Sex magic is a powerful way to tap into the natural energies of the body. In this short story, Dawnice will seek the help of the Dorsett sisters and their knowledge. Their power. Normally, such a thing would be considered taboo. But everything Dawnice tried hadn’t worked. She wanted a baby. She deserved a baby.
For the truly desperate, no idea is too outlandish. No action is pushing things too far. The Ritual is about using magic to bend nature to the desires of one woman, Dawnice. She seeks the help of three witches, who’s family have long been known to those in the know. The Dorsett Sisters. Powerful descendants of a powerful family. These are the women who give Dawnice hope. She would have her baby with the help of Dorsett magic.
Many cultures have relied on the power of rituals to bring in harvests, for protection, for good luck. Rituals can be a way for us to connect with our past and our history. This story shows a more focused ritual. For a baby, there has to be sex. And for someone barren in the way that Dawnice is, ritual sex magic is the requirement.
Erotica is a widely read genre, even if it’s not talked about very often. Stories with erotic themes can serve many purposes. The least of which is an obsession with sex. I view the Xotica project as a pathway towards a personal understanding of sexuality. The series offers a path for exploring the deepest, most secretive desires in a safe way. More of my erotica & free adult fiction can be found here. Some exclusive pieces can be found on the Wattpad platform.
What Dawnice expected to be a ride a little under three hours had turned into a four-hour ordeal. The plan had been to leave Charlotte, and make it in the general Atlanta area, then find a room for the night. The next morning, Dawnice would meet the women of the Dorsett house. Dawnice told her husband she was visiting her sister in Athens, just a little bit of sister to sister time. It bothered her to have lied, but her husband would not be very supportive of this way of trying to conceive. He would have told Dawnice this voodoo mumbo-jumbo was a waste of money.
Somewhere in Dawnice, she thought that could be true. But she wasn’t about to let him know that. She’d already paid the $200 deposit. Having her husband say, “I tried to tell you,” and not getting pregnant would break her spirit. That wouldn’t be good for anyone.
It was much later than Dawnice had expected it to be when she arrived in Atlanta. The hotel she booked didn’t look anything like the photos that were on the website. So much so that Dawnice checked to see if she’d gotten the address right. Luckily, her card hadn’t been charged and she could just cancel the reservation. There were a few of her homegirls still living in Atlanta from when she was at school here. She didn’t really want too many questions but staying with one of them was better than the alternative.
Dawnice found herself at a QuickTrip and pulled beside a pump to get her bearings. No sooner had she put her car in part, Dawnice heard the phone ring. She answered the unknown number.
“Mrs. Richards,” a woman’s voice began on the phone. “I believe you’re planning on staying in a hotel and we just won’t hear of it. You’re more than welcome to stay at the house tonight.”
“How do you know that?” Dawnice asked suspiciously. “And who exactly are you?” she asked the woman.
“Oh, how rude of me. I’m Margaret Dorsett and although your appointment is for tomorrow, we insist that you join us for dinner. And of course, stay with us until the procedure tomorrow!”
Dawnice didn’t answer right away. She noticed that the woman had only answered one of her questions, but soon wrote her suspiciousness off to being nervous and desperate about having a baby.
“Mrs. Richards?” Margaret asked wonderingly through the phone.
The house wasn’t what Dawnice had expected at all. More of an Old Plantation home than fertility clinic, though Dawnice hadn’t known what to expect. The little research she’d done on the place had only mentioned the Dorsett house high success rate even among women who’d been told they could never have children. On the website Dawnice had found, the Dorsett’s seemed to blend some sort of holistic approach as well as some customs from their culture, although she could say what that culture was exactly. Dawnice would make a point to ask once she was inside.
The house sat back on the property, a good hundred yards away from the street and double driveway that brought you right to the front door. Dawnice brought her car to a stop and admired the house up close. The front door had gold trimming and was the red of those who had wealth at the time the house was built. Old money. Dawnice didn’t get out of the car, she was still unsure. It wasn’t too late to call her husband and tell him what she was doing. It wasn’t too late to stop this second and just go home to the man who’d loved her since they were both 22 years old. She could adopt, there were other options. “Fuck it”, Dawnice thought.
The door opened before Dawnice could knock, and the smiling face of Margaret Dorsett met her. The woman was older Dawnice could tell, but still had near-flawless skin and didn’t have any lack of vitality. Margaret was a short woman, barely coming to Dawnice’s. shoulders. The woman was covered in bangles and other trinkets. Some of the symbols Dawnice recognized, others she didn’t. When Margaret spoke, Dawnice felt any anxiety she was feeling fall away as if she was falling under a spell. Margaret ushered her into the foyer and down a hall into what Dawnice thought was properly called a sitting room. Tea and an assortment of cookies and biscuits were waiting on them. When Margaret motioned for Dawnice to sit, she did.
“Isn’t this nicer than staying in some common hotel?” Margaret asked.
Dawnice had to admit, “Yes, it is. Thank you.”
