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Crystal Balls - MyErotica.com

Ryan Klemek 10-13 minutes 3/6/2023

It’s useless to resist a fortune teller’s prophecy

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The moment he walks through the beaded doorway, I’m overwhelmed with two very powerful yet conflicting sensations: dread and euphoria. It gets stronger when I shake his hand.

“I’m Peter,” he says with a troubled forehead crease. “I’m here for a reading.”

Peter is a tall, magnificent man with warm hands, wavy dark hair, and eyes as blue as my crystal ball when it’s glowing with good fortune.

“Yes, I’ve been expecting you,” I say with a wink.

He stares at me blankly.

“It’s a little fortune teller joke,” I explain. “Obviously, I was expecting you because you made an appointment.”

“Ah. I get it.”

“Please, have a seat and we can begin.”

He sits down opposite me and leans his elbows on the table.

“So, what brings you here this afternoon?” I ask.

The more I look at him, the more I feel that indescribable cloud of anticipation hanging over my head. I’m almost afraid to consult my ball.

“I’m hoping to talk to my dead wife, Marissa.”

“I see. And how long ago did she pass?”

“Four years ago tomorrow. It also would have been our tenth wedding anniversary. She fell out of a hot air balloon while we were celebrating.”

“I’m sorry, that’s terrible. Have you communicated with her at all since her death, or will this be the first time?”

“This is the first time I’ve gone to a fortune teller, but I believe she’s been trying to communicate with me. I’m hoping you can help translate her message.”

“How has she been reaching out to you?”

“At first it was little things. I always leave her chair at our dining room table pulled out, and lately, it’s been pushed in when I come home from work. Then, the other morning, I woke up to find the slice of our wedding cake that we kept in the freezer out on the counter. It had thawed and I had to throw it out. Then two nights ago, I was finishing up some work on my laptop, and when I came back from the bathroom, a Pornhub tab had been opened in my browser. Well, actually it was a popup ad for local sexy singles.”

“Hmm. That could mean a lot of things. Let me look into my crystal ball and see if I can find her for you. Did you bring a picture of her?”

“Oh, right.” He reaches into his satchel and pulls out a glossy 8” x 10” studio photo of a lean, beautiful blonde woman posing in a string bikini. Apparently, Marissa was a model.

“Your wife was very pretty,” I say.

“Yes, she was,” he sighs.

I bring my hands to my magic globe, and it lights up with a bright purple glow. My fingertips tingle as the electrostatic charge builds and leaps from the globe’s surface. My thick curly mane lifts from my shoulders as if blown by a great wind.

But when I peer into the illuminated sphere, I don’t see Marissa. Instead, I see a shot from my own vantage point of me bent over this table and Peter plowing me from behind. His plaid shirt is open and his sculpted pecs are glistening with sweat.

I pull my hands away and let the crystal ball go dark.

“That was fast,” he says. “What did you see?”

“Nothing yet. The energy can be a little overwhelming sometimes, but let me try again.” I take a deep breath and pat down my hair before once again reaching for the orb.

This time, I see his face from a worm’s eye view. His eyes are closed, his mouth is agape, and he’s gently caressing my cheek.

And I’m gagging.

Saliva pours from the corners of my parted lips and I feel something warm and hard hitting me in the back of the throat. In spite of the physical discomfort, I’m ecstatic.

“Are you alright?” Peter asks, breaking my concentration.

I once again pull away from the crystal ball. “I’m fine,” I say, wiping saliva from my chin.

“Ok, because it looked like you were choking.”

“Nope. It was just another really intense vision. Give me a sec to catch my breath, and I’ll get back in there. I’m sure I’ll find her this time.”

I do not find her this time.

Now, Peter is on the floor and I’m sitting on his face. His tongue is like a muscular worm, rolling over my clit, getting me so wet that I might drown him. I’m playing with my own tits, squeezing them together, nibbling on my own nipples.

I glance back over my shoulder and see that he’s stroking his own cock. It’s a big beautiful specimen, and I’m overcome with the desire to stuff it inside my pussy. I reach back for it and —

“What is happening right now?” Peter shouts.

I snap out of my trance to find my blouse open and one of my tits in my hand.

“Holy crap, sorry. I, uh… sometimes I get really hot when I’m under the spell, and since I’m disconnected from this earthly realm, I forget that I’m not alone. Sometimes, I’ll spontaneously take off my clothes.”

He raises an eyebrow. “That wasn’t you taking off layers because you were warm. That was sexual. You were moaning, for God’s sake! Now, please tell me what you are seeing.”

I sigh. “I really don’t think you want to know — ”

“She doesn’t want to talk to me, does she? I knew it.” He buries his face in his hands.

“No, Peter, that’s not it at all. It’s just it would be really unethical for me to — ”

“She’s angry because I smiled at that waitress last month. I felt so awful about it. I tried to tell myself I was just being polite, but the truth is I was flirting. I’m a terrible husband.”

