Chapter 1

Sam slumped as she walked through the door. She was halfway undressed before the heavy oak had even shut behind her, her Macbook and her copy of Critical Psychiatry: Controversies and Clinical Implications (third edition) spilling out of her canvas tote as she deposited it on the foyer table.

The 23 year-old felt drained. She had no idea why she thought she could fit a full-time job, labwork, and an in-person’s masters program into a semblance of a functional schedule. She collapsed onto the couch, making little subvocal whining noises as she curled onto the cozy sofa, allowing herself a brief respite before she got up to make dinner.

She didn’t *have* to. Charles had insisted, over and over again, that he’d be more than happy to take some more of the housework off her plate. She’d resisted, insisting on equitable chores and housework when she moved in; he already cooked and did dishes half the week, and she’d refused to consider the possibility that she might need some help with her overly ambitious schedule.

“Hey baby. Hard day?”

“Uh huh,” came Sam’s voice, muffled by the cushion she had crammed against her face.

He came around behind her and rubbed her shoulders. “Anything I can do? Need to vent?”

“Ugh, well, Dr. Pierce, she teaches my cultural competencies class, she…”

Sam rambled on as Charles gently massaged her, his large hands soothing on her shoulders, neck, and head. He really was the perfect guy.

Understanding and empathetic, he was so gentle with her. She slowly calmed down from her almost panicky state she’d been in when she walked through the door.

“You know, why don’t we go out to dinner? Both of us have just been slammed recently. Do some reconnecting. Been a minute since we just slowed down.”

Anxious warning thoughts about the mountain of things she needed to get done immediately flashed through her brain. Charles rubbed her dainty calf and she breathed for a second. “Yes, please. Thai?”
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Slightly dressier than she generally bothered with, Sam giggled as she browsed shop windows and watched the bar crowds on Frenchman street as she and her boyfriend went on a post dinner walk, hand-in-hand. Stuffed with tom kha, duck salad, and beef satay, and slightly tipsy on the two (inauthentic but delicious) “Thai mojitos” she’d drunk through the course of the dinner, the slim girl couldn’t remember the last time she’d actually been able to just enjoy a meal. It was warm in New Orleans October, but the temperature had been dropping at night; she tucked her bare shoulder under Charles’s arm as they walked by jazz haunts, antique stores, and art galleries.

They were a cute, if unremarkable couple, as compared to the more flamboyantly dressed and arrayed crowds bar-hopping on that beautiful night. Endless spin classes and yoga (and her usual frantic pace) had given Sam a slim, tomboyish build. In her heels, the 5’6’’ Jewish brunette was a hair’s breadth shorter than the stockier Charles. Countless hours sitting behind a desk, poring over forensic accounting files had shown an effect, and his youthful muscle was slowly fading into a slightly pudgy dad bod.

They’d met shortly after Sam had graduated from Tulane University, where she’d moved from Philadelphia to attend undergrad. The famously raucous party atmosphere of both Nola and the school itself hadn’t had much appeal for Sam; she was ambitious, and liked socializing, but her idea of a fun night out was networking over a fancy cocktail and being home by ten; she wasn’t much for displaying her tits for beads or downing jello shots.

Charles, a few years older, at 27, was an accountant; she’d met him by chance on the patio of Baldwin Books, where he’d been drinking coffee and working on a beaten to hell MSI laptop. She’d found herself smitten with the bespectacled, nerdy Black man. He was just so…kind. Gentle, and encouraging of Sam’s ambitions and plans. Exactly what she had thought she’d wanted; a partner, someone she could come home to and quietly cuddle up next to. Try out recipes with, go on strolls through the park, watch foreign films. Their relationship wasn’t red hot passionate, but it was loving, gentle, and equitable.

They walked, hand in hand, turning around to head back to the car and to their house across the bridge, out on the Westbank; a quiet, placid little suburb.

