Christa tucked a loose curl of chestnut hair behind her ear. She was in her office, surrounded by the tools of her trade. Bottles of cleaning agents were in perfect rows on the shelves behind her. Book presses, paper cutters, scissors, awls, rulers, and miscellaneous tools were tucked away in clearly labeled bins. The thick blackout curtains were drawn tight and held tight together with clamps. Above her the UV filtered lights illuminated her workspace.
She set a large gray plastic tote onto her perfectly flat white work surface. With blue gloved hands, she pulled out an old dirty book that stood in sharp contrast to the clean organized space around her. With a soft bristle brush, she began to remove the dust and caked on grime from the leather cover. As she worked, a word revealed on the cover.
Journal
.
Christa purchased the book from as a part of a recent estate sale. The last living relative of the infamous Thomas family of Rochdale had passed away. Her estate was auctioned off and Christa knew there was an opportunity for rare finds. The Thomas family had a reputation around Rochdale for being a family of witches. It was rumored they gained their fortune by communing with demons and other evil spirits. Christa was not a believer, but books belonging to a family with that reputation would fetch a higher price when she was finished restoring them.
At the auction, the books were sold as a single item. Placed in water damaged cardboard boxes, the books were in a serious state of disrepair. The other patrons, who were more interested in silver and antique furniture, passed by the moldy pile. She was able to purchase the lot for a steal. After restoration, Christa would make an excellent profit.
While sorting through the books, she came across the journal. While Christa often handled many rare and exotic books, journals were her personal favorites. She sold most other books, but kept the journals. She told herself that she would eventually sell them and retire. However, in the back of her mind, she knew they were hers to keep. Christa felt a personal connection to the each author in her collection. She imagined each telling her their life story.
After removing most of the grime off the cover, Christa brought over a book stand. She rest the spine in the valley and opened the cover carefully. The stand kept the book from opening completely flat and damaging the binding even further. Inside of the journal in a flourishing cursive was the name
Viola Thomas
. Christa read the first entry in the journal, dated Aug 22nd, 1783.
In this journal I shall record the truth of my despicable pleasures. No mortal soul shall ever read the passages contained here; yet I must record the scandalous sins I have committed against God and nature. Perhaps when I am in my earthen bed this book shall remain. But until my thread is cut by the Fates, I shall guard this with my very life. Unabashed I lay out the naked truth for myself alone.
Tedium. Tedium and drudgery was my life before my fall. Mother died when I was still a child, leaving my sister, brother, and I in my father's care. We were raised with unloving distance generously provided. My father spent his time in communion with his fellows. They don their robes and hold vigil into the night. My eldest sister left with the first soldier she met. A man of good stock who had not heard the whispers whirling around our family. My brother, once of age, joined Father in his communion.
Left to my whims I would bide my days painting those small devices scattered about any home. Tables, long forgotten toys, the food on the table, all became subjects of my art. But my secret withheld is my reading after the light of the day makes my paint impossible. Into the night I would sneak to Father's library and read amongst the ancient tomes.
The folks of town whisper about my family. It is said that my father and his fellows consort with the demon and fae. These rumors speak truth. He deals with those creatures cast away from the Lord's light and learn from them truth and secrets. With these he gained his fortune and I cast out for his sins. Those nights I did sneak into his library I would pour over the catalog of those beasts with which he consorts. It was not but a few nights ago that I did come across that page of my dearest Apogee.
In the margins of his page in Father's pen was written, 'Useless'. Thus labeled my dearest was never considered of use to my father. His illustration did first attract me. Drawn as tall and handsome, it was his lobcock, hanging between his thighs, that first caught my eye. Written as a gentle spirit, he provided no use to my father's search for power. However, he provided strong use to my needs.
Within the candlelight of the cold night, I did summon my Apogee. I sat upon the floor undressed, with my legs wide to reveal the piece of Eve I share. With a finger buried within that moss I did coat my finger with desire. I drew his sigil on the floor. Three lines of an inverted triangle. Two circles at each point of the top. Then, with one final line, from the base through the whole piece I spoke his words, "Apogee, come with me."
