Succubus

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For a long time, we remained joined, our foreheads touching as we reclaimed our breath. My cock was still twitching inside her. Soft little shudders ran through her as it did. Finally, when our hearts had stopped pounding, I lifted her free and laid her gently on the stone surface of the alcove. Her body was bathed in sunlight and she stretched languorously, like a cat. She was beautiful, her lips blood stained, her breasts rising and falling gently with her breath, her thighs splayed apart, my cum leaking from her bruised, swollen cunt. I had to fight the urge to take her again, right there, right then.

*****

A light evening breeze was blowing across the water, cooling the light sheen of sweat that sparkled on our bodies. I was back to playing slave again. Actually, I was quite relieved. I had been getting a little tired of this whole moor thing. Cleopatra was looking pensive. She had something on her mind. I could tell. After a few minutes of gazing absently across the Nile, the lines of her chin tightened as though she had made up her mind about something.

"I saw the two of you," she said suddenly, turning to me, "you were like animals."

At first, I thought she was displeased. And then, I saw the longing in her eyes, a longing that her pride wouldn't allow her to express. I leaned forward and planted a soft kiss on her lips, barely a flutter. She didn't move away or protest. As the sun dipped below the horizon, our kiss deepened. Her lips parted and she let me in. I explored her mouth, slowly and patiently. And as she moaned her desire, I parted her robe and softly cupped her mound. She was warm and moist. I dipped a finger between her swollen lips to find her weeping entrance. I paused for a moment before plunging my finger deep inside her. She rose up to meet me.

I added a second finger and a third until she was full. I sipped her moans from her lips as I took her. When she came, her thighs snapped shut, trapping my fingers inside her as though she couldn't bear to let me go. I cradled her body as she shuddered. When I withdrew my fingers, they shone in the half light, draped in her juices. I raised my fingers to my mouth and licked off the wetness. She blushed and her thighs fell apart. I knew what she wanted.

I moved around to kneel between her open thighs. I placed my palms on the insides flattening her knees against the cushion before swooping down into the wet heat of her cunt. As I slowly drew her heated flesh into my mouth, she moaned and her body arched. I gratefully accepted that offering. I drank from that spring for what seemed like hours as her fingers played in my hair. I don't remember being happier in my life.

There is no justice in this world. She ought to have been one of us. She had the heart of a demon. She had a taste for power that was utterly amoral and she shared our abiding interest in death. She always fed me well. Her Egypt was a violent place. There were always captured soldiers or guilty conspirators who had to be dispatched. I was an entertaining way to do it. She would recline beside our coupling bodies and watch their faces intently as I slowly drew their life breath out of them. It was as though she yearned to know where they were going. That was not a question I could answer. I merely tore the souls from their bodies. I had no inkling what awaited them on the other shore.

She did not have long before she found out. She died as she lived, alone and unafraid. I was sorry to see her go. And for some time, I hatched grand schemes of vengeance. Octavius was beyond my reach, but his soldiers were easy prey. So I thinned their ranks. Given enough time and patience, I might have wiped out the Roman army in Egypt and then perhaps, history would have looked a bit different.

But as things turned out, I tired of a diet of Roman meat. They were disgusting. They smelt like they hadn't had a bath in years, an offence that my nose, which had become accustomed to the finest perfumes of the ancient world, couldn't bring itself to bear. And then, I was called away by a spot of business in the Han empire. There was this courtier that the Empress Dowager disapproved of. That was one lady you definitely didn't want to cross.

It was a welcome change. The mark was nice ... and sweet smelling. Actually, he was a great deal more than that. He was cultured and refined, the sort of chap who could recite poetry in his cups. And he knew how to treat a lady right. He was polite and courtly. He knew he had to deserve my body. It was not to be taken. It was to be freely given. We spent a wonderful evening in the courtyard of his mansion. We sat in the shadow of a stand of pine. The air was heavy with their scent and the liquid notes of a lute. I couldn't see the player, but I imagined it was a woman. There was something unmistakably feminine about its melancholy. Periodically, tiny portions of food materialized on the low table in front of me. He had trained his servants well. They were like ghosts in their discretion. By the time he led me to his room, my body was singing with a sense of well being I hadn't known in a long time.

