Succubus

I quietly slipped into