Two girls are loudly and publicly arguing about which is better, Ass or Tits. A nearby witch who’s tired of their nonsense casts a curse on them so whenever they say one is better, the other grows. The two are totally unaware that anything is different.
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So, you’re out in public. It’s an absolutely beautiful day. The kind people pray for. You’re sitting there after a long night. You’ve your first coffee of the day, and things look great. The thought of maybe taking the rest of the day off crosses your mind. Almost nothing could ruin this, right?
Except you’re overlooking one critical detail here.
You’re in public.
There’s people.
The kind who exist in such a way to undo every earned moment of calm. The kind of people you pray to avoid. These people, they’re sitting across from me right now. Perched on a cement wall, cackling like ravens. It’s not the content of the conversation that matters. This preening pair, they’re hashtags come to life. But it’s the volume at which they express it that makes me sigh. You can’t block and mute loudmouths in meatspace.
Believe me. I’ve tried.
“Giiiiiirl, I’m telling you. Ass! Everyone loves a big, fat ass!” says one, smacking a hand against her rump. She’s shaped like a spray-tan pear. The spaghetti straps of her tank top cling loose, but her daisy dukes strain to contain her. Add a bottle of blonde on top, and she looks more at home on someone’s DeviantArt page.
The girl beside her scoffs, and flips her black hair over her shoulder. She’s inverse embodied-the yin to her friends yang. Her skirt lays flush against a flat ass-and her white button up looks ready to burst. She hooks her thumbs into her lapels, and tugs up. Even from behind, I see just how much of her jiggles.
“Are you out of your mind?! Tits. TITS. People love tits. Ass is only useful for anal,”
I close my eyes, and try to breathe. I try to remind myself I’m bound to the same laws as anyone. Both societal, and those of my own. I try to tell myself confessing before a coven isn’t worth it. But as I bring my cup to my lips and take a draught, they cackle again. It startles me for all of a second. But the cup tips all the same, and a jilt of cream, bean juice and sugar pelts my skirt.
“Girl, no. Nobody likes fat tiddies giving them a black eye!”
“Says who?!?”
The first rule of witchcraft is “do as you wish, just don’t hurt anybody.”
The fun part about that?
It doesn’t say anything about lessons that need taught.
These girls, these living tumblr tags-they wanted attention. Full attention. From each other, from the rest of us. What happened, it was only wish fulfillment.
I put my coffee down on the iron-grate table before me. I turned, and reached into my canvas bag. It was a ratty brown thing-something a thief would laugh at. Perfect for the contents.
The spellbook was just as rancid and ratty-a tome beyond it’s time. But as I flipped it’s velum pages, I smiled. The script inside still held true. In the hundred years I’d been practicing, I’d yet to have a single misfire.
That’s the funny thing about magic. Most assume you need newt eyes and a cauldron. You’ve got to dance with a demon, sell your soul. It’s a load of shit. That’s stuff actual users propagate to keep the scamps out. No-real magic is so much simpler. You take desire, and focus it. It helps if you attune it to your targets, but you don’t have to do that.
No, all you need is a motive, and the belief you can. It’s such a beautiful way. These two cackling harpies? They gave me plenty for both.
I never had to search or scour the tome. It always found what I needed and when. When the page spread before me, it’s black script clear against the page, I grinned. I scooted my seat towards them, and made sure I had them in full view. The pair kept going on and on-cupping and caressing, smacking and tweaking. People had begun to clear the park. They’d toss the two a glance over their shoulders, and scuttle towards the gate.
Poor things. If they had only stayed behind another moment.
I looked at the girls, at their lewd jiggles and touch.
Then I lifted my hand, and snapped my fingers.
The tome closed with a thud, and I slipped it into my bag. I gripped my coffee, and let a smirk crossed my face. The last component of the spell was simply to wait.
Blondie rolled her eyes, and jiggled her hips. Ample flesh threatened the seams of denim as she said “Oh puh-lease. You should feel the way they throb when their hand sinks. They grip every roll, and shove it even deeper,”
She leans towards the busty one, and smirks. “Betcha can’t say that, can you?”
It’s so subtle I almost don’t catch it. So quick a hummingbird couldn’t match. But there it was all the same-the slightest press of her shorts. A stretch where there had been none just a second ago.
Busty laughs, and raises her hand. She flicks Blondie’s nose, and says “Girl, haven’t you ever wondered why my face is clear? Take a guess. Double dog dare you. When they press between these?”
She raises her hand, cupping her flesh. This far away, you would think it was a trick of the light. The way the fabric strains, how so much more seems to fill her hands. She jiggles them in her palm as Blondie glowers.
“Well, boys just can’t help themselves, can they?”
“Oh screw you, I get plenty of dick!” says Blondie, giving another smack at her rump.
One that brings a much more obnoxious jiggle than before.
Busty snorts, and pulls away her hands. Her breasts smack against her leg-and a button goes flying. Neither seems to notice.
“Oh I’m sure you do. Why, you can fuck anyone with their face down, can’t you?” says Busty.
I snorted then. I couldn’t help it-I shot a hand to my mouth in a vain attempt to hold it in. But neither of the girls seemed to pay me the least amount of mind. Blondie rose, her shorts disappearing as she spread her cheeks.
“Face hasn’t got anything to do with it! It’s this, allllll this. Something you’ll never have!”
Another smack, and all one can spy of the shorts is the waist. The rest disappears into spray-tan skin, supple and round as a peach. Busty glares, and stands to face Blondie.
A hundred years ago, they would have drawn pistols. They would have walked ten paces and turned. One would die in a pool of her own glory. The other, barking bragging rights. It’s not all that different now, with the way Busty’s buttons pop. With the rise, one sprung free. It ricocheted off my table and out into the park. I’m just glad she missed my coffee.
“You take that back you-you fucking big-assed slut!” shouts Busty. She shoves Blondie-which doesn’t take much. Her chest meets the girl, and does almost all the work. Another button is sent flying. Busty, she’s barely holding it in now. The least amount of movement, and-
“Slut? Slut?! Ohhhh, you’re one to talk, missy. ‘Oh, all the boys love cumming on my face! Tee-hee!”
There’s a tear-and a blur of denim flies past my table. I sipped my coffee, and tilt as the last button goes flying. Both the girls, they’re wrestling on the grass now. Blondie takes top for a minute, and sits her massive ass on Busty. Busty flails for a moment, her hands smacking against Blondie’s rear.
Every hit, it just adds an inch. I smirk, and think of quicksand.
“You wanna play? Huh? Oh I’ll fucking play with you!” says Blondie. She leans forward just a degree, and cups her friends ample breasts. Her mouth widens as sweat breaks on her face. She rolls her tongue over her red lips-then right against Busty’s palm sized nipples. The way she suckles, it’s how people dying of thirst drink. Gulping and gurgling, desperate and hungry.
I just go on sipping my coffee. Even as Busty tops, her feet useless as she rolls onto her bean-bag sized tits.
“Fucking-fucking come here, damn it! I’m not done with you!” she shouts. But Blondie, she’s not having it.
It’s not like she can move. She just sits there, rocking on her rump and snarling.
“Fucking do it then, bitch! Roll a little bit closer!”
The two keep going at it, even as the sun sets. Even as the cops show, absolutely baffled and scratching their heads. They have to call in transport, even.
Not like either of the girls could fit in the car.
These beautiful days, the kind you pray for? If they get disturbed, just remember one thing.
You don’t hurt ‘em if you teach ‘em a lesson.