Decisions of a superstitious day spill into the next.
Sabrina and Jon smiled at each other over a plate of fries at Lenords, dipping liberally into ketchup and barbeque sauces, occasionally feeding each other fries from across the table. It seemed like a good omen to sit at the exact table they shared for their first candid meeting about each other, one of the biggest steps each took to the relationship they had. And yet Jon’s side of the table watched for what kind of omen would come that day, appearing happy but still keeping a close eye on his lover. Seemed like a sound idea as he noticed her veneer of sly satisfaction, for something that had happened, or would happen soon.
The why wasn’t a total surprise, knowing that her personal favorite date other than October 31st was any Friday the 13th. For some reason, elements like the supernatural and superstitions were easy to gravitate towards, whether it was the witchy persona, or just an excuse to play around with perceptions. How muted the day before and their Saturday so far left him deeply suspicious of what was to come. It was all too quiet, like she’d forgotten about it, when it was more likely she made him forget about something, with the exception of the homemade superstition museum she’d asked him to go to without her the night before.
“So, do you think it will be a nice weekend?”
Jon attempted to be as vague as possible, never discerning whether he meant the weather or best-laid-plans to be unfurled.
“I don’t know,” she smiled, clearly lying. “What do you think…” The way she ended her tone on that last word didn’t hide where her mind was headed. To keep things neutral, after consuming another fry, he showed her his crossed fingers. Her smile widened slightly at it; he felt her legs crossing under the table, the tip of her ankle boot rubbing against the calf and knee gently. Jon raised an eyebrow at her, trying to make it the only thing seeming piqued about him. She didn’t make it any easier as she gave up that motion to remove her feet from the boots and set them into his lap, lounging there, anklets crossed casually. He spent a few minutes controlling his breathing as he made his lap comfortable for both of them.
“Don’t get too speechless on me now. We still need to go over your trip yesterday.”
“Right, the great ‘House of Superstition.'” Jon didn’t bother hiding how bored he sounded of the house name and mere concept. Just as Sabrina carried as much love for superstition for the both of them, Jon carried an equal amount of skepticism and disbelief, so much so he was surprised even a hypnotist embedded in his head got him to go by himself to such a silly place.
“I’m glad you think it was great,” satisfaction ignoring sarcasm laced her voice as a pamphlet from the establishment emerged from her purse. He recognized it as one he’d seen from the house. The naked suspicion on his face received a quick answer.
“No Jonathan, I didn’t attend myself. You did for the both of us. And I told you that you might enjoy it.”
“Who says I did enjoy it?” came a quick counter.
“I would. But then again, I never said when you would enjoy it.” The assertion confused while soft heels and the balls of her feet enjoyed running themselves over the fabric of his jeans.
“Now let’s see what you hit at the house.” Sabrina’s attention narrowed to the unfolded paper, a dark background with white font, as if for Halloween. Drawn circles strewn about the paper looked like the kind he’d make, shifting his memory back to the prior night. The Superstition House was apparently someone’s side-gig, a house refashioned to seem hauntingly decorated , but much less tacky. It resembled an interactive museum moreso, giving historical origins, but with the added twist of letting people decide to test their luck on whether to do or not do something superstition-related, finding out after if their actions yielded good or bad luck. Lesser-known superstitions were involved, nothing as infamous as stepping under ladders or open umbrellas indoors. The entry charge didn’t seem so bad towards something so creative.
“Okay, the bell they have. Did you ring it?”
Jon thought back to standing before the bell, his hand reaching out for the rope attached, hesitating as he re-read the description about a connection to evil spirits, not specifying whether the sound would be an attractor or repellent. He complimented the timer set next to the description, a smart move to not have the indecisive or over-thinkers like him hogging the challenge. Taking a chance, he grasped and shook it to ring the bell a few times. As he recalled the memory, he began to consciously respond to Sabrina’s question, only to find her writing as if she’d already received it.
“Good choice,” she uttered, writing on a separate piece of paper. “How about that circle?”
