Date Night With A Witch

The bed was floating and witches were real apparently and I was having the best sex of my life. My brain couldn’t for the life of me figure out which detail to focus on.

Welcome to the “Date With A Monster” series of erotic short stories where headboards go bump in the night. Check out the corresponding memes and playlists on my instagram, @literarypros, and subscribe to this substack to get these stories and more directly to your inbox!

Content Warnings: this is an erotic short story, including mentions of monstrous features, abilities, and appendages. All characters involved are enthusiastically consenting. This particular story includes consensual hair-pulling, magical sexual energy that isn’t coercive, surprise bed floating, lots and lots of orgasms, “good girl”, and erotic palm reading. No U-Hauls were harmed in the making of this story. If I failed to include something important in this content warning, you can fill out this form to let me know.

“Wanna see my coolest party trick?”

A beguiling smile tilted up her dark purple lips and I decided I was going to fuck her. I wasn’t usually a hookup-on-the-first-date kind of girl, but there was just something about her. Her gorgeous long hair dyed a shade of purple so perfect for her pale skin that it almost made it look lavender, her dark hooded eyes, the way she moved around the party. It was my apartment, but she absolutely owned the space while she was in it. I found myself gravitating towards her all night, borderline stalking her from room to room. Every witty remark and charming anecdote I had fell out of my mouth around her. And the throaty purr of her laugh, her sensual smiles, the insightful responses… yeah. I was going to fuck her. And I was pulling out the big guns to make it happen. 

“Absolutely,” she crooned in her deep alto.

“Give me your hand…”

An elegant, almost lavender palm emerged from the depths of the deep blue robe she wore. It should’ve looked strange, like she’d just come from a cosplay event for some fantasy book about wizards, but on her it was more of a boho, indie look. Less Lord of the Rings and more Florence Welch. Her hand landed in my waiting palms, our first real physical touch of the evening. It was cool and soft, and I hoped my own hand didn’t feel sweaty. 

I turned her hand over until it was palm up while I said conspiratorially, “So, I’m kind of a witch.”

“Oh?” Her violet lips quirked in a smile. How did she find a lipstick that lasted all night without needing to be refreshed?

“Mmhmm,” I caressed her fingers open wide. “One of my many magickal talents is that I can read palms.”

I was very proud of myself for holding her powerful gaze as she took a slight step closer, asking, “Are you going to tell me my future?”

I nodded. “There’s some things I can see about the future, but it’s more about potential than predictions.”

“Where did you learn this?”

I didn’t want to admit that I’d actually paid for an online class, because I did mostly think it was a silly party trick. So I said, “A witch never reveals her secrets.”

Her soft laugh made my skin tingle. 

“Is this your dominant hand?” I asked.

“It is.”

“So your dominant hand is all about the present,” I told her, trailing my fingers over her skin lightly. “It’ll tell me all sorts of secrets about you.”

“Oh no,” she deadpanned.

“Don’t worry,” I fluttered my lashes up at her, “Palmistry-client confidentiality.”

“Thank goodness.”

I scraped my nails across her palm gently as I studied her skin. “So this…” I held up her hand so she could see it too, and pointed out the line running horizontal across the top of her palm “This is your Heart line, it tells you about your emotional life.”

I traced the flat, barely curved line. “This tells me that you’re a little reserved, stoic. But you know what you want and you take it.” I swallowed the strange feeling in my throat as I said, “You’re always in charge, but not in a harsh or controlling way. People want to do what you say, and they want you to be pleased with them for it.”

Goosebumps broke out on her arms as I scraped the next horizontal line below that. “This is your Head line. It’s about your intellect, how you think. I’ve never seen one this curved before, you must be very creative and spiritual.” I fluttered my eyelashes up at her and watched her lips part. 

I massaged and caressed her hands as I told her about the break in the middle of her Life line, an indication of a big, spiritual change happening or about to happen. “It’s a good thing, I think,” I told her as I traced the lone vertical line on her palm, the Stability line. It was as curved as the line could be, speaking of a spiritual or creative journey. 

“And now here’s the fun part,” I said, wiggling my eyebrows and turning her hand to the side. I looked at the lines under her pinkie. “This is your Affection line, sometimes called a ‘love’ line. This is where I can see the status of your romantic life.”

“Oooh, tell me more,” she purred, leaning in close to look at it.

