The sky darkens. Black clouds roil along the horizon, flashes of magic zigzagging from their undersides like lightning, except that it's not quite the same. This is no ordinary Muggle storm, though the Muggles in the neighborhood may soon be unfurling their umbrellas against a sudden squall of unexpected rain. A brief downpour, perhaps a roll of thunder and a gust of strong wind, but nothing more.
But for those magical folk like Wilhelmina, those few who have the storm sense, the world is about to crack wide open.
Ohh, how could one escape arousal with this happening, yet I imagine only receptive people, like Wilhelmina, would even notice such effects on their body: The wind begins to eddy beneath her robes, tendrils of magic chasing themselves over her ankles, along her calves and up her thighs. She's wearing sturdy boots and the thickest of black lisle stockings, for the evenings can still be nippy this far into the highlands, even at the approach of summer, but she might as well be naked, so powerful is the magical current against her skin.
So true, for the real animal/nature people and I can see the trainer say it: "You've the gift, lass. You're a storm-catcher; that's rare, you know. But the beasts know you. They always know."
Such lines, poetical, yet very apt in their description, made me feel your magical storm and the details which differ from a normal thunderstorm are beautiful and inventive...the green... The clouds are piled high now, pulsing like a living thing, magic stlll flashing jaggedly underneath. The slashes of light dazzle with colour -- red, vivid purple, a green ten times brighter than any killing curse. Bolts fork from the clouds to the ground, the colours running in rapid, fiery streams along the landscape.
The lightning is following veins that run deep into the earth, the bloodstream of the magical world. Occasionally a streak will reach a pocket of pooled magic, and it will ignite; the night air turns brilliant with blue fireballs and the muffled boom of explosions. Sparks shower down onto the earth, which glows with enchantment re-absorbed, the elements reclaiming themselves.
And here, how strong, down to earth, yet completely unconventional and intensely alive...your Wilhelmina: She flings off her robes, baring her breasts to the metallic air and planting her naked legs wide. The swirling magic cools the damp thatch between her thighs at the same time that it heats her. With her eyes closed, she can feel the enchantment like a lover's fingers inside her, thrusting and stroking.
The light behind her eyes is golden, and the sounds of storm and animals reach her like music and the rhythm of the elements is pounding within her, and Wilhelmina is coming, coming, and it feels, somehow, the way sweetness tastes, and she's coming, shouting, throwing back her head and adding her own voice to the howling untamed thunder that is magic.
Ahh, just a small story bout a magical storm, and yet, and yet...
The sky darkens. Black clouds roil along the horizon, flashes of magic zigzagging from their undersides like lightning, except that it's not quite the same. This is no ordinary Muggle storm, though the Muggles in the neighborhood may soon be unfurling their umbrellas against a sudden squall of unexpected rain. A brief downpour, perhaps a roll of thunder and a gust of strong wind, but nothing more.
But for those magical folk like Wilhelmina, those few who have the storm sense, the world is about to crack wide open.
Ohh, how could one escape arousal with this happening, yet I imagine only receptive people, like Wilhelmina, would even notice such effects on their body: The wind begins to eddy beneath her robes, tendrils of magic chasing themselves over her ankles, along her calves and up her thighs. She's wearing sturdy boots and the thickest of black lisle stockings, for the evenings can still be nippy this far into the highlands, even at the approach of summer, but she might as well be naked, so powerful is the magical current against her skin.
So true, for the real animal/nature people and I can see the trainer say it: "You've the gift, lass. You're a storm-catcher; that's rare, you know. But the beasts know you. They always know."
Such lines, poetical, yet very apt in their description, made me feel your magical storm and the details which differ from a normal thunderstorm are beautiful and inventive...the green...
The clouds are piled high now, pulsing like a living thing, magic stlll flashing jaggedly underneath. The slashes of light dazzle with colour -- red, vivid purple, a green ten times brighter than any killing curse. Bolts fork from the clouds to the ground, the colours running in rapid, fiery streams along the landscape.
The lightning is following veins that run deep into the earth, the bloodstream of the magical world. Occasionally a streak will reach a pocket of pooled magic, and it will ignite; the night air turns brilliant with blue fireballs and the muffled boom of explosions. Sparks shower down onto the earth, which glows with enchantment re-absorbed, the elements reclaiming themselves.
And here, how strong, down to earth, yet completely unconventional and intensely alive...your Wilhelmina:
She flings off her robes, baring her breasts to the metallic air and planting her naked legs wide. The swirling magic cools the damp thatch between her thighs at the same time that it heats her. With her eyes closed, she can feel the enchantment like a lover's fingers inside her, thrusting and stroking.
The light behind her eyes is golden, and the sounds of storm and animals reach her like music and the rhythm of the elements is pounding within her, and Wilhelmina is coming, coming, and it feels, somehow, the way sweetness tastes, and she's coming, shouting, throwing back her head and adding her own voice to the howling untamed thunder that is magic.
Ahh, just a small story bout a magical storm, and yet, and yet...