Jaycee's X-Blog - Mon, Aug 21

[First, a foreword. What's an X-Blog, you ask, and how's it different from my regular blog? You may have noticed that the regular blog, which is for $5+ backers, tends to use more tame language and metaphoric descriptions than the erotica stories I write for the $10+ tier. The X-Blog talks about the same stories and/or people, but with more crude and raw language. It's just that simple.]

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I'm sorry I haven't been blogging a lot lately. I've been spending a good deal of time trying to get my mind off things, and blogging doesn't help. Last time, I wrote about the Urge, that impulse that builds up inside me if I don't call upon Tarantina to cast some magic (sexual or otherwise) on my behalf. Through trial and error, I've noticed a pattern emerge: if I'm starting to feel the Urge and the magic publicly embarrasses or humiliates my target, the Urge fades almost instantly and (more importantly) takes longer to build back up. I think if I devise things properly, I can optimize the way I use Tarantina's magic so that I only request minimal spells that have maximal impact to cause maximal shame.

That's why I went to church on Sunday. It's not because I believe in a god (I don't), but because if there's a group of people that's big on shame, it's the Catholics. Tarantina was with me, of course, and she hates those people almost as much as she hates me. That was part of my strategy, see? I figured if I asked her to embarrass one of them, it'd be less taxing on our bond because it's something she'd want to do; plus, the extra embarrassment would make the Urge go away for longer.

I arrived early and sat in a middle row so I'd be able to watch people come in and watch them as they sat in the front. One lady caught my attention: tall, dignified, in her mid-thirties, and with those flawless porcelain features you just want to see crack. I overheard her husband call her Bianca, which seemed to fit her aura perfectly.

"Her?" I whispered to Tarantina.

"Yes," she hissed. "Killer body, manipulative mind, and frigid to her very core. That pussy hasn't seen any action since the last war."

I told her what I wanted and waited for the service to start. Then I sent Tarantina to work her magic on her. All she did was to wake her pussy up and have it demand some back pay for years of neglect. Then we watched.

First, Bianca's pussy came alive. It flared up so fast that she accidentally spread her legs a little. A surprised expression came across her face before she frowned and crossed her legs. Obviously, she was feeling the effects of Tarantina's spell, but intended to fight it. She was, after all, a pure child of God. She could overcome her baser instincts, especially with His help.

In fact, she couldn't. It seemed the more she struggled to fight it, the more aroused she got. Her pussy lips felt engorged and she could sense some moisture begin to flow from her twitchy slit. She smoothened her skirt and discreetly probed her crotch with her fingertips. She winced when her gesture was rewarded with a small erotic zap to her clit.She quickly brought a hand to her mouth to muffle a sudden moan. She pretended to cough, but Tarantina and I knew better. Her pussy was turning into a volcano of molten desire that was becoming impossible to ignore.

"Everything okay?" her husband whispered next to her.

"Shut up!" she said, her eyes fixed on the priest at the front.

Her hands flew near her chest, pretending to readjust her smart jacket, but in fact giving her breasts a quick grope. Her nipples had turned rock hard and flared with such intensity that she worried they might burn a hold through the expensive fabric.

Soon, she began panting. Her heart was racing like she was running a marathon, and her pussy was beating hard to that same rhythm. She was clenching and unclenching like there was a beefy cock at work between her legs, but there was nothing there. She needed something in there, but couldn't bring herself to do it. She leaned to whisper in her husband's ear.

"Finger me," she said, her voice barely audible. "In my pussy. Right now!"

Her husband looked at her in horror. "What? No! Not here, not now." He had kept his voice down, but his outrage and disgust was apparent.

Bianca wasn't used to being denied, especially where sex was concerned. She scowled and grabbed his wrist, but he pulled it back. She realized he wouldn't do it. She'd made him pay later, but right now, there was only one choice left—or at least she thought so. She could have gotten up and wobbled to the bathroom for some privacy, but her overheated mind couldn't think straight. She bit her lower lip as she watched her own hands pull the hem of her skirt and expose her drenched underwear. She reached to rub her wet slit through the damp fabric, easily finding the hard nub of her clit. She closed her eyes and let out a blissful sigh as she rolled it between her fingers, her legs spreading further without her noticing.

Next to her, her husband was watching with horrified fascination at the way she carried on. He seemed to struggle between the perverse desire to leer at her lewd behavior and the chaste impulse to stop her, but unable to decide what to do. He just...looked away, pretending it wasn't happening. If he didn't draw attention to her, she might stop and no one would notice.

But people noticed. The increasingly loud sighing and shuffling was hard to miss, and Bianca seemed unable to stop herself. She cast alarmed glances around her, but at the same time couldn't resist the demands of her neglected pussy. She slouched in the pew, spread her legs quite indecently, and pulled her panties aside to plunge her fingers deep inside her needy cunt. At that moment, she let out such a loud moan that the priest at the front interrupted his sermon.

All eyes converged on her. It seemed to dawn on her that she was done, that her reputation  was ruined. She wanted to stop, her mind racing to find some way to explain this, but her fingers were pistoning her needy cunt, causing mind-numbing pleasure and short-circuiting any attempt at reason. Her hips were bucking uncontrollably, meeting her fingers at every thrust.

It seemed to take half a minute for everyone to react, as if their minds couldn't reconcile this once-proper member of their community with the actions of this obscene slut with one hand in her pussy and the other pawing her firm boobs through her jacket. Then chaos erupted. Some people got up and ran out; a few others took their phones to film this for social media; most just gathered around the action to watch. The priest was making his way through the crowd to put a stop to this filth.

I got up too. My job here was done. I could feel the Urge was gone thanks to a mountain of embarrassment from Bianca and everyone else around her (even those watching seemed conflicted about their perverse fascination with her indecent behavior). I headed down the aisle, ignoring the increasing commotion and cries behind me. Tarantina stuck around to watch. She told me later that Bianca had tried mounting her husband to fuck him right there, but he denied her, so she jumped on the priest instead. Apparently, she humped him through his robes and came on top of him before anyone had the good sense to pull her away.

I'm hoping this takes care of my Urge for a good week.

--Jaycee

Note: I embellished some parts of the story and filled in the missing bits based on some of Tarantina's later accounts. It may not have happened exactly as described, but I'm pretty sure the core details are right. ;)