In the flickering lamplight, his body was smooth and clean like alabaster except for the thin pink-lipped scar that ran across his back, a gift from some clumsy assassin. I ran a careful fingertip along its length as he rocked inside me. He died well, aware of his fate, calm and clear-eyed. Then I did something that was unusual for me. I took his short-sword as a souvenir. I wanted something to remember him by.

*****

While I abandoned my plans for revenge, I did pay Cleopatra a small tribute. A few hundred years later, in a sun-drenched studio in Naples, I sat for Massimo Stanzione as he painted his Death of Cleopatra. Of course, I didn't look even remotely like her. I was a renaissance ideal, with the face of an innocent girl and the voluptuous body of a mature woman, with curves that could block the view. But I had no choice. In the medieval art market, Cleo's sleek feline grace would have had no takers.

When I saw the finished canvas, tears sprung to my eyes. It had an arresting beauty that was almost otherworldly. The asp clung ... tenderly ... to one rosy nipple. A single drop of blood dripped, thick and oily, down the slope of her breast. Her body was soft and sensuous and naked except for the velvet drape that was tossed coyly across her hips. Massimo had painted a dying woman who aroused not pity, but desire. You almost wanted to claim her while she was dying, to savor the last remnants of life that remained in that magnificent body. Cleo would have liked that.

I was seized by an urge to absorb into myself that man who had conjured so much beauty out of a few pots of paint, but I fought it. I wish I hadn't. He would have died a beautiful death in my arms. As it turned out, he died a few years later of the plague, his body wracked with pain and covered in pestilent sores.

That painting, like so many other things, passed out of my life, until quite recently, when my own special set of skills was sought to settle a small squabble between two oil barons in St. Petersburg. The issue was resolved to everyone's satisfaction except possibly for the fellow who was reclining in a coffin in the nave of the Cathedral of the Resurrection. I like my work treated with respect and my victims to have a fitting end. This particular service had been beautiful. I wept as the music, at once tender and terrible, rolled around that church like waves. As the last note lingered in the air, reluctant to be claimed by silence, I rose from the pew and walked out into the sunlight.

It was a glorious day and I realized that I had some time to kill. So I went to the Hermitage and stood once again before Massimo's canvas. Its beauty was still undimmed. I remembered the little girl who had captured my heart by refusing to be afraid. And I found myself smiling. Distance had dulled the pain. All that remained was the celebration of a life that she had, by sheer will, made extraordinary. When I left, there was a spring in my step.

*****

I must have been gone a long time. When I emerged from my reverie, Benjamin's forehead was creased with concern. I smiled at him and gave his shoulders a reassuring squeeze. His muscles were a bundle of knots.

"Hmmm..." I murmured, "we need to do something about that."

I leaned down to whisper softly in his ear.

"Would you like me to work those out for you?"

I didn't give him time to ponder his options. I took his hand and headed off purposefully in the direction of my little spa. Wakefield Manor has its compensations.

He stood in the middle of the room, awkward and unsure.

"Here," I said as I tossed him a towel, "Get into the sauna. I want your pores nice and open when I work your muscles."

He held the towel in his hand, uncertain. I wasn't going anywhere and he was glancing around the room for a place to change. He finally trotted off in the direction of the sauna. He pulled the door behind him and as I watched in growing amusement, his clothes began to emerge, one after the other, through a crack in the door until there were evidently none left. I pulled a bell cord ... Ah, the English know how to live ... to summon Imelda. While I waited for her to arrive, I stripped off, dropping my clothes in a pile on the floor.

I saw her eyes run over my naked length before she walked towards me. I held my arms out to my sides as an invitation. She picked up a towel, wrapped it around me and knotted it above my breasts. As she tucked the end of the towel into the valley between my soft mounds, the pad of her thumb grazed my skin and I felt her breathing quicken. As I strode towards the sauna, I glanced over my shoulder at her.

"I want some oil waiting for me when I come out."

He was surprised when I walked in. I flashed him a bright smile and settled on the wooden bench opposite him. As I threw my head back and closed my eyes, my robe fell open. I knew exactly what he would see. My thighs were slightly parted and the soft triangle of my pubes was visible. His eyes would travel upwards along the planes of my stomach until they lighted on the gentle slopes of my breasts and the melting brown of my nipples, which peeked coyly from the edge of the towel. I heard his sharp intake of breath and suppressed a smile. I wondered if he was already hard. Yes, I decided, I would put my money on it.

