LADY SUN HAS RISEN: Nothing Says Springtime like Sex-Magic…

by Teresa Noelle Roberts
Then a crazy notion popped into Miryea’s head, and she went with it because talking about sex seemed far preferable to letting her mind wander even further down paths of self-doubt, or worrying about the possibility of slavers. “We’re going to be in Thelana for the Spring Equinox rites. Want to see if we can find out what their festival is like?” She felt a shimmer of excitement at the idea of being the newcomer in some insular village--inhabited, since it was her daydream, by unusually handsome, well-endowed single men as randy as the goats they herded, but a great deal cleaner. She didn’t know about Thelana, but in Yareth, it was considered especially good luck to lie with a new acquaintance on the Equinox, a particularly powerful offering to Lady Sun and the Lord of Grain. What a Spring Equinox she and Velari could have, with men lining up to entertain them!
Lady Sun Has Risen.



When you think about spring, you probably think about flowers. Brilliant green grass. Tiny chartreuse leaves unfurling on the trees. Birds on the wing. Newborn lambs gamboling in the field, if you live in an area where you see that kind of thing (or “ORDER YOUR EASTER LAMB TODAY” at the grocery store or butcher shop if you’re in a more urban area).






Easter’s bound to come to mind. For some people, it’s a solemn religious holiday, but for a lot of us, what we associate with Easter are the playful trappings: dyed eggs, bunnies, chocolates and jelly beans, baby chicks whether real or marshmallow.

You know what almost all of that imagery has in common?

Fertility. New life.

And you what leads to new life? You guessed it: sex. In the case of trees and grass and flowers, it’s rather dull sex, windborne sex or sex requiring insect interference, but face it, there’s a lot of fertility being carried on those soft spring breezes. (Or, as I’ve been known to say when my pollen allergies are especially bad, “Someone make those trees stop fucking in my air!”) And granted chocolates and jelly beans don’t have all that much to do with sex, but the chocolates, at this time of year, are shaped like those fertile rabbits, and the jelly beans look like tiny eggs, so the fertility symbolism holds.


In western European pagan traditions, May Day and Midsummer were traditionally connected with a certain amount of sexual license. That tradition, being heaps of fun, lasted long after paganism was officially supplanted by Christianity. (A Midsummer Night’s Dream got its name for a reason.) You don’t hear so much about sex magic on the Spring Equinox, though maybe because in much of western Europe, it can still be cold and nasty in mid-March.

Nothing on where I grew up, though. A village just north of my old hometown had five feet of snow dumped on it on March 1, and I’ve known it to snow in May in my old stomping grounds. Even though I’m now living in a slightly less vicious climate, spring’s still semi-mythical to me, and I’m fascinated with spring flowers, spring folklore—and of course, being me, spring’s sexual side.

Maybe that’s why, when I went to write Lady Sun Has Risen, a novella that involves springtime and sex-magic and pagan rites, I set it in a slightly warmer climate. In my imaginary Soranian Empire, it’s really spring by the vernal equinox. Lady Sun has returned to her partner the Lord of Grain, and as the goddess and god celebrate their reunion, so do mortals.

Basically by shagging anyone who’s agreeable; all rules and restrictions other than “Make sure everyone involved has fun” are set aside for the day. (Sounds better than chocolate bunnies and Easter egg hunts, doesn’t it? Maybe we should start our own religion. We can keep the chocolate bunnies—for energy!)

Miryea, a female physician, thinks her interest in sexy, infuriating half-nomad Adimir is a case of opposites attracting. Nothing serious could come of their attraction, but a fling with Adimir sounds like the perfect way to celebrate Spring Equinox.

Adimir has no problem with this plan, especially since he's already figured out Miryea's just the kind of woman he likes—a strong woman who melts for spanking and rough-and-tumble foreplay.

But the gods have a little more in mind for them than just another Equinox celebration—even if there are a few differences to overcome first.

He pulled her closer to him. “Who’s going to keep you safe from a wicked barbarian Kulchu if you go wandering off in the forest like this?”

She felt a flash of terror, then saw his smiling face, felt his free hand caress down her spine to cup her bottom. She smelled the heat of his body, slightly sweaty, yet clean, and very male, almost drowning out the earthy, green smells of spring and the bitter, sharp scent of bonestrength. She could practically taste his skin, the salt and musk of it. The only thing in real danger, she reasoned, was her common sense—and that was already a lost cause. Adimir might be imperious, arrogant, condescending—but he was also the most handsome man she’d ever seen, pure walking sex, and if he wanted to kiss her, she wasn’t going to resist.

In fact, she closed her eyes, raised her face, anticipating his lips on hers.
The kiss was all she could have imagined and more. Hot, yet sweet and mouthwatering, like the chili-laced tamarind candy she bought whenever she found it in the marketplace.

She’d been kissed before—before now, she’d have said she’d been kissed fairly competently and thoroughly--but this was beyond anything she’d ever experienced. It shot through her body, pulsing in her nipples, waking butterflies in her belly. Lighting a fire between her legs.

