She’ll be sorry she didn’t go out with me, Pete Miller thought spitefully.

In the abandoned warehouse the preparations had all been made. Around the unconscious woman on the floor, Pete had drawn a circle in silver dust. Inside the sacred circle, runes written with terrifying, fanatical precision demanded the obedience of unearthly powers. Thick black candles were lit at the five points of the inverted pentacle which filled the circle, ready to funnel mystical energy towards his obsession.

In the dim light which shone blearily through the grimy windows, Katrina Dunlap looked pale and wan, completely unlike her usual vivacious self. Her dark hair was spread untidily on the concrete floor, and her stylish clothes were dirty and rumpled. It had taken some clever sleight-of-hand and a sizable bribe to one of the kitchen workers to spike her drink in the cafeteria. It had taken even more care to unobtrusively guide her into his car and drive her out to his chosen spot when she had stumbled, blank-eyed and senseless, out of the dorm. He had been incredibly lucky none of her friends had seen them together. Pete knew she had told them she didn’t want anything to do with him.

His lips tightened angrily. Why wouldn’t she go out with him? Just because she saw him peeking in her window one night. He raked a frustrated hand through his greasy, matted hair. That was a sign of devotion! Why couldn’t she see that? The restraining order was completely unnecessary. He would never hurt her.

Unless, he thought, she wanted me to. He pictured her naked body, tied to a bed, her white skin pale and vulnerable, waiting for the lash of his belt, writhing with desire. The idea made him hard inside his grimy jeans, dirtied from hours spent tracing ancient sigils on the floor.

Well, she would learn her mistake soon enough, Pete thought. As soon as he had completed the ritual which would bring the spirit of passion into the circle, Katrina would be unable to resist him. The succubus would enter her mind, overwhelming her weak and feeble defenses. When she woke, she would see her master standing above her. They would be together, as God had meant for them to be.

He opened a leather-bound book and leafed through the brittle pages of the grimoire. It had taken him weeks to find and verify its authenticity, and even longer to wrest it away from its reluctant seller, despite his willingness to pay any price and the speed the internet gave to such transactions these days. He studied the detailed illustrations and compared them to the designs which he had so painstakingly inscribed into the floor of the warehouse. He nodded, satisfied. All was in order.

He drew a sharp knife and nicked the skin at his wrist. Blood dripped into the circle. In response, a low, moaning wind stirred the dank air of the warehouse, scattering leaves, dust and bits of shredded plastic. He walked counter-clockwise around the perimeter of the circle, chanting in the dim light.

“Althea,” he intoned in Latin. “First daughter of Lilith, who was the first wife of Adam. Lilith, who spurned God’s will. Lilith, who would not submit to Adam’s authority and mated with demons. May your daughter heed my call. Althea. Hear me. Obey me. Come to me.”

He could feel the power gathering. The hair on his arms stood up, and the flames of the candles flared. Inside the circle, Katrina stirred uneasily, struggling towards sluggish consciousness.

“Inhabit my beloved,” he continued, his clumsy tongue fighting the unfamiliar language. “Turn her heart towards me. Let us be one.”

He completed the first circuit, and switched to Greek. Then to Farsi, Hebrew, and on the fifth and final journey around the circle, Aramaic. Above him, dust and litter spiraled in a vortex. The flames of the candles surged upwards, bright as spotlights.

“Be us now whole!” he screamed in English, caught up in ecstatic fervor. He smote his hands together, and the sound echoed through the building. “Be us now one!”

Two things happened simultaneously. The doors of the building burst open, letting in the pale May twilight. Large men in dark blue uniforms were outlined in the light.

“Freeze!” one shouted. “Hands in the air!”

At the same time a presence struck his mind. He flinched and sank to his knees, cradling his head, which suddenly seemed swollen and full, too small to contain the two souls within it. Undeniably, overwhelmingly female in tone, the new spirit filled his being with a bright radiance which made him want to cower and beg forgiveness.

And it was pissed.

~You fool!~ it cried. ~What have you done?~

“I…I didn’t…”

~Be us now one? Are you fucking kidding me? You pulled me out of my body and into your own mind! A man’s mind! By Lucifer’s Cock, when I get out of your head I am going to gut you!~

“I said freeze, scumbag,” the police officer in the doorway snarled. He glanced at the tableau on the floor. “God, you’re sick. And you’re lucky someone saw you shoving Ms. Dunlap into your car. I don’t know what the hell you had planned for this poor girl, but it just would have made things worse for you.

“Turn around, stay on your knees, put your hands on your head,” he said, with the air of someone who had said the same thing too many times to count. He holstered his weapon and pulled out a pair of handcuffs.

Pete hesitated. His eyes flickered between the woman he loved and the cuffs in the officer’s hands.

I’ll never see her again.

Pete Miller broke. Screaming in rage, he lurched to his feet. Slashing with his knife, he lowered his shoulder and bowled over the officer. He hit the floor, sputtering curses, as Pete bolted towards the open door. Arms pumping at his sides, he hit the doorway at a dead sprint.

A gun roared behind him and a hot, heavy fist seemed to punch him in the meaty part of his thigh. He lost his balance, caught it, and staggered through the door and into the parking lot. Looking down, he could see the leg of his jeans growing dark with blood.

Shot, the last shreds of his rational mind told him. He kept running, ignoring the shouting men who pursued him and the police cars which were converging on him from all directions. He limped up the embankment towards 75^th Street and darted into the late afternoon traffic.

~Watch out, you fool!~

Pete Miller never saw the bus that killed him.

xxxxx

“No, Jeremy, I don’t want to settle. And neither do the clients. We’ve finally got those bastards from Antioch Chemical on the run. They never thought we’d find an ex-employee with the guts to break a confidentiality agreement and testify against them. God, wasn’t she brilliant on the stand today? They hammered away at her for three hours, and she never came close to cracking.”

“Yes, Ms. Wainwright. So I should tell the lead counsel for Antioch to go pound sand?”

Rachel laughed as she spoke to her intern on the wireless headset from her car. “Try to keep it a little more diplomatic than that, Jeremy. But I wouldn’t mind if you suggested, very politely, that we will take a great deal of pleasure in watching their client’s stock crater once the punitive damages are declared. And that seeing eleven corporate officers serve jail time once the feds and the EPA get their teeth into them is not without its charms.” Her hands tightened on the steering wheel of her Mercedes. “God, jail is too good for them. One day, Jeremy, when they look back on the ruin their lives have become, I want them to remember the name of Rachel Wainwright.”

“I’m sure they will,” he said politely. “What time do you plan on being in the office tomorrow?”

“Seven in the morning for the pre-court preparation session, then in court at nine, just like we have for the past three weeks. Anything I should know about before I let you go?”

“Just that tomorrow is my last day, Ms. Wainwright. My internship expires tomorrow.” There was a slight hesitation on the other end of the line. “Some us are going out for a drink, after work. I would be honored if you would join us for a little while.”

Rachel blinked hard, her eyes misting, as she braked for her exit from the tollway. “Jeremy Edwards, are you asking me on a date?” Her voice took on a teasing tone.

“No, ma’am! I just…” Jeremy’s voice trailed off, then firmed. “I’ve learned a lot from you over the past few months. I wanted to take an opportunity to thank you.”

Rachel let her voice warm. “You can repay me by becoming a good lawyer, Jeremy. But I think you’re well on your way already. I’ll think about that drink. See you tomorrow.”

“Goodnight, Ms. Wainwright.”

Rachel pulled off her earpiece and set it on the passenger seat as she pulled off the tollway. This late in the evening, traffic was light. She turned on her blinker and slid onto 75^th Street. Almost home.

Almost home. Her lips tightened. How could it be that someone who was so successful in her work life could make such a muddle of her family? She sighed tiredly, resigning herself to another night of awkward conversation, bitter arguments, and tense, angry silences.

There are people who actually look forward to going home at night. Not me.