“Don’t think anything of it. We’re glad to have you. Many women that come for our help are like you. Some even more nervous.”
“Am I that obvious?” Dawnice asked.
“You’d be a fool not to be. You want a baby and the world has told you no. Women come to us when they feel hope is lost, it’s only natural for some other emotions to creep in as well.”
That made sense to Dawnice and she began sipping her tea. It was sweet, but not too sweet. Dawnice wasn’t usually accustomed to warm drinks, not even coffee, but the tea wasn’t bad. She found herself enjoying sitting with Margaret much more than she’d anticipated. Somewhere in their conversation, Margaret mentioned that her sisters would be joining them soon. Dawnice felt the small talk ending and decided to risk a question.
“Do you all really consider what you do magic or something?”, believing she was being a little patronizing, she quickly added, “I’m not questioning your beliefs or anything, your ad had mentioned a ritual and, well you know.” Dawnice finished her question shyly. If Margaret was offended, she didn’t show it.
“We consider what we do a part of the magical arts,” Margaret began to explain, “But only a part. My sisters and I were taught these arts by our mother, and she was taught by her mother and so on for longer than anyone remembers. Many things that would be considered magic only a few years ago are very common now. It might help you to think of our ritual as more of a procedure you simply don’t understand.”
That made sense to Dawnice. “Well, how does the ritual work?” she asked.
Margaret Dorsett sat still and looked at Dawnice extremely intensely. Dawnice couldn’t begin to guess what the older woman was thinking of sitting there. Margaret didn’t say anything, only sipped her tea, and pulled a long slender cigarette from a bag on the couch beside her that Dawnice hadn’t noticed before.
“In the old days,” Margaret began, “The women in our family had a particular place in our little community. The Mills a few miles up the road there were the best hunting men you could find anywhere. If you needed dear meat, or you something special from the woods, you’d got to the Mills and they’d get you worked out. Same went for Anna Thatch over past the water tower where those railroad tracks cut across the creek; if you wanted the best tasting honeycomb you’d find in the state. Well, my family and the ritual is like that, except for helping the sick and women who were bringing life into the world.”
Dawnice still ignorant said, “So It’s just like mid-wife stuff then?”
Margaret smiled finishing the cigarette just as her sisters came into the room. “Essentially dear, it’s all midwife stuff.”
Dawnice was lead into another room close to where the sisters were standing. They were all a similar height and build, though you could easily tell the difference in age. Dawnice learned that Margaret was the middle sister and was two years younger than her older sister, Clara, and 5 years older than their sister, Diana. Diana wasn’t much older than Dawnice, but she carried herself as if she was.
At one point, Dawnice was lead through a door into a brightly lit hall that seemed to be descending as they walked. Margaret Dorsett confirmed this telling Dawnice that the house had been built up over the years and had many additions and hidden rooms. Dawnice should have been slightly suspicious, but who would be worried about three old women?
Another door led to a chamber and when one of the women turned on a light, what Dawnice saw shocked her. In the center of the room sat a stone altar, cupped by what appeared to be the carved hands of a woman. Surrounding the altar was a thin moat of crystal-clear water. Behind the altar was another carving of a very voluptuous woman with vague features that seemed to change depending on the angle. The carving had large breasts any woman would be happy to flaunt and wide curving hips.
The three women were silent and slightly bowed as if in prayer. Nothing in the chamber felt threatening, but Dawnice thought she could feel the energy present. Dawnice had a thought to change her mind, she felt silly resorting to what she supposed was going to amount to a glorified fortune-telling. Remembering the reviews and comments Dawnice didn’t voice her concerns. If there was any chance, no matter how small, Dawnice would try.
The three sisters had stopped bowing and had begun to take positions in the chamber, Margaret had approached Dawnice and led her to take a seat in the center of the altar. When the old woman spoke to Dawnice, there was a tone in her voice that Dawnice hadn’t noticed before. She couldn’t be sure, but it seemed like excitement.
“Darling, here’s a robe we need you to wear during the ritual.”
She handed the robe to Dawnice and she couldn’t remember Margaret ever having one before. They were all women so Dawnice wasn’t shy to undress and put on the robe. The material was soft, though, she couldn’t tell what it could have been. It rubbed nicely on her nipples and they began to show through the fabric. Dawnice hadn’t worn a bra out of habit and only at the last minute decided to wear panties at all. The robe she’d been given was thin and light but didn’t show the black of the thong she’d worn.
It was surprising to Dawnice that the altar was warm when she sat; she had prepared her mind for the sharp cold of stone in the dark, but it never came. It also seemed to hum underneath her ass and the low vibrations were beginning to turn Dawnice on. She felt silly being horny at a time like this and tried to discretely close her legs. Margaret apparently noticed and with a chuckle told Dawnice, “No need to do that dear, that feeling is the point.”
Margaret Dorsett obviously knew what Dawnice was experiencing. The vibrations hadn’t gotten faster, but somehow Dawnice was feeling the hum deeper than before. There were also other things Dawnice was starting to notice. The light was different, no dimmer or brighter, but different. It seemed to emanate through the floor and the stone of the walls.
