Tarotica

“This is Hermes,” he said, and the hawk bobbed its head.

Hoping she didn’t look as flustered as she felt, she asked, “What brought you here?”

“I came searching for a pyramid hidden in a mountain, where occult initiations have been held for generations.”

“Did you find it?”

“I did.” He smiled and his golden eyes flashed. “Would you like to see it?”

Won’t my friends in Salem be envious? She answered, “Yes.”

* * *

I must be out of my mind, following a strange man into the wilderness, Miranda scolded herself as she hiked uphill behind Lancelot. I can’t even get a cell phone signal out here. This is how women get murdered and never found.

Back in the park, the idea of exploring a magician’s secret pyramid had sounded like an irresistible adventure. Now, however, it seemed the height of folly. She was hot and tired, but Lancelot, who must have been fifteen years her senior, scrambled over boulders as sprightly as a boy. And that crazy hawk stayed right overhead, a sentry.

“Not much further,” he called over his shoulder.

She paused to catch her breath. Gazing at the magnificent landscape, she realized she would never be able find her way back to civilization.

Lancelot held out his hand. As she took it, a bolt of energy surged through her.

Instantly her fatigue and trepidation disappeared. He pulled her up onto a rocky ledge, then pushed aside some juniper boughs, exposing a steep path. “This way.”

After climbing about thirty feet, they reached an opening between two tall stones.

“Hope you’re not claustrophobic.”

Removing his backpack and pushing it ahead of him, Lancelot crawled into the opening. Miranda followed. Darkness swallowed them. Her hands and knees slid along cool, smooth stone; her head brushed the top of the tunnel. She tried not to think about snakes, spiders, and other creepy-crawlies. Listening to Lancelot’s scuffling up ahead, she wondered again what had possessed her to undertake this insane odyssey. As the tunnel narrowed even more, she had the peculiar feeling of moving through a birth canal.

“Don’t be afraid,” he said, reading her mind.

He stopped crawling and a light flickered, silhouetting his form. Suddenly a brilliant flare burst like a comet in the darkness, revealing a space before them. Lancelot stood up and lit another torch.

Scurrying into the light, Miranda gasped as she emerged into a vast pyramid whose peak reached three stories above her head. Twelve wrought-iron lanterns hung on the walls. As Lancelot lit them, chasing the chill from the room, she noticed the massive crystals circling the space and glowing with an eerie illumination of their own. The entire chamber appeared to be shimmering.

In the center of the room stood an ornately carved stone table large enough for a banquet. On its top rested two majestic candlesticks, one holding a black candle and the other a white one. She moved closer, her steps echoing on the stone floor, to examine the four objects between the candles. She’d lived in Salem long enough to recognize a witch’s tools: a magic wand, a jeweled chalice, a dagger, and a silver pentagram.

Lancelot joined her at what she now realized was an altar and lit the candles. Then he picked up the wand and carried it to one corner of the pyramid. Holding the wand as an extension of his outstretched arm, he walked clockwise around the room, pausing at each corner to draw a pentagram in the air. Light shot from the wand’s tip, so that when he’d completed his circuit, a wall of whitish fog surrounded them.

Weird, she thought, but cool.

As Lancelot returned the wand to the altar Miranda asked, “Are you going to initiate me?”

“If you like.”

“What do I have to do?”

He laughed. “Relax.”

With his fingertip, he traced a pentagram on her forehead. A wave of pulsing heat undulated through her body, making her tingle all over. Once again she felt the fluttering in her pussy, which quickly escalated to a powerful throbbing.

He’s casting a spell on me, she thought. Somehow the idea didn’t frighten her in the least.

From beneath the altar Lancelot dragged a long, red-upholstered bench. Suddenly, Miranda’s knees buckled and she sat down on it gratefully. He grasped her shoulders and studied her, his golden eyes blazing. “Are you okay? Sure you want to proceed?”

She nodded as another ripple of desire rushed through her. Despite the cool of the underground cave, drops of perspiration broke out on her forehead. His fingers drew a line down the center of her torso; when they reached her pussy, Miranda moaned and pressed against them.

With hands that seemed to be made of fire and ice, Lancelot undressed her. He’s certainly got the magic touch, she mused. As he lay her down on the bench she felt herself softening, opening to receive him. Her juices leaked onto the red upholstery.

When his fingers found her slit, she took them in hungrily. When his tongue tasted her clit she spread her lips to give him better access.

“Don’t come yet,” he ordered, removing his mouth and his fingers.

Miranda squirmed and whimpered in protest, pinching her nipples as she watched him undress. Except for the necklace of fangs. His body wasn’t as nice as Eli’s—a bit of a paunch, love handles. But when he exposed the biggest cock she’d seen outside of porn flicks, she sighed, “Oh my God.” Will that fit inside me?

He stroked it until white light glowed around it like a glistening sheath. That’s the strangest condom I’ve ever seen, she thought as he knelt between her legs and rubbed the swollen head along her wet seam.

“The magic wand is a phallic symbol,” he told her, easing his tip into her. “A wand should be at least six inches long, but only as big as you can comfortably handle.”

Miranda giggled and raised her hips, trying to take his wand deeper into her, but he held back. Teasing her, he slid the head in and out, stroking the hot spot just inside. As she felt her orgasm gathering, he pulled out.

“Please…” she pleaded.

“Not yet. Stay on the edge as long as possible. You want to build power.” He stroked her breasts and sucked her hard nipples, tantalizing her without letting her come.

The necklace of fangs brushed enticingly against her skin. He slid his cock, greased with her fluids, up her belly and between her breasts, massaging himself with her smooth flesh.

“Let me suck it,” she said.

She opened her mouth as wide as she could and Lancelot quickly filled it. Gently, trying not to gag her, he probed her hot mouth. Her tongue flicked the ridge of his head, her lips embracing as much of his thick shaft as she could manage. When his cock started to throb, he withdrew it and went back to tickling her cunt with it. Miranda had no idea how long the dance went on; she’d lost all track of time. After a while, however, she discovered she could maintain an intense level of excitation without succumbing. The sensation was exquisite.

Suddenly she noticed the rope he held: silky gold like drapery cord, maybe six feet long. She’d never been into bondage, but she couldn’t have objected even if she’d wanted to.

“Soon you can come, my pretty,” he told her, “and as you do, I’m going to tie knots in this rope. Then I’ll give you the rope and you’ll tie knots while I come. Understand?”

Miranda nodded and he thrust into her. Never had she felt so full or so inflamed.

When he hit bottom, she exploded in a kaleidoscope of colors. Wave after wave of pleasure washed over her. As soon as one orgasm ebbed another swelled behind it.

Lancelot busily tied knot after knot in the golden cord as she bucked and writhed beneath him, shrieking like a banshee. The pyramid echoed with her cries. Eventually the crashing force of her convulsions mellowed to a gentle throbbing and he handed her the rope.

As he sheathed his wand again and again, Miranda managed to tie several knots.

He groaned, stabbed a final time, and lay still. His heart hammered against hers.