He remembered a perfectly painted circle in the middle of what was usually a living room, a stand nearby reading with the same connection as the bell, vaguely mentioning evil spirits, asking if he should step in the circle or stay outside of it. A foot hovered over the threshold of the circle, trying to decide whether to step onto it or not. He knew then why Sabrina told him to go by himself; he’d be searching her face for clues as to whether he should or shouldn’t. Boldness rose in him as he stepped into the circle before the official minute was up.
“Another good choice,” Sabrina told him as if responding to thoughts we was a little more sure were being narrated while recalled. “The tally is looking good for you so far.”
“Don’t remember me mentioning that?”
“Perfect. Let’s just say, things are in the plus column for you so far.” Since bringing out the pamphlet, she didn’t rise to meet his gaze once. She looked studious as she was; he wondered if she was still trying not to give anything away.
“Oh, and speaking of purrfect,” he loved the sound of her rolling her R’s, with an excellent feline seduction in her tone, based on one of her favorite comic characters for sure. “Come across any black cats while you were there?”
“More like they came across me,” he said recalling a group of kittens resting in a closed off room, greeted by someone looking after them. A sign above indicating most were from a rescue. Most of them were sleeping in the cushioned area or eating, but one particularly cute ball of fur came up to him. Mewling inquisitively like it had something to say, he stayed still as it smelled his shoes, and leaned against him affectionately. It stood out from the litter a little with a touch of grey around her right ear. It tried to claw its way up his pants, but having grown up with cats, he knew how to stop it, stroking it gently to the ground, playing with it a little. He contemplated just staying to play with the talkative cat, merely saying he visited the whole house. But he knew Sabrina would find out the truth later. He said a goodbye to the cat and smiled as if it responded and understood.
“Definitely a good sign, the cat coming to you instead of leaving you.”
“Yeah it was.”
“And the coin?”
A row of quarters were neatly lined up on the ground before allowing him to enter into a bedroom. He picked one up at random, not noticing that the description next to the room was for the quarters, not what was in the room. He clearly remembered picking up a coin on the tails side.
“Ok,” Sabrina noted, the less-enthused inflection told him that was bad luck, since his memories couldn’t tell him what that was supposed to mean so far.
“You had a lot going on in that one room, didn’t you?” Jon heard as he tried to peek over to her notes to see where the tally lied, not realizing he’d gently began talking while recalling the room with the threshold of quarters.
“Yeah, there were three or four challenges in there.”
“Was it three, or was it four?” Sabrina queried.
“Um…” He’d started at the elephant portrait, given a choice of where to place it on the wall, facing a door, or facing another wall. A developed drive to make quicker decisions had him hanging it across from the door. He looked to a broom next to the bed, read something about evil spirits and spells cast on the bed, given the choice of away from the bed or right next to it. In his quickest decision since entering the house, he set it next to the bed. The final challenge was laying in the bed and deciding whether to get up on the side he started, or on the other. He found it interesting that a separate giveaway to more good luck was that a bed arranged from the head pointing north to feet pointing south ensured the best sleep. He laid on that bed and a light wave of trance consumed him for nearly a full minute, proving the theory correct.
Jon woke up from the same side of the bed he started on, and woke from his recollection to see his redheaded girlfriend trying to hide her smirk.
“Clever,” he said deadpanned. “How is the tally going?”
The tally ending in bad luck, or how the tally overall results would manifest themselves after, he wasn’t sure which thought scared him more.
“They had a symbolic Blarney stone there too?”
“Yeah,” was the absent reply.
“Did you kiss it?”
Were it not for watching her so deep in-thought and feeling her warm feet make his lap even warmer, he would’ve been more annoyed at her cryptic reactions.
“Heh, knock on wood. What good fortune did you mention on that one?”
“That the experience was almost over.”
She shook her head. “And how many times did you knock?”
“Hate to brake it to you sweetie, but it should’ve been three knocks.”
“What’s the difference? I noted my good fortune and then knocked on wood. Should it really matter if I only did it enough for a knock knock joke?”
“Knock knock,” she began.
Remiss as he was to play, he still responded “who’s there?”
“Unlucky you for thinking arguing against tradition will get you anywhere.”
Jon just sighed heavily and let her continue.
“Spilled some salt, did you?”
“No, they left a salt shaker on an intentionally wobbly table that was easy to bump into.”
“Uh huh, and which shoulder did you throw some of the salt over?”
