Flawed Red Silk Ch. 01

“But I’m NOT a witch!”

“I think you are. Really are, that is, not just a conjuror.”

What could I say? After tonight she would be right.

Serena and I discussed the design of the knickers. Once we had the basic idea the women could make their own choice depending on the available unflawed material. We decided to make it a competition with a couple of prizes for the best knickers. Serena and I would tell them on Monday morning.

Next Monday was a holiday for a few of the staff so there were actually only twenty-eight women available. That fitted the pieces of cloth almost exactly. We agreed that twenty-six of them would embroider the letters a to z on the care labels. One pair would be made to my measurements and would have an alpha almost invisibly marked on the seam behind the label. Another pair would be made for Mrs. Jones. That pair would have omega behind the label.

At lunchtime the canteen was a babel of voices. All had cut out their cloth and had sewn them together. The detailing would decide who won. Although they wouldn’t share their ideas, all off them wanted to talk about the knickers. Finally Asmita plucked up the courage to ask me directly about the spell.

“Is it true that you are going to put a spell on these knickers?”

“Yes,” I said. Then I had a thought. “But I need everyone’s help.”

“You do?” asked Serena. “How?”

“I want each one of you to concentrate on what you enjoy about sex as you handle the knickers you are working on. Remember the good times, the times when you were really happy about sex. Try to sew those memories into the silk. I will help but your thoughts will do the real spell.”

That stumped them. Then gradually they realised that I was getting them to be witches, all of them. That was a powerful thought. If they too could make a spell, what else could they do?

That night I was initiated as a witch. I told the coven about the French knickers and the spell. The whole coven used their power to add to the spell. What had I done?

I lay in bed that night with my thoughts whirling. I was a witch. I had cast my first spell with help from my colleague witches and the women from Mr. Jones’ factory. What would that spell do to the recipients of the knickers? What would happen when I wore my own pair? What would happen when Mrs. Jones wore hers?

By Tuesday evening the results of the competition were known. Serena and I had been the judges. The prizes had come from my pocket and were vouchers on the local drug store, which they could use for cosmetics, perfume or whatever. I had thought long and hard before choosing the vouchers. Any other prize might be spent on their families. I wanted the women to have something for themselves.

On Wednesday morning I packed the French knickers and sent out those labelled a to z to the list of customers that Mr. Jones had given me. I kept my own pair. I would wear them on St. Valentine’s Day. Mr. Jones would give his wife her pair on that morning.

He had asked for a special spell to be put on his wife’s knickers to make him irresistible to her. I had obliged although I didn’t do a real spell. Then he tried to switch her knickers for mine! He shouldn’t have tried that on a witch and a conjuror. His switch was so obvious I nearly laughed out loud. I switched them back when he was distracted. So he wanted me to find him irresistible, did he? I’d pay him back for that.

You’ll hear more from me in the last chapter, but, starting with the next chapter, the owners of the knickers will tell their stories one by one.