Chapter Eight
Victoria didn’t waste any time getting to her book. She had her feet on the divan, her full spectrum light over her shoulder and a huge mug of hot tea. All her blinds were closed…just in case…she glanced up every time she turned a page hoping to see him. She brought her eyes back to the pages disappointed every time.
Her demon was an incubus. She was certain of it. She had all the symptoms of incubus attention: Sex in the night with an ethereal being. However, the logical part of her mind scoffed. She was physical. She pinched her knee. It was still flesh. How could a spirit touch her in any way? Unless he was physical. Or she became ethereal too. She wondered about that. Now she would need another book. One on astral sex. Astral sex started to make more sense to her. The time-slipping was dreamlike. Anything can happen in a dream. Her demon’s marvelous shape-shifting while impossible in physical form was not even surprising in a dream landscape.
But no, near the end was a chapter on astral sex. She flipped the pages, thanking the old bookseller for finding the perfect book for her. Here it was, real astral sex between ethereal bodies when both were out of their physical ones. The author stated emphatically that the sensations were not only analogous to physical sex, but enhanced. She smiled. Definitely enhanced. She thought the skills of her demon had been responsible, but now she had an expert’s opinion. It was better sex. She wiggled her toes remembering a few of the more interesting couplings.
But the book did not mention the physical aftermath. She touched her neck. The collared necklace was still in her drawer. It was real. The demon had sent it to keep her from telling herself she was just imagining everything. Victoria planned to show it to Sharon when she arrived. If Sharon could see it, then it was real.
She flipped back to the chapter on incubi. The book had a few suggestions for ridding oneself of a troublesome ethereal sex partner, but now Victoria did not want hers to go away. The huge red demon with the curled ram’s horns could go away, but she missed the one that looked like a man. The Roman was handsome, and the blond one as well, but the blacksmith was the one she thought of at night alone in her bed.
They are all the same, she told herself. Just changing forms. But why? Was he bored with only one body? She looked down at hers. She was average. Not too fat, certainly not skinny. Not gorgeous, but she turned heads at the office. If she had the ability would she change her body to suit her mood? Like she could change clothing depending on the occasion? She thought it might be amusing for a while, but she would eventually settle into a favorite form, the way she always came home from work and slipped into her soft sweat pants and thick tee shirt before relaxing on the sofa with the television remote.
She liked being Maggie, legs spread apart for the blacksmith, receiving his long hard cock for the first time. That body was smaller than this one and not as well nourished. The slave girl had been prettier. She smiled to herself. This is like choosing a dress for the prom. But the demon had called her ‘Maggs’ even though he was in the Roman body and not the blacksmith’s.
She looked down at the pages of her book. Nowhere did the author explain how the nether realms worked, or how one might deliberately call an incubus. She frowned. The bookseller had books by Aleister Crowley. Crowley knew how to summon demons. She picked the business card from between the pages. The card read, Albert Magnus, Bookseller. She turned it over, there was no number on the front. Nothing on the back either.
She made a frustrated noise and tucked the card back into the book and closed it. She went to her computer and searched for Albert Magnus. She found quite a bit about a man with the same name who had been dead for centuries. She found nothing on an old man still living, or his bookstore.
She went to bed. She lay awake, staring at the ceiling. She called to her demon. Called him John and Jack. She called him Caesar and Spartacus for good measure. She went over every demon name the book had mentioned. Her mind always went back to the blacksmith. Jack. Her hand slipped slowly down to the cleft between her legs.
She leaned back against her pillows as her fingertip circled the sweet spot. She curled and uncurled her toes. She thought about his black hair, the dark stubble on his jaw and the strength of his hands as he clutched at her shoulders. She took a deep breath and her finger slid along the folds, now slick with the memory of Jack’s thick cock. She squirmed, imagining it sliding into her again. And again. Her * sang with the memory and the attention of the finger. One leg twitched as the electric tingles of her orgasm moved along her inner thighs. She let her breath out slowly, enjoying the warm feeling that stayed with her long enough for her to fall asleep with a smile.