She couldn’t wait to find out what happened next. Would he kiss her until she was melting like butter over the fire, or would he move more quickly, reaching for her aching breasts, her moist, heavy sex? Either would have its merits, although she hoped he didn’t move too fast, leaving her trailing behind him.

What he did next, though, was nothing she could have anticipated.

He pulled his hand back and smacked her ass.

The force of the blow would have made her stagger except for his firm grip on her wrists. She squeaked, more from surprise than pain, tried to squirm away. Shocked, and drunk on sensation from the kiss, she was slow to react, her body sending mixed signals to her brain--was this pain or pleasure?

The second thwack made her knees buckle, and the third was just as forceful. By the third, though, she’d found her voice, if not the coordination to fight back effectively in any other way, and exclaimed, “Stop it!”

“That should teach you to be more sensible,” he snarled, giving her one last thwack, as if carried by momentum.

Like the spankings her grandmother had administered when she was much younger, these smacks were more loud and startling than painful.

But being spanked by a handsome beast of half-Kulchu male was a very different experience.

These swats left more than her bottom throbbing.

Her breasts, her sex, and everything in between, already sparked to life by the kiss, tingled with excitement. Her ass throbbed rhythmically, but it was far more pleasurable than painful. The rhythm of sex, in fact. She felt herself swelling, moistening.

Lady, she’d have to change her salvar at this rate! And it wasn’t even as though he’d been roughhousing with her in a flirtatious way, reverting to that stage of life where boys tormented girls to show their interest. No, the arrogant fool was acting like he was her father and she was a child who needed discipline. He’d even called her “little rabbit,” like her own father had.

And still she wanted him, even though he was treating her like a child. Was she insane?

Maybe, and certainly her self-respect wouldn’t thank her later, but for the moment, all she could think about was impressing upon him that she was no little girl to be teased and scolded and spanked, but a grown woman.

A woman with needs that he’d awakened.

A woman who’d show him what she was made of.

With a barely suppressed moan, she pressed herself against Adimir, moving like a cat in heat so he’d feel her curves, know that he hadn’t been dealing with a child. Then, she figured, once he started to show interest, she’d spurn him, salvage her pride, and make it clear that if he wanted her, he’d have to court her properly, not kiss her and smack her as if he couldn’t decide what he wanted.

Except that he was already showing interest, in the form of a hard cock jutting proudly against her.

A large cock hard and eager enough to let her know that the kiss had excited him as much as it had her, and that he hadn’t been thinking “fatherly” when he’d spanked her, any more than she’d been thinking “daughterly.”

Lady Sun Has Risen is available at Phaze Books. But if you’d like to win some hot springtime spanking and sex-magic to enliven the last weeks of winter, leave a comment below.

Did I mention that Adimir’s people’s version of the Equinox ritual involves spanking and a little dominance and submission? I tell you, we should start a religion! Chocolate bunnies and kinky sex for everyone!

(Flowers and flowering tree courtesy of FreeFoto. Cartoon spanking courtesy of SarahThorne.com.)

Samhain: the time which is no time

by Olivia Knight

I’m an atheist, not a pagan, but as Pratchett points out there are advantages to belief: “When you hit your thumb with an eight-pound hammer it’s nice to be able to blaspheme. It takes a very special and strong-minded atheist to jump up and down with their hand clasped under their other armpit and shout, ‘Oh, random-fluctuations-in-the-space-time-continuum!’ or ‘Aaargh, primitive-and-outmoded-concept on a crutch!’” So I’m an atheist with a creativity altar, a well-used deck of tarot cards, a shelf of occult books, and a wealth of Wiccan info – mostly thanks to writing The Ten Visions. What I can’t believe, I can write.

Paganisim or Wicca (I won’t go into the denominational differences) are all about the rhythms of nature – which sounds as floaty as a wannabe-witch dress, until you realise how much counting it involves. (Sex also involves counting, and not just the good old one-two – at least, not if you’re trying to trick nature by taking the prize and not paying your due.) Planning my heroine’s life around moon phases, the name of the moon, the sun sign, the sunrise and sunset times, her own cycle, the Esbats, and of course the Oxford terms, not to mention the Qabbalic chapters, quickly became as complex as organising the Prime Minister’s diary:

“No, I’m afraid Ms Kirkson won’t be able to have sex on the 17th – yes, it’s in Netzach with a waxing Snow moon, but new moon energy is still dominant, she has her period, and the Scorpio energy is too negative… how about the 1st, under Saggitarius? It’s a full moon, so I’ll have to squeeze you in with any ghostly visitors…”

Sarah quickly learns how events are governed.

