Morgan loved Tinder. Very few people *love* Tinder – they may enjoy the hook ups or the entertainment of swiping through strangers. But they don’t enjoy the awkward conversation, harassment, and disappointment when a very attractive stranger doesn’t share their interest. On the whole, the app is generally a mixed bag.
But not for Morgan.
For one, she was beautiful. This was a mixture of genetics and hard work. Morgan had perfected the Tinder profile, projecting enough sex appeal to get attention while not being so forward that it turned off the most promising connections. She had also learned the proper way to be direct in conversation, to get what she wanted, quickly.
Oh and the sex supercharged her magic.
It wasn’t that Morgan worked a special kind of sex magic. All magic is sex magic. And rage magic. And love magic. And fear magic. Emotions were rocket fuel for all kinds of magic, and sex was very emotional – even if you didn’t care about the other person. It also sometimes came with orgasms. Morgan loved orgasms, so it was a win win.
She was thinking these things as she rode the beautiful man beneath her. He was all taunt skin and muscles, deliciously warm and firm beneath her fingers and her thighs. She felt it building, his orgasm, her orgasm, and through it the magic growing out of their mingled auras.
She leaned forward slowly, knowing what the sight of her swaying breasts would do to him, feeling him get even harder inside of her. She couldn’t help smiling watching his mind get emptier and emptier, as all he could focus on was the feeling of her – the softness of her full thighs, the hypnotizing sway of her breasts, the sharp sensation of the nails of her left hand running down his side. His eyes met hers, but his were blank. He was seeing her without seeing, his other senses overwhelming his poor brain.
“I’m… I’m…” he said breathily, his breathing ragged. Morgan kept her pace, almost mechanically, perfectly timing the strokes to her own building orgasm. When she reached the shuttering precipice she leaned in and kissed him on the mouth.
Immediately she felt him shudder and swell inside her as he came. The sensation of the pulsing pushed her over the edge and she shuddered in her own orgasm. He cried out weakly as he felt her contracting around him, milking everything out of his already intensely sensitive member.
“Oh my fuck,” he almost wimpered.
His eyes were closed, lost in the kiss, so he couldn’t see the candles around the room flare as they harvested the energy rolling off of them. Morgan had done this too many times for it to distract her either. She just relished the feeling of fullness, the delicious sensation. The smell of sweat and sex and *man* filling her nostrils. He was still shuddering beneath her when she leaned back off of his chest, her dark brown hair brushing his skin.
“Holy shit,” he said softly.
“Mhmmm,” she agreed.
“I don’t think I’ve ever cum that hard before,” he said with a bewildered chuckle. Morgan was sure he hadn’t. She eyed the tincture of valerian sitting between one cluster of five candles. She made sure to refill her favorite aphrodisiac at the same time she used it. It didn’t make him fall in love – *eugh* – but it did simultaneously make him more sensitive *and* increase his endurance. All the better to build the emotions up. Morgan didn’t have bad hookups, she made sure of it.
“You didn’t do bad yourself, tiger,” she purred.
He blushed a little and smiled. Men were always so eager for praise after sex. Even the ones who didn’t care at all about their partners liked to imagine they were good in bed. Some even were. This one, she was sure, would have been adequate without a shot of her potion.
“That stuff really works,” he said with a smile. She had gotten him to take the tincture of his own will, by telling him it was ‘supposed to intensify the sensation.’ Which was true. Morgan had always been able to get them to dose themselves willingly and with at least some knowledge of what they were getting into.
Yes, even witches care about ethics. Especially witches, actually.
“I’m glad you liked it,” she said, winking as she rose off of him. As he slid out of her she felt the emptiness of his absence and he jolted at the sudden sensation. “I’m going to clean up,” she added, walking quickly to the bathroom.
Some witches collected the seed of their partners to use in spells. It was very potent, especially if you were using it *on* said partner. But Morgan didn’t. She didn’t mind cum, but she didn’t want to store vials of it in her fridge either. She also never planned to see this man again, so she wouldn’t need a magical channel to him. So like most women, she sat on the toilet until it drained out, then she flushed and returned.
He had, thankfully, gotten mostly dressed while she was gone. Some men wanted to linger, which was unfortunate. Morgan understood the desire for connection, especially during afterglow. But there was a time and place for that, and mostly-anonymous sex with strangers wasn’t it.