The other two sisters had disappeared while Dawnice was distracted and only Margaret Dorsett stood where Dawnice could see. “Has it started?” Dawnice asked the older woman.
“Not yet, but almost child.” Margaret’s voice was calming to Dawnice as it was its intent. My sisters have only gone to prepare themselves further. Relax and lie back. Let the goddess comfort you.”
Dawnice was past beginning to be turned on and was fully aroused; nipples hard and piercing; her panties were well on their way to being damp. Dawnice couldn’t help but mutter, “Oh shit,” when she laid her back against the stone. The vibration had spread into her whole body.
Margaret appeared above Dawnice, but she was too horny to have been startled. An experienced hand spread the robe exposing a thin path of skin from Dawnice’s cleavage to her navel. With her next motion, Margaret drew a line on the skin with oily fingers. It smelled of strawberries and something else that was very pleasant and Dawnice felt her mouth soak with desire.
A breathy “Wow” was all that came from her mouth but Dawnice had been trying to ask what the oil was.
Margaret stepped away and Dawnice was left staring at the ceiling held to the altar by her awakening lust.
For a moment her husband popped into her mind. Only for a moment, but the scent had carried away any doubt Dawnice could feel. Her limbs were not her own and though she could see and comprehend her body on the altar, Dawnice couldn’t find it in her to care. The robe parted completely as her legs opened, seemingly spreading on their own. There were no windows, but Dawnice could feel a breeze dancing on the uncovered parts of her skin. She was beginning to hear sounds that couldn’t be from the basement of an old house.
Dawnice hadn’t realized that she had closed her eyes and when they opened, the ceiling had been replaced with bright stars in a night sky. She was still on the altar; her body had surrendered without Dawnice thinking about it. Dawnice knew she was too calm to be experiencing what she was, but she felt no fear. It was impossible to feel anything other than the hum that was spreading pleasure into every corner of Dawnice’s body. Dawnice thought she’d be squirting on their sacred alter when Margaret returned.
“Go on, feed the goddess your essence,” Margaret said rubbing her open palm erotically down Dawnice’s belly.
The face looking down at Dawnice was obviously Margaret Dorsett, but it wasn’t the Margaret Dorsett that had greeted her and served Dawnice tea. Deep smoldering eyes were locked on Dawnice and where there had been a gray bun holding the older Margaret’s hair in place; the younger Margaret Dorsett had beautiful long hair, black and shone brightly against her bronze skin.
The creole heritage was much easier to see in the younger woman and she had been gifted an enchantingly curvy figure. Margaret had changed into a robe identical to the one Dawnice wore and was obviously naked otherwise. Margaret took command over Dawnice’s body, using her experienced hands for instruction. She had turned into clay, bending to Margaret’s will. The sisters began to appear younger and filled with vitality. In their eyes, Dawnice could see the same ravenous lust that filled her body.
Dawnice was moved on the alter so that her back was propped against stone and Diana Dorsett began her work. Dawnice fought to put air in her lungs and felt a flood release in her body as Diana’s tongue opened her up. Dana drank deeply siphoning the energies as Dawnice came in her mouth. Margaret and Clara had their attention on activating specific chakra points in Dawnice’s body.
The sisters took turns feasting on the fluids Dawnice released. One fed as the other two kneaded Dawnice’s body on the altar. Dawnice had lost all thought enduring what seemed like an orgasm that seemed to stretch into infinity. The sister’s well-fed and brimming with power phased into a single being, though, Dawnice didn’t notice the magic happening. The Dorsett sisters, bound as one, continued to feed on Dawnice’s leaking body.
The altar now hummed loud enough to be heard and the ritual intensified. The being straddled Dawnice’s face; its skin gleamed and shone from the inside. “Feed.” The sisters said in a single magical voice.
Dawnice opened her mouth and the sister’s lowered their joined body. How a goddess tastes cannot be described. It is experienced by the flesh but could never be explained. Dawnice drank greedily at the nectar she was gifted. The sisters began to shine brightly from the pleasure of their shared orgasm. At the climax, the sisters exploded, drenching Dawnice and the essence of life poured into Dawnice’s body.
The next morning, Dawnice woke up in a plush queen size bed with very little memory of the night. She couldn’t even remember going to bed. She was in a robe she didn’t recognize her hair was in a state of emergency. The last she could remember, Dawnice was having tea with Margaret Dorsett. Dawnice lay in the bed, eyes shut trying to remember anything of what happened.
Nothing was coming to her and the smell of bacon, eggs, and biscuits made Dawnice aware of how hungry she was. Dawnice pried herself up and out the bed, grateful that she apparently hadn’t got drunk enough to have a hangover. She eventually found the kitchen by following the smell of breakfast. The Dorsett sisters were fussing about in different corners preparing the meal, old as ever. Margaret noticed Dawnice enter and said with a smile, “Come on child, sit and have a biscuit. You know you’re eating for two now.”