“I can see you’ve had a lot of love affairs,” I scraped the nail of my thumb over all the tiny, fragmented lines. There was only one that was really deep, that ran horizontally across the whole side of her hand. “But there’s one big one coming to you soon, if it’s not already here. Do you have a girlfriend?”

My pulse thrummed in my chest, spurred by butterflies. Part dread, part anticipation, part fear. It was a great way to casually sus out if someone I wanted to sleep with or date was single, but it was also a great way to find out I’d been flirting with a straight girl. They didn’t always react super well to the assumed girlfriend. 

“No, I don’t,” she said in that husky voice, a small smile curling her lips. “Do you?”

I shook my head, the butterflies suddenly filling my brain. When they subsided into a good case of half-turned-on nerves, I said, “You should be on the lookout. The girl of your dreams is right around the corner.” I leaned in even closer and whispered, “Or in this very room.”

She bit her lip on a smile, and I couldn’t believe her teeth didn’t stain or even marr the purple lipstick. I wondered what it would do when I kissed her, and felt myself get a little wet imagining only a shadow of that purple lipstick left, smeared on her kiss-swollen lips.

“Now the prediction stuff comes in when you compare it to your non-dominant hand.” I said, dropping one hand and waiting for the other. I felt a shock of something run through me when she touched me again. “This is the hand for your entire lifetime. Everyone’s palms are different, and as we age the lines change because the skin regrows and stuff.”

I shuffled a little closer, until the toes of my white sneakers touched the hem of her elegant robe. “Everything happening on your other palm might only represent a centimeter or two on this hand.”

I looked up at her through my lashes as I said intimately, “It’s like I’m holding your whole future in my hands.”

She leaned in close, and I was vaguely aware that anyone else looking at us hovering in this corner so close together would know exactly what I wanted to do with her. But her presence was so powerful, it was like she blocked out the rest of the room. The music and voices had faded into a dull background until it was like we were alone. I didn’t even feel the need to glance around to be sure we weren’t making some sort of sapphic scene at my roommate’s birthday party. 

“That sounds really nice,” she purred.

Fuck, I was so glad I was wearing a particularly thick white knit sweater tonight, otherwise she’d be able to see how hard my nipples were underneath it. I told her about her Heart, Head, and Life lines, about the way the curves and breaks and islands spoke of an exciting, fulfilling, driven life. This was the palm of a woman who lived a heady, passionate life and achieved things she was only just now beginning to dream of. 

“And finally, this line-”

“The Stability line,” she interjected, showing she’d been listening.

“Yes,” I couldn’t help the silly smile on my face. It was fun that she was playing along. “It’s about how taken care of you feel and how your ambitions and goals turn out.”

She leaned her head down and our foreheads were practically touching. I once again massaged her palm as I murmured. “See how dark it is?”

“Yes.”

“That means there’s a lot of energy there. And all of these little splintered-off lines woven together?” I followed their path with my finger and felt goosebumps raise on my skin. “It means you take a lot of creative paths, that you’re guided by your intuition and it doesn’t steer you wrong.”

I looked up into her dark, dark eyes and felt like she and I were the only people in the world. The only people to have ever existed. “You’re surrounded with love. Whatever you try, wherever you go, the people that love you will be there to hold you and make sure you don’t get lost.”

“That sounds really nice,” she murmured as she somehow drew just a little bit closer. “And my love lines?”

Here it came. The pièce de résistance. I turned her hand sideways and held it up near my face, so she could be looking as closely at my glossy pink lips as she did her own hand. “This tells me that girlfriend right around the corner? She’s the one. There’s no one else.”

I caressed the one deep, dark almost purple line lightly, and couldn’t believe how sensitive hands were. Hers and mine. She gave a shivery little breath at my gentle touch and I felt just as shaky from the heightened sensation in the pad of my finger. 

“See how it starts right here?” I whispered for some reason. “And then runs until it touches your heart line here?” I followed the path toward her palm. “That means you get married a little later in life, but once this love starts, it doesn’t stop until your heart does. And how dark it is…”

“Powerful,” she supplied, also whispering.

I nodded. “And the way it’s sort of sharp and quick?” I showed how, if you looked close, it wasn’t just one line but several drawn together, like it was sketched rather than etched. “That’s called a fire line. It means it’s very passionate…” I was looking in her eyes again and I couldn’t breathe. “Exciting…” I saw her tongue dart out to lick her lips out of the corner of my eye and felt it between my legs. “Explosive…”

The palm I’d been holding slipped out of my sensitized hands and elegant fingers caressed my jaw before tilting my chin up just a bit. I hoped she was going to kiss me. I really wanted her to kiss me.

