Esme’s Magic Wand

Amateur

**All characters in this story are over the age of 18. All characters and scenarios within this story are completely fabricated and any resemblance to real life is coincidence.**

Author’s Note: This lighthearted short is a little divergent from my usual, darker style. It’s a bit of bite-sized frivolity I wrote to pass the time while stuck on larger works. Please, read on and enjoy.

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DJ Expel was on stage spinning his latest chart-topping slammer and the skin-vibrating pulses he commanded forth from his massive bass stacks drove Esme’s feet forward on her quest in time to the beat. Night four of the DROP-!T International EDM festival in the great Mojave Desert was in full swing and she was on the prowl among the tents, towels, and picnic blankets looking for sad souls in need of her special brand of assistance. It didn’t take long for the sweeping beams of nearby stage lasers and the combined luminescence of a thousand waving glow-sticks to shine her way towards her next potential beneficiary.

The downcast raver was sitting slumped, out of the way of the main path for foot traffic, back-to-back with a closed-up merch tent. A pair of empty frozen margarita glasses laid at her feet, revealing her need for escapism. The neon pink and green splashes of her voluminous leg fluffies and the bright sparkles of her full body glitter did little to hide her dejection with her arms wrapped around her knees and her head hung so low. Approaching near, but not so close as to spook the girl, Esme politely made her presence known.

“Are you doing all right down there, love?”

Startled at the unexpected introduction, the girl looked up and her heavily made-up face evinced the same chain of reactions that Esme had seen a hundred times before: surprise turning to appraisal, swiftly ceding way to awe. Esme could almost see herself through the hunched girl’s eyes.

The neck to knees gossamer robe that Esme was wearing might have been considered quite conservative next to all of the short shorts, miniskirts, and tube tops that were ever present at the desert rave party if it wasn’t for the fact that Esme’s robe was almost entirely transparent. All she happened to be wearing under it was an immaculate white lingerie set that looked like it would be more appropriate being strutted down a runway by a Victoria’s Secret fashion model than barely hiding the bursting assets of a statuesque woman at a music festival. Not that Esme didn’t have the body of a Victoria’s Secret model… Purposeful investments of time and energy kept her in the shape she was in and she was happy to allow those that looked upon her to reap some of the benefits of those efforts.

Already a tall woman, the nearly vertical ponytail her long, blonde hair was tied up in and the six-inch white rhinestone-covered platform heels she was wearing gave her the stature of an elegant giant. The pair of iridescent faerie wings on her back did nothing to diminish her apparent size. These many combined facets of her well-maintained appearance gave her a commanding and alluring presence that she very much utilized to advance her good works. There was power in sex and there was power in sexuality, and Esme was well istanbul travesti versed in wielding both.

The girl on the ground had yet to make any response outside of open-mouthed staring, but Esme was patient, having been in this situation many times before, and gave the stunned raver all the time she needed to gather herself before joining the conversation.

“I’m sorry?”

Esme put on her warmest smile. “You look like you’re not having the best of days, friend. I was wondering if I could perhaps help to cheer you up, or if you had any need of an empathetic listener to whom you could pour out your sorrows.”

“Oh. Yeah. No. It’s just that… Eh, you don’t really want to hear about my problems.”

Crouching in front of the girl, Esme maintained her friendly smile and patted her on the bare knee. “I am here to help however I can. Please, lay your troubles upon me.”

After a moment of consideration, the girl on the ground shrugged and began to speak, her words slightly slurred by alcohol.

“It’s nothing really. I’m just being stupid. I’m a PhD candidate and I just worked my ass off for eleven months to put together my doctoral thesis. I was all thrilled to be done with it, and my advisor assured me that it was a shoo-in for acceptance, so I came to SLAM to spend a few days losing myself in the music and the atmosphere. Of course, my asshole committee chair waited until I was all the way out here, in the middle of the damn desert, trying to let go and finally have a bit of fun, before he emailed me to let me know that he had rejected my thesis on a minor technical point. I spent so long writing the damn thing and the coward waits until I’m on the other side of the country to knock it down for a bullshit reason. Now I’ve got to wade through a month’s worth of review and reconciliation process before I can submit it again. I just want to be done with the whole thing! Shit, I’m gonna fucking cry again.”

Lightly resting her hand on the girl’s shoulder, Esme caught her tear brimmed eyes and held them with her own for a moment. The flashing strobes from the DJ’s stage a few hundred feet away reflected between their eyes almost hypnotically and Esme began to softly stroke the girl’s arm.

“Dry those tears, girlfriend, because you’re in luck. Getting bad news sucks, but I think I can help. My name is Esme, and I am a bona fide fairy godmother.” To accentuate this statement, Esme stepped back and struck a pose, one hand on her hip, the other raised dramatically into the air. This position caused her breasts and butt to present themselves prominently and Esme made sure to stay still long enough to allow the girl’s eyes to linger as long as they liked on Esme’s tight skin and prodigious curves.

Licking her lips, the girl still stared at Esme’s body in lustful fascination and responded almost automatically, “Is that so?”

“It is, indeed. What would you say if I told you that I could make you forget about your thesis and your cowardly committee chair for a while with just a wave of my magic wand? Would you be interested in me making that happen?”

Breaking her stare, the girl stood herself up awkwardly against the tent and replied cautiously, istanbul travestileri “You’re not going to try to give me pills or something, are you? I tried Ketamine last year at Light-Fest and thought that ants were crawling around under my skin for a solid week. I’m not really interested in going down that rabbit hole again.”

