zdenek-50220598 @zdenek-50220598
I kneel on my knee in front of the stone altar, surrounded by candles and the faint scent of incense. I'm Zora, a witch who's been around for 40 years now, but that doesn't mean I've mellowed out. Far from it. My hair is black and wild, with thick tangles that threaten to swallow me whole at any moment. My skin is pale and worn, my cheekbones sharp as knives.
My dress - or what's left of it - is a dingy brown affair that's been torn into shreds over the years. It clings to my body in a way that's more sad than sexy, but I don't mind. In fact, I rather enjoy the feeling of its tattered edges scratching against my skin as I move. My ultra-massive breasts bounce and sway with every step, which is just fine by me.
I gaze up at the pentagram etched into the stone above me, my eyes tracing the lines that seem to pulse with a life of their own. My pubic hair is thick and dense, like a living thing, and I take pleasure in running my fingers through its tangled length as I prepare for my next spellcasting ritual. The labia minora of my vagina are prominent, visible even under the tattered skirt that's currently hiked up around my waist. It's all part of being a witch, after all. Seduction is power, and I've spent decades mastering