“So are there other ethical constraints around palm-reading, besides confidentiality?” she murmured, swiping her thumb slowly under my lower lip in a way that made my whole body tingle. “Any prohibitions on romantic entanglements?”

Butterflies once again burst to life in my stomach. I shook my head, maybe a little too eagerly.

“That’s good…” She pressed that thumb to my lip and on instinct I nipped at the pad with my teeth. “Which bedroom is yours?”

I kept her hand in mine as I led her down the hall to my bedroom. I didn’t care that the party was still going, that my roommates would be annoyed that I left the cleanup to them.  There was a gorgeous woman holding my hand asking to see my bedroom. I’d deal with their bullshit in the morning when I was well-rest and (hopefully) well-fucked.

I glanced around shyly at my room, seeing it through her eyes. The fairytale canopy bed I’d DIY’ed myself, the heath blue floral bedding, my spoiled white cat, Pearl, blinking at us in consternation for interrupting her nap. Would she think I was too femme and girly? That I took the “witchy” thing too seriously? She drifted over to the vanity in one corner that was as much glamour altar as makeup station for me. The three mirrors had little mementos of my old lovers and friends and style inspirations tucked into the frames. A small tray of practical items—my favorite perfume, a pretty ring, the everyday watch I usually wore, etc.--were visually buried under all the other ‘witchy’ things on the vanity surface. A milky white crystal ball sat on top of a stack of astrology books, a miniature sculpture of venus was decorated with shells and rose petals and sparkly beads. Candles of all shapes and sizes dripped wax onto the white-painted wood. 

I wasn’t entirely sure I believed in most of the witchy stuff anymore. I’d gone through a phase like everyone else seemed to a few years ago, but mostly the “practitioner” stuff had faded off for me. I did tarot sometimes when I couldn’t make up my mind on a problem, and I lit a candle and thought about a deity or ancestor I had been particularly attached to when I needed help on something specific. But the rituals and prayers and all that stuff just didn’t feel compatible with my daily life. I identified with being a witch the way I identified with my astrology sign: mostly through memes and a way to joke about my quirks.

“I’m a witch too,” she told me, turning around from my vanity/altar. 

“Oh, really?” I leaned back against my shut door, feeling strangely shy now that she was in my space. 

“A different kind, though,” she said with a secretive smile. She reached out and scratched Pearl’s little head, and I was surprised that she let her without being disconcerted by a stranger in her space.

“What kind, then?”

I watched her drift towards me with an ethereal grace and a sensual sway of her hips. I wanted to find out the exact contours of her curves under her robe. I licked my lips and tasted the slight strawberry flavor of the gloss. 

“I’m not sure how to describe it,” she said with a shrug, standing up close to me. “Less ritualistic, more… practical.”

“That’s cool,” I said breathlessly.

She leaned forward and hummed in agreement before kissing me softly. She smelled like fresh brewed tea and lavender and something darker, maybe a little spicy. I had a scented candle somewhere with the scent. But it didn’t matter because she was kissing me, her fingers sliding around my neck to cup the back of my head. I found her hips through the folds of fabric and held them as I kissed her back. She was a little taller than me, making me tilt my head up to reach her. I liked the way it made me lean into her as the kiss went on and on and on. She kissed me until I was dizzy and wet, until that strange zinging feeling I’d felt before was coursing through my body, radiating down from the back of my head through my limbs. She hummed and seemed to savor the taste of my mouth, taking slow, decadent sips of my lips. Her voice was so musical. I wanted to hear what her moans sounded like. 

I walked her backwards, closer to the bed, and I couldn’t stop my hands from roaming over the shape of her body under the sumptuous robe she wore. I found the curve of her breast and gently massaged it, eliciting another hum of pleasure. She slid her tongue against mine sensually, making me think about what else it might do to me. I brushed my thumb over her nipple and she moaned into my mouth. 

“I want you,” I breathed. 

