Wednesday, November 28, 2007

Who Do You Voodoo?

By Wizard

DISCLAIMER: I know next-to-nothing about Voodoo. It’s just a silly story!

In all my years practicing the arcane arts of Voodoo, this case might be the strangest. Well, it’s easy to scoff at such seemingly primitive beliefs, but the mind holds a vast and largely unrecognized influence on our thoughts and feelings. Though not always strictly necessary, it helps a great deal if the subject believes in the power of Voodoo. That is how the great legends start. That forms the most powerful cases. But I can be of influence even in the absence of a willing victim. That’s how good I am. Just don’t call me a witch…

But enough of the commercials! I have a tale to tell. I can reveal no names, but my commission came from someone many millions would recognize – a TV news anchor. In fact, this anchor came to hear about me from a piece one of their eager young reporters had produced. A typical piece of trash mostly, but I got a chance to appear on screen with all my mumbo jumbo which despite the asinine voiceover could have a powerful effect on a susceptible person. She called up, made an appointment, and of course I recognized her immediately, though professional courtesy made me play it cool. She was all dressed up in typical anchor-ware and I must say looked splendid, even younger looking without her studio makeup. As she told her tale of subtle harassment by the male sports announcer I had to wonder why she was here, and questioned her most severely. She took all my probing in good humor and explained that she had ambitions and did not want to do anything to mess them up. The sports announcer was very popular and she wanted to avoid any direct confrontation so as not to taint her image. But she was also fed up with the little comments and little touches to her ass. I looked at her critically and could see how any red-blooded male would want to fondle her delightful derriere, for in my business it is essential to get inside the mind, male or female.

When I told her this was small potatoes for something as powerful as Voodoo she looked crestfallen. Then she did something I will never forget. She asked me about some pictures on the wall and I was glad to share them thinking the consultation was over. As I described the pictures she looked me directly in the eyes and then, with the greatest of subtlety placed her hand on my buttocks, and began to fondle in a very graceful but really dirty way. I was shocked, but also felt great admiration at the way I had been distracted and stalked, as it were. No more words were necessary. I knew she was dealing with an accomplished fondler, which made any overt moves very risky. So we got down to business. The first problem was one of severity – my usual requests had to do with death, disease, madness - that kind of thing. We needed something subtler. There was also no way she was going to mention Voodoo to the guy, so we needed a built-in vulnerability.

On her next visit, I was ready for her. The look on her face as I brought out the doll was priceless: surprise, disbelief, revelation and then laughter. Belly laughs in fact. I frowned at her – Voodoo is serious business! She calmed down but could not wipe the smile from her face. My little doll was a featureless thing of straw – but by God it was male! Two oversized testicles and a shrunken penis. My client loved it! It gets to the source of the matter, she chuckled. We tried it out immediately. My client had the night off, so we watched the news together, eagerly awaiting the sports section.

There he was, all smiles that soon faded as I casually flicked my finger at the doll’s dangling beads. He gave a little jump, and shifted uncomfortably in his chair. I tried a few more pokes and jabs, testing his responses. He had great control (ball control?) but we were definitely getting to him. My client was ecstatic, and not a little impatient. She snatched the doll from me and banged it down, legs straddling the arm of her chair, almost knocking those poor beads right off. He jumped and squeaked out a good night, almost falling off his chair as they cut away. I smiled inwardly. My skills and preparation had paid off, and contact was made with our victim. I also smiled at how eagerly our male target had responded. Most unusual for a first attempt, and he with no knowledge of our actions. It just shows how vulnerable the male’s exposed genitalia are to skilled female manipulation!

After that first time we tried many things. One of my favorites was to use a naked Barbie doll to kick the beads off our little sports guy. I wanted to use the knee, but have you ever tried bending Barbie’s leg? We always laughed our heads off whenever we were able to catch him on air, but that wasn’t often enough. The problem was, though we had him by the balls, and thus could be said to getting our revenge, there was as yet no connection to our anchor. My suggestion to her to spin round and use her own knee the next time he tried that rude rump trick was not well received. After all, she had hired me to avoid all that. She suggested we snatch those beads right off the doll! I looked at her in shock, but realized she had a point – we couldn’t keep doing these sessions together on her nights off. So I sent her away and worked my mojo.