Maybe she should call Joshua. Her ex-husband had a way with the kids which she had never had. Maybe he could make Alex and Sarah see sense. Or at least broker some sort of cease-fire between them. Maybe…

She bolted upright in her seat as a limping figure careened out of a parking lot to her left and threw itself out into traffic. It narrowly dodged one car, but then a city bus hit the man dead-on, throwing his body twenty yards through the air until he collapsed in a bloody, broken-limbed tangle in front of Rachel’s Mercedes. She slammed on the brakes, her head whipping forward with the force of her deceleration, only narrowly avoiding running the body over.

“Jesus Christ!” she screamed. She was thrown back into her seat as the car lurched to a halt. She hit her hazard blinkers and opened the door, dialing 911 on her cell phone as she exited the car.

One look told her there was nothing she could do, even if she had any medical training. The young man’s chest was crushed, both legs twisted and broken. She knelt down beside him, heedless of the pavement which bit into her knees through the beige cloth of her skirt.

“Yes,” she said to the dispatcher who answered her emergency call. “There’s been an accident. A young man has been hit by a bus and injured badly at 75^th and Janes. Please send an ambulance immediately.”

She took the boy’s raw, bloody hand. God, he’s younger than Alex. He might have been good-looking when he got older, she thought. But his face was studded with a volcanic case of acne, and his hair was oily and unkempt. “Relax, kiddo,” she said, pitching her voice low. “The ambulance is on the way. You’re going to be all right,” she lied.

The boy turned his face towards her. It was filled with pain and confusion. “…hurts,” he whispered. Blood leaked from his nose and the corners of his mouth.

“Yes, I suppose it does,” she said. “Didn’t your mother teach you to look both ways before you crossed the street?”

His eyes widened, then he gave a cut-off laugh, scarcely more than a heavy breath. Something stirred behind his eyes, and for an instant, the hand in hers grew warm, as if his life, fading away, had paused for an instant to say farewell. Out of the corner of her eye, she could see police cars tearing up the street towards them, their lights flashing and sirens screaming. The driver of the bus had climbed out of his vehicle, and was now slowly walking over to her, his dark face gray with shock.

“Hello,” the boy whispered.

When Rachel looked down, he was gone.

xxxxx

Over an hour later, the police finally let her go home. She had discovered to her consternation that the young man who had died, practically in her arms, was a kidnapper. He had drugged a young woman at Northwestern and hauled her out to the suburbs. Once there, he had started a bizarre ritual, the purpose of which the police were still trying to ascertain.

“Strangest thing I ever saw,” said the detective who had taken her statement. He jerked his head towards a warehouse a few hundred yards away. “He had this poor girl laid down in a circle, with weird markings all over the floor. Candles and whatnot all around her. And some old book lying there when we cleaned the mess up. God knows what he thought he was doing.” He nodded as a young woman was led into an ambulance. She was covered in a blanket, and even at this distance they could see her staggering steps were slow and uneven.

Rachel rubbed her forehead and grunted. She was tired and stressed and sick to her stomach after watching a man die, and all she wanted was to leave this scene of bloody death and mayhem. She brushed ineffectually at her skirt, which was grimed with dirt from where she had knelt on the road. “Can I go?” she asked. “I’ve told you all I know. Which isn’t much. I need to get home and make sure my kids are all right.” Rachel had called Sarah, her daughter, to let her know the would be even later than usual tonight. But right now she needed the comfort only her home could give her.

“Let’s have the doc check you out, and then we’ll let you be on your way,” Detective Garrity agreed. He stood and raised his voice. “Doc! Get your ass over here. That boy ain’t going to get any deader. And this lady has been real patient so far.”

“You’re an embarrassment to the force, Detective,” a tall, shambling man said, making his way over to them. His shirt-sleeves were rolled up past his elbows, and he wore an aura of unhurried competence. He pulled a penlight out of one pocket and shone it in Rachel’s eyes. She squinted at the glare.

“And you’re making a witness wait while you poke around at a guy who’s going to be laid out on a slab in the morgue in a couple of hours. I don’t know why he’s more interesting dead than she is alive, Augustine.”

“Call it professional curiosity, Darryl. I was hoping to find some clue as to why this guy went completely off his nut that way. Useless, I suppose.” He turned off the light and dropped it back into his slacks. “Your eyes are dilated, but that’s normal in this light. No signs of a concussion.”

Rachel made an noncommittal sound. ~He’s cute.~ Rachel shook her head in surprise and grimaced, massaging the back of her neck. Where had that thought come from? Since she and Joshua had broken up three years ago, she had scarcely spared a thought for men, no matter how attractive they were.

“Does your neck hurt, Ms. Wainwright?” Although the question was polite, Rachel could hear a faint tone of suspicion threading through his voice, and immediately understood. As a lawyer, she had seen evidence of the depths to which people would sink when confronted with temptation. Bogus cases of whiplash were among the most prevalent of nuisance lawsuits that people used to try to squeeze money out of other motorists in rear-end collisions. Or, occasionally, police and fire departments.

“Don’t worry, Dr. Augustine,” she said. Her mouth quirked. “I’m an attorney.” She smiled as his eyes widened in alarm. “But I like to think I’m one of the good ones. I’m not going to take the Village of Woodridge to court on a whiplash case.”

“Well, you’d have a hard time against me or the police,” Dr. Augustine said, his dark eyes glinting in the dim light of the police flashers. He really is good-looking, Rachel thought, to her faint astonishment. “You might have a better case against the estate of that poor bastard over there.” He nodded his head towards the cloth-covered lump in the road. “Or maybe the bus company,” he mused.

“Bite your tongue,” she said. ~Or use it to kiss my ass.~ a voice said, deep in the recesses of her mind. ~Or fuck my ass. That would be even better.~ She blushed suddenly. God, I must be even more tired than I thought. “Are you ready to cut me loose?”

Augustine stood, extending a hand to help Rachel to her feet. “Go on home,” he said. “If you need me, here’s a card. I know you’re not acting like it,” he said, his voice suddenly serious, “But you’ve gone through a terrible trauma. It’s not every day you see something like this, Ms. Wainwright. If you need someone to talk to, I’m available.”

~Oh, that sounds promising.~ She dropped her eyes to his left hand. ~No wedding ring. He is available.~

Rachel took the card and slipped it into her purse. In just a few seconds, she was on her way home.

xxxxx

She parked in the multi-car garage, noting that both Alex and Sarah were home. Both their cars were parked neatly in their spaces. She slipped through the entrance from the garage into the house, calling out, “I’m home!”

“Hi, Mom,” called Sarah. Inevitably, the voice came from the kitchen. She followed it, walking across the polished dining room floor.

Despite the tension which seemed to follow every conversation with her children these days, Rachel loved her house with the fierce, possessive passion that only came when one saw one of the foremost goals of their lives achieved. She had been raised by her parents in a series of small apartments in Oak Park, one of the near-west suburbs of Chicago. Then, when she went to college, she and and her boyfriend (later husband) Joshua had lived in a succession of crummy apartments and rented houses.

When she won her first big case and had been elevated to partner in what was now the environmental law firm of Chihiro, Pelligrini, Buchanan and Wainwright, she had used her bonus on a down payment for her dream home. A massive, sprawling structure built on two acres of land, it backed up against the DuPage County Forest Preserve on the west side. Two stories tall, it had five bedrooms, three baths, and a fully-finished basement. The interior was as well-furnished and decorated as good taste and her money could make it, with restful colors, good, solid furniture, and state-of-the-art home-theater systems both on the main floor and in the basement.

“It’s more than we need,” she had admitted to Joshua when they talked about buying it. “But dammit, Josh, it’s what I want. And it’ll be good for the kids to have room to run around and play, rather than be stuck in that postage-stamp of a yard over on Prospect.”

At the time, twelve years ago, Alex had been nine and Sarah nearly seven, and Joshua had still been trying to establish himself commercially as an artist, despite rave reviews from the critics. That was one debate she had won, she remembered with satisfaction. She hugged her daughter and kissed her cheek, staying away from the spoon she held in one hand. “What’s for supper?” she asked. “And where’s your brother?”