“No, you’re not a terrible husband. The fact is I’m a terrible fortune teller. I haven’t been able to find Marissa at all. Instead, I keep having these… highly inappropriate visions of things I shouldn’t be seeing. I mean, they’re obviously not the future, because it’s something that can never happen, so… I must just be projecting or something.”

He takes both of my hands. “Please. you have to tell me what these visions are. If you don’t, I’ll never be able to sleep again. I’m not even sure I can go back to our house.”

His voice wavers and tears begin to stream down his cheeks.

As this large studly man becomes a puddle of despair, it finally hits me. I may not have seen Marissa’s face in my vision, but she was trying to tell me something. Something Peter desperately needs to understand.

I give his hands a squeeze. “It’s just your house now.”

“What do you mean?” he sniffles.

“You said ‘our house.’ Marissa is gone now, Peter. It’s just yours.”

He shakes his head. “No, no, no. It’s our house. Mine and Marissa’s. Forever.”

“Nothing lasts forever,” I whisper. “It’s been four years. You have to let her go.”

He pulls his hands away from mine and pushes his chair back from the table. “What. Did. You. See?”

Sometimes I have to remind myself that I’m not a doctor or licensed therapist. There are no standards of ethics for psychics or fortune tellers to follow — at least not ones enforced by law. Technically, we’re all supposed to make the disclaimer that our services are for entertainment purposes only, but few of us do that.

The truth is most psychics are full of shit. They take advantage of vulnerable, desperate people who are looking for impossible answers. But some of us are legit. We have abilities handed down from generations of gifted ancestors who see between worlds. We have our own personal standards of ethics.

I would never abuse my clients’ trust or behave in an unprofessional manner. However, in this case, Peter’s needs require me to deviate from my usual approach. Of course, it does mean that I won’t be able to take his money or see him in this capacity again, but helping a grieving widower heal his broken heart is its own reward.

I walk around the table and dry his tears with my thumb. “You want to know what I saw?”

He nods.

“I saw you moving on, Peter. It’s what Marissa wants.”

He holds my gaze for what seems like an eternity. Maybe he can actually see my premonition reflected in my eyes, or maybe it’s the comforting warmth of my hand on his wounded face.

Or maybe it’s just that he hasn’t gotten laid in four years.

“She wants me to…”

“Kiss me.”

He pulls me onto his lap and brings his lips to mine. As his tongue enters my mouth, the conflict I was feeling fades away, leaving only the thrill of his touch. A bulge grows in his jeans, and I grind my pussy on the stiff lump. He grabs my loose breast, then tears open my shirt to release the other one.

From here, my vision plays out in reverse. First, we move onto the Romanian rug and he eats my pussy. It is exactly as I foresaw, down to every vivid detail. The power of his tongue. The feel of his grip on my ass. The shimmer on his face after I glaze him like a donut.

Next is the blowjob. Even knowing what to expect doesn’t prepare me for the overwhelming girth of his cock when it fills my mouth. I relax and breathe through my nose as it stretches down my throat. His groans of pleasure are even louder and more animalistic in real life than they were in the vision.

When he bends me over the table, I assume we’re approaching the finale, since it’s the first image I saw. I see his shiny pecs, just as I did before. I hear the popping of his pelvis against my juicy booty. If this were to be how it ends, I would go to sleep a satisfied woman tonight.

But there’s more.

He spins me around, then lifts me off the ground and slides his wet cock inside me. I wrap my thick legs around his waist and squeeze our hips together. I can see now that he wants to face me when he cums.

As he kisses me passionately, I feel the shadow of guilt leaving his body. His cock gets harder. His balls swell.

Out of the corner of my eye, I see a translucent blonde woman surrounded by a blue glow. She’s smiling at us. She’s also naked, with three pale fingers in her ghost pussy.

He doesn’t look over at her, but I know he can feel her presence. She silently mouths the words, “Be happy, my love,” just before he blasts his hot load in my pussy. My orgasm hits soon after, at the same time as Phantom Marissa’s does.

Her ghost pussy gushes, filling the entire room with blue glowing lady juice.

It feels like the cool blue ocean on a hot summer day. It feels like love.

Afterwards, Peter and I cuddle on the rug enjoying the smell of sex in the air and the heat of each other’s bodies for as long as we can. But eventually, we must return to our lives.

“Thank you,” he says, as he buttons up his shirt. “Without your help, I don’t think I could have ever gotten the closure I needed.”

He takes out his wallet, but I stop him before he can open it.

“Actually, there’s no charge for today’s reading.”

“Really?”

“Legally speaking, I would technically be a prostitute if you paid me for what went on in here.”

He looks at me sideways.

“I’m kidding. I think. I don’t know, actually. Still, I would feel weird about charging you.”

“Well, can I see you again? In a non-crystal ball setting?”

“Maybe someday, but I think you should be single for a while. Flirt with waitresses. Jerk off to porn. This was just the first step in your post-grieving process.”

He gives an understanding nod, then a peck on the cheek before heading out through the beaded curtains into the world. I take a deep breath and return to my spot behind my crystal ball.

I love my job.

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