“The right one?”
“Right as in right or right as in correct?”
“Right as in right, as in correct, right?”
“Wrong. It’s the left shoulder.”
“Who thought left shoulder was the correct one?”
“…everybody, sweetie. Everybody.” The condescension in her voice made him want to gently pinch her feet, but he knew better than to upset a pair of happy feet so close to his manhood.
“And a wishbone too. Which half?”
“…smaller,” the resignation in his voice made her smirk again.
“Looks like you picked up a few things too. Ooh, a necklace. What kind?”
Jon thought back to the choices available on the way out, remembering that Sabrina “insisted” that he pick out one color. As he thought about it, a sensation around his clavicle started spreading, making his hand reach to his neck and discover the necklace he’d chosen. Hidden under his shirt, he brought it to light to reveal a blue shimmer. He smiled as he noticed his companion bring her necklace out, smiling as she toyed with it. He smiled at how the stones of each resembled one another, but hers clearly held greater luster, with depths parts of him were incapable of forgetting.
Blue eyes and red lips simply smiled at that before looking back down at other things he’d circled.
“You also got some ivy, rosemary…good choice, or choices.” The pause was honed in on, parsing her word choice for clues as to what she was withholding, if anything. She continued to give him nothing as she took the results and jotted them down on the small tally sheet. Nervousness arose as a reddish eyebrow raised once it seemed like the results were finalized, unsure of what it all meant.
“So…” she began casually, compounding on the suspension.
“How do you think you did, given what you remember?”
Jon’s own mental tally, recalling his feelings with each action, added up to a net confidence, reasoning that all his actions supposedly produced enough good luck to offset the bad.
“I feel good, so that should be a good sign.”
The way her feet played in his lap, he thought it she was in tacit agreement.
“Really?” she finally looked up at him, a little puzzled at his answer.
Thrown for a small loop with the actions of her head and feet, he opted not to lose his confidence so easily.
“Really. I’m pretty sure everything I did put me in good standing with the supernatural forces or whatever. Let me see the pamphlet.”
She slid it across the table, amused at how he gripped it, ready and eager to prove her wrong. He noticed that there were so many words written on it than last time, as if the next day he was free to pay attention to all the details. It made sense when he received his after exiting, since it was pretty much a cheat sheet for everything he’d circled. Reading the descriptions, tallying everything with his fingers, and then on a napkin with a pen, his confidence rose again.
“Ok, the salt, broom, the quarter, and the wishbone were bad luck. Everything else should’ve been good. That’s like 4 points of bad out of 13.”
“Mmmmm, not really.”
“Wha-you read the descriptions right?”
“I did. And I believe you did, though we seem to disagree on the broom, the ivy, rosemary, and necklace you brought back. So by my tally, it was closer, but…” She slid her own tally across the table.
Jon went back and forth between lists, and the cheat sheet, trying to figure out the discrepancies.
“Wait, ‘a house with ivy growing on the side is protected from witchcraft and evil.’ ‘Blue beads are protection from witches.’ ‘Rosemary at the door will keep witches away.’ Those sound like good…”
Jon rattled away several of the superstitions until a common factor revealed itself. Eyelashes rapidly, playfully, batted in Jon’s direction when he looked back at her. Sabrina’s bright, grinning expression told him how long she’d she’d been waiting for him to make the connection.
He looked at her incredulously, trying to figure out a logical way to prove his point, but failing, settling on the last point they argued on.
“‘Don’t leave your broomstick next to the bed or evil spells will be cast on it?'” He quoted as a question, wondering why the bad luck he caused was on her list as good luck.
“What?” she merely shrugged. “A witch’s broom casting spells on a bed doesn’t sound sexy to you too?”
Setting the papers aside, Jon buried his face in his hands for a second, chuckling, resting his weary logic before bringing it back to compete with one whose point grew more clear by the second. Instead of letting the silence fill the space between them, Sabrina spoke.
“Now you see why your list wasn’t exactly accurate. Accurate for others, sure. But most others don’t enjoy constant enchantments and hypnotic spells like you do.”
