Witchcraft1

You need:
• An onion
• 12 Needles
• Black and Red Thread
• Chilli Peppers
• Spit

Select a large onion and slice it down the middle. Pull out a good amount of the center, and fill it with chilli peppers.

Close the onion and wrap a good amount of black thread right around the middle until its sturdy and closed.

Stab the needles in the onion in a circle diagonally around the entire onion.

Repeat crossing the circles, they should look like a giant “X” that circles around the onion. (6 for one circle and 6 the other).

Thread one of the circles with black thread, and the other with red.

One thread should go through each needle. When you’ve finish tie it off with a simple knot.

Place it in a bag (plastic trash bag is fine) or a box (cardboard is fine).

Visualise your enemy. Concentrate on them and speak the following verses:

“You crossed a line (name of your enemy), that much is true,
So now I’ll send my spite to you.
A wicked core will burn and ache
You crossed a line, your own mistake.

Needles sharp and eyes of thread
Sleep now as you’ve made this bed
Many layers deep it will delve
A year of bitterness, these months of twelve.”

Before you seal off the container (bag or box) spit into it if you want them to know somehow all these bad things are your handiwork.

Seal the container and dispose of the onion.

Enjoy your enemy’s discomfort.

Europa and the Bull

June 3, 2018

Bull and woman

Lust, in the beginning. A fire in the blood, merging and diverging, comingling in the brain of the Father of all things, mighty Zeus, at his first sight of the beautiful Europa, sister of Cadmus and daughter of Agenor, the Phoenician king of Tyre.

And, oh, that first fleeting glimpse of the maiden, so incendiary to the God, birthed the desire in his burning brain to have her at any cost! He would have her maidenhead! Would destroy it with his great God cock –

This pure, beautiful, slim and magic girl, this glowing gold beauty would be the most glorious fuck he had ever had.

Swimmy-headed with sex and madness, mighty Zeus plotted.

What to do about his sister wife, Hera? The first madwoman of the universe. Jealous Hera; eternally suspicious Hera. She knew of his addiction to cunt – knew that he would be irresistibly drawn by Europa’s clean, smooth cunt, her tiny flytrap now a God-trap that could make him cum and cum all night long. Hera would sniff that out. And her God-like rage over his horseplay would be beyond contemplation!

So much of her life had been dedicated to revenge on the nymphs who had enjoyed congress with Him –

True, she renewed her virginity each year. Gave herself to Him as an ‘innocent’ to ravage. But it wasn’t enough –

Had she not had Eileithyia’s legs tied together to stop her giving birth to mighty Zeus’ illicit child, Heracles. And, because Galanthis, assisted in that birth, Hera had turned her into a weasel, hadn’t she? Or was it a cat?

And consider Lamia, queen of Libya, who Zeus loved and royally fucked. Hera had turned her into a grotesque monster and murdered her children.

Hera must be deceived; must be diverted from these shady revenge shenanigans, her usual murder rehab programs, when it came to Europa. Oh, yes. Zeus would transform himself (not for the first time) into a – into a what?

Why, of course. Into a Bull!

And in the days that followed, his dreams became a life sentence, served in solitude, of smooth virgin flesh, of blood-letting, and of violent penetration. Dreams that dominated his God-slumber, but worse, ruled his waking hours. His God cock grew so stiff that it hurt, an old fashioned pain, an inner anguish so severe it dominated his entire being!

A Bull! Yes, yes. He would become a bull!

Oh, wouldn’t she want such a beautiful creature?

Immortality.

Mortality.

‘Please, please don’t think me weird, sir, but a bull’s cock is something to dream about – in my arse; in my cunt.’

Oh, little maiden, this cock is so engorged – and just for you! Only you!

‘Zee,’ Hera said, interrupting all mighty Zeus’ train of thought; his God fantasies of innocent girl flesh. ‘Have you been wearing my panties again?

Zeus feeling confused and disoriented, said, ‘What are you on, H? I don’t wear girls underthings. I’m a fuckin’ God!’

‘But my panties, the new black pair, have stains in them. Like pre-cum. So who’s responsible, if not you?’

Zeus, quietly whistling ‘Zorba the Greek’, held back the sunset with its brown and orange thunderclouds, looking like fluffed-up pillows on a messed-up sky of gray chaos, and said, ‘Mother of summer, you might be. But all the Gods know that Hades likes to gallivant in your lacy panties. He’s been doing it for bloody years.’

Hera retreated in an unusual silence.

Zeus had his chance. Finally.

Europa sat in the shade of an olive tree away from the dazzle of sun-burnished sea and sky. Glancing up, she saw a bull – a beautiful bull in the field beyond the silver olive grove. She stood and advanced on the creature. She had never seen such a beautiful bull before.

The bull watched her slow approach. It remained totally passive. Not the usual behaviour from such a creature.

Europa, hesitantly, reached out to touch the bull’s flank. She stroked its sleek hide. The bull remained quite still. And then, the temptation too great for her to resist, Europa climbed onto the great beast’s broad back –

Oh, what madness!