The heat was delicious and I caught myself drifting off to sleep. That wouldn't do, I thought dreamily. After about twenty minutes, I finally shook myself out of my lassitude and got up. He followed me as if on cue. Imelda was waiting, tray in hand, a delicate bowl of blue porcelain balanced on it. I led the way towards the massage table in the middle of the room. It gleamed darkly, its mahogany weathered by years of use. When I reached the table, I turned around, unknotted my towel and dropped it to the ground. His eyes almost started out of their sockets.

"It gets in the way," I explained sweetly.

He stood there frozen, a couple of feet away from me. It began to look like we would be spending all eternity trapped in that tableau.

"Take yours off," I added helpfully.

Almost mechanically, he reached for the towel at his waist and took it off. I heard Imelda moan softly as he was left naked. He was so hard the veins on his cock looked like they were on the verge of bursting.

"Lie on your stomach," I whispered. My voice came out husky.

As he clambered on, I quickly slid a pillow under his hips to make room for his throbbing shaft. He looked delicious, his tight little ass raised up, his balls swollen and his cock flat against the cushioned surface of the table. I dipped my fingers in the oil. It was pleasantly warm, just the way I like it. I began at his shoulders, slowly kneading the tightness out of his muscles. He moaned as my fingers worked, luxuriating in the unfamiliar feel of a woman's hands on his body. I'm sure it also helped that the woman in question was naked and that my breasts were bouncing softly as I worked on him. I smiled to myself. I would give him a great deal more to moan about.

After I was done with his back, I moved to his legs, running my palms along his hard muscled thighs, his calves and his feet. I had carefully avoided that delicious looking derriere and he was getting restless. Finally after what must have seemed to him an eternity, I stopped near his waist and took each cheek in the palm of a hand. I slowly rotated the flesh, squeezing the half moons of his buttocks together and then pulling them apart, exposing the soft crinkled lip of his anus.

When they were gleaming with oil, I used the fingers of one hand to carefully prize apart the cheeks of his ass. He was now deliciously exposed. Then, I dipped the thumb of my other hand in warm oil and rubbed it in soft circles along the rim of muscle that guarded his opening. He groaned at the sensation and his hips jerked off the pillow, unconsciously offering me his bottom to ravage. I was tempted for a moment to sink my oil slick thumb into his tight little hole and open him up. But I resisted the temptation. I sensed that it would be too much for him to cope with. His cock was leaking pre cum and I knew it wouldn't take much for him to shoot his cream all over the vinyl surface of the table. It wasn't time for that yet.

I released his cheeks, letting them spring back together and then whispered, "Roll over." He didn't seem to hear me the first time. I had to repeat myself a little louder before he finally obeyed, almost as though he were in a trance. There was a look almost of panic in Imelda's eyes as they fell upon the pillar of flesh that rose from Benjamin's waist. His cock was jerking, the head soaked in pre cum. I ignored it and began again at his shoulders. As I proceeded patiently down his body, there was an expression almost of disbelief on his face. His hips were surging, rising and falling like the crest of a wave, his cock swaying and bouncing. He couldn't help it.

Finally, there was no skin left to cover except his trembling length and the tight swollen spheres of his balls. I hefted the cum-heavy orbs in the palm of one hand and gently rolled them. He moaned, his fingers scrabbling helplessly on my breasts, his nails softly scoring my nipples. I decided to put him out of his misery. When I trapped his cock in the prison of my fingers, he sighed softly and began to move, seeking some relief from that swollen ache that was driving him insane.

It was a relief that I denied him. My hand moved with the rhythm of his hips, offering him no friction, just the comfort of entrapment. It wasn't enough to make him come. Imelda's eyes were locked on his engorged cock and a thin line of sweat had formed on her upper lip.

"He's beautiful, isn't he?" I teased her. She shook herself out of her trance and glanced up at my face. Her eyes were vacant. I knew she was still seeing in her mind's eye Benjamin's cock, proud and erect, wrapped in my oily fingers.

"Do you want to watch him spurt?" I asked her, my voice half mocking.