“But…the wishbone, nothing was said about bad luck for the shorter end. And…”
“I’ll give you that Jonathan, it’s not a matter of bad luck. But providing no good luck there to counter it doesn’t necessarily help you. ‘And…'” She supplied the continuation he didn’t finish yet.
“And..that isn’t magic,” he spoke in his palms, exasperated.
“‘Magic’ is often semantics and subjectivity. Sure, there’s science explaining what happens to your mind when you go under, but has anyone ever been able to disprove the phenomenon as not magic? If hypnosis is deemed natural, how would you not consider a single finger snap or word or look that causes instant, perhaps unprompted focus anything but ‘super’ natural? Who gets to decide that what is and what isn’t magic? Surely the practitioners should, I say.”
“And all the hypnotists out there who would disagree with you about the magic claims?”
“Well, first, none of them have spoken with me for clarification on the matter. You should see the ones who have.”
The wink she gave didn’t surprise, but also didn’t exactly comfort him.
“And second, their misplaced claims can’t discount dictionaries, thesauruses, literature, and even many hypnotists subconsciously seem to perpetuate hypnosis as synonymous with magically-inclined words. ‘She bewitched him with her knowledge of the mind.’ ‘He slipped under a surreptitious spell of her making.’ ‘The magic of her words placed him in a deep state of hypnosis.'”
“I think those are really just expressions instead of their beliefs.”
“Or hints as to what they really believe, deep down inside. Why choose those words among others otherwise? I could go on all day with more examples; I might be persuaded to do so, with a little cute begging by the way.”
“Of course she would include that,” he thought, both of them he wouldn’t beg, not with where he was and in his current frame of mind. All her initial talk of the weekend amounted to how much good luck he’d accumulated the day before, and he had to question how much he really wanted to argue his point, even if just for the sake of arguing, or to not give up so easily. Fortunately for his libido, she had ways of quelling that fairly easily.
“But let’s not forget one other thing from our lists Jonathan.”
“What would that be?” he looked back to his own list to see what else she believed was awry.
“The Blarney stone.”
“What about it?”
“You said you didn’t kiss the symbolic one yesterday. As a child in Ireland, I kissed the authentic Blarney stone at Blarney Castle. Do you know what the effect is?”
He didn’t answer, but reached for the explanation and read it to himself “‘the Kisser will be gifted with persuasive eloquence.'”
“That’s why it’s listed as bad on your list?”
“It’s not as if not-kissing it helps you any. Had you, maybe you could persuade me of otherwise. Alas…”
Jon shook his head again. “You know this is ridiculous, right?”
“Is it? How many times have you fallen just to the sound of my voice? Doesn’t it seem so powerful that you’d swear a mystical power imbued me with ‘persuasive eloquence’?”
“If that’s true, why bother going to school to study hypnosis?”
“To see for myself if it was just something science hadn’t explained yet, or a real force I possessed that convinced anyone to do what I wanted.”
Jon was impressed with how quickly with the question he asked on the fly to trip up her Blarney stone claim, and Sabrina was equally impressed with how automatically her response was to a question she didn’t think she was ready for. Both looked at each other for signs of concession. Finding none, Sabrina smiled and continued on.
“If you notice from the correct list, bad luck narrowly beat out good. Had you kissed the Blarney stone, not only would you have had the tide of good luck turn in your favor, you also would have been imbued with a gift I have relished in for many years. Had it been any other item on the list to create more bad, and you kissed the Blarney stone, you may have had a chance to convince me that what you did shouldn’t count or that you are deserving of more luck. But you made your choice, and leave me with all the power.”
Expressive facial protests decrying his powerlessness didn’t faze the Blarney stone kisser one bit.
“Even as a young lass,” A low, velvet tone smoothly began pouring traces of Sabrina’s Irish accent into her voice. “I knew there was something special, tangible about what I had kissed. It lingered on my lips like lipstick, seeping into my vocal chords, feeling them enhanced, empowered. Simple words became magic words, syllables and sentences infused with the mystic allure of articulation. The things I said sounded so poised, so passionate, so meaningful, they couldn’t help but take it to heart and mind, happy to comply and be complicit with any whim that crossed my lips. Boys knelt, fawning. Girls befriended, bedazzled. Adults agreed, adverse to other possibilities.”
