Witchy Altar Cloth Novels & Stories

However, right now, whilst looking at the location spell, even though Freya could not see her face, she could see her back, and that was somehow all Freya needed. Alana was wearing her witch’s robe that made everything harder for Freya. It wasn’t really a robe, but it was referred to as such by the witches. It was a dress, a black dress that was so divinely sensual it should be burnt to ashes. It captured her waist as if unwilling to let go and was way more loose below. It was short, however, and had a slit on the side that should show her thighs if she weren’t wearing a pair of really tight pants under the dress.

They had been bound in a dark perversion of sacred ritual. Sister Chiara was tied spread-eagled on the main altar — wrists and ankles secured to the four corners with thick black silk ropes blessed in unholy rites. Her full breasts were bound tightly until they bulged, flushed deep red, nipples stiff and aching. A cruel crotch rope ran between her legs, the coarse fibers soaked in her flowing juices, grinding mercilessly against her swollen clit and pressing deep into her tight asshole.

I turn and see Alavic and a woman sitting on the couch. “This is the only hope. They must find Katarina. She’s the only one who can pull him out.” GRRRRRR The wolf growls again. I run upstairs and follow the sound and see Xavier standing before an open door. “What’s?” I look in the room. Grandma is mixing a potion while mom is drawing a magic circle on the ground and to the left, there’s a wolf in a cage. He looks like Uncle Xerxes’ wolf from my memories, except now his eyes are jet black.

I looked at the altar linen—stained now with her wetness, my seed, the faint pink smear of her lost maidenhead. I folded it carefully. Pressed it into her hands. “Keep it close,” I said. “Sleep with it against your skin. Remember what you begged for tonight.” She clutched it to her breast like a relic. Then she slipped out into the dark corridor. I stood alone in the oratory. The candles were guttering low. The altar cloth was gone. But the scent of her—musk, lavender, sin—lingered on my skin for hours.

She was ‘made’ anew. “This dress is magnificent, Mom. Thank you so much for letting me wear it for my ritual. I feel so different in it, almost powerful… if that makes any sense.” Leah blushed and she felt a bit silly for saying what she had. Leah had never felt this good before and she knew that it all had to do with the special gown she was wearing. The gown was made from white silk and had lace embellishments, shaped in the various Wiccan sigals. It hung all the way to the ground, cinched in at the waist, and had almost a gypsy feel to it. “Are you ready, Leah?” Asked Amber as she led Leah toward the altar that she had set up.

“Good job princess.” I looked around seeing others walking into the woods. One man, a tall slim man dressed all in a black robe was burning something in the fire. The smell seemed to be white. I don’t know why white was the word that first came to me, maybe pure. I looked up at Nikko, “Is he a witch?” Nikko looked down at me, “a warlock maybe. I don’t think he would take kindly to you calling him a witch.” He arched his brow, “why Samantha are you a witch?”

"About witches. Thirteen of them, wearing tattered cloaks, chasing me through a cemetery. They wanted payment for the blood spell we did to save the baby. They almost killed me." No one spoke, they just stared at him. Dante forced himself to continue. "I woke up thinking about those witches and their dirty, disgusting cloaks. And then I thought about Witches Mom's cloak —and then Lady Eden—how her cloaks are always perfect. And that's when I remembered. The embroidery on her purple cloak. The three circles." Kael rubbed both hands across his face. The thought of the spell being mentioned again made his heart skip a little but he tried to shake it off. He swallowed hard.

“If she were to come face to face with the witch who’s spell she’s under, the witch could make her harm herself or you." Mayor Marx's double chin bobbed in horror. "You must leave her here with me.” “No!” I shrieked. “See…” Mathis gestured to me. “The witch wants you to bring her.” “I understand.” Mayor Marx nodded solemnly. Shaking loose of my grip on his sleeve. “Don’t go. Stay! Leave Udora alone!” I pleaded as I caught his cloak. “Don’t leave me here!” Mathis rounded me. Keeping a hand on my arm as he moved between the Mayor and I. He caught my wrist in one hand and Marx's cloak in the other, to rip it free of my grip.

Down in the foundations in the dungeons where Thorne was held something was coming to life. "The Altar " I said, my breath catching. "It is not finished yet." We ran through the hallways the palace guards trying to keep up with us. When we got to the levels the air was icy cold the walls covered in a thin layer of black ice. We burst into the chamber. The altar was glowing,. It was not the lilac light I had left behind. It was a black color that looked like oil.. Standing in the center of the room surrounded by four people in hoods was a woman.

The voice of an old woman echoed in the room causing Alicia to snap her head toward the lady's direction, she had no idea when she came in. She was a bit old, with ginger hair. She was very beautiful, just like all the witches are. She looked way younger than her age, which Alicia could guess would be around 80 or something near that. The woman did not come alone, she had two other powerful women accompany her, or maybe they were also strong witches.