A maelstrom did billow into my room. Wind and clouds swirled like the storm at sea and then Apogee, my love, stepped forth. I sat agog at his form. He was a stallion of a man and his tackle was greater than that crudely drawn on the pages of my father's tome. His words enchanted my spirit and tempted me into his grace. I did fall out of the Lord's favor as I sealed my contract with amorous congress.
Each night thus, when the dull soreness in my loins faded, again I would call upon my Apogee. He takes me with a passion unmatched by any man. Oh, my dearest Apogee, I will so willingly cast my soul into the pits to stay with you in union. I think I shall see you again tonight.
Christa closed her eyes shaking her head slightly. Viola's words swam in her head. Of course, it was impossible. She chuckled and thought about what most likely happened. Viola was a girl trapped under her oppressive father. She made up this wild fantasy about summoning a man to her as she needed. Although she knew the story was just a young woman's fantasy, Christa couldn't deny the effect it had on her. She shifted in her chair and felt her panties stick with arousal.
Christa placed the book back into the tote. She ran down the list of tasks ahead of her with Viola's journal. After removing more layers of grime on the outside, she will have to fumigate the book. There was some obvious water damage and mold that needed to be taken care of. The spine was separating on the back and needed to be reattached. The restoration steps formed in her mind as a bulleted list as she planned her next day.
Christa interlaced her fingers and stretched her arms over head. Her muscles were tight between her shoulder blades. She reached behind and pressed her knuckles into her lower back. Pops crackled up her spine. She let out an involuntary sigh as the tension slowly released. The sharp pains subsided, but a dull ache remained.
Christa's phone buzzed on the table. She quickly dismissed her alarm. With her office sealed away from the sun, she lost her sense of time. She knew outside of the thick curtains the sun was setting on the horizon. Each tool was placed away in its particular home. She ended her day by rolling her chair underneath her workstation. She stepped through the door of her office and into the hallway of her home.
The typical problem of working from home was separating work life from home life. Christa made a point to keep a clear distinction. She closed the door and sealed away her job with the smell of cleaning agents and old books. This clear distinction kept her sane.
Her socked feet padded across the wooden floor of her hall. Boards occasionally creaked underneath a step. It was one of the features of living in an old house. Christa was always attracted to an older style. While searching for a new home, she settled on a large Queen Anne, built at the turn of the 20th century. The house was falling in when she bought it, but she was patient. With research and hiring skilled contractors the house was restored. Just as she began to finish, the neighborhood began to gentrify. She soon owned a large, historic home in the middle of new developments.
The hardwood floor transitioned to cold tile as Christa stepped into her bathroom. She loved the history and style of her home, but it the bathtub really sold her. The iron of the clawfoot tub warmed, and steam rose from the spigot as the water slowly heated. A bath is exactly what Christa needed to melt away the knots and aches.
As the tub filled, she undressed. She pulled the old sweater over her head and threw it unceremoniously to the floor. Her bra was simple, padded and nude colored. As she undid the hooks behind her back, her breasts fell. Taking off her bra at the end of a long day was one of her favorite simple pleasures. She lifted her breasts, letting the air cool the perspiration gathered underneath.
She peeled off her yoga pants and panties in one motion and then pulled off her socks. She sat on the edge of the tub and dipped her fingers in the water. With a few twists of the knobs, she perfected the temperature as the water level slowly rose.
Christa's mind drifted back to Viola's story as she waited. She grinned at the thought of having a lover she could summon whenever she wanted. As she fantasized, she felt the warmth slowly spread between her legs. She bit her bottom lip and made a quick decision. She darted naked down the hall, holding on to her breasts as they bounced with each step.
Pushing aside trashy romance novels and lotions, she fished the vibrator out of her bedside drawer. When she bought the pink device, she looked for two features: a silicone covering that felt soft and silky to the touch and waterproofing so she could use it in the bath. With toy in hand, she bounced back to her bath.