“Alex is upstairs in his bedroom,” Sarah replied with a smile. “He’s practicing his lines again. And we have pasta primavera for supper, with a nice salad and some breadsticks on the side.”

“That sounds wonderful,” Rachel said. But her voice lacked enthusiasm. Sarah’s desire to be a professional chef was almost as troublesome as Alex’s obsession with the theater. She had refused to apply to any colleges during her senior year of high school. Now, nearly a year after her graduation, she seemed completely content to live with her mother until Rachel finally acceded to her desire to enter culinary school. She had taken over the cooking duties at home, which Rachel appreciated, since she was an indifferent cook at best.

The trouble with Sarah, Rachel had decided long ago, was that she was too much like her father. Like Josh, when faced with a disagreement, she refused to argue. She simply carried on as if the other party agreed with her until you were forced to give in through sheer exhaustion. This particular battle had been going on since the previous June, with no sign of a resolution.

“I’m going to go upstairs to change and clean up,” she said. “I had a good day in court, but after seeing that accident, I want to get into some clean clothes. Can supper be ready in about thirty minutes?”

“You got it, Mom,” Sarah said with a blinding smile. “I’ll tell Alex to come down. He’s been channeling Iago too long, anyway.”

xxxxx

“This is wonderful, Sarah,” Rachel said a short time later, after she had taken a quick shower and changed into more comfortable clothes. They were gathered together in the dining room, eating supper.

“Thanks, Mom. It isn’t a very complicated recipe. I’m looking forward to learning more at Le Cordon Bleu when I start there in the fall.”

Rachel grimaced, but declined to rise to the bait. Sarah had apparently decided that a campaign of passive resistance wasn’t going to convince her to let her attend culinary school. Instead, she had recently embarked on a series of heavy-handed hints, designed to let her mother know that she expected her support.

“So how was class today?” she asked Alex, changing the subject.

“All right,” her son grunted sullenly.

Rachel stifled a sigh. Her son was smart, good-looking, wonderful with people, and completely opposed to pursuing a conventional college education. Despite sparkling test scores, his grades in high school were so mediocre that he couldn’t get into a quality university. In desperation, Rachel had pushed him to enroll in the College of DuPage, a local community college. There, she hoped, he could find some direction. If his grades improved, he could transfer to a good school, like Northwestern, the University of Chicago, or her own alma mater, the University of Illinois.

Unfortunately, Alex seemed as determined to piss away his chances in college as he had been in high school. After taking a year off, he was twenty-one and at the end of his second year. His grades remained stubbornly unimpressive, and his only interest seemed to be the school’s theater department. Rachel had explained, with long-suffering patience, how slim the chances were of him being able to make a living as a professional actor. But her pleas had fallen on deaf ears.

“Sarah told me you were practicing some lines,” she said, unwilling to have another argument about Alex’s lack of ambition. “Who is Iago?”

For the first time, Alex showed a sign of life. “He’s the villain from Othello,” he said.

Rachel frowned. She had never been much interested in the arts. One more reason why her marriage had foundered three years ago. “Othello,” she repeated. “That’s one of Shakespeare’s, right?”

Alex nodded enthusiastically, his dinner forgotten. “It’s about jealousy and envy and suspicion. Iago is angry that he’s been passed over for a promotion. So he sets out to destroy Othello’s life by convincing him that his wife, Desdemona, is having an affair. None of it is true. He drives a good man to murder just because he can.” Alex grinned evilly, the expression transforming his usually pleasant face to a frightening mask. “He’s horrible.”

“Why…” Rachel floundered. “Why would you want to play a character who is such a terrible person?”

“Well,” Alex’s eyes glinted. “The devil has the best tunes, doesn’t he? Good people are boring. Evil people, you can really dig into them. Who is the most interesting character in the Harry Potter books?” he asked.

“Harry?” ventured Rachel, knowing it was a rhetorical question. Her lips twitched, watching Alex’s intent face.

“Hermione?” said Sarah.

“Pssht,” Alex scoffed. “Hermione is a bossy know-it-all. Harry is a goody little two-shoes. It’s Snape. Even though he turns out to be a good guy at the end, you spend five or six books trying to figure out his motivation.”

Rachel smiled, caught up in his energy. “The play sounds interesting. When do you guys start?”

“We’re rehearsing already,” her son said. “Opening night is in about two weeks.” He dropped his head and stared at his lap. “I would really like it if you would come and watch, Mom.”

Not wanting to encourage Alex in his pipe-dream, Rachel opened her mouth to give a polite refusal. Then she paused.

~What harm can it do?~ The thought crossed her mind suddenly. ~Look at the poor kid. How many times have you hurt him because you were too damn stubborn to give in? He isn’t the only one who has been a mule-headed pain in the ass. How long will you keep trying to shove a round peg into a square hole?~

“I would love to,” she said instead. Across the table, Sarah dropped her fork and stared at her in amazement. “Just give me a couple days’ notice so I can be sure I leave work on time to drive over to COD.”

Alex nodded, his eyes happily stunned. “I will.”

Rachel picked up her wine glass and took a sip. “So, tell me more about this play.”

xxxxx

Later that evening, Rachel walked upstairs to her bedroom. She had spent a good part of the evening in her home office, going over the case while the kids watched TV.

She felt…good, she decided. Her home had been in a state of cold war for so long that any easing of the tension was welcome.

Was that all it needed, she thought. For me to show Alex I cared? Look how happy that made him. I still think he should buckle down and actually try in his classes, but if I can make my son happy, I should. God knows nothing else has worked. If we don’t mend fences, he is going to leave once he get his degree from COD. He might take off for New York or LA, and I would barely ever see him. Although there are a lot of theaters downtown. The Goodman, Second City…maybe I should mention that to him sometime soon.

xxxxx

Meanwhile, in the depths of Rachel’s mind, Althea, daughter of Lilith, first among the succubi, hid in shame. If she had had a body, it would be shaking with terror and rage.

How had she come to such an indignity? Pulled out of her own magnificent body through sheer carelessness, forced to join with a puerile youth whose very soul was a foul sewer, and then, in desperation, made to abandon that dying vessel in order to take shelter in the mind of a woman who seemed all but sexless. She fumed as she considered her situation. Right now she had less strength than a newly-hatched imp. It would be weeks before she could even think about reclaiming her old body.

~How could I let this happen? Just because no one had attacked me in centuries did not mean the old knowledge was lost! Lilith’s Tits, Althea, you are supposed to be smarter than this! Why did you stop warding yourself?~

The first step, she decided, was to begin to regain her power. Her reserves were terrifyingly low. The madness of the evening, with transfers of her consciousness to two separate humans, had drained her to the point where she was on the edge of dissolution, barely able to make her voice heard to her host. Without the pleasures of the flesh her previous form had made so readily available, she was now wholly dependent on Rachel.

And Rachel, she thought, was not the most promising of vessels. Even her sins were cold and bloodless, without heat or passion. They were the quiet coups of the courtroom; the polite wars of motions and lawsuits. No blistering anger of Rage; no insatiable hunger of Gluttony; no seductive poison of Envy.

And certainly, no unquenchable fire of Lust.

~All right,~ she thought grimly, borrowing Rachel’s eyes as she undressed for bed. ~Let’s see what sort of hand I’ve been dealt here.~

What she saw pleased her beyond all expectations. While no human could compare to a succubus in her true form, Rachel was far more attractive than most of her species. Her face was pale from lack of sunlight, but nevertheless more than adequate for her needs. Her legs, once they emerged from beneath her casual slacks, were firm and toned. Unlike too many humans in this sedentary age, she had not allowed her body to run to fat, but instead kept it slim and well-exercised.

Althea held her non-existent breath as Rachel unhooked her bra. ~Very nice,~ she sighed. ~Very nice, indeed.~ Althea was pleased to see that her breasts, while not overly large, were full and well-proportioned, with attractive pink nipples, and not the floppy, droopy dugs of too many women her age. While they had a slight sag from nursing her babes, they were still firm and lovely. Rachel massaged one of them, rubbing at the mark a cup had left on the sweet mound. A tiny trickle of pleasure flowed through her mind, and Althea tapped it greedily, sighing as she regained an infinitesimal amount of power.

