Spermamancy and the Bully Witch - Cover

Spermamancy and the Bully Witch

Copyright© 2022 by Maracorby

Chapter 12

Fantasy Sex Story: Chapter 12 - A college summer retreat to study magic with other talented young mages. A meeting of minds, and hopefully, bodies. It could be a hotbed of inspiration - and conflict. There is unrealized power in sperm.

Caution: This Fantasy Sex Story contains strong sexual content, including Ma/Fa   Mult   Consensual   Fiction   Magic   Demons   Anal Sex   Exhibitionism   Facial   Masturbation   Oral Sex   Revenge  

Laurel had a bounce in her step and a smile on her face everywhere she went for the next few days. She and Ashton continued to fuck. First, it was doggy-style, with him coming on her ass. Then reverse-cowgirl, painting her whole back. She got him all the way with her mouth in the boathouse and took it in the face. Another time she blew him on her bed silently while Chelle was in the room on the phone with her mother.

Her laptop hard drive filled up with pictures, notes, diagrams, and scanned pages from Jennifer’s library. She engaged with Jennifer’s friends to work through some of the problems in her way and spent considerable time in the library learning about all forms of divination.

She even continued her summoning practice, growing bold enough to forgo many of the traditional layers of protection. She would summon a hellhound, subjugate it, lead it through an obstacle course or take it on a walk through the woods, and then banish it when she felt like doing something else. Confidence, she realized, was a key part of dominating demons. That’s what she had been missing a half year before when she failed to control the incubus, Hector.

Once, when strolling with a hellhound, the demon dog alerted her to a scent. Laurel bid it to lead and she followed it three-fourths of a mile to a clearing. There was a small John Deere backhoe loader there, an easel with paper and markers, and various arcane tools. The grass was stained with blood. Several trenches had been dug and refilled, a foot and a half wide and a number of feet long: mass graves for squirrels or medium-sized birds, maybe. There were two larger holes, filled in, each the right size for a lamb or dog. A third hole that same size was empty, waiting.

As the smell of death invaded Laurel’s nose she struggled with rage, frustration, and sorrow. She banished the hound immediately, fearing what subconscious cues it might read from her if Summer showed up just then. She ran back to the house and took a shower.

 
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