All of Jon’s experience with Sabrina made it all to easy to see the kind of control she would’ve brandished as described, no matter what the origin, forgetting he was being convinced of it all with every word.
“And one would think that persuasive eloquence would fade after a time, lest the Blarney stone be restricted only to those who possess the power themselves, but it seemed to stay with me, and grow in potency. Coupled with an empowered upbringing, constantly made to speak properly, the power may have had a reason to remain in me. I would think though that my constant use of persuasive eloquence gave it reason enough to remain, developed with constant, creative practice, energized by feeding off of raw resistance turned into succulent submission, a deviously delightful diet. And when you think solely, only on that notion, should it surprise anyone that evolved persuasive eloquence attached itself so strongly to you?”
“No else before you has proven themselves a match to a persuasive eloquence like mine. My words persuasively tease your senses, eloquently explaining why you should give in and how fantastic it will feel to do so, and yet you don’t easily succumb, meeting persuasive eloquence with a…evasive resistance, if you will.”
Letting the concepts be unfurled and spoken as they were created in her head blended perfectly with letting her accent slip into the enchanting Irish lilt his mind felt magnetized to. Jon could’ve been taken irrevocably under with just a programmed trigger or two, but it was often tempting with him to exert a little more effort; a reward for being obedient but a fun challenge, and for her for watching him slowly come under the influence of an unexpected induction, savoring every tale tell sign of a re-acquired mind. Unsure of where this was going, but very sure of how hot it could turn out for both of them, she started to look out for the mostly, thankfully absent waitress to ask for the check.
“It still surprises and thrills me to you managing to muster an internal countenance to magic charms, evading persuasion, persuading yourself that your resistance can withstand eloquence. Persuasive evasion of eloquent words directed directly at you seem a result of resistance. But how, one must wonder. How is persuasion resisted? How is eloquence evaded? Would evasion and resistance be a result of knowing or possessing persuasion and eloquence? Is that how you’ve resisted? Prolonged exposure to my persuasive eloquence, or dormant eloquent persuasion in you countering my own for a time?”
An azure gaze twinkled gleefully at facial features displaying enjoyment of the suggestively indirect praise. He stared out into space, focused on the narrative, wondering where his ‘evasive resistance’ might take him next.
“Fascinating theories either way, either of which concluding that such forces, eloquence, resistance, persuasion, evasion, all garnering respect. Measured respect at that, because how many truly embody such abilities. And measured respect would mean that one would have to measure the breadth of power if those forces clashed. And you would have to reach far back to think of when your evasive resistance has completely overcome my persuasive eloquence.”
With ironic symbolism, Jon felt hands overcome by softness. Both hands felt warm, one with a hand, fingers teasing his wrist, applying gentle pressure. His other sandwiched between feet he massaged earlier, grown too comfortable to move. The corners of his mouth curled more into a lost smile, blanketed by more persuasive eloquence.
“Can you think that far back? Was there ever a time when you truly did overcome me? Does the memory of my eloquent words and persuasive touch ever allow your evasive resistance to hold for long? Filling your head with eloquent words, pressing persuasive lips to yours, coating yours with my persuasive eloquence like lipstick, binding your lips to mine with painted power. How long did evasive resistance last? How long before persuasive eloquence made resistance the only thing word evading? How long did it take for your mind to evade the silly thought of resistance today? By what measure have you respectfully yielded to the magic of persuasive eloquence?”
Lethargic lips tried moving opposite of Sabrina, the witch unsure if words of argument or capitulation were trying to escape his mouth. She chucked softly, allowing him to try for drawn-out seconds, none of which produced anything coherent, not that his response would’ve mattered much.
“Hush, sweetie,” his lips instantly grew still. “And let the magic of my persuasive eloquence impart important knowledge to your open mind.”