~She will do,~ she thought. ~Yes, she will do very well.~ An exciting thought struck her. It had been ages since she had involved herself in the affairs of men. For centuries, she had been content to wander the earth, taking lovers when and how she pleased, smug with the certainty of her own immortality. The taste of her unending lust had been sweet on her lips. But over the past year, seemingly chance events had swelled into a flood. Magic and the old ways of worship were pushing their way back into the world. She had watched with amusement as two ancient gods had joined forces in Iowa, of all places, resulting in the arising of the Greek Unorthodox Church. Dedicated to love and sexual pleasure, it was growing beyond all expectation. With the winds of change sweeping the earth, was it time for her to take on a new task?

~What a disciple she would make for me.~ Her short stay in Rachel’s mind had shown her the fierce strength of her intellect. Althea had been pleased to influence her where her son was concerned. Tapping into her compassion had allowed her to see the way she was driving Alex away. If she could turn that intelligence to her own ends, who knew how high they could fly together? She riffled through Rachel’s memories, looking for suitable partners.

~Yes,~ she gloated. If she had possessed hands, she would have been rubbing them together in gleeful anticipation. ~This is going to be fun!~

xxxxx

Rachel dropped her silk robe to the floor. The warm air of the bathroom felt good on her skin. For a moment, she glanced at the shower, but decided that tonight she deserved a bath. Six feet long and three feet wide, made of pink marble, it was the one piece of true decadence in her home, and she and her husband had spent many pleasurable hours in it together. She turned on the water, and while the tub was filling, placed a folded towel on the headrest at one end. She uncapped a bottle of bath oil and poured in a generous dollop. In moments, aromatic steam was rising towards the ceiling.

She stepped into the sunken bathtub, the lip only a few inches above the floor of the bathroom, blessing whoever had built the house. The hot, oily water lapped around her skin, and she sighed in luxurious comfort as she submerged herself. In seconds, the only parts of her that were above the water were her face and her chest.

For a long time, she simply soaked with her eyes closed, feeling the tension of the day, with its horrifying conclusion, slowly leach out of her body. She felt relaxed, serene and calm as a summer afternoon. The heat of the water sank below her skin, loosening tight muscles. Faint and far away, she could hear the murmur of the television and the sound of her own children, cheerfully bickering downstairs.

At last she stirred herself and reached for a loofah and a bottle of body wash. She slowly lathered her body, enjoying the feel of the warm, scented soap on her skin. As she did, she examined her body critically. Not bad for an old lady, she thought with some pride. Well, not really old. Only forty-one. What was it Beatriz said at my birthday party at the firm last year? That forty is the new thirty? I just wish I was getting as much cock now as I did when I was thirty. She blushed guiltily. But the sad fact was that she had been all but celibate since she and Joshua had separated. God knew the two of them had their differences, but the sex had always been good between the two of them.

And the make-up sex after a fight had been fucking spectacular. She sighed as she remembered his hands, warm and gentle on her skin. The way he had always seemed to know exactly where to touch her. The feel of his hard penis as he thrust into her over and over and over again.

With a start, she realized one hand had drifted between her legs. The other was caressing her breasts. She watched, entranced, as her nipples peaked, the hard pink tips showing above the sweet-scented water like islands in a warm southern sea.

I should get up and go to bed, she thought. It’s no good laying here until the water gets cold.

~Stay.~ said another voice. ~It’s still early yet. And you can always add more hot water. Don’t you deserve a little pleasure? How long has it been since you had a really good orgasm? If you get out now you’ll just be all worked up and frustrated. Stay here and get yourself off, and then you can get a good night’s sleep.~

She sighed in acquiescence and closed her eyes again. One leg lifted, draping over the rim of the tub, drizzling oily water on the tile floor. With the skill of long practice, her right hand moved down, ring and index fingers expertly parting her folds, allowing her middle finger to tap on her clitoris.

Joshua had always found that funny, she remembered with a dreamy smile. The way her clit best responded not to strokes, kisses, or licks, but to gentle taps. He had joked about learning Morse code, and sending her sexy messages with his fingers on her clitoris.

“Knock knock,” she whispered, her thoughts hazy. “Come out and play.” As her fingertip gently tapped her bud, her hips jerked slightly, sending ripples of water splashing against the sides of the bathtub. Her left hand, meanwhile, was roaming all over her body, from her throbbing nipples to her flat belly, then back up her chest to her face. She caught one finger in her mouth, imagining it a cock, sucking and licking it until her partner exploded onto her face, sending rivers of his come over her swollen lips.

She moaned happily. Yes, that was what she needed. A man, a hard man, thick and virile and ready to go to bed at a moment’s notice. A man who would coat her body with his beautiful, pearly seed so she could rub it all over herself. A man to fill the aching emptiness inside her. God, even a woman might do! Women had fingers, and tongues, and could use a dildo or a vibrator on her, couldn’t they? Her hand left her face, squeezing her breast, the thumb and forefinger pinching the high-standing nipple. Her head bent, wanting to take the pebble-hard bud into her mouth and lash it with her tongue.

She sank back with a frustrated moan. Too small. Her tits were too small to do what she wanted. And it had been too long. Too long since she had been with a man. Her right hand changed positions. Two fingers opened her passage, while it was now her thumb’s turn to tap out the message of desire.

“It isn’t a cock,” she whispered, “but it will do for now.” Slowly, lovingly, she thrust her fingers into her channel. All the while, her other hand played with her breasts, dancing from one passion-swollen peak to the next, stroking and kneading and pinching until she thought she would scream.

Her climax grew slowly, as if it were out of practice and unused to her demands. She slowed down, keeping her eyes closed. Memories of her teenage years flitted through her mind. Times when she had hurried home from school, horny and itchy, desperate to reach orgasm. And then the long, frustrated wait in her bedroom as she fought her own body’s needs. She had learned to her dismay that an orgasm could rarely be forced. It had to be earned.

“Relax,” she breathed, repeating the mantra she had taught herself when she was fifteen. The word whispered through the muggy air of the bathroom. “Relax and concentrate. There, doesn’t that feel good?” she cooed, as she caught the rhythm of desire. Her hips rocked up and down, her hungry sheath swallowing her fingers. Even through the water, she could feel the walls of her vagina slickening.

“Almost there,” she gasped. “Almost…there!” She threw her left arm across her mouth to muffle her happy shriek as she came. Her fingers dove deep within her, her thumb mashed down on her clit. Her hips bounced up once, twice, then a third time, locking in place and sending a spray of water high into the air.

Whoa, she thought, when she finally opened her eyes. That was nice.

~Yes. It was.~ The voice in her head sounded smug. And not, Rachel thought, the way her own thoughts usually sounded. She shrugged, smiling, watching her breasts bounce with the movement, and used her toes to pull the plug-chain. She stood as the water slowly drained out of the tub and looked with some dismay at the mess she had made of the bathroom.

Well, I guess I’ve given Maria something to do tomorrow, she thought as she dried off. Rachel didn’t entirely approve of having a maid, but the huge house and her own grueling workload made doing her own housework impractical. Maria Ochoa came in three times a week to clean the house and do laundry. For their part, she and the kids tried to keep the place as neat as they could, but they left things like vacuuming, dusting, and mopping to the ever-competent Maria. Rachel personally considered her a godsend, as her one attempt at having the kids do the laundry had resulted in disaster.

She sopped up the water as best she could with a spare towel, then hung both towels on a rack to dry. Making her way back to her bedroom, she dressed in her robe and studied her reflection in the mirror. She looked heavy-lidded and content, something she had not seen in far too long.

Maybe I should do it again, she thought. Almost without her thinking her hands undid the belt of her robe and fingered her nether-lips. They were still wet, hot and slippery under her eager touch.

Just before she could flop on her bed and bring herself to another climax, a knock sounded at her door. She blinked, then walked over to open it.