She felt sick, stubbed out the cigarette on the chilled, pocked stone next to her feet, and immediately lit another. When had she seen Jo?
She’d met him when she was walking back from dinner with her supervisor. She’d felt an odd urge for a cigarette, and asked him for one. She’d wanted one because her supervisor’s rudeness had upset her. Well, his rudeness and his attractiveness, to be honest, but the attractiveness didn’t count because she’d been ovulating. It had been dark – no, not quite dark; she remembered the clouds whipping past the full moon, a ghostly galleon indeed.
She’d seen him the night of the All Soul’s party; he’d persuaded her to run away from the party and convinced her that she’d been talking to the devil, just because she’d been horny enough to find an old man sexy. They had dashed home in the bright moonlight. He said she’d been fed a lust potion. She’d counted afterwards, and realised she’d just been ovulating; the lust potion was nonsense.
She’d been ovulating. She ovulated with the full moon. She hadn’t wanted sex last night; something in her body had felt calm, quiet, and safe; something in her had said wait. Wait until you’re fertile. When was full moon?

Welcome to the Wheel of the Year. Paganism means patience. The year is carved into the twelve sun signs of the Zodiac and the thirteen moons. Each month’s moon has its own name and energies and the full moon is the Sabbat. (One month gets two full moons – so the second is the Blue Moon, as in “once in a…”) The eight Esbats are the major festivals: two solstices, two equinoxes, and four other special occasions: Ostara (Easter), Beltane (May Day), Lammas (31 July, still celebrated with corn sheaves in many churches) and of course Samhain – Halloween, Feast of the Dead, All Souls, call it what you will.

Most of the Esbats are what we politely call “fertility rites”, from the Imbolc planting of seeds (phner phner) through the Ostara eggs & bunnies (nudge nudge) to Beltane’s giant phallus round which the merry maidens dance, all the way to the Lammas fairs and tumbling in haystacks. Not so Samhain.

The only pagan festival to hold tight to its occult origins, it’s not a time for sex or magic – it’s the beginning of the time which is not a time. The Ten Visions has ritual sex scenes and Samhain scenes, but not the two in combination: that would be dark magic and the good Wiccan Sarah (an’ it harm none, do what ye will) doesn’t do that. (Her professor, on the other hand…)

Samhain is the day that Jo accuses Sarah of being a witch, after the eerie Halloween party in the graveyard of St Mary's. As sensible as her author, she doesn’t believe him.

She shook her head in disbelief. ‘This is the twenty-first century. No-one believes in witches. They don’t exist. Well, some silly little pagan-wannabes do, but they get it all wrong, I’ve read the manuscripts and they haven’t and –’
‘What do the manuscripts say, then?’
‘Witches joined covens – they were invited in, by female relatives or close friends – and the devil appeared, a local devil usually, and they all drank and danced around widdershins and naked, and sometimes the devil had sex with them. Every evidence suggests he was just a man from a nearby region, in a mask.’
‘Evidence taken down in witch trials?’ asked Jo, pointedly.
‘That’s the only written evidence, yes, –’
‘And what does your knowledge of Church doctrine, and interrogation methods, and manuscript-making, tell you about these manuscripts?’
‘That they’re unreliable!’ Sarah snapped. ‘That it was confessions taken from tortured prisoners, stupid ordinary women terrified of the Church’s power!’
‘So the devil really did come and sleep with them?’
‘The devil doesn’t exist,’ began Sarah.
‘Then would it surprise you to learn that earlier tonight you sat next to him, drank with him, and considered having sex with him?’

Thus begins the time which is no time, the dark hinterlands of the year. From Samhain to Yule, the wheel doesn’t turn. The veil is thin. The world lies dead, and the dead walk. This is where we now stand poised in the Wheel of the Year and here’s a snapshot of the wheel’s energies…

At Samhain, light candles for the dead, set food out for them, leave honey and cakes for the fey, and leave windows open on both sides for the roaming souls to enter and leave freely. Better that than that they rattle the panes and rush down the chimney flus. Leave a candle burning all night. We’re under the Blood Moon, making vivid the cycle between life and death, hunter and hunted. It reached its zenith on 26 October and is now waning – the only spells to perform are for cleansing and banishment; rather learn and meditate. The sun in Scorpio is also suited to study – its smouldering, dark and ruthless energy peels back mysteries. Its sexual pleasure is intense and ruthless. Today is ruled by Mars but Samhain, on Wednesday, will be ruled by Mercury – the messenger, the trickster, the ancient Alchemical tease. For the next fifty-one days, the rhythms of life recede and the world belongs to the others – until Yule.

She lay, drained and sated, feeling the warm weight of his body upon her, staring dreamily at the uneven ceiling above her. She thought of the stars and planets spinning beyond them, unimaginable distances away but really there, held in orbit by gravity, imposing their strange forces as they swung past.
‘The ritual said for seven days…’ she murmured quietly into his ear. Her voice was soft, half-lost in thought. ‘In two days time we move from Sagittarius to Capricorn… Fire to Earth…’ she added. ‘And it’ll be Yule, and we can marry for a year and a day…’
His warm arms clasped her close to him.