“Everyone seems to know that Friday the 13th is a time to be extra cautious, where strange things you can’t comprehend could happen, a day made famous based on horror, mystery, and superstition. Fewer know that witches themselves are not only part of, but believers in superstitions as well. But a select privileged few seem to know of the importance of Saturday the 14th, what magical women like me, and those taken by a witch, ensnared, bewitched, made to service, made to love it, refer to as the ‘Day of Consequence.’ Simple cause and effect, my dear. Certain things done, certain things you’ve caused on Friday the 13th, yesterday, the effects will be dealt out, experienced today. Your luck is in the hands of your actions, and you Jonathan, being in a unique position of being under the magic of a witch, may not have the luck you expect. But we will explore that luck, very soon…”
Priority of sensory awareness was relegated away from maintaining a seemingly aware visage, paying the bill, feeling Sabrina slip her feet back into her shoes, and more toward the arm-in-arm walk lead by her. Lips of persuasive eloquence at his ear, Jon learned about the Day of Consequence. Apparently it could’ve been any day past a Friday the 13th, but it was rare that a witch’s chattel couldn’t be tracked down, or willingly summoned in less than a day. And some of the superstitions witches deeply subscribed to kept Jon from smiling along the way; the functional parts of his mind wondering if he violated any superstitions that would lead to the consequence of bad luck.
By the time he was able to think more coherently about it, he was lying down, blinking awake to find himself awake in her bed, naked, confused, aroused. It was only easy to move his neck to see Sabrina leaning against the door way of her bedroom, dressed in the same clothes from the diner, save for a witch’s hat, and a devilish smile. Naturally his erection grew and he found the strength to reach out to her with one arm.
“Sorry, my dear, but it looks like someone has decided to keep us apart.”
Sabrina had to stifle a laugh from the panic in his eyes, the anger in his features suggesting he wouldn’t mind strangling this someone.
“Some poor fool has placed an ivy plant around your apartment, and that doesn’t seem to agree with witches. So we couldn’t go to your place.” Anger turned to sadness as someone’s identity was revealed. “They also seemed to place some rosemary at this door way, the door way of a witch’s bedroom of all places. Tsk tsk tsk. What a shame, I was feeling frisky. And you would be feeling…well, everything.” A moan of frustration erupted from Jon, trying to find the strength to move.
“But they also left my broomstick next to the bed. And I can only imagine the sexy spells it’s casting over the bed, for its occupants.”
As if on cue, light wisps of touches, caresses, gentle binds, and sultry whispers washed over the bed in waves. Supernatural forces seemed to know what he liked, but teased him about it, making him want the touch of his witch more than anything else.
“What’s my trusty broomstick asking you to feel? What’s it communicating to you? Does it lament being me being able to reach it? Does it wish it had legs to come to me? Does it long for me in its long, hard, wooden form, desperate to be ridden and between my legs?”
Vibrant, jubilant, accented, witchy laughter spread through the apartment, blocking out other sounds, even his own breathing and swearing under his breath.
“Is that why you’re so stiff and rigid? Feet straight out and hands to your sides? Waiting for me to treat you like my broom and ride off into the night to do things that make your core shake and your mind numb because all you need is my mind and body telling you what to feel?”
Jon utterly refused to say “yes,” keeping his mouth shut tight. The rest of his body could not be screaming it louder.
“So exposed, so naked, so vulnerable. Well, except for that little charm around your neck…”
Invaded senses suddenly drew attention to the small weight of the blue crystal around his neck meant as a protective charm from the likes of Sabrina. It didn’t protect him from the broom’s enchantments of the bed, restraining his arm from moving to toward his chest. It couldn’t protect his will from the crystal around her neck she was fingering; even in low lighting, it still gleamed brilliantly, like every time she brandished it right in his face.
“Who’s charm do you think is more powerful Jonathan? It seems to be able to protect you from me, as lead at a distance. But distance is no feat to cross, for mesmerizing crystals like mine. Facets shining blue across the room with reflected like, across oceans with reflective memories. And this crystal knows you much better than your little trinket; it knows how to capture you much better than yours knows how to defend. So an even better question might be, how can it protect you, from you? Your desires, your needs, your pleasure?”
His eyes couldn’t pull themselves away from her pendant thanks to thick Irish persuasive eloquence, as he tried pulling away from his necklace. Knowing how long she could possibly deny him for “inaction,” he forced energy back into his arm to pull free of the charm and rip the necklace off, angrily throwing it in the general direction of the trashcan.
