Peter made his living with the tarot cards.
Most days, he had normal customers; those seeking advice and their own signs. Only rarely did he receive a special client. Someone who saw his cards as they really appeared.
The last time had been when his beloved Caroline entered his shop.
Today, he walked into his shop and began cleaning and prepping for the day. He didn’t have any appointments, but he expected a walk in.
He didn’t have to wait long.
The woman entered the store without the hesitation of most of his walk-ins. She was tall, confident and had what seemed to him yards of dark, curly hair.
He rose from his table and offered her his hand. “Hello, I’m Peter. Welcome to my shop” he said as she took his hand. “How can I serve you today?” He felt a tug of energy as she closed his hand around hers.
She shook his hand briefly, looking seeing the shop. “Geena. Do you do dream analysis?”
Peter considered this question, and this woman. There was something enjoy her that had him edgy, feeling less in control. “It’s not my specialty, but I have worked with dreams before.” He gestured toward his table, wondering if he should send her away.
Settled at the table, her eyes flicked around the space. “So should I just tell you about the dream?”
“It’s been a week, and I just keep having the same dream.” She paused, licking her lips.
Peter found himself distracted by the action, losing the thread of her story, as he focused on her glossy, pink lips. He finally forced his gaze from her mouth.
“In the dream , I start out dancing with what I can only describe as death.” She met his eyes, and Peter was surprised at her dark her eyes were. “At least I think he’s death. He has a skull head and is wearing something old fashioned.”
When she paused, Peter nodded and promoted her to continue. “So you and this death figure dance?”
She blushed and bit her lip.
Peter found himself intrigued, and he was surprised to realize attracted to her.
“We don’t just dance…” She paused looking down. “In the dream, he slides my skirt up, and I’m not wearing panties.”
Peter felt his cock twitched, and he picked up his special cards. He shuffled then to distract himself. “Did your partially clothes state seem unsual” he cut the cards, adding a hasty “was it unusual in the dream, I mean.”
She shook her head, slowly. “I don’t think so. It feels natural, and well,” she raised her eyes to meet his. “I like it. I feel sexy and, well, aroused by it all.”
Something about the dream tugged at Peter’s memory. But as he pictured the scene, and his cock strained against his jeans, trying to place the particulars of the dream seemed less important. He found himself wanting her. Thinking about bending her over the table and fucking her on top of the tarot cards.
“In the dream, I’m me, but I’m not me.” She twinned a lock of hair around her finger. “I’m like a demon thing, with a pointy tail and bat wings.” She leaned forward, on the table. “And I’m so turned on by him,” she purred, stroking his arm. “He pushes me against the wall, and he runs his boney hand under my skirt.”
Geena continued to lean over the table, moving closer to Peter. She was almost close enough to kiss, when she spoke again.
“And I let him fuck me up against that wall, and I love it,” her lips were feather light against his as she finished telling him about the dream.
The cards slipped from Peter’s hand, and he recognized the dream image she described, and he knew what she was. But he didn’t care. He still wanted her.
He leaned forward and kissed her, feeling the heat between them. Geena broke the kiss, laughing deep in her throat. “So what does my dream mean?”
Peter smiled, wondering if he could escape this web – or more intriguing could he have her and survive? “You know what it means, succubus.”
She smiled at him, “but you still want me, don’t you?”
Peter nodded, his eyes falling on the death card. “Yes, I still want you.”
She stood and unzipped her dress.