Next time I was all ready. Of course we had to have a little ceremony involving nudity, snake bones, some chicken blood and dancing around a campfire at midnight, nothing that would interest you. The pictures I took were for insurance purposes only. Nothing to do with her gorgeous body and my bi-tendencies, I assure you. Finally she graduated to assistant juju status and left with the detached beads in her pocket. Now at any time she could bust the sportscaster’s balls by slapping her pocket, rolling the beads between thumb and forefinger and squeezing, or what was to become a favorite pastime for her, pulling the beads apart on their elastic and letting them slap together. The only real inconvenience was having to fix her coffee with one hand, as the other was constantly playing with her beads in her pocket in case he approached her from behind.

But he still would not stop! I think her bead-twiddling was actually turning him on, gently massaging his testicles in a most pleasant manner as he approached even more cockily than before until she punched her pocket, dropping him instantly. Funny how she always laughed when she would describe this to me. I cannot imagine a man wanting to approach a woman in this way when his balls would suddenly explode in pain and the next thing he knew he was looking up her skirt from the floor. The only dangerous time was when her boss stormed into her office and slammed a huge printout onto her jacket lying on the desk. A shrieking yell from down the hall interrupted his anger and an ambulance had to be called.

My next surprise was to see this guy turn up on my doorstep. At first I figured I was busted, but he was calm and humble and wanted to consult. Apparently he had been talking to the same reporter and regarded me as some sort of medical alternative. It’s true that Voodoo has healing as well as hurtful powers, but as you know, I had been the cause! Well, you’ll never guess this guy’s problem, right? Yup, painful testicles. Sometimes sharp, shooting pain. Sometimes a dull throb. At other times a gentle tickle. He had been to all the sports doctors, who asked about protective cups and checked for hydroceles and swelling and testicular torsion. He had even been to a sex therapist because he was getting turned on at odd times too. My eyebrows went up at this. I wasn’t sure what I was going to do but from his descriptions my bead-beating friend had been over-indulging while this guy was suffering spontaneous erections. Life as a Voodoo queen is never dull! In fact I confess here that his descriptions had ME getting hot. This guy, instead of being the utter jerk I was expecting was turning me on! Time for bonfires, snake bones and nakedness while I stalled for time. This might have been a mistake ‘cos he was in fine shape with nice equipment that jangled nicely as he got into the demon-exorcising dancing with little ole naked me.

Surprises were not over for this evening. Who should I see over his shoulder than our ball-busting anchor, stark naked and ready for a little drum-heavy dance music and firelight. She sees us close together and getting closer and misinterprets, thinking that he is up to his perv tricks. She walks right up behind him and before he even knows she is there she grabs his generously stuffed scrotum from behind, circles the neck between thumb and forefingers, grips tightly, squeezes, twists and yanks. He ooofs and goes down nicely and I admire her fine technique and suppress a giggle. But he’s not all down. His dick pops right up and it’s a beaut. As he stands to face her she sees his hard on and thrusts her leg vigorously up between his. I hear a load thud, a high shriek and he’s out on the ground. This woman is good! We stand across from each other and her face is flushed. Her pussy lips are flushed. Damn if this woman isn’t turned on! Believe me, I know. Told you I was bi. No wonder she has overstrung those beads. Now I turn to sporty. He is still curled up but has a huge grin on his face.

A match made in heaven? Well, a match made around my bonfire anyway. I did not exist at that moment as these two stared at each other in disbelief. What a way to get turned on I thought. But hadn’t I got a kick out of it too? I just knew these two were going to be seeing a lot more of each other. And I had a sneaky feeling they would need a referee. I wonder if I should ask for my beads back.

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