The bull started round. It bucked and charged towards the emerald sea. Europa clung on for her dear life. The bull carried the little black-eyed girl out into the silver surf.

Zeus in his bull form, bellowed his jubilation into the clear bright dome of the sky. He’d done it. He had Europa on his back. Crete would be his final destination. And there on a strip of burning white sand he’d have his prize. At last –

Poor Europa woke later from a troubled sleep. Half-undressed on the Cretan sand, she had a half-remembered dream of a powerful bull – its massive cock between her spread thighs. She sat up, and there indeed stood the bull before her.

‘Europa,’ it said. ‘Know you have been fucked by the king of the Gods. Mighty Zeus has opened you and filled you with his God seed. It will blaze forth from the fertile soil of your womb. You will provide me with three sons, and in return I will make you queen of this island.’

‘But you are a bull? A talking bull – can such a thing be?’

‘Unfortunately,’ said the bull. ‘You see me as a bull. Being mortal, if you saw my true self, you would go mad and die.’

And so it was Europa gradually lost her fear of the creature. Willingly offered herself to its mighty cock there on the sand. Wound chains of wild flowers round his horns in nearby meadows. And the ruler of the skies bellowed his happiness, his muscled neck bulging, as he came again and again deep inside Europa’s slender body.

AFTERWORD

“The dream dissipated, were one to recover one’s commonsense mood, the thing would be of but mediocre import – ‘tis the story of mental wrong doing. Everyone knows very well and it offends no one. But alas! one sometimes carries the thing a little further. What, one dares wonder, what would not be the idea’s realisation if its mere abstract shape thus exalted has just so profoundly moved one? The accursed reverie is vivified and its existence is a crime.”

D A F de Sade
Justine

Virginity traded for an island paradise. Did she regret? She swam, Europa, naked under water. She ran barefoot on the sand. Abduction and rape was a woman’s lot in this modern world. A woman’s worth, so it seemed, existed secretly between her legs –

Memories of bull breath on her body no longer disturbed. Nor those bull thrusts like hammer blows tenderising meat. And she, stretched out, like a newly slaughtered lamb for the delight of this God, this Zeus. Brother and husband to his own wife. She, Europa, cast in the role of victim, would give the God three sons: Minos, Rhadamanthys, Sarpedon who would, when they died, become judges in the underworld –

The Zeus bull had made this promise to her. After he’d said, ‘I’m sorry.’

But she hardly paid attention. She felt only fire and suppressed rage. Europa, whose hair smelled of wild flowers and summer meadows, was promised a husband, too, a powerful king – all these gifts to catch between her breath at sunrise. As if the God feared she might swallow his sky –

Or tell on him.

For mighty Zeus feared his sister wife Hera. He was pussy-whipped indeed. And he gave more and more gifts to counter each of Europa’s many silences. Oh, yes. Hera constantly looked for lipstick stains or hidden receipts in his clothing, evidence of betrayal –

And her rage was thousand-headed, apocalyptic, so great in fact that mighty Zeus knew what it was to be totally helpless before her. Like a quivering mortal.

‘Truly,’ he said to Europa, ‘I’m sorry. I couldn’t help myself.’

Europa frowned and waved her slender arms in the air, as if she were trying to erase and recreate the universe.

‘Alright,’ she said. ‘Alright. I forgive you – for now! But I’ll never forget.’

Ken’s revenge…

January 21, 2018

Still, however desexualized, minimalized, and distanced, the crime is a rape, and the question is why – what, in other words, the male viewer’s stake might be in imagining himself reacting to that most quintessentially feminine of experiences. The answer lies, perhaps, in the question: it is precisely because rape is the more quintessentially feminine of experiences – the limit, care of powerlessness and degradation – that is such a powerful motivation, such a clean ticket, for revenge. I have argued that the center of gravity of these films lies more in the reaction (the revenge) than the act (the rape), but to the extent that the revenge fantasy derives its force from some degree of imaginary participation in the act itself, in the victim position, these films are predicated on cross-gender identification of the most extreme, corporeal sort.

Carol J Clover
Men, Women and Chain Saws: Gender in the Modern Horror Film

I’d been married five years when I learned my husband was cheating on me. After the inevitable confrontation with him and the all the usual recriminations, I told him I couldn’t forgive what he’d done.

I couldn’t!

I was seething inside and wanted payback like I’ve never wanted anything else in my life before. I started cleaning the toilet each morning with his toothbrush. I put laxative in his food…but that wasn’t enough!

I’ve had this fantasy where multiple males would ‘take’ me repeatedly. I’d never mentioned it to anyone. Nor had I done anything to make fantasy, reality. Until now.

It took a lot of organizing but eventually I arranged a fourteen man gangbang which I had my best friend film. The action went on for most of one weekday. They had me four times each, and Gloria (my friend) filmed the ‘highlights’.

When hubby came home from work I told him ‘If you want forgiveness you get down on your knees and lick my pussy…’ I was sore down there, you know, but I hadn’t showered or anything, and not only was I a little swampy, I also had a stink in my panties like four day old anchovies. And it was all going to be for him, the bastard.