“Are you okay, Mom?” Sarah asked. Her normally cheerful face looked slightly worried. “I was downstairs and I heard some thumping. I wanted to make sure you hadn’t fallen down or anything.”

~Such a good child. Perhaps we should give her a reward.~

Rachel smiled at her. “I’m just fine, honey. You know how it is.” She lowered her voice conspiratorially. “Sometime a girl needs some…alone time. Especially when there aren’t any men around to keep her company.”

Sarah’s eyes widened as her mother’s words sank in. “God, Mom!” She ducked her head, giggling, even as her face flamed scarlet. “That’s a little TMI, don’t you think?”

“What, to know your mother has a sex drive? I don’t think so. I’m not a nun, you know.”

“Well, no, I know that, Mom, but…” she trailed off.

Rachel smiled. “Let me guess,” she said. “It’s one thing to know it, but another thing to know it?”

Sarah laughed. “Right. I mean, I know old people have sex, but…” her eyes widened in alarm and she clapped a hand over her mouth. “Oh, God,” she said. “I didn’t mean for it to sound that way. You’re not old, Mom. And two of my last three boyfriends thought you were totally hot!”

“Well, what was wrong with the third one?” Rachel grinned. “Was he gay?

“Don’t worry, sweetheart,” she continued, laying a hand on her daughter’s cheek. “I know what you meant. And I’m glad you cared enough to come up and check on me.” As if under someone else’s control, the hand which had just recently been deep in her womanly core trailed across Sarah’s lips. She leaned forward and kissed her cheek.

“I’m going to bed now. I’ve got court early tomorrow, so I’ll be gone when you wake up. Sweet dreams.”

xxxxx

As Rachel lay sleeping, Althea pondered the evening’s events.

She may have made a mistake, she admitted, in attempting to draw in Sarah so soon. It would be many days, perhaps weeks, until she had Rachel’s body chemistry changed sufficiently so that her secretions reached the aphrodisiacal potency of one of the succubi. It was one of the dangers of becoming too closely associated with a succubus. Althea’s kind had been using such methods to lure human men and women into their arms for millennia. Rachel’s orgasm had helped her regain some power, but it would take dozens, if not hundreds of such orgasms for her to regain her mental and spiritual strength.

~Well, what’s done is done,~ she sighed. The worst that would happen would be there would be no change in Sarah at all. She might experience a small increase in her sex drive. But as young and attractive as she was, she would probably not even notice.

~I need a man,~ she decided. ~A strong, horny man who can give me his seed, over and over again. The strength of men’s semen was the secret of the succubi’s power. As long as they had access to a virile man, the life-giving potency of his come fed the succubi. It gave them longevity which approached immortality, as well as a host of psychic and physical powers.

Althea smiled, thinking of the men she might be able to draw on. ~Joshua, first.~ The passion-laden memories which Rachel had unwittingly shared with her this evening made her eager to meet Rachel’s former husband. ~And if not him, there are always others.~

Smiling inwardly, Althea waited for what the morning would bring.

xxxxx

Rachel woke up to her alarm at four thirty the next morning. She looked out the window to a pitch-black sky, but a soft breeze stirred the curtains. Despite the hellishly early hour, she felt refreshed and invigorated. After a quick shower, she got dressed for court, using the clothes which she had set out the night before.

Standing in front of her vanity in her bedroom, she applied lipstick and a small, tasteful amount of cosmetics and jewelry. She examined her image critically, and nodded in satisfaction. The burgundy blouse was attractive without seeming overdone, and the black jacket and matching skirt were solidly professional. She looked exactly like what she was: a successful attorney in one of Chicago’s top law firms.

She cocked an eye at her reflection as she brushed her coal-black hair. Thick and lustrous, it seemed too short, barely reaching her shoulders. Maybe I should grow it out again. Josh always liked it long. I don’t have to prove anything to anyone at the firm these days. No sense in trying to look like a man. They all know I’ve got a set of tits under the blouse.

She was out the door by five thirty. Due to the early hour, traffic was practically non-existent, and she was walking in the door to her office in the Sears (never, ever the Willis) Tower in plenty of time for her early meeting. The office was in a corner on the seventy-eighth floor, so high she nearly got vertigo when she looked out. To the east, she could see small pleasure-boats already sailing out onto Lake Michigan, doubtless containing happy young people taking advantage of the unseasonably warm day to enjoy an early start to the weekend.

Jeremy came in the open door and handed her a large coffee and a bagel before she could sit down.

“I’ve got you trained well,” she remarked with a smile, taking a large sip of the heavily-sweetened drink.

“And now you’ll have to go to the trouble of training a new intern once I leave,” the young man said, grinning crookedly. He took a drink from a bottle of diet soda he held in his other hand.

Rachel looked at it and shuddered. “I can’t understand how you can drink that horrible stuff so early in the morning.”

Jeremy shrugged. “I never could stand coffee. And I need something to wake me up. I think I might be in the wrong profession. I could be working in a nice calm call-center for a credit card company. In at nine, out at five. Sleep until seven o’clock every day. Sounds like heaven to me.”

She laughed, the sound echoing through the nearly-empty office. “Yes, and go gradually insane.” She shook a finger at him. “I know you too well. You’re too ambitious to spend the rest of your life as a phone drone.” She took a bite of her bagel, savoring the toasted heat and the thick cream cheese Jeremy had spread on it for her. All of her senses seemed alive this morning, her wits sharp and keen.

I’m happy, she thought suddenly. Despite the early hour and the prospect of a long, uphill battle against a group of lawyers who could smell weakness like a shark could smell blood in the water, she was alive with good cheer. The thought saddened her paradoxically. It had been too long since she had felt like this. When was it, she thought, that the joy of life went away? When she became content with the ephemeral pleasures of the business world over the needs of the body, the desires of the flesh?

Forcing the thought aside, she gathered her laptop and her files in her hands. “All right, Mr. Edwards,” she said. “Let’s go to the boardroom for one last skull session with the rest of the crew before we take these bastards down.”

xxxxx

Later that afternoon, Alex tapped on the door to Sarah’s bedroom. She looked up and smiled happily from her seat at her computer. “Hey, you’re back! No rehearsal today?”

He shook his head. “Nah. The director gave us a night off. I have to be out there tomorrow afternoon, though.”

Sarah nodded, clicking her mouse. On the desk beside her, the printer whirred, disgorging another sheet of paper.

“So what are you up to?” he asked.

“Hunting for recipes,” she said. “I’m tired of the same-old same-old. And since Mom showed some signs of cracking last night, I’m going to keep up the pressure.”

Alex flopped onto her bed, ignoring her disapproving look as he rumpled the sheets. “Do you really think she’s coming around, Sarah? Until last night, trying to reason with her was like trying to drill through a brick wall with a bowl of pudding.”

Sarah rolled her eyes as she spun her chair to face him. “Who knows? But at least she listened to you. How many times has she just tuned you out when you talked about the theater? This time she paid attention. Hell, Alex, she actually said she’d come to watch you in Othello. That’s got to count for something.”

“Maybe,” Alex sighed. He ran his hands through his dark brown hair. “Anyway, I’ve made up my mind. Mom’s been willing to foot the bill for my schooling at COD. And she’s told me she’d do the same if I ever got accepted to a school she approved of. I’m putting my foot down. I’m going to apply to acting schools here in Chicago. If she won’t help, I’m moving out. I’ve put out some feelers. I can get an apartment with some guys I know. It’ll be hard, trying to juggle acting classes and work. But this is what I want to do with my life. If I wait any longer, it’ll be too late.”

Sarah stared at her brother in surprise. He had been complaining about their mother to her for months, but she had never really thought Alex would carry through with his muttered threats. For the first time, he was doing something about it.

“You can do it,” she encouraged him. “Lord knows you’re smart enough, when you put your mind to it. And you’ve got the looks, too.” Alex would never be a Hollywood superstar, Sarah thought. He didn’t have the pretty-boy features everyone seemed to be looking for. His face was too strong, his nose too big. What he did have, though, was the type of rough-hewn attraction that aged well, like Paul Newman or Harrison Ford.

