Naughty Magic, pt1: Angie

Stan Jones, #9, All American football star. Starting quarterback for his D1 team, team captain, and leading candidate to watch for the Heisman. Everyone loves him, typical “women want him, guys want to be him” kinda thing. GPA of 3.7, impressive even without his athletic distractions.

Asshole.

Don’t get me wrong, he’s a “nice person” and all. But he’s completely overshadowing my boyfriend, Brent Stallor! #13, “backup quarterback?!” They don’t even give him the chance to shine like the phenomenal star he is! Makes me so mad, I could kill someone. …not that I would. It’s just so unfair. He led our highschool team to three state championships, practically winning two of them single handedly. Stan totally knows he’d be replaced in an instant if my Brent ever gets any real time on the field, that’s why he doesn’t let him off the bench unless our team is already up by 30. That’s why we’re going to some bullshit “Cotton Bowl.” Someone needs to do something to avoid another disaster.

Fortunately, I dabble in the mystic arts. “Oh, Angie. That’s just a bunch of smoke and mirrors,” people always think. If they only knew the stuff I have access to. But then someone would certainly warn stupid Stan. Better that I do this alone, even if it’s a bit complex. I’m not even completely sure what this one does, other than make someone disappear, with no one remembering anything about them. I do feel a little guilty, cursing him this way and all, but it’s time for my baby to shine! I just need to gather some things of my intended target:

-Article of clothing

-Something of sentimental value

-Bodily fluids

The first two were easy enough, he’s in Brent’s fraternity. Simple enough for me to slip in and snag a sock and game ball from his last highschool game. I made sure to swap the last one out with a different ball, and he’s not too likely to miss one sock. Now I just have to plan out how to get some fluids from him. What would that really be, anyway? The spell could fail if I get something not quite right, but I’m sure anything would do? Blood maybe? Could I somehow get some saliva from him? Those would both be tricky while keeping my activities secret. Could wait for him to pee, then somehow sneak in and get some of that? But he’d probably just flush it all down before I get the chance. And it would be diluted by the water already in the toilet, anyway.

Suppose I could fuck it out of him. He’s always glancing over at me when I watch Brent practice. It shouldn’t be too hard to seduce him. I could put my tightest pair of yoga pants on, and my smallest sports bra, and ask him to help with a workout. I always like the attention I get with that kind of outfit, the thin fabric stretching across my curves. Brent always takes me home after I wear it to the gym, and has his delightful way with me as soon as his door closes. Can’t keep his hands off me, and I’ll bet that Stan won’t either. Pig. My mind is made up, that’s the most effective way to get what I need.

My phone sits on the nightstand, still charging. I grab it and send him a quick text.

“Could you help me with a quick workout?” Brent made sure I had Stan’s number, for emergencies? I don’t know why he thought I would ever contact Stan instead of someone useful, but I’m happy that I have it now.

He responds a bit too quickly, “I’d be happy to. Come over anytime.” That was easy. Hopefully the rest of my plan is as simple as this conversation.

I take a hot shower, the warm water and soapy bubbles working their way over my generous, d-cup breasts before sliding down my tight abs, and the light muscle tone around my stomach. I turn under the shower, my loose hair getting drenched and sticking to the back of my shoulders. The suds of the strawberry scented shampoo run down my back, effortlessly over the dimples right above my firm, tight ass. I run my razor along my long legs, making sure they’re as smooth as possible. The razor works its way around my pubic region, keeping me shaved completely clean. I finish in the shower and walk back to my dorm room, towel wrapped around my dripping body.

Back in my room I let the towel fall to the floor around my feet, and lay a few options out on my bed. I decided on a set of pink pants with the matching pink top, with nothing underneath. The pants slide up with some difficulty, almost too tight for my muscled legs and ass. As usual, I take time to appreciate myself in the mirror, breasts still shining wetly in the light, every detail of my legs visible under the thin material ‘covering’ them. I watch my reflection as I put the sports bra over my head, and bring it down over my chest. It barely covers my large mounds, nipples almost visible through the stretched pink fabric. My nipples are hard from the cold air, just making them easier to see. I slip on some sneakers, put my hair into a tight ponytail, and turn to leave. I’m almost out the door when a thought occurs. My pace to the nightstand next to my bed is almost a sprint, and I fumble around the mess inside. Finally I found what I’m looking for. I throw the condoms into my purse and head out.

I hurry along the trails around our university thinking I should have brought a jacket for the cold. Then again, the chill will help keep my nipples hard, more for Stan to see when I arrive. My fair skin is reddened by wind and cold when I walk up to the door of their frat house. I walk through without even knocking, and see my target coming down the stairs. He has baggy shorts and a tank top on, fully ready to hit the gym. I smile at him as he approaches, and he smiles back. His eyes keep tracking down my body, settling on my chest briefly as they continue down.

“Could we talk?” I ask quietly, glancing around the entry of the house. No one is around, but I’d prefer to get him in a private area.

“Sure, what’s up?” he responds.

“In your room,” I suggest, an air of seduction laced in my voice.

He perks up a bit at that request, and guides me up the stairs. We get to his room, football and movie memorabilia littering every wall and surface. My eyes flick to the fake game ball on his desk, but quickly move on.

Stan closes the door behind us, “what’s up?”

I meet his gaze, and then let my eyes wander down his body. The tank top does little more at concealing his features than my sports bra. Strong arms cross the bulging muscles of his chest. I can’t see them through his loose shirt, but I know the chiseled abs are right behind it. The shorts are frustratingly baggy, making any bulge indecipherable, as well as his strong thighs.