Anyway, down he got on his knees. I took my panties off and spread really wide. He buried his face deep in my vertical smile and started licking…An hour (and three orgasms) later, I told him, ‘Okay. That’s enough for now. There’s a homemade DVD beside the player. Watch it and see why you’re forgiven for now…I’m going for a shower.’

While he went off to watch his ‘film’ I fixed myself a stiff drink. A little later I looked round the living room door and he was watching me take two cocks simultaneously, front and back – but not only watching. He’d got his dick in his hand and was rubbing it like it was Aladdin’s lamp. Only instead of a genie he eventually shot a load of thick cum over his suit pants leg while I stood there silently watching…

What the hell! I should be surprised at this man who’d screw anything that moved – including the venetian blinds! One thing I’ve learned from the whole sorry experience – in future I’ll be the heroine of my life, not the victim!

Mary T

Iris Parker
True sex confessions

My revenge is just begun!

January 19, 2017

behind-you

“You think to baffle me, you with your pale faces all in a row, like sheep in a butcher’s. You shall be sorry yet, each one of you! You think you have left me without a place to rest, but I have more. My revenge is just begun! I spread it over centuries, and time is on my side. Your girls that you all love are mine already. And through them you and others shall yet be mine, my creatures, to do my bidding and to be my jackals when I want to feed. Bah!”

Bram Stoker
Dracula

an alchemist, apparently…

October 18, 2016

warlock-eyes

‘And who is Mr Karswell?’ inquired the Secretary’s wife. She had called at his office, and (perhaps unwarrantably) had picked up the last of these three letters, which the typist had just brought in.

‘Why, my dear, just at present Mr Karswell is a very angry man. But I don’t know much about him otherwise, except that he is a person of wealth, his address is Lufford Abbey, Warwickshire, and he’s an alchemist, apparently, and wants to tell us all about it; and that’s about all–except that I don’t want to meet him for the next week or two.

Now, if you’re ready to leave this place, I am.’

‘What have you been doing to make him angry?’ asked Mrs Secretary.

‘The usual thing, my dear, the usual thing: he sent in a draft of a paper he wanted to read at the next meeting, and we referred it to Edward Dunning – almost the only man in England who knows about these things – and he said it was perfectly hopeless, so we declined it. So Karswell has been pelting me with letters ever since. The last thing he wanted was the name of the man we referred his nonsense to; you saw my answer to that.

But don’t you say anything about it, for goodness’ sake.’

‘I should think not, indeed. Did I ever do such a thing? I do hope, though, he won’t get to know that it was poor Mr Dunning.’

‘Poor Mr Dunning? I don’t know why you call him that; he’s a very happy man, is Dunning. Lots of hobbies and a comfortable home, and all his time to himself.’

‘I only meant I should be sorry for him if this man got hold of his name, and came and bothered him.’

Montague Rhodes James
Casting the Runes

pig-tailed girl

May 15, 2016

Hans Bellmer - Doll’s Game 3

it’s as if
it was on every Herald front page
as if
every billboard caught the moment
of the pig-tailed girl running
from the Rangeview public toilets
baubles slapping scraped back
smudged top torn
blood on thighs and knees
screamingcrying into the park away
away from the man
emerging from the toilet
zippingrunning after bait

the cleaner saw
heard and saw
and couldn’t quite believe until he found
blood on the concrete floor
in the end cubicle
of Rangeview public toilets

five surrounding primary schools reported
no one missing
she’s gone
no follow-up article
him her darkness

12 years later
the Herald front-pages the crime scene:
a man hangs by his balls
from the chain of a Rangeview swing
a severed roll of meat
lies next to bloody HBs
a dog sniffs
then shits
on it.

Selina Tusitala Marsh

Halloweengraveyard

From a short distance, the few attending mourners under the blue tarp looked on silently as each ritualistic movement necessary to properly complete the last rites of the dead were respectively adhered to. Not surprisingly, only the constant raindrops marred the utter silence of the occasion, and not a single teardrop fell. Not a whimper or a shudder. Not for this man. Not today. Not ever again. It took all Skye had not to walk over to the hole, lift up her skirt, and piss on the man who had repeatedly raped her as a child. Good riddance, you nasty bastard. Now you are in God’s hands. Have fun with that, you piece of garbage.

Sahar Abdulaziz
As One Door Closes

water

“For a torture to be effective, the pain has to be spread out; it has to come at regular intervals, with no end in sight. The water falls , drop after drop after drop, like the second hand of a watch, carving up time. The shock of each individual drop is insignificant, but the sensation is impossible to ignore. At first, one might manage to think about other things, but after five hours, after ten hours, it becomes unendurable. The repeated stimulation excites the nerves to a point where they literally explode, and every sensation in the body is absorbed into that one spot on the forehead—indeed, you come to feel that you are nothing but a forehead, into which a fine needle is being forced millimeter by millimeter. You can’t sleep or even speak, hypnotized by a suffering that is greater than any mere pain. In general, the victim goes mad before a day has passed.”

Yōko Ogawa
Revenge