The Magician's Black Cat

A single candlelight supplies the only brightness for the study of the sorcerer's home. High on the hillside, his meager but clean abode overlooks the township. From the window he sees lantern and candlelight of medieval houses, shops and shacks. Nothing escapes his view save the buildings in the shadow of the church steeple. He watches all without being seen – very convenient for one who savors privacy and prominence.

The mage sits at his desk and opens the book entitled, "Spells of Animation." Patiently and thoroughly, he reads the words of the ancient magician who made still things move, who gave souls to animals.

"In this way shall the conjuror produce a real woman. Indeed, this gem carries danger. A true giver of pain and delight, take care that your fruits do not defy the sorcerer himself."

Why must they always include a bothersome warning with each formula? Surely, one competent enough to perform complex spells can handle the consequences!

With confidence, he closes the ancient book and turns about in his chair. From the mantle above the fireplace his furry black cat, Aurora, stares down at him. Eyes half closed, long tail slowly waving to and fro, her face shows careless contentedness.

"Ah Aurora, truly you are my best friend. And now that I have the secret, we shall know each other like never before!"

The magician leaves the study and enters his bedroom with candle in hand. Before him on the nightstand lies a small silver box inlayed with gold symbols.

"Oh, how I have waited for the day when I could use these," he says as he opens the shaman box. Slowly, savoring every moment, the sorcerer removes two silk stockings. Tiny golden specks reflect the candlelight, projecting baby angels upon the walls.

He rubs the stockings between his fingers—the fine, black fabric seduces his senses. The sparkles on the wall cease as he places the silks on the bed.

The magician returns to the study and sees Aurora, relaxing on the mantle, smiling her regal smile. He gingerly lifts her while stroking the scruff of her neck. Aurora purrs and meows, keeping her eyes fixed upon his.

"You will be whole, and beautiful, and I shall cherish you as no other could." He carries the cat into his bedroom, and gently places her on his bed, just next to the silk stockings.

The sorcerer stands back, takes a breath, and chants the spell:

From out of the swirl where souls await,

A beautiful girl, I bid to create,

For pleasure she'll be,

And only for me!

Arise, my pet, you're finally free!

Suddenly, a bright flash of red and blue erupts from the bed. Startled, the magician gasps, for upon his bed lies a beautiful woman clad in the silky black stockings.

"Sword of Arthur!" he whispers as he gazes upon her body. "My God, you are beautiful..."

Aurora lies back on a pillow, head resting upon folded hands. She parts her legs slightly, giving the mage a peek at her fleshy under-lips, which swell with anticipation, and frame a nubile flower that awaits the pollination of his love.

"Touch me," she whispers through pouted lips. "Please me..."

The magician removes his robe and lies next to her on the bed. "I have dreamed of this for so long."

He strokes her long black hair while he stares into her feline eyes. Placing her hand upon his heart he murmurs, "Feel how I thirst for you, my Love."

Aurora kneels before him, lifting her full, firm rear into the air. Her eyes pierce his, cat-like and demur, with an Asiatic fervor that stirs his very soul. Slowly, painfully slow, she runs her tongue up and down his length. Pausing at the top, she closes her eyes, and closes her lips around him. A trickle of warm saliva squirts from the side of her mouth, landing as a small splotch on the bed.

Her head bobs with conviction, her mouth traces the contour of his flesh until he gasps, "Oh god, oh god, I must have you now!"

She obediently turns and presents her backside to the sorcerer. One hand reaches behind to stretch her cheeks, releasing a clear stream of lubricating fluid that coats her entrance. "Take me," she says.

One long, slow insertion fills her. He pushes until he meets resistance and can push no more. The rhythm rises as he grows harder, thicker and wet with her dew. Pulling her hair, he catches himself in time to change position. "Turn over."

Aurora obeys. On her back, she opens and closes her legs -- once, twice, letting him see how swollen and moist her center has become.

The magician positions himself before his prize and gently holds her knees open. He parts her lips with the thick head, slaps them with a splash, and enters her once more.

He gives her deep, hard strokes. Faster and faster, he slides in and out, grasping her waist as a hungry animal holds its prey. The visual pleasure, the emotional conquest, the intellectual achievement and the raw physical bliss collude to deliver a climax he could only imagine in his dreams. Faster, harder, deeper until...

"Ouch!" he screams. "What the heck!"

Leaping from the bed, the sorcerer reaches around to touch his burning back. Blood covers his fingers and palm. He feels thin, warm streams run down the small of his back, forming a pool of wetness at the crest of his buttocks.

His bed empty, Aurora gone, he scratches his head.

He hears a meow from the study and runs in to find his black cat lying on the mantle. She seems to smirk, those glaring dark eyes humiliating him. The tips of Aurora's claws drip a dark, rich red.

"Giver of pain and delight," he muses. Aurora just looks at him with animal satisfaction.