The Samhain Rite – #FantasySmutFriday

This new prompt challenge I’m working on is still taking some adjustments. But I am learning more about what is working and what isn’t. For instance, I notice that if the prompt doesn’t inspire me to write anything, it won’t be likely to inspire anyone else to try it. This is only week 3 of #FantasySmutFriday, but it’s the first time I’ve written some flash smut to participate. I’m hoping that showing something will convince others to try it. Maybe.

As a reminder, the challenge is to write a flash erotic story using a short sexual fantasy as a prompt. This week’s prompt is: “A witch chooses you to participate in a sex ritual.”

The circle had been cast, and our site prepared. I had brought some extra outdoor blankets so we didn’t have to sit in the dirt. Despite knowing my friend of several years was Wiccan, I was surprised when she asked me to take part in a Halloween ritual. Or, as she calls it, Samhain. I didn’t know the nuances between them, but when she said she needed ‘strong masculine energy’ for her ritual, I figured it wouldn’t hurt for me to be there.

I had seen her perform this ritual once before. It had something to do with fertility and she needed a knife to represent masculine energy, as well as a chalice for feminine energy. When she stuck the knife inside the chalice, it meant a union and created energy somehow? Again, I didn’t know all the small details. But I figured if all it meant was that I needed to put a knife in a cup, then this wouldn’t be very hard. I hadn’t exactly been invited to do anything else this Halloween.

She moves towards me, her face softly lit by the flickering lights of the fire, “Are you fully willing to perform the Great Rite with me tonight?”

Is that what it was called? A bit of a lame name, I thought to myself. Still, I answered her, “Yes.”

“Are you sure? You know what you’ll need to do?” she inquires to me.

The knife in the cup? Yup, I’m ok with it. So I nod to her. With that gesture, she moves away to retrieve something wrapped in a large cloth. She hands it to me and unfolds it as I hold it. Inside is a wooden mask with short stag horns attached to its brow. She asks me to take off my shirt and put on the mask. When I ask her why she tells me we will be invoking the horned god, so I need to wear his likeness. I don’t fully understand, but I decide not to argue it.

My shirt comes off, and I close my eyes as I slip the mask on. When I open my eyes again, I’m taken completely by surprise. My Wiccan friend has shed off her robe, bearing nothing underneath. In the growing darkness, half illuminated by the flickering flames, and the pale glow of moonlight, her body is haunting but enrapturing. My eyes go wide as she looks to me, bashful but seemingly eager. Whether by the moonlight, her sudden boldness or by the magic of this night, I begin to see her with new eyes.

She kneels in front of me, looking at me as if with reverence. I simply stand in front of her, frozen, unsure of what to do. Then she speaks, “I invoke the horned god of the harvest to this sacred space, and ask that he stay with us on this night as we perform the Great Rite.”

At that, she looks into my eyes one last time and slowly turns away from me. I’m almost certain she’s going to retrieve her implements until she surprises me a second time tonight. She bends forward, lowering her chest onto the blanket, but keeps her hips raised, held up by her knees. Parting her legs, there was no barrier to hide what was saved for lovers. I felt a knot growing in my chest at the unexpected display, more unsure of what to do now.

Reaching under herself, her fingers massaged and spread open the pink flesh of her core, and spoke towards me, “I offer myself to the horned god, and ask that he join with me this Samhain night.”

I stood there like an idiot before I realized what she meant. Mask with stag horns, the horned god; she meant me.

She spoke again, gently huffing as she looked back at me, still pleasuring herself, “Please. Please join with me in the Great Rite.”

Suddenly, the knife in the chalice analogy began to make much more sense. Removing what remaining clothes I wore, I fought myself over this. I had never thought of her this way, but something within me wanted this as well. My body was drawn to her’s, and despite myself, I could not deny her wishes. I dropped to my knees behind her, hardened by her arousal in such a presented state.

Acting almost on its own, I reach out and caress her skin, and hear her quiver at my touch. She continues to move her fingers against herself, and the scent of it bewitches my senses. She looks back at me once more and whispers, “…please…”

I hold myself steady at her offering, and with a couple of movements of my hips, I enter her. My blade dips into her chalice, and we join together in the Great Rite. Her heat, the slick feel, her voice as she cries out, and the magic flowing between us ignites something within me. I move into her again, and she rocks back to meet me. I can feel something has awakened in her as well, like a primal passion.

I have given in, driven by a desire for more. With both hands on her hips, I keep thrusting, feeling the heat of our bodies build together. Her skin is electric and calls for me to hold it against mine. I feel her arousal building as mine grows with it. Her body feels like a thing of decadence, like something forbidden yet irresistible. I’ve become a believer, experiencing the lewd magic wrapped around my length, and feel the impending climax.

The wind seems to swirl around us, brushing the flames of the bonfire, and wrapping us in its heat. Time slows, yet I feel our movements quicken into a rapid drumbeat of wanton lust. I don’t even hear my own moans as I feel myself about to climax within her. She tilts her head back with a cry so lewd as she burns all around me, clenching me with spasms of lust. I erupt with her and feel as though the entire circle is filled with the most intense power.

I lose myself and collapse on the ground. The rite is complete, and I am a believer. My chest heaves as I try to recover my strength. I feel a hand on my chest, and look up to see her climb over me with a look of hunger. There’s no more we can do for Samhain, but the passion we intend to share tonight is only beginning.

If you’d like to participate in #FantasySmutFriday, click this link to find out more about it.

Then click here to see all the prompts, including this week’s prompt!


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