Jul 292015

A normal practitioner of magic picks up hundreds of spells in their lifetime. They collect them from friends, lovers, enemies, books and often movies. The average user of magic has forgotten more spells than they use in their lifetime.

Standing outside Abigail’s house, I realized I never picked up a spell for unlocking doors. I could unclasp a bra with a single word but apparently locked doors had never come up.

Luckily for me, a lawn chair through the front window works just as well. The sound was horrendous but Abigail lived out in the country. No one would hear my breaking and entering.

I crawled through the window and managed not to gut myself on broken glass. The smell of garlic greeted me. Memories of pasta and perfect mussels swept over me.

The tears came next. It was hard to believe the old lady was gone. She seemed invincible. I had no idea how old she was but she never corrected me when I called her a hundred years old. She was a tough old lady and hell of a lot tougher then me. It was wrong of her to be dead, especially of something so mundane as dying in her sleep.

I always assumed that she would be picking through my house after I died instead of the other way around. We disagreed on almost everything but she had taught me when I asked and I enjoyed her price. In our circles, that almost made her family.

I reached for the light switch. The familiar sight of the living room surrounded me. There was her giant crystal ball that I never saw her use. Over here was the curio cabinet of miniature altars. My third eye picked up the shapes of the invisible rune she had inscribed in the floor.

There were more mundane treasures as well. The far wall was dominated by a rack of well used vibrators. An erotic painting of an orgy hung above the fireplace. An expensive television stood next to an extensive collection of pornographic DVD’s.

I wondered what her nephews made of Abigail’s porn. They must have been horrified. That would explain the fact that they had a mover coming tomorrow to ship Abigail’s house to an auction house. I doubted the assholes stayed more than five minutes in this house.

It was a good thing I was here tonight. Abigail never left a will and quite frankly, I bet I would not be her first, second or even sixth choice to have her stuff, but I was the one here now. I wanted to scavenge whatever magic artifacts I could before it got sold to strangers with no idea of their worth.

Before I could start my search, I heard a crash from the kitchen. I froze in my tracks. Did some other thief beat me here first?

No matter, two people searching would be faster than one. I walked to the kitchen and took a peak.

A frying pan was on the floor. I wasn’t sure where it fell from.

The television came on in the living room. The groans of a couple fucking echoed down the hallway.

Ah, I had a suspicion of what was going on. I went back into the living room and turned the television off. I stood in the living room and exerted a small amount of will into the room.

All of the vibrators on the rack came to life. Their buzzing formed an angry chorus.

The place was haunted. It happens a lot when you deal in magic. It was probably some left over spirit that Abigail had summoned but died before she got a chance to dismiss it. It was no big deal.

I drew a circle in the carpet with my foot. I pictured my Guardian. I remembered her dark purple skin, her insect eyes and her clawed hands. I recalled how her long blonde hair would flutter when she flew. I remembered the heaving of her tits as I bound her. I heard the beating of her glittering wasp wings. She was here.

I said her name out loud. “Cleanse this space of unwanted spirits,” I intoned.

My Guardian screamed. It was a long piercing wail that lasted for a full minute before collapsing into a stuttering moan.

Well, she had never made that sound before. I took that as a bad sign. This was no normal haunting.

My pants unzipped. My shirt rubbed against my chest and it felt like a dozen hands. The stereo came on and I heard the repeated moaning of a woman being penetrated.

“I’m an idiot,” I said and it was true. See, the reason Abigail and I didn’t agree on a lot of things is she was an entirely different sex magician from me. I believed in using the power of orgasms to communicate with the beings of the Outer Purple but she believed in the power of the frustrated orgasm. She had denied herself orgasms for fifty years at least if not more. It was the source of her power.

That is not to mean she was celibate. Oh, fuck no. she masturbated, she sucked and licked and sometimes she fucked. She just never came. She teased herself to the point of climax forever and held onto that frustration.

If you are a magician using that frustration; everything is fine. When you don’t use that energy then it seeps into the environment. Abigail had been dead for a week but the frustration here must be immense.

Incidentally, that is why all poltergeists can be traced to the teenager in the house. Their sexual frustrations soak into the physical objects of the house and act out. Teach the teen to masturbate and you stop the source of the frustration.

That is all I had to do. My pants wiggled down to my ankles on their own accord and I stepped out of them. I felt my underwear rip apart and fall to the ground.

I stepped out of my circle and walked into the center of the living room. This is where Abigail usually masturbated. I had seen her do a dozen times. Sometimes I licked her and sometimes I fucked her here. Like I said earlier, I never minded her price for sharing knowledge.

One of the vibrators flew off the rack. I kept calm as it dipped between my legs. The tip of the vibrator pressed against my balls. Oh shit, that felt nice.

The lights dimmed. The room plunged into darkness until six candles lit themselves around the room. Wow, that is powerful. I never saw a poltergeist light a candle before much less six.

A scarf flew off her hat rack and drifted towards me. It coiled along my ankle and snaked around my thigh. It slithered over to my other leg and kept snaking around my leg.

The stereo came on. Three female voices moaned together in a recorded chant. Mixed with the sound of moaning was the unmistakable wet sound of sexes being stroked.

A bottle of lubricant flew from the coffee table and squirted my cock. This poltergeist had no use for subtlety.

There was so much frustration. All it needed was a conduit to release through. All it needed was me.

I grabbed my cock and rubbed the slippery lubricant over myself. My fingers tightened and I groaned. I opened myself to the energy.

FUCK! An ocean of power filled me. FUCK! Is this what Abigail dealt with? FUCK! This was real power! FUCK!

I thought of the treasures I had come to look for and their locations were instantly known to me; including some objects I didn’t know about at all but would want.


I saw the network of presence of beings I could barely imagine. Even better, I felt the power that Abigail used to deal with these beings. Holy shit, all this time I had been making pacts with spirits when I could have been making cosmic law with Goddesses.


This was power. This was true power. What the fuck had I been doing all this time? I had been wasting my energies daily. I regretted every orgasm I ever had.

My fingers left my cock. There was no way I was releasing my seed or this power.


The aching came. It was a deep pain like nothing I had ever felt. It was the loss of never kissing a woman I liked. It was the grief of a missed sexual encounter. It was the tragedy of never sharing that most intimate of pleasures with a loved one.


How did Abigail bear this horror? The tears came back and they poured out of me. There was sex, sure, but there was never the closure of climax. There was never the shudder followed by the tender hug of one who cares. There were so much desire and never any satisfaction.


This was not my path. I grabbed my cock again. I was so turned on that I couldn’t even imagine a fantasy to jack off to. I just listened to the moans coming from the stereo and stroked.

I climaxed. The frustration of the room flowed through me. I felt like I was ejaculating an ocean out of my cock. I came and I came and I came and I came.

The lights came back on. The stereo shut off. The vibrator on my balls dropped to the ground.

I dropped as well. Holy shit, that was intense. How the fuck did Abigail live as long as she did with that burden upon her. Fuck, that old woman was stronger than any one ever knew.

There was a mess on the floor. I left it and went looking for Abigail’s books. The memory of where they were was quickly fading but I wasn’t worried. I would find them.

I thought about the power that had passed through me. I could never deny myself like Abigail did. That was not my way.

A little denial though, maybe I could work something with that.

  4 Responses to “Fiction: Denied”

  1. Always so clever and creative. I liked this story

  2. That’s an awesome story. I love it, but mainly the different styles of magic and how they take their toll on the user.

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