Making Your Own Magic

Alexis Tae steps into Maya Woulfe’s bedroom, sun catching on silk bedding. Maya clutches a dusty leather book scavenged from the attic. They flip pages until Maya points to body-enhancement hexes. Maya swears she needs a bouncier ass; Alexis wants heavier tits. Clothes drop, silent glances slide across each other’s naked skin. Maya whispers the words and lays her hand on Alexis’s chest, thumb tracing tiny circles around the nipples until they swell under her touch. Alexis reaches for Maya’s backside, speaks the second spell, then lingers—pressing, jiggling, testing weight and bounce. The two giggle and squeeze and indulge until the bedroom door clicks open. Reagan Foxx stands there, startled at first, then amused when her eyes land on her open grimoire. She admits it is hers, that she once whispered the same verses in college bedrooms. She draws close, calm and graceful. Magic may not bend flesh, she says, but a room can still thrum with real enchantment. With soft instruction she guides Maya’s mouth to Alexis’s lips, then lower. Guided strokes turn to gropes, mouths to gasping kisses, until Reagan slips out of her robe and joins them, three bodies moving in slow, elegant rhythm that turns breath and moans into the real spell.