She smiled and nipped at my lower lip, making goosebumps break out across my skin. She stepped back until the back of her knees hit the bed, then she slowly peeled the deep purple robe off, the layers underneath quickly following. She was beautiful, curvy and dimpled and soft, with that secretive little smile on her lips again. Even without the clothing, her skin seemed to be an almost lavender color, her fawn brown nipples looking lushly dark by contrast. My palms met them at the same time my lips met hers for a more insistent, wet kiss. She moaned as I mapped her curves and tweaked the sensitive peaks. It was a potent, magical sound that I felt in that strange zippy way I’d felt her touch since I started reading her left palm.

I kicked off my sneakers and toed off my socks as she peeled my sweater over my head. My hands were shaking a little from excitement as I fumbled my earrings out of my ears while she slid her hands into the waistband of my pink floral skirt and eased it over my hips until it settled in an elegant pile beside her clothes on the floor. I was down to my panties and bralette and decided that was enough for now. I wanted to fuck her. 

“Lay back,” I whispered against her lips as I mapped the curves of her hips and belly with my palms. 

We shuffled and slid a bit awkwardly against each other as we tried to keep kissing and get on my bed at the same time. She gave that husky little laugh she had as she cupped my cheeks and kissed me while I settled halfway between her hips. I wedged my thigh against her pussy for her to rub against while I kissed and touched her. She rolled her hips, slicking my thigh as I learned how to touch her nipples in the way that made her moan and gasp and squirm the most. I sucked on her other nipple when she couldn’t kiss anymore, and her skin even seemed to taste like that fresh tea, lavender spice scent filling my nose. I sucked and licked and kissed each nipple until they were dark brown and tightly furled, and my thigh was wet with her arousal.

“Yesss,” she sighed when I began to kiss my way down her body, spreading her legs to make room for me.

When I was on my belly between her spread thighs, I realized that she was really actually purple. Her pretty cunt was wet and flowered open for me, and a dark violet color that made it obvious that her skin wasn’t just pale enough to appear almost pale purple or blue like some people’s skin, it was actually lavender purple. She smelled like pussy and tea and I didn’t even have the brainspace to contemplate what cosmetic procedure turned someone purple because I needed to taste her, needed to feel her come. 

I gave her pussy a deep tongue kiss, collecting the salty sex flavor and a fresh crackle of whatever static electricity was passing between us. Above me, her moans were low and throaty like her intoxicating laugh had been all night. I opened my eyes and watched the jump of her ab muscles when I found the good spots, the arch of her back, her hands worrying her damp nipples. She was so bewitching to watch in her pleasure that it seemed like my vision was going a little hazy, little sparkles gathering in my vision around her.

I didn’t feel like teasing either of us or prolonging the agony. We had all night to cum in every way we could figure out for each other. Right now I wanted her gushing all over my mouth. I gently sucked her clit and her thighs around my ears flexed as she firmly pressed her feet to the bed to thrust into my face. 

“Fuck, yes, like that,” she moaned.

I sucked her somehow violet clit and gripped her lush ass to get her in just the right position for me. She trembled when I flicked my tongue out to gently lash the sensitive underside, so I did it again and again and again, until finally with a quiet groan she came apart on my tongue. I slid my fingers into her tight, slick channel and found the right way to stroke her until she was coming again. I loved eating pussy, loved giving women pleasure. It was like an erotic fugue, like disappearing into a book where you cease to be yourself and are barely even aware of the words on the page before you. By the time she tapped out with a huffed laugh, though, I was soaked and aching for my own release. That strange zapping feeling had been spreading through me in waves the longer I licked her, making me press my legs together to try to stem the tide of arousal. 

I’d gone so deep into the sensual haze of giving pleasure that not only was my vision still foggy around her, complete with little sparks and stars, but it almost looked like her eyes were glowing. A strange, dark light sucked me in as she sat up, pulling me up into a kneeling crouch to accept her hungry, electric kiss. Even this close, with the details of her lavender skin and purple eyelashes blurring together, her impossibly dark eyes seemed to be glowing. Or maybe they were black holes, consuming all light. The longer she kissed me, the longer she looked into my eyes, the more I felt like I was falling through space. Like pressing against my closed eyelids until the darkness seemed alight with patterns trying inexorably to pull me into the black. 

A gentle fist full of my hair pulled me back. I shut my eyes against the undeniable glow of her, trying to block out all the questions piling up in the back of my head about her skin and her eyes and the stars twinkling around her. “My turn,” she cooed as she guided me back down to the bed, on my back this time. I kept my eyes shut as she peeled off my bralette and my panties, basking in her husky praise like Pearl in a patch of sunlight. “So beautiful…” Gentle hands drifted down my chest, over the curve of my hips, my belly. “So soft. You took my breath away the minute I walked in the door.”

