Vicky was lying curled up in Jabber's arms. "How was that?" she asked.

They were in his bed, under the covers, the room dark and cozy. He held her close, enjoying the feeling of her lithe body pressed against his, the rich smell of honey in her hair. "Best night I've had in the past few years."

"For me as well," Vicky purred. She nestled even closer to whisper in his ear. "And now, you know what I would love?"

"Hmm?" Jabber was feeling happily drowsy. "Sleep?"

"No." Vicky pushed him. "Come on, you know what I want afterwards."

Jabber groaned. "Now? You want to possess me now?"

"Come on!" Vicky said. "I miss it. It'll be just like old times."

"Don't you and Theodore do enough possessing?"

"I can't possess him. He's an angel. I'd break out in hives and probably kill him."

"Be that as it may, I'm no longer bound by our marriage contract for weekly possessions. So, if you will pardon me . . ." Jabber closed his eyes and pretended to snore.

"You're such an ass," Vicky said, chuckling. "But you're wrong about not being bound by contract."

Jabber opened his eyes. "What do you mean?"

Snapping her fingers, a luminous paper with writing like fiery blood appeared in Vicky's hand. "According to the contract you signed at Fokso's party, you are obligated to let me possess you at the time and place of my choosing. And I choose here and now. Ha!"

"You conniving little she-devil!" Jabber groaned as he read through the fine print. She was right, there was no way he could get out of it.

"Oh, come now!" Vicky laughed out loud. "You know you love it when I ensnare you like this."

The story has been stolen; if detected on Amazon, report the violation.

Jabber was now fully awake and laughed with her. "Okay, okay, you're right, it's actually rather endearing, if not a little sexy."

"Are you ready?"

"Bottoms up," Jabber said as Vicky turned into a roiling dark cloud and flowed into his mouth. She tasted exactly like her scent, sweet and faintly smoky. Jabber felt her flow like liquid fire into his body and then the room around him faded as she melted into his soul.

For a terrifying moment, Jabber's instinctual reaction was to pull away in half-panic. As Vicky possessed him she was able to see who he truly was. All his petty fears, hopes, and neuroses were laid bare. It was the embodiment of Jabber's worst nightmare. How could she stand possessing someone as small and mean as himself?

And yet, after the initial shock, as the revulsion he expected from Vicky failed to materialize, the feeling of being truly seen–seen and not rejected–was a touching experience, one that he had quite forgotten the beauty of. He soon relaxed and even felt like yelping from raw joy everytime Vicky moved inside him, touching and probing the most sensitive parts of his being. It was as though she were a connoisseur in an art gallery, gazing, exploring, and most strange of all to Jabber, taking pleasure in the things she found. As the seconds passed, her essence merged more and more into his soul until it became the most intimate embrace possible, more powerful than love-making, so powerful Jabber did not know where he ended and Vicky began.

All at once, however, in the middle of that bliss, he noticed the smell of burning bacon, and then coughing, and then, the thing that he had feared most, the pain of absolute horror and revulsion from Vicky as she tried to rip herself from him, coughing, gagging, and screaming for help. His stomach burned and roiled, pressure built up in his head until he felt it would burst. Nausea swept through him, the muscles of his gut cramping painfully as he coughed and vomited a boiling, sparking smoke all over his bed.

As the smoke formed back into Vicky, she lay gasping, her skin burning and blackened as though she were paper set all to fire with dozens of devouring circles of flame. Her eyes were partly melted into her nose and cheek, and her mouth was slack and deformed. The stench was terrible, like rotten meat that had been burnt in a coal furnace.

"Holy Water?!" Vicky rasped in pain.

Though he was horrified at what was happening to her, he felt an immediate sense of relief. Love Potion Number Nine! Of course! It was the potion, not his dark and terrible self that had made Vicky flee his body and soul.

"Uh . . ." Jabber grimaced in apologetic embarrassment. "I'm so sorry . . . I might have taken some with the love potion I drank, you know, to prime my Little Jabber down there for action."

Vicky coughed, smoke and ash pouring out of her throat. "Don't you know that could kill me?"

"What," Jabber stammered, "what should I do?"

But Vicky was already passed out, her body burning away like autumn leaves on a bonfire.