She looked at me, confusion writ large on her face.

"Do you want to watch him spurt?" I repeated and then added, on a whim, "You get to decide whether he comes tonight."

Benjamin groaned and his eyes met Imelda's across the table. There was a desperate plea in their depths. I was beginning to enjoy this.

"Yes," she croaked.

"Yes what, darling?" I asked.

"Make him come," she groaned and then added, a hungry edge to her voice, "Make him spurt." She almost spat out the last words.

I decided to oblige. My hand began to move. I gently milked his cock, my palm traveling from the base to the tip, to be replaced by the palm of my other hand. I set a rhythm that I knew would drive him mad, his cock, now glistening with oil, passing through my hands by turns. His face was a mask of concentration, his forehead furrowed, as he poured every ounce of his being into scrambling up that peak to blessed release. Imelda seemed to have stopped breathing. When I was sure I had their attention, I placed the flat of one palm against his belly, flattening his body against the table, and then milked him with my other hand with three sharp swift strokes. He exploded, great gouts of sperm splashing on his body. I continued to fist him until he quietened and he had nothing left to give me.

I released his softening prick and picked up a wet towel to wipe my hands on.

"Clean him up," I said, matter of factly. Imelda, who was still standing there, open mouthed, drinking in the sight of Benjamin, drenched in his own cum, seemed to snap out of her trance when she heard those words. She slowly wiped her forehead with one hand before she stepped gingerly on legs that seemed unsteady towards the naked body that lay splayed across the table. She gently gripped his still swollen cock and squeezed. She moaned as a thick dollop of cream oozed from the tiny lips. She leaned forward, seemingly on impulse, and drank the salty discharge. His body shuddered as she sipped. I turned away, smiling. It looked like she was enjoying the little task I had given her.

*****

The next morning, I was already at the breakfast table when he emerged. My eyes smiled at him over the rim of my coffee cup and he blushed. I like shy young men. And this one was adorable. But I wasn't in the mood just then for light conversation and awkward silences. Anyway, he seemed to be well looked after. Imelda was clucking over him like a mother hen. I retreated to the library. There was an obscure little counter spell that I had been hunting for a while which was rumored to render a sorceror speechless. Not that there were too many bonafide sorcerors left, I thought wistfully... Life used to be more of a challenge in the old days.

The truth is that I just needed some excuse to withdraw. The library is my refuge. It is where I flee from the world. A few hours with some ancient manuscript that has passed from human memory and I feel admirably restored.

That day, the hours passed quickly. It was already dusk before I knew it. I nudged aside the remains of the lunch that Imelda had brought in some hours ago and stretched. Maybe it was time, I thought ... time to feed. My blood tripped joyously through my veins at the thought of Benjamin. I was greedy ... for his youth and his innocence. I could feel my sex grow moist at the image of his naked body spread out like a feast. Yes, I thought, squeezing my thighs together, it was definitely time.

I changed into a long flowing robe of cream silk. I thought it set off my skin rather nicely. It was late and the house was quiet. I guessed that Benjamin must have turned in. I walked quietly through the corridors of that house. Benjamin had his bedroom in the East wing of the manor and it was some distance from mine. The moon was full and even though the corridors were not lit, it was easy enough to see by its silvery glow.

As I neared Benjamin's room, I saw a shadowy figure slip through his door. My initial reaction was one of concern. But it was quickly replaced by curiosity. I doubted there was anyone in the manor who wished him ill. The door was slightly ajar and its edges were softened by the light that filtered out from the room. I placed my eye against the crack and was met by an intriguing sight. Imelda stood next to the bed on which Benjamin lay asleep. And as I watched, she clutched the hem of her dress which was so short it barely covered the curves of her bottom and pulled it over her head. Her hair caught in her collar briefly before she tugged the dress free.

She had her back to me. I had never really noticed how beautiful she was. Her skin was the color of honey held up to sunlight. Her lines were soft and my eyes were drawn to the ripe curves of her buttocks and the tantalizing gap in the junction of her thighs where her pussy nestled, warm and waiting. I could already sense her arousal. In all the time that I had stood there, she hadn't taken her eyes from Benjamin. I remembered that there was an alcove to the right of the door, which was shielded by a curtain.