When the warlock studied the ancient grimoire for the third time, nothing much had changed: neither the description of the ritual nor the illustrations that left very little to his admittedly perverse imagination.

"If this is your ridiculous idea of a prank, Avelynn, expect a horde of hungry locusts to descend upon your garden this very midnight," said the warlock, whose name was Gwydion Ash. He was tall and quite athletic for a man of wizardly pursuits, and there was a dark glint in his clever brown eyes as he ruffled his thick chestnut hair.

"This is no prank, you paranoid mountebank," the witch snapped, tossing her fiery red mane of hair. "To tap into the power nexus of Gods Dormant, I require the assistance of a male sorcerer who arrived at manhood - such as it is - to engage in what the grimoire demurely calls an arcane coupling of flesh. And among the local flower of wizardry you happen to be the only one who isn't a decrepit wreck stinking of decomposing corpse."

"I thank you for the compliment," he sneered. His self-esteem was just fine, owing to a number of pleasing encounters with enthusiastic succubi. "Let's assume I help you with this folly, and Gods Dormant won't consume your wretched soul. What do I gain from all this?"

The witch's brows went up.

"Does the prospect of an intense, sweaty fuck not entice you enough, Gwydion Ash?"

The warlock would lie if he said it didn't: Avelynn of the Russet Coomb was a comely lass with sumptuous tits and a fine plump arse that even those shapeless robes couldn't hide. Then there were the usual rumours of demonic lovers and orgiastic covens swirling around. He did his best to feign indifference.

"Whatever would you know of intense, sweaty fucks, you cloistered virgin?"

"Much more than some, you reedy prick! Or perhaps you do not feel up to the task?"

"When I am done with you, you won't be able to recall a single spell, you freckled harridan."

Both threat and promise laced the warlock's quiet hoarse voice. The witch's eyes flared up with danger and mischief.

"Well, we shall have to wait and see."

Seeking a cynical and arrogant witch with an acrid tongue who knows how to have a good time inside a pentagram. I consider 3-4 paragraphs per message a nice rhythm; the longer opening post from both POVs is just to set the tone. Kinks: rough sex, dirty talk, name-calling, hair-pulling, spanking, choking, slapping, biting, scratching, spitting, fighting for dominance, cock worship, breeding - and, of course, good grammar and imagination. Come discuss them first or start right away!