She eyed his recumbent form appreciatively. Long, lean, narrow-hipped and broad-shouldered, she thought he would be able to fill any role, from cowboy to army officer to the comic relief in a romantic drama. His t-shirt had pulled out of his jeans, and she could see a strip of his flat stomach, and the brown fuzz where his navel hair led down to his groin.

She shifted in her office chair. She had woken up horny, and with no boyfriend, she had been forced to provide her own relief. Despite that, or perhaps because of it, she found herself looking at her older brother with a decidedly unsisterly gaze. She wondered what he looked like naked. Or even better, what he looked like naked and aroused. With them each having their own private bathrooms, it had been literally years since they had seen each other nude.

God, I need to get laid. When you start to think about your brother, you know it’s been too long since you’ve had a cock in your pussy.

Or your mouth.

“What about you?” Alex asked. “Are you ready to cut the strings, too?”

“Maybe,” she admitted slowly, tearing her mind away from the enticing thought of her sexy older sibling. She didn’t want to hurt her mother by delivering an ultimatum. But Rachel’s insistence that they follow the same path she did was infuriating. “I wish Daddy was around. He might be able to talk sense to her.”

“Or he might not,” Alex said. “Remember how much they used to fight before Dad moved out?”

“True,” she admitted sadly. “They get along better divorced than they did the last couple years before they split up. Except for last Christmas.” She sighed. “You know, if we both went to Mom and told her that we were thinking about moving out, it might convince her to let us do what we want with our lives. She’d be all alone in this big, empty house, with no one to blame but herself.”

Alex sat up, his blue eyes troubled. “Emotional blackmail? I don’t know if I like the sound of that.”

“Well, it’s either that, or go your route. How long would it take me to become a chef and have a restaurant of my own if I have to go to culinary school part-time? There are people paying off student loans who are in their thirties, Alex. I don’t want to be in their shoes just because Mom was too damn stubborn to let us choose our own careers.

He stood up and chuckled. “That’s hard-core, Sis. You’d almost think your mother was some sort of hard-ass attorney or something. You play for keeps.”

“Hah,” Sarah said. “Haven’t you ever seen those reality shows where they go into some poor sap’s restaurant and spend an entire episode insulting him? The restaurant biz ain’t for pansies, Alex.

“Now go on downstairs. I thawed out some steaks this morning and I have them soaking in marinade. As soon as Mom calls to tell us she’s on the way home you can put them on the grill. I’m going to whip up some side dishes and we’ll have ourselves one hell of a supper tonight.

“And don’t touch the bacon!” she shouted after him as he clattered down the stairs. “That’s for the brussel sprouts!”

xxxxx

Rachel hung her suit jacket on the back of her chair and sat at her desk in her office. She and her team had just returned from the courthouse, and she was entering her notes about the day’s proceedings into her computer for review over the weekend.

Nothing surprising had happened that day in court. After her star witness’ stunning turn on the stand the day before, she had wrapped up her side of the case early in the afternoon. The judge had decided to put off hearing the defense side until after the weekend. That was fine as far as Rachel was concerned. She was an old hand at reading lawyers and juries. Unless she screwed up badly in the next few days, she had the case won. The only question now was how big the punitive damages were going to be. The cross-examinations from the defense team had taken on an almost perfunctory tone, and the jury was firmly in her hand. She smiled to herself as she remembered the looks of undisguised loathing they had given the Antioch Chemical executives who had appeared in court.

Meanwhile, her team had been quietly jubilant during the lunch break. She had had to caution some of the plaintiffs not to celebrate too early. Class-action lawsuits were always tricky. And companies like Antioch had dozens of tricks to avoid payment. Still, she would rather be in her shoes than the defense team’s.

Or out of them, she thought, slipping off her heels with a sigh. She wiggled her toes in satisfaction as she looked over the notes she had made for her closing statement. Unless she was wrong, the defense would wrap up their side of the case within one or two days. She would probably be called upon to make her final argument Tuesday afternoon.

Her brows creased in a frown as she looked over her notes. A few days ago, she had liked the tone they set; calm, logical, precise, flowing from one conclusion to the next in an elegant chain of thought. Now, they seemed insufficient.

There’s no emotion here, she thought. No passion. These bastards polluted a stretch of river twenty miles long. Where is the outrage? She drummed her fingers on the polished wood of her desk, then opened a new document on her laptop. In a few seconds the sound of her fingers on the keyboard filled the room.

She was unaware of how much time had passed until she heard her name being called. “Ms. Wainwright?”

She blinked and looked up from the screen to where her intern was standing in the half-open doorway. “Jeremy. I’m sorry. Come on in. I didn’t hear you.” She looked out the window, where long shadows were beginning to stretch across the city. “How late is it?”

“After five,” he said, entering the office. “Everyone is taking off for the day. I was wondering if you wanted to come down for that drink we talked about yesterday evening.”

She shook her head. “I don’t think so. I had a late night last night, what with nearly running a man over and having to talk to the police. I’d like to get home early for a change. And one drink can turn into two or three once you get a bunch of lawyers and paralegals into a bar. Or four.” She watched his face fall with disappointment. “But there’s no reason we can’t talk for a few minutes before you go down and join your friends. Have a seat.” She gestured to the leather chair sitting across from her desk. “What are your plans for the summer?”

Jeremy smiled and loosened his tie as he sat. “Oh, I’ll probably help my dad out with his landscaping business,” he said. “It’s down in Frankfort,” he continued, naming one of the southern suburbs. “I’ve been doing it every summer since I was fifteen. He pays me the same as the rest of the workers, and it gets me outside. After a school year with nothing but books for company, it’s nice to be outdoors.

“After that, one last year at law school at UIC before I have to take the bar exam.” Like every law student she had ever met, his voice was nervous when he spoke about that final hurdle.

“You’ll do fine, Jeremy,” she said. “You’ve busted your ass on this case for the last four months. We wouldn’t be where we are without your help. Once you graduate, drop me an e-mail. I’d be happy to write you a letter of recommendation when you start applying for jobs.”

He smiled at her gratefully. “I was going to ask you,” he said. “But I wasn’t sure how to bring the subject up.”

“Don’t be afraid to climb those golden stairs, kid,” she advised. “In the corporate world, no one is going to give you anything. You have to ask for it.”

He nodded, and a silence fell over the office.

Rachel shifted in her chair. Throughout the day a feeling had been growing inside her. Almost subliminal at first, it now made itself known. She looked at the young man in front of her, clean-cut and wholesome, bright-eyed and good-looking, filled with youthful energy, and felt a spark of desire ignite deep within her belly.

~You want him.~ a quiet voice whispered. ~Why not give him a suitable parting gift?~

Deliberately, she leaned back in her chair and crossed her legs, drawing his gaze to her. Catching Jeremy’s eyes with her own, she slowly unfastened the top button on her blouse. She fingered the fabric, her fingers running up and down the placket. They stopped when they encountered the next button, and she held her hand there, fingering the small disc of plastic. She wet her lips with her tongue.

“You know,” she said conversationally, “that I’m divorced.”

Jeremy nodded. She stood and walked around the desk. Her hips swayed lazily, falling into an ancient rhythm of seduction. Jeremy started to rise, but she laid a hand on his shoulder, pushing him back into his chair.

“And I’m so horny these days,” she sighed as she circled behind him, one hand trailing along the muscles of his back. Nice and strong, good. “I had to get myself off in the bathtub last night with my hands.” Part of her mind was aghast, unable to believe what she was saying. Another part reveled in it, giving in to passion. She raised her eyebrows. “It’s customary,” she said, “to give a parting intern a gift. A sign of appreciation for all the hard work he or she has done.

“I had Madeline buy you a good bottle of scotch. After all, what does one get a colleague as a gift when they don’t really know the person who they’re buying the gift for? Quality alcohol is a nice, safe purchase.