A delicate, wet tongue traced around my nipple before I had a chance to respond, pulling a surprised moan from me. Her wandering hand cupped my pussy as she sucked, making her hum in that pleased way.

“So wet from getting me off,” she praised against my skin. Her fingers dipped between my soaked labia, petting my clit gently. She kissed across my chest and suckled on my other nipple. “Tell me how to make you feel as good as you made me feel.”

I opened my eyes, but the woman hovering over me, plucking my damp nipple with one hand while she sucked on the other, was so unearthly beautiful and undeniably inhuman that I had to shut them again. If I didn’t look at it, it wasn’t real. She was just the strange beauty that came with my roommate’s friend with the throaty deep voice and secretive smiles. I was probably hallucinating anyway. Maybe there’d been more in that weed brownie I’d had earlier than just weed. I didn’t want to deal with it.

So I kept my eyes closed and spread my legs, gasping, “Circles, please.”

She obeyed my request, spinning tight circles around my clit with her finger tips. Fuck, it felt so good. I was so close already, wound up by eating her pretty pussy and that strange electric zapping that happened when we touched. I gripped fistfulls of my comforter and tried not to squirm too much in case I disrupted the rhythmic pulls of her mouth on my nipple. 

“Harder, faster,” I begged. “Oh, fuck, that’s good.”

Her fingers on my clit whirled faster and pressed harder. The fingers wrapped around my nipple tugged a little more insistently and the lips sealed to the other nipple sucked so hard, just bordering on painful, that I came with a shout. I would totally have to apologize to my roommates later. But I was riding an earth shaking orgasm, my eyes popped open and staring unseeing at the ceiling as pleasure radiated through my entire body in a constant, electric vibration. She knew just how to follow me, just how to slowly ease off my clit so that my orgasm went from an overflowing boil down to a gentle simmer that left me liquid and shivering under her hands. 

“So good,” she murmured, rolling over my pliant body onto my belly. “So beautiful. You’re so full of power.”

I wanted to ask what that meant, but her fingers were inside me, stroking over my g-spot. I moaned into the bedspread and once again let the questions crowding my brain fade to the background. It felt like that electricity we’d shared was beginning to gather in certain key areas of my body. My lips, my fingertips, my belly, suddenly buzzed and fizzed. It wrapped around my tongue and it felt like something stroking into my mouth. It slithered out from my lower stomach to wrap around my thighs. It compelled me to draw my knees up to my sides, to open me further to her ministrations, like a deep child’s pose in yoga. The position wasn’t even uncomfortable because I felt magnetized in place. I found some part of her with my tingling fingers, her thigh as she kneeled beside me I thought, and I held on to it to anchor me in the pleasure washing over me. 

“That’s it, just give in to it,” she praised, her fingers sliding in and out of my cunt while her tongue striped strange patterns up my spine. “You’ll feel so good, I promise.”

Fingers slid through my hair, pulling it out of her way, and she sucked on the spot on my neck that always made me go weak. My hips kicked at the feeling and I knew I was getting even wetter. Her fingers churned inside of me, filling me so perfectly full. The electricity was everywhere, in every bone and blood vessel. I felt her playing with it like those old string games like cat’s cradle we played as children, tangling the sparks around her fingers inside me. Each tug and twist and knot wove pleasure together in new and unfathomable ways. 

“Play with your clit,” she ordered, and the electricity or magnets or whatever was inside me was pulling my free hand that had been gripping my bedspread for dear life under my body. 

The addition of external clitoral stimulation to her insistent thrusts against my g-spot and the strange knots and strings of bone-melting pleasure all over my body was too much. This orgasm was sharp and stingy where the other had been an earthquake. I felt my muscles clamping down on her fingers and I knew I was headed for overstimulation but I couldn’t seem to stop my fingers from whirling around my clit in the same circles I’d taught her. I was making high pitched noises I’d only ever made for my vibrator and it was just so fucking good. So good. 

“Yes,” she laughed and I knew it was for me, for the joy of my pleasure. “That’s it. Keep going.”

