---Entry 7/Trial 5/Handful of Sandstorm---

Dear Gretel,

I'm writing this on the last day of our beach outing, toward the last few hours before we're bound to return home, or we might. jeremy might be calling in to take a personal day or two depending on my mood, which is high now. That's rare for me as I'm pretty strict about my streams of income being as unaffected as possible. 

As I'm writing this, it's just occurred to me that this is the most time I've spent in years behaving like most of my peers, or even my mother or Aunt Maggie. Looking up at the sky where the great beyond might be, I have this image of either or both of them with smug smiles, approving of this gift that's made me focused on honing my inherited skills, meditation, motivating me like nothing else has besides my love of Concilium. I smile back, complimenting them on how they snuck it into a hedonistic witch's favorite daily activity, knowing affecting my sex would make in unavoidable to address. 

The last planned variable I've tested here an earth creation spell, willfully replicating a natural element outside of fire, water, ice, or air. Most witches don't mess around with it, preferring the balance. I never messed around with it as it was the spell that gave me the most trouble from adolescence on, and one of the most pointless ones I thought. I took a mound of sand in my hand, feeling jeremy necking me and teasing my lady mound. What he was doing felt sublime as usual, but it was always considered foreplay to me, giving me an introductory orgasm before the main, multiple show. I kept things just at foreplay, letting my id build slowly. 

A half a day's worth of meditation on this trip made me focus on that stimulation, zeroing in on the path to the headspace. My eyes stayed closed until I felt and I'd grasped enough of it willfully. I opened my eyes blew a concentrated breath at that mound through pursed lips. Very little of it disappeared from my hand; it was replicating itself into a literal dust storm out of my hands. Tons of sand was blown out to sea, a cloud's worth blown right back at us from the surf's wind. We were doused in the gritty texture, but too aroused to stop. I estimate that I kept that single breath up for thirty seconds, dropping the original handfuls of sand before I inhaled a deep breath full of it. 

jeremy and I tipped over as we lost our balance, covered up to our shins in newly-created sand. I fucked him roughly in elation; I've never seen another witch create that kind of sandstorm from a handful, or someone's skill improve from "can barely do it" to "1upping your peers" in just a couple of days. It took him a while to clean out my cunt with everything in there, our juices mixed in with sand. I don't think I'll be kissing my fuck-toy for about a week, or after I make him wash his mouth out with the soap covering my pussy lips.