“But I don’t feel like being safe right now.” She stopped in font of him and perched on the edge of her desk. She crossed her legs, allowing her skirt to hike up. She smiled as she saw his eyes focus on the white skin of her thighs. She undid another button, allowing her blouse to fall further open, showing a slice of her lace-covered breasts. She glanced at his lap, smiling as she saw the tented cloth of his slacks, proof of his aroused state.

“Would you mind if I gave you a different sort of farewell gift, Jeremy?”

Her intern looked around the room, as if he was trying to find a hidden film crew. He wet his lips and swallowed nervously. “This is a joke, right? Or is it some sort of test? Or a trap? I tell you that I want to make love to you, and you pull the recommendation? Or is it that asshole Chad? I told him once I thought you were attractive, and he’s been making remarks for weeks about how I have a thing for MILFs. Did he tell you?”

She smiled and nodded. “It’s a test, yes.” She undid another button. The blouse now gaped wide. She swallowed through a throat gone dry with lust. “The test is whether I can make you come in my mouth, or whether you last long enough to fuck me. Don’t worry,” she added, taking in his panicked look. She nodded at the frosted glass that looked towards the office. “No one can see us. Though I admit,” she said with a sultry smirk, “that scenario does have its own appeal.”

As he stared at her in slack-jawed disbelief, she fell to her knees in front of him. Before he could do more than gasp a voiceless protest, her hands were running down his calves. She pulled off his shoes while she ran her face up his cloth-covered legs, homing in unerringly on his groin. She reached his shaft even as she tossed the shoes to one side, her cheek rubbing on it through his slacks. “So hard,” she whispered. She turned her head so she could breathe hot air on it, and smiled as it jerked. She opened her lips wide and mouthed his cock through his slacks, humming with pleasure. She could almost feel the blood pulsing through it, the powerful force of life-creating come being generated in his balls.

She looked up at Jeremy through her lashes, her hands stroking his thighs. “Not how you imagined your last meeting with me, is it, honey? Or maybe it is?” she continued as she unbuckled his belt and loosened his pants. “Raise up,” she ordered, and pulled his pants and boxers down to his ankles, and then completely off, leaving him naked from the waist down. “Did you fantasize about me, Jeremy, back in your apartment? Wonder if you could ever get the ball-busting lawyer in the sack?”

“Not really,” he gasped, as his hard cock appeared. She cradled it lovingly in her hands, softly rubbing. He closed his eyes. “I didn’t dare. You’re gorgeous, obviously. But I wouldn’t have dreamed of making a move on you.”

“Well,” she smiled, her heart singing. “Let’s make sure I give you a proper send-off.”

She pushed his knees apart with her hands, bending her head down. Part of her was a little disappointed by his length. Don’t be greedy, girl. They can’t all be Josh. And he’s thick enough to do the job. But the rest of her mind and body was caught up in a firestorm of lust. She caught his cock-tip in her mouth, shuddering in pleasure. She swirled her tongue around the sensitive glans, smiling as Jeremy writhed under her touch, his hands clutching the arm-rests of the chair.

God, I’ve needed this. It’s been too long. She bobbed on his shaft. Her mind glazed, her body demanding his submission, his seed.

Thirsty. I’m so thirsty. I need his come. His salty, wonderful semen. It will make me strong. Powerful. She slipped off her blouse and unclasped her bra, letting her breasts fall free. She groaned as her sensitive areolae grazed his legs. Almost immediately, her nipples contracted and thickened, drawing into hard, turgid buds on her chest. She moved closer to him, grabbed his hands, and placed them on her breasts. Taking the hint immediately, he began to caress her firm mounds, driving her pleasure even higher. She let her hands fall to his thighs, bracing her, and her hair fell around her face, hiding his groin.

“Mmmmm,” she said, moaning around his stiff length as she slurped up and down his rod. His taste was intoxicating, a combination of male musk, clean sweat, and an unidentifiable odor which was his own. She raised her head, one hand slowly fisting him while her mouth labored on his cock-head, licking the slow seepage away from his slit, delighting in her feeling of dominance and control.

~Yes, that’s it. Make him ours. He’ll be at our call whenever we need him. And so young! He’ll be able to satisfy us over and over!~

Rachel frowned as the triumphant voice sounded in her head. Us? Who is us? But her thoughts were cut off by Jeremy’s hoarse voice and the twitching cock in her hand.

“Ms. Wainwright, please. I’m about to..I’m going to…”

She immediately drew back, her lips separating from the red head of his prick with an audible pop. With the fingers of one hand, she circled the base of his shaft, squeezing hard. “Oh, no you don’t. You’re not getting away that easy. You are going to come inside me. But not my mouth.” She glared up at him until the spasming muscles of his cock slowly relaxed. “Good.”

She stood and hiked up her skirt. Slowly, wriggling her hips in a conscious display of eroticism, she slid her panties down her legs until they lay abandoned on the floor. She strutted over to the window and placed her hands flat on the glass. Bending over, she thrust her rear in the air and pulled up her skirt, exposing her naked ass and wet, pouting pussy-lips.

“Now,” she commanded. “Sink that lovely cock into me, Jeremy. Fill me up with your prick. Shoot your come into me!”

As if in a trance, wearing only his white work shirt and his tie, her intern made his way over to her. She smiled and let her head sink as she felt his hands settle on her hips. For the smallest moment she felt the tip of his tool rest against her soaking cleft, then with a mighty shove he buried herself inside her.

Yes!

~Yes!~

“Yes,” she moaned, bracing her hands on the glass, her unfocused eyes looking out over the lake. “That is so good.” After an eternity of celibacy, the muscles of her vagina eagerly grasped Jeremy’s invading cock, milking his hard length as he plunged into her over and over again. She humped back towards him, forcing him harder into her with every stroke. His cock rubbed on her clit, sawing against it, sending her skyward joyfully.

She closed her eyes, living in a world of pure sensation. The entire universe seemed to contract until it consisted of her body and Jeremy’s hands on her hips and his rock-hard shaft, every stroke feeling like a blessing. She felt him sag towards her, gathering her breasts in his cupped hands, kneading her inflamed flesh gently. Moisture trickled down her thighs, mixing with her sweat. Her legs shook under the strain, but she kept herself erect, feeding the pool of lust which boiled in her loins.

She felt the approaching wave of her climax and opened her eyes, staring blankly out over the lake. Suddenly her eyes opened wide in shock. For an instant she thought she had seen three people reflected in the glass. Herself, Jeremy, laboring over her, and a third. She blinked and looked again. Yes, there she was, fading in and out of her vision like a mirage in the desert. A tall blond woman, completely nude, impossibly beautiful, with a sweet, angelic face and an incredible, ripe body. Even Rachel, who aside from a few drunken episodes in college was steadfastly heterosexual, could feel her erotic pull.

She whipped her head around, staring, but the room was empty aside from Jeremy and herself. She looked back into the window and saw the woman again. She lifted a ghostly hand, caressing Rachel’s back in a long, slow stroke that started at her buttocks and ended at her neck. Rachel’s flesh prickled under her touch and she arched her back, shuddering. Her nipples hardened further, contracting into stiff, knotty buttons.

~Arise, my handmaiden. Be thou blessed. I, Althea, claim thee for my own, to be my disciple as long as thy life shall last.~

Once, when Rachel was a small child, she and her parents had taken a trip to Florida. She had been playing in the ocean when a wave hit her unexpectedly, knocking her to her knees. The whispered words had the same effect. A rushing tide of power seemed to fill her, waking a fire in her belly. She spread her legs, feeling her orgasm draw near.

“Now,” she said, her teeth clenched. Her words seemed to throb with strength. “Come for me, Jeremy. Fill me up. Give me your come. Come with me now!”

With the final word, Jeremy gave a strangled gasp and collapsed across her back, though his hips continued to pump into her. She keened, trying to keep her cry of passion in check, even as her orgasm crashed over her, muscles clenching and releasing in her thighs, her belly, her womb. She could dimly feel Jeremy’s cock throb within her, sending torrents of his come deep inside her. Over and over, until it seemed there would be no end to it, his hot seed filling up her eager vessel.

