Succubi

What if, on top of her mother's tragedy, something else was to draw her to me? Somehow, she will need the legal advice of an attorney. I need to begin the ritual, the ritual of drawings. I need to draw her, nude to have the graphic imagery at my altar. I will pour my thoughts of friendship onto her husband, Corey. He already trusts me. So, he told me, he will be going to a concert in San Francisco Saturday night. He loves to brag about all of the free tickets he receives from the recording labels. Oh, I asked him. Does your wife ever go with you? Oh no, he replied. If it isn't Stevie Nicks or Fleetwood Mac, she is not interested. I laughed.

I can see the lights on in her house. His car is not there. Before I watch her, I brought along a little prank. I am sure this will cause a tiff between the perfect couple, some nasty little magazines for his enjoyment. Of course, he would never look at these; it is very obvious the man only wants to fuck his wife… But when she finds these, the doubt will be planted in her mind. She will wonder if she really knows the man she has married at all…

It hurts me when Corey leaves me to go to these concerts, thought Marie. All the way to San Francisco. He won't be home until 4:00 a.m. I have asked him repeatedly not to leave me alone. He has become so consumed by this C.D. Shop. We need more inventory, we are barely making the payment now. We could lose our house. I wish I never agreed to the purchase of that store. I just knew Corey never would feel the same about the market even when he got his job back, which was a victory. When he told me he wanted to quit the market, I only agreed because our house is on the line. I figured he could put more into his shop.

I am thinking about calling a realtor and selling my shop. I could give Corey the money so that he could really stock his store. With the rest of the money, I will pay off our debt to the people we bought the shop from. And then I could stay home and be a wife and mother. I am going to call a business realtor first thing Monday morning. I don't want to own my business anymore. My heart is not in it. I need a break to absorb what has happened to my mother. For now, I need a hot bubble bath. Noah and Hawley are sound asleep. It must be past ten.

Marie went into her pretty little bathroom. Unlike the common bathroom, Marie's bathroom looks like an atrium. There are pretty flowers in old mason jars. McCoy pottery holds tooth brushes, soap and towels. The only light is a fringed crystal based table lamp that sits on the counter near the window. The curtains are sheer French lace panels Marie bought at a flea market for $2.75. Marie pulled the chenille curtain to her tub back. She poured rose scented oil in her bath, a handful of geranium scented sea salt, and baby oil, her own collection.

Her wild curly hair, she loosely gathered and pinned up. Piece by piece, she undressed. She stood in front of the mirror, not bad, she thought. I still have my curves, a rounded belly and thighs. Large, soft breasts, she was small and very curvy, very round. She pulled her red nail polish out of the antique, rusty, pharmaceutical cabinet. As she bent over the toilet to paint her toes as she always did, it crept up her spine like a spider. And she froze in place feeling it all around her. The air was heavy. Her water began to overflow from the tub. Something or someone wants me, she thought. Shake it off, Marie. She walked through her tiny house, first to her babies. They were sound asleep. All the doors and windows were locked. The more frightened she became, the angrier she became with Corey for leaving her alone.

That was a vision I will never forget, so sensual, so feminine, thought Tony. I could almost smell her. I wanted to touch her, to rub my hands all over her body. I am no peeping Tom. I can have any woman I want. I don't need this, but I can't control it. I want to destroy her and make love to her at the same time.

As he began his drawings, he mentally touched her. He had all of his clothes off to paint her. His candles were lit at the altar. The more he painted of her, the harder he became. It was intense. It took him all night, over and over, painting her. Different poses, his favorite, the toenail painting in the nude. What kind of woman paints her toes nude?

I have my drawings. Now I need to practice sleep meditation. "Dream Sleep". All human beings are most receptive to unconscious influence. In their sleep: the common person has no idea. The thoughts are injected into their minds through sleep. I am a master magician…