Charles was talking about Something caught Sam’s eye as they turned off the busy street onto the alley where they’d parked their car. Her eyes transfixed, Sam strode over to the window display, feasting her eyes on Tarot cards, herbs and unguents, leather bound books, and bric a brac of all sorts.

“It’s just another voodoo shop. Tourist bait. There’s like nine of them in the Quarter.”

Sam nodded. Like a lot of women, she’d gone through a witch-y phase, doing Tarot spreads and getting her star chart worked up. While she recognized that most of these stores were just appropriative bs, the vibe still had some pull on her. “C’mon let's go in. Please?”

Charles sighed as Sam dragged him by the hand up the stairs into the narrow doorway. Other then the oddly-late hours, the store looked like every other she’d ever been to; racks of candles, bundles of sage, astrology charts, terrible, terrible books with titles like “Unlocking Your Dreams,” some vaguely-feminist tchotchkes and t-shirts.

Still slightly tipsy, Sam happily browsed the books, looking quizzically at “Finding Your Inner Angel,” frowning at “Combat Magic: Spells for Defending Yourself From Energy Vampires,” and giggling at the clearly self-published “Love Potions: Spells for Desire and Lust.”

She drifted over to the candles, smiling at the middle-aged plump hippy staffing the counter. Charles was listlessly looking at an altar dedicated to Ezrulie Dantor.

Among the various candles meant to be lit with intentions (wisdom! wealth! friendship!), one stood out, grabbing Sam’s attention. Unlike the others, which were shaped like standard candles, this one had clearly been crafted with a great deal of effort and care. It was shaped like a fertility idol; think like the Venus of Willendorf, a woman’s figure, ample hips, large breasts, a fecund, fertile belly. It was also significantly larger than the others. Despite the somewhat crude nature of the sculpting, it was eye-catching and arresting. Sam felt…odd, looking at it. Slightly afraid, but…captivated. It was just a candle. A fascinating, totemic design, but just a lump of wax.

And it cost seventy-five dollars, which was an absurd figure for a candle. Still, staring at it, Sam pictured it on her nightstand, lighting it, maybe, when she and Charles would make love. A little ritual for herself.

She looked at the card in front of it. “A potent talisman for unlocking your inner desires and revealing your true self, this candle was crafted by…” Her eyes glazed over. She resolved to buy it.

“Seriously, babe?” Charles had walked up beside her while she’d been studying the candle. “Seventy five dollars for a candle? You know you don’t even get to keep them, it’ll be ruined the first time you light it…”

She mumbled something in response, picking the surprisingly heavy figure up. It felt warm in her small hands, warmer than wax ought to. She shook her head and took a breath. “Our bedroom is kinda boring! She’ll look nice in there. And I’ll replace her with something more permanent once she’s done.”

“Her?” was all Charles had to respond to that. Sam took the candle over to the counter. “Oh, excellent choice. You know, the artist is a local, she’s usually at our Sunday market…”

Sam barely listened to the woman as she dived into a recitation of the different community events the shop hosted, fascinated by her purchase. Fascinated by the curve of thigh and belly and breast in the figure.

Swinging the bag slightly as they walked the rest of the way to the car, Sam tucked herself closer to her boyfriend. “You know, we’ve been so busy lately…it’s just nice to have some time with you.”

“I know, babe,” he said, nuzzling her hair before he walked around to the driver’s side. He put his hand on her thigh as she sat in the passenger seat. She smiled over at him. He wasn’t usually one for public displays of affection, of touching her outside of designated intimacy times. They had a….satisfying sex life. Four times a week, usually, unless they had particularly busy schedules. It was…good, Sam thought. But a little extra lust- a little extra desire- wouldn’t be such a bad thing.

Magical Realism Slob/Toilet/Farting Pregnancy Punishing/Forcing/Hypnosis Humiliation/Teasing Helpless/Weak/Dumpling Feeding/Stuffing Sexual acts/Love making Enthusiastic Indulgent Lazy Female Straight Immobility Wife/Husband/Girlfriend X-rated

14 chapters, created 6 months , updated 6 months

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