It's not the easiest life, being married to a warlock. All right -- you didn't know that's what I was when we started dating. Sure, my family was a little odd (no, Uncle Xerxes does not really have a beach house on the Lake of Hali in Carcosa), and I was always cagey about what precisely my doctorate was in, and sometimes I came from "the office" smelling vaguely of brimstone, but none of that affected my devil-may-care smile, naturally curly hair with the distinguished streak of gray on one temple, or my excellent taste in suits. And yes ... I was a perfect gentleman to you. Smitten with you, actually. Maybe I chained walking demons to pentagrams in my spare time, and perhaps I had done battle in the ruins of Y'ha'nethlei wielding an enchated Roman gladius that belonged in a museum, but I was unfailingly sweet and romantic. When I proposed, there was no question you'd accept. Even if it had to be a civil ceremony -- I actually do perfectly well in churches and synagogues, but Aunt Serena ... well, she just hasn't been the same since that unfortunate incident in Budapest in 1784. The brownstone in the Village is a family heirloom, but we have perfect privacy there -- and you must admit, living in the middle of Manhattan in a home that's enchanted to exist on multiple planes of existence has done wonder for our utility bills. It's a storybook marriage, honestly, even if the storybook is the Lesser Key of Solomon or the Chemical Wedding of Christian Rosencreuz. So it was with no small amount of shock you listened to my request, sitting across from you in front of the grand fireplace, holding your hand in both of mine, an earnest smile on my face and something a trifle obsessive in my eyes. "Darling, you'd be helping me out tremendously if you'd let me turn you into a succubus. Just temporarily, mind you. It's for a good cause, I promise."

This wound up a little more tongue-in-cheek than I intended, but the overall idea is pretty much the same: modern day warlock and his faithful bride embark on a sexual experiment that quickly gets out of control. I await your withering criticism (and eagerness for unholy but quite arousing rituals).