Please."
"You know I'm a witch," I said, and he nodded. "I cast spells, but there are some rules or limitations. I can have anything as long as it's plausible and can be explained by coincidence."
George looked skeptical. I suspected he'd heard similarly outrageous claims from other mentally ill people.
"You don't have to believe me," I said with a sigh, "but hear me out. OK?"
When George didn't say anything, I continued. "I coincidentally get what I ask for so often that I can't call it coincidence any more. Somebody looking at the result of one spell or even a few could reasonably say I just got lucky. I've been casting spells for a long time, and nobody is lucky enough to get almost everything she requests."
George shrugged and seemed genuinely interested.
"The boys who mugged me took all my food and something else, a personal item, that I need back."
George said, "Cast a spell to get it back."
"I've already thought of that." I probably sounded exasperated. "That's what I want to talk to you about. Really, I just want to think aloud, and you can check my reasoning."
George nodded again.
"So I thought of a spell. Wouldn't it be a coincidence if the boys lost interest and left the item on the sidewalk where I dropped my grocery bag?" Without letting George interrupt, I added, "But, if the boys have already taken it someplace else, could a spell undo history and and remake it have already unfolded the way I want? What are the limits? When I asked to find the key to the shop, I didn't know if the key even existed. Did I somehow create the key out of nothing? Did my spell reach back and alter history so that somebody years ago made a key and hid it right where I thought to look?"
George thought for a minute while I waited for his response. I wondered, did I wield awesome powers to change the universe?
George said, "Star Trek."
"Did you watch Star Trek?" he asked.
"I guess I saw some episodes with my dad. He loved it, but that was years ago."
George explained. "There was a Star Trek episode where Kirk and some others transport to an alternate universe where everyone is evil except Spock who's exactly the same. The idea of parallel universes is that everything that can happen does happen within one of infinite parallel universes."
"I'm lost," I said. "How does that help me get my thing back?"
"Maybe witchcraft doesn't change the universe. Maybe it works by moving you to a parallel universe where the result of your spell actually happens or has already happened." George looked pleased with himself.
I mused aloud. "When I cast a spell to find the key, did I transport myself into a universe that contained the key? How could I find out?" Before George could think of a response, I reminded myself that witchcraft doesn't like to be tested. "Never mind," I said. "That's a question for another time."
George wasn't done with his idea though. I could see his mind running wild with the possibilities he envisioned. "You said your spells only do things that are plausible so it looks like coincidence or luck."
"Well, maybe plausible events happen in universes right next door. You transport yourself a short hop. The less plausible something is the longer the jump to a universe where it happens. Your spells can only jump you so far at once. Maybe if you keep casting spells, you can travel to distant universes in lots of small steps."
"That's right," I said with excitement. "That's how it works. If I want a big change, I have to take it step by step to get it."
George and I sat looking at each other with matching grins.
"That still doesn't help me get my wand back," I said, but George had given me a strategy. With a refocussed goal, I wondered if the boys might have coincidentally put the dildo someplace safe where I could find it? I needed a universe where that happened.
I gave George the last of my cash from the coffee can in the cupboard. My dad once told me a story about his mom keeping money in a coffee can, so that's where I got the idea. "I don't have any food, and I don't want to go out again today." I looked beseechingly into his eyes. "Will you buy some food, and we'll share it for dinner?"
George looked surprised when I pushed a wad of bills worth about thirty dollars total towards him. He shook his head, "No," but then he reconsidered. He snatched the money and said, "Be back soon." He looked back over his shoulder several times as he ambled down the stairs until I pulled my door closed behind him.
To say I wasn't in the mood to masturbate would be a gigantic understatement. A few spells required urgent attention. Taking things step by step, my first task had to be to get horny. I didn't have any handy pornography. I slapped my forehead with the realization. How could an orgasm witch not have the ingredients of her spells on hand?