Finally the spasms stopped. They stood still, kept from collapse only by Rachel’s hands, still braced sweatily on the glass of the window. Jeremy pried himself off her back to the sound of sweat sliding over their joined skins. His face, when she met his gaze, was suffused by awe.

“That was…” he shook his head. “I’ve never felt anything like that. Ever. Thank you.”

She smiled and patted his cheek fondly, then dropped to her knees and took his prick into her mouth. She licked it until it was completely clean, the taste better than the finest wine to her eager taste-buds.

“You’re welcome,” she said, when his cock, shining wetly, had returned to its place between his legs. She picked up her bra and blouse and began dressing, filled with a deep, satisfied languor. After a few awkward moments, Jeremy joined her.

When they were both dressed, he looked at her hopefully. “Can I see you again?” he asked.

She raised her eyebrows and gave him a lopsided smile. “I’m seventeen years older than you, Jeremy, and have two grown children. And I am not looking to start a new relationship. But,” she continued, as she saw his face crease with hurt, “that doesn’t mean we can’t be part of each others’ lives. Do you have any plans for Memorial Day weekend?”

“Weekend after this?” Jeremy asked. “Mom and Dad and me will be going to my sister’s place in Deerfield that Monday. She and her husband invited us for a meal. And I’ll get to see my baby niece again.”

“Me and the kids will be staying in town,” Rachel said. “Why don’t you come on over on Sunday? My daughter is a great cook. She wants to be a chef. She’s nineteen years old,” she said, hinting outrageously, “and she doesn’t have a boyfriend.”

“Are you trying to fix me up with your daughter?” he asked suspiciously.

“Yes,” she answered, putting on her jacket and gathering up her laptop. “She is attractive, near your own age, intelligent and a genuinely good person, if a mother may be allowed an opinion.” She nodded toward a framed picture of Sarah on her wall.

“Besides,” she said, her eyes glinting wickedly, “it gives you an excuse to see me, doesn’t it? Or would you rather we never meet again?

“All right then,” she said, taking his flustered silence for assent. “I’ll text you the details later in the week. I look forward to seeing you.”

xxxxx

It’s not enough, she thought as she drove home on I-90. She had parted with Jeremy in front of the bar, handing him the bottle of scotch and giving him a firm handshake in farewell. He had been the only person who could see how her blood heated at his touch.

He’s not the answer. Not a permanent one. I need more. And I know where to get it.

I just have to convince him. And not get into a fight.

She hit the speed dial on her phone and was soon rewarded by the sound of her ex-husband’s voice.

“Hello, Rachel.”

“Hi, Josh. How are you doing?”

“I’m okay.” After an uncomfortable pause, he continued. “I’m putting together a new show for next month. Several carved wood and cast bronze nudes, as well as some other stuff.”

Rachel chuckled, shaking her head. She and Josh Sunderman had met when she was a freshman and he was a sophomore at the University of Illinois. She had been a political science major, already thinking about law school. He had been in the College of Fine and Applied Arts, and had two major shows under his belt by the time he was twenty.

Despite having practically nothing in common in their background, they had fallen in love almost immediately. They had been married, a little tardily, during the summer after her freshman year. Alex had been born when she was a sophomore, Sarah during her first year of post-graduate study. To his everlasting credit, Josh had done more than his fair share of taking care of the children while Rachel labored her way through law school. With the help of his parents, who had abandoned their flower-child youth to found a successful clothing business (specializing in tie-dye, of course) they had each graduated on time, and in Rachel’s case, summa cum laude.

Their marriage had been happy for years, until it had foundered on the twin rocks of Rachel’s ever-increasing workload and her plans for their children. Josh had never shied away from the fact that he thought the kids should be able to choose their own futures. For her part, Rachel had grown uncomfortable with Josh’s habit of choosing ever-more outrageous subjects for his artwork, no matter how good the reviews were or how much money he brought in.

“You never change, do you Josh?” Rather than bitter, the words were fond. “What will the good people of Bolivia think?”

“It’s Peru, Rachel. And that joke was bad the first time you made it.” Following their divorce, Josh had moved to a small town only about an hour from Woodridge, but it might as well have been in a different century. “Small” was one word to describe it.

Also, rural, bucolic, and boring as hell.

“To what do I owe the pleasure of your voice?” he said, and she could hear his smile through the phone. The sound alone made her squirm in her seat. Despite the fantastic fucking Jeremy had just given her, she felt a renewed warmth in her secret core.

He could always turn me on.

“I was wondering if you might like to come up for a visit,” she said, trying to sound nonchalant. “The kids miss you. And…I do, too,” she finished in a rush. “And I’d like your help with Sarah and Alex. The time has come for them to get serious about their futures. We’ve put it off for too long. If we delay any longer, it might be too late.”

When Josh spoke again, his voice was tight with disapproval. “We’ve had this conversation before, Rachel. I’m not going to browbeat my children into doing what they don’t want to do. If Alex wants to be an actor, or a fry cook, or a sanitation worker, that’s his choice.”

“I completely agree,” Rachel said calmly.

“Furthermore, you can’t…

“Wait. What? Did you just say you agreed with me?”

“Yep,” she said, grinning like a loon. It wasn’t often she caught Josh off-balance. She was going to enjoy it while it lasted.

“I’ve changed my mind. Admitted I was wrong. I can’t keep on trying to stuff a round peg into a square hole as far as Alex is concerned. And Sarah is even worse. She won’t even argue. It’s very unfair,” she pouted.

“Although,” she continued, letting her voice go low and sultry, “if you’ve got a round peg you’d like to pound into me…I wouldn’t mind. I miss you, honey,” she said. “What do you say to trying to make it work again? I’ve got this big-ass house, and the kids are going to be gone soon.

“Come up next weekend,” she wheedled. “We can have a nice long visit, and we can hash things out with the kids. Sarah won’t be hard. Just have her apply to Le Cordon Bleu and watch her take off. She’s a damn good cook. She’ll probably have her own restaurant by the time she’s thirty-five. Maybe earlier. With Alex we’ll need to set up some interviews with acting schools. He might prefer to get a place downtown. I’ll need your help.”

Her ex-husband barked a laugh into the phone. “Christ, Rachel, you don’t do things by halves, do you? What the hell has gotten into you?”

“No one you know,” she grinned, and he laughed again.

~Truly.~

“What do you say? See you Friday evening?”

“Sure,” he said. “Why not? I’ve got to see the looks on their faces when you spring this on them. That alone would be worth the trip.”

“Oh, I’ll make it worth it in other ways,” she promised, shifting in her seat. Already she could imagine the feel of his strong hands on her skin, how he filled her up when she took him from above.

“All right, sweetheart,” he said. “I’ve got a few things to take care of. You can tell the kids I’ll be there Friday afternoon. I’ll be in touch if there’s any change. Love you.”

“Love you, too,” she said, her voice breaking at the end. She hit the disconnect button and swiped happy, horny tears away from her cheeks.

xxxxx

She arrived home twenty minutes later. Dropping her keys on the table, she went upstairs to her bedroom to change. Stripping off her clothes, she found herself admiring her rear in the mirror. Her hands grazed over her skin, and she sighed as she fingertips skimmed over the tiny, baby-fine hairs on her ass-cheeks. The muscles of her buttocks were slightly sore from the pounding Jeremy had given her, and her skin bore a slight flush from the top of her thighs to the base of her spine.

She went back downstairs and discovered the kids on the back deck, sipping beer and grilling steaks.

“Mmmm,” she sighed, inhaling the fragrant aroma. “That smells great. What do we have to go along with it, Sarah?”

“An awesome brussel sprout dish,” her daughter replied cheerfully. “Baked with onions, hot peppers, and bacon. And twice-baked potatoes. And garlic bread.”

“Sounds fantastic. I’ve got some good news,” she said, gathering Sarah into a sideways hug. Her body was warm and firm against her own. Alex looked on bemusedly. Behind them, fat dripped onto the coals, sending up gouts of flame and steam. She turned her head and whispered into her daughter’s ear, her words hot with promise.

“Daddy’s coming home.”

THE END OF PART ONE