Moving forward to rest her hands on the hem of the raver girl’s frilly miniskirt, Esme traced her fingers along the smooth, exposed skin there, drawing a shiver. Noting that the girl didn’t try to pull away, Esme pulled herself in closer until mere inches separated the two. Catching the girl’s eyes once again, Esme saw the breath freeze in the girl’s throat.

Almost at a whisper, Esme quietly reassured her, “No, no drugs, my sweet. My magic is all natural.”

With exquisite slowness to make sure there was no dissent from the girl’s side, Esme leaned in to tenderly touch their lips together. When the girl whimpered, it was all the sign Esme needed to press forward into a full kiss. Soon, their tongues danced in time to the pumping music that filled the air around them and Esme allowed her hands to wander up and down the girl’s body, finding and caressing any stray bits of exposed skin she happened upon. Eventually, Esme’s searching hands found the swell of the other girl’s breasts and began to massage them through the sports bra that served as their only cover. The night air around the pair sparkled with laser lights and glitter and all the other festival goers were forgotten as the girl lost herself in Esme’s embrace.

A few, pleasurable moments later, Esme broke their lip lock, trailing kisses across the girl’s cheek and down her neck and shoulder before whispering into the girl’s ear, “So, do you think you would like to try my magic?”

An urgent, breathy, “Please!,” was the only response.

Returning to their kiss, Esme allowed the girl to sink back into the experience before reaching down to the pouch at her side to retrieve her magic wand. Like any good wand, this one was inscribed with many important words of power. Chief among them were Hitachi and Cordless.

As their tongues danced together, Esme commanded the wand to cast its first spell: LOW. She first allowed the tip of the wand to wander across the girl’s exposed midriff, up her bare ribs, down her side, along her waist, and then down to the bare skin between her fluffies and her skirt where she teased the girl by running it up and down the sensitive flesh of her thigh. When the girl started moaning into Esme’s mouth, she moved the wand tip higher, up under the frills of the girl’s shiny raver skirt, to press against the thin, damp band of cloth that stood alone separating the girl’s throbbing sex from the warm, night air.

Pulling their mouths apart, the girl was now letting out a constant string of whimpers and moans, her hands grasping weakly at Esme’s waist as the wand worked its sorcery. This signaled to Esme that it was time for the wand to cast its other, mightier spell: HIGH. This incantation had never failed to achieve its purpose.

Making sure to keep the wand’s tip exactly where it needed to be to do its good work, Esme pulled the girl’s taut, travesti istanbul young body tightly against her own. When the girl’s knees started to buckle, Esme was ready to support her weight with a hand around her waist, whispering, “It’s okay, love. Let it all out. You’re safe with me.”

The DJ’s music hit a particularly hard drop and the blazing lasers and strobes from the stage filled the night air with wonder as a flood of wetness gushed over Esme’s wand, raining down on the exposed toes of her perfectly pedicured feet. With the raver girl’s whole body jerking and humming, she cried out loudly, a single extended keening note of pleasure in discordance with the music, before burying her face in the crook of Esme’s neck and Esme knew that another good deed had been done. Once the girl stilled and her arms flopped loosely to her sides, Esme removed the wand and deactivated its magic before wiping it carefully on the raver girl’s skirt and returning it to the pouch at her waist. Lowering herself and the limp girl to the ground, Esme rested both of them against the tent, cradling the sagging girl in her arms and gently rocking her back and forth. Delirious in rapture, the girl had her eyes closed and was resting her head on Esme’s shoulder as she worked to catch her breath.

Kissing her on the top of the head, Esme asked, “Feeling better, sweet?”

Between raspy breaths, the girl croaked, “Holy crap. Wooo. You have no idea…”

Stroking her hair, Esme cooed, “Glad to hear that I could help.”

After giving the girl a few moments to float herself back down to Earth, Esme eased the girl’s body back to the position in which Esme had originally found her sitting, leaning with her back against the tent. Now disentangled, Esme lithely stood, smoothing her robe down as she prepared to leave. Confused, the girl reached out to grab hold of Esme’s wrist.

“Going so soon?”

Gently, Esme released the girl’s grip on her arm and stepped back out of reach.

“I’m afraid so, love. I must be on my way to find and aid any other downhearted souls out there that might be saved by my magic.”

Struggling to stand, the girl pleaded, “But… wait!! I’m still sad! Can you cheer me up again? Just one more time?”

Smiling and leaning down, Esme ran her palm over the large wet patch on the raver girl’s now exposed underwear, halting the girl in her attempt to rise. Displaying her glistening wet hand to the girl, Esme whispered conspiratorially, “I’ll let you in on a secret, little one,” before licking the girl’s juices off with a decadent smile. “We all have the magic inside us. We just have to be willing to let it out.”

With a wink, Esme turned and sauntered off. Behind her, the raver girl had her eyes locked on Esme’s swaying hips as they departed. It only took her a moment’s hesitation before she pressed the fingers of her right hand beneath her short skirt, sliding under the edge of her soaked underwear to find her dripping slit. True to Esme’s promise, the girl didn’t think about her rejected thesis, busy academic life, or anything other than the memory of Esme’s magic, the low pulse of the bass music, and the pleasures of her own flesh for the rest of the night.

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I hope my efforts to make this piece enjoyable and arousing were successful and I appreciate all of your kind ratings and comments. Remember, this was just a story meant for entertainment and should be treated as such. Have fun out there.

Cheers,

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