Wicked
What’s a witch to do?
Samhain– the most sacred,
yet for Dinera DeFliehr, the most festive day of the year. As usual
her husband of too many years to count was on the road, most likely
spending his night screwing his twenty-year-old trollop.
The day she arrived in America as a
fifteen-year-old bride Dinera placed a fidelity spell on him that
had been impenetrable, at least until two years ago. The night he
met the only witch powerful enough to counteract her
spellwork.
Dinera sat in front of her vanity
mirror naked, raking a brush through her long naturally auburn
tresses. Despite looking damn good for thirty-four, his Odessa
surpassed her European beauty.
It was as if William had
stepped into a time machine to find a taller, lither version of
what Dinera had once been. Longer hair, a more vibrant sheen of
crimson, hanging all the way down to the curve of her tight little
ass. Green cat eyes the color of polished emeralds. The trollop had
firmer perkier breasts and six extra inches of height, giving her
legs that just wouldn’t quit.
Dinera had curves and dazzling blue
eyes the color of an iceberg melting in blistering sunshine. The
very first words William spoke to her had been to compliment her
eyes. Something about fearing that he could drown in their amazing
depths of shimmering blue.
He had been quite the
charmer back then and he’d been right to fear her power. Dinera was
a DeFliehr witch from one of France’s most infamous families. Her
mother had also married young, to a Romanian Prince. This union
intermingled their royal and pagan bloodlines to make Dinera a
witch of immense power.
If there had of been such a
thing as American royalty, William Fletcher’s family would have
ruled over The Crescent City. Yet, regardless of who they married,
a DeFliehr witch never took the sir name of her husband.
His family’s First Street mansion, now
that was another story. She’d taken control of that house the
instant he’d carried her over the threshold. He’d been
pussy-whipped since he’d taken her virginity on their wedding
night.
At least until the trollop came
along.
Dinera had never been averse to
sharing, but not with someone who could match her spell for spell,
and even best her on occasion. She cast William out of her bed the
moment she realized Odessa had stolen his heart, right along with
his dick.
It would be a very cold day in hell
before he would be able to get her out of this house. That wouldn’t
be happening until the day her ashes were returned to
Europe.
Here it was, the day to
honor the dead, and the only dead thing she had to honor in this
country was the death of their martial vows. There wouldn’t be a
divorce. His heart might belong to another, but he would be legally
bound to her until his body was laid in the Fletcher crypt at the
St. Charles Cemetery.
The only thing Dinera had given up on
was William impregnating her with a girl child to carry on the
DeFliehr name. All those loads of wasted sperm and all he’d given
her was a son. She had given birth at seventeen and at the sight of
the baby’s penis she’d turned him over to a nanny. Charles had
grown into a teenage monster of a child. With no father around to
teach him how to be a man, she doubted she would ever even get a
granddaughter out of William’s less than attractive
spawn.
Dinera stepped into a pair of white
lace panties, selected a black bustier from her dressing room and
called for her maid to fasten the many delicate pearl clasps
running up the front. Normally she might have been aroused by the
way Justine carefully squeezed her breasts into the rich silk
fabric, pushing them up to make the most of her
cleavage.
Justine stood a good five feet eleven
in her uniform stilettos accessorized by fishnet stockings. Dinera
always made the raven haired beauty wear a skirt so short it barely
covered her butt cheeks. The twenty-something girl had mainly been
hired as eye candy. She had less attractive
What’s a witch to do?
Samhain– the most sacred,
yet for Dinera DeFliehr, the most festive day of the year. As usual
her husband of too many years to count was on the road, most likely
spending his night screwing his twenty-year-old trollop.
The day she arrived in America as a
fifteen-year-old bride Dinera placed a fidelity spell on him that
had been impenetrable, at least until two years ago. The night he
met the only witch powerful enough to counteract her
spellwork.
Dinera sat in front of her vanity
mirror naked, raking a brush through her long naturally auburn
tresses. Despite looking damn good for thirty-four, his Odessa
surpassed her European beauty.
It was as if William had
stepped into a time machine to find a taller, lither version of
what Dinera had once been. Longer hair, a more vibrant sheen of
crimson, hanging all the way down to the curve of her tight little
ass. Green cat eyes the color of polished emeralds. The trollop had
firmer perkier breasts and six extra inches of height, giving her
legs that just wouldn’t quit.
Dinera had curves and dazzling blue
eyes the color of an iceberg melting in blistering sunshine. The
very first words William spoke to her had been to compliment her
eyes. Something about fearing that he could drown in their amazing
depths of shimmering blue.
He had been quite the
charmer back then and he’d been right to fear her power. Dinera was
a DeFliehr witch from one of France’s most infamous families. Her
mother had also married young, to a Romanian Prince. This union
intermingled their royal and pagan bloodlines to make Dinera a
witch of immense power.
If there had of been such a
thing as American royalty, William Fletcher’s family would have
ruled over The Crescent City. Yet, regardless of who they married,
a DeFliehr witch never took the sir name of her husband.
His family’s First Street mansion, now
that was another story. She’d taken control of that house the
instant he’d carried her over the threshold. He’d been
pussy-whipped since he’d taken her virginity on their wedding
night.
At least until the trollop came
along.
Dinera had never been averse to
sharing, but not with someone who could match her spell for spell,
and even best her on occasion. She cast William out of her bed the
moment she realized Odessa had stolen his heart, right along with
his dick.
It would be a very cold day in hell
before he would be able to get her out of this house. That wouldn’t
be happening until the day her ashes were returned to
Europe.
Here it was, the day to
honor the dead, and the only dead thing she had to honor in this
country was the death of their martial vows. There wouldn’t be a
divorce. His heart might belong to another, but he would be legally
bound to her until his body was laid in the Fletcher crypt at the
St. Charles Cemetery.
The only thing Dinera had given up on
was William impregnating her with a girl child to carry on the
DeFliehr name. All those loads of wasted sperm and all he’d given
her was a son. She had given birth at seventeen and at the sight of
the baby’s penis she’d turned him over to a nanny. Charles had
grown into a teenage monster of a child. With no father around to
teach him how to be a man, she doubted she would ever even get a
granddaughter out of William’s less than attractive
spawn.
Dinera stepped into a pair of white
lace panties, selected a black bustier from her dressing room and
called for her maid to fasten the many delicate pearl clasps
running up the front. Normally she might have been aroused by the
way Justine carefully squeezed her breasts into the rich silk
fabric, pushing them up to make the most of her
cleavage.
Justine stood a good five feet eleven
in her uniform stilettos accessorized by fishnet stockings. Dinera
always made the raven haired beauty wear a skirt so short it barely
covered her butt cheeks. The twenty-something girl had mainly been
hired as eye candy. She had less attractive
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