They exchanged pleasant goodbyes and then the man left her apartment. She allowed herself a few more moments of afterglow, before going to her room to finish sealing the energy harvested from the hookup. In addition to the tincture of valerian, she had also powered up two more potions in the room, some protective incense, and a number of small trinkets, tokens and fetishes in her living room. The magical artifacts were only being recharged, not enchanted, so they didn’t need to be as close to the source.
All in all it had been a wonderfully productive night.
After stowing the potions and magical accouterments, Morgan took a shower. She loved the feeling of the hot water sluicing over her skin. She was beautiful, she knew, but she also *felt* beautiful, which was much more important. She knew what her body did to others, how it made people regardless of their gender bite their lip and blush. And she loved that. She loved her full hips, her big butt, her c-cup breasts. She loved the faint scar on her left cheek, which gave her mystique to strangers and marked her as a member of her coven to the few in the know.
She did not love the much fresher, brighter scar in her side. The smooth, almost plastic-feeling scar tissue stood out from the rest of her perfect flesh. She worked out to keep her body in the shape it was, and used potions, spells and mundane cosmetics to enhance it even further. But nothing, mundane or magical, would take away the scar.
*That’s what you get*, she thought.
Then she spotted movement in the bathroom and whipped her head to peer through the glass of her standing shower. After a moment, she realized the movement was *inside the shower with her*, on the glass. Some invisible hand was writing in the fog.
Call Chana.
Morgan let out a sigh of relief and hastily wrote back “Ok” with her index finger. She lifted the other hand to flip the bird in every conceivable direction, before shutting off the shower so she could dry off and call her best friend.
*******
“You know I want to tell you to stop scrying on me when I’m in the shower,” Morgan said into her phone a few minutes later, “but I don’t want to waste my time.”
“You know you love being watched,” Chana replied back. Her voice sounded almost naive, but Morgan could also hear the desire behind it. Chana’s voice always got to her.
“How did you even know I’d be in there?” Morgan asked. She had wrapped her towel around her waist for the warmth, but left her breasts exposed. In case Chana was still scrying.
“Come on Morgan,” Chana said. “The witching hour? On a Friday? Of course you were recharging your foci. It’s one of your most reliable habits.”
Morgan narrowed her eyes. “Did you watch that too?”
“I thought about it,” Chana admitted. “But I didn’t have permission from *either* of you. Besides, I was doing some charging of my own.”
Morgan smiled at that. “Luke again?”
There was a pleased note in Chana’s voice. “Yes. I’m telling you Morgan, you need to try him. The energy that comes off of a werewolf when he fucks is just…” she trailed off into the kind of sound you make when taking your first bite of your favorite dessert.
“Unlike you, I don’t have any ancestral silver on hand in case he cums so hard he turns into a monster and tries to eat me,” Morgan said dryly.
“Oh come on,” Chana said. Morgan could hear her scowl. “Do it on the new moon or something.”
“Maybe,” Morgan said. Luke *was* very handsome. And Chana seemed to confirm that the rumors about werewolves were true. But this wasn’t what Chana had sent a spirit to interrupt her shower about. “Why did you send for me?”
“Oh, well while we were cuddling afterward,” Chana said, “Luke mentioned there’s a Hunter in town.”
That got Morgan’s attention. “He’s sure?”
“Uh-huh,” Chana said. “He doesn’t think the guy is after him – he’s stuck to the Academy’s rules. But there’s definitely one in town.”
“What do you think he’s after?”
“D.C. is a big city sweety,” Chana said. “Who knows?”
Morgan made a sound of acknowledgement. A Hunter was one of a class of people who went after supernatural threats. Once upon a time, werewolves and witches would have been on that list. But the Academy – the faceless organization that shaped the magical world – had created a special class for those supernatural beings that didn’t hurt mortals. So the only thing left for Hunters, were the things that did hurt mortals. Most of those things were nasty.
And their body parts could do more than 100 hookups to supercharge Morgan’s magic.
She pursed her lips then said into the phone, “Does Luke know where this Hunter is?”
Source: reddit.com/r/eroticliterature/comments/hyaa4j/witch_hunter_chapter_1_mf_str8_implied_bi_urban
So Cute!