My mouth was open on something like a scream, but all that came out of me was a high pitched squeak and a lot of drool as I obeyed. I pushed and pushed, circling my clit around and around until it was too much. With something between a groan and a yelp, I lurched forward, off her fingers, half off the bed. Convulsions continued through my body as I rode out the last of the pleasure. I was frozen by it, my head and one shoulder hanging off the bed, my thighs still seemingly magnetized open for her. 

As my vision cleared and my breathing settled, I realized what I saw below me didn’t make sense. It was still my landlord beige carpet, still my white girly bedside table. But it was also the top of my girly bedside table. And the lamp sitting on top of it. Too high. How were we so high? The white curtains of the canopy were fluttering like I’d opened all my windows on a windy day. I looked at the legs of the bed, trying to understand what I was seeing. 

“Is my bed floating?” I squeaked. And was my crystal ball on that shelf glowing?

“I told you,” she kissed that spot on the back of my neck again. “I’m a witch.”

“Wait, what do you mean you’re—” I got cut off by my own moan as she slid her fingers back inside of me, this time her thumb skating over my sensitized clit. 

The bed was floating and witches were real apparently and I was having the best sex of my life. My brain couldn’t for the life of me figure out which detail to focus on. 

“Can I pull your hair a little?” she murmured into my ear, taking a moment to nibble on the sensitive lobe. Even there, there was electricity. Or whatever this was. Magic? Fuck, it was probably magic. “Gently, I promise.”

In any other circumstances, I would’ve told her that I loved hair pulling, that she didn’t have to be gentle. That I liked spanking too, and I hoped when I ended up back between her thighs that she’d scratch the shit out of my back. I liked the sting as much as the soft caress. But I was too busy watching my bed floating off the floor, Pearl staring up at me from her favorite spot over the air vent in the floor without a single feline concern. Was I hallucinating? 

“Do you want to stop and talk about it,” she asked, brushing her fingers through my waves, “or do you want me to pull your hair?”

Her thumb was skating over my clit oh so gently that I felt a gentler, sweeter kind of orgasm sneaking up on me. Fuck it. She could explain the witch thing in the morning. 

I arched my neck and whined, “Hair, please.”

“Good girl.”

She got a sturdy grip on my hair and pulled. It did something to all those electric strings inside me, like suddenly unraveling the knots. I arched my back with a yelp as, somehow, I was cumming again. So, so, so hard. She pulled me back against her, my back to her soft chest, tilting my head back so I could look into her black hole eyes and purple face as I bounced myself on her fingers. 

“Just like that, good girl.”

I collected just enough wits to wheeze, “I didn’t know I had such a praise kink.”

“Really?” She rolled her hips behind me, teaching my body the pace to keep on her fingers as she tangled me up on the inside all over again. “I did.”

“How?”

She tilted my head and kissed me deeply. “When you did my reading. About ‘people’ wanting me to be in control, wanting me to be pleased when they do what I tell them to.”

“That was just a joke,” I moaned before cumming on her fingers again. 

She carefully guided me back onto the bed while I shivered through the aftershocks, away from the edge this time, and massaged my legs after keeping them curled up for so long. I looked up at her, violet hair sex tousled and beautiful, lavender skin glowing. Stars were collected around the strange haze that surrounded her like an aura, and her eyes were beautiful, dangerous pits. I must’ve looked like such a dummy doing my little ‘witch’ pick-up line to her, a real life actual Harry Potter Salem Trials witch. 

“It’s just a party trick,” I said so she would know I wasn’t stupid. “Palm reading isn’t real.”

She climbed up my body, slinging her knee over my head so she straddled my face. She sat back, her lush ass hovering lightly on my chest, so she could look down at me. “Of course it’s real,” she said with a wicked smile. “Except that bit about marrying late in life. I can’t imagine I’d be stupid enough to wait that long to ask you.”

I blinked slowly up at her, muddled from orgasms and magic and the gravitational pull of her eyes. “Are you using my own pick-up line to pick me up?”

“Yes.” She ran her thumb under my lip like she had before and then slipped it into my mouth. I sucked on it gently the way I wanted to suck on her clit again. “Is it working?”

I nodded. I was on a levitating bed right now with a beautiful woman about to sit on my face, of course it was working. 

“Take you out for breakfast in the morning, explain all of this?” she asked, tossing her head to the side to indicate the floor many feet below the bed. 

I slid my hands up her thighs, got a good handful of her ass in both palms, and began pulling her hips to my face. “It’s a date.”