“Uh oh. That might not fare well for you Mr. Task. Without that charm, your body might feel more under the assault of the broom’s magic. Even the thought of being unprotected my leave you defenseless against thoughts of what we’ve done, what you like me to do to you. Hands Jonathan, all over your body. Legs, teasing you, straddling you. A journey of azure, filing your soul.”
Unexpected energy rushed through him via her eye-gazing trigger, creating a magnetic urge to get close enough to let her eyes consume his. Groaning hard, he forced himself to roll out of bed. His sweat-covered back landed on a plush rug near the bed, breaking his fall as gently as allowable under the circumstances. He caught is breath for a second, escaping the machinations of the broom, feeling the blue of her eyes and pendant calling out to him like beacons.
“Such strength, such will, such a draw to me. So determined and dependent on my words. No evasive resistance from you, a missed opportunity for rebuttals with your own persuasive eloquence. Only my persuasive eloquence, pulling you to me. Closer.”
On his hands and feet he crawled.
Every inch forward was a clearer view of blue.
Every inch forward was a pulse in strained manhood.
He presented himself to Sabrina, naked, helpless, trying to look up at her form. A hand reached to crush the rosemary in his hand and throw it away from both of them. He planted a kiss on her boot, waiting, pleading with his eyes for consideration.
“You so want me don’t you?”
“Fuck yes, Sabrina.”
Musical laughter was more appreciated by his ears being so close to it.
“Do you know what your luck has brought you on this Day of Consequence?”
The way she asked was afraid to make him speak, the growing chance for anything good or bad to happen.
“Would you like to play with my pussy?”
Vigorous nodding made more laughter as she crouched to bring their eyes together. As she suggested, they heartily filled his soul, until she started blinking, making him follow suit. Deliberately longer blinks made his eyes close more and more, until the burning arousal quelled with concentration on what her eyes wanted of him, until he couldn’t keep his eyes open anymore.
The next time his opened, he was aware and only half-naked in pants. He was seated on her living room couch, confused and unsure if anything happened. In a love seat nearby, she sat watching him casually.
“Hey,” her normal American accent returned.
“Going to get to play with my pussy?”
Spoken just as casually, he did a double-take to her words.
She smiled, making a kissing noise in the direction of the kitchen. Walking out of it was a small, black kitten, looking exactly like the one he’d run into at the House of Superstition, the ear laced with grey flickering playfully. It jumped on the couch and sat next to Sabrina, seemingly very comfortable with her new owner.
“Ready to play?”
“Oh, sorry, I should introduce you two. Jonathan, this is Loqui. Loqui, this is Jonathan.”
“The House of Superstition was working with a rescue shelter this year. This is the one who came up to you on Friday. I got to see her later; seems like she took a liking to both of us. And I’ve missed having a cat. You’re a cat person too, if I recall correctly, right?”
Latching on to the only flotsam he could, “yeah,” was his only response.
“It’s kind of a trial run with her right now; if she’s a good witch’s cat, she’ll most likely stay. I’m hoping she does; I’m already kind of in-love.”
“Ok, but ‘Loqui?'”
“Root word for ‘eloquence.'”
Jon sighed and laughed, catching the attention of the kitten who’d snuggled next to Sabrina for a second to approach Jon curiously. He stretched his finger out gently for her to smell, patiently letting her assess him again. She finally showed affection, butting her head against his hand; he rubbed her fur gently, enjoying the feel of cat fur he was given permission to stroke.
“So nice to see my pets getting along.”
Jon smirked at her while Loqui mewled, crawling up in Jon’s warm lap.
“So no nookie at all today?” Jon asked unabashed, sounding like Mark more than himself.
“Sorry dear,” she said between giggles. “Day of Consequence and all that. Plus Loqui deserves some exclusive attention today. Tomorrow is another day though.”
The hand not stroking a purring Loqui reached over to take Sabrina’s hand in his, giving it a kiss with the same reverence he gave her boot earlier.
“You going to make me hold you to that vague promise?”
“Oh, I’ll make you do many things…soon enough.” The kissed hand stroked his face, playing with the tip of his ear.
“Just my luck,” he spoke trying to stay awake with the affectionate cat nearby. Sabrina moved to seat herself next to him and be just as affectionate, turning on the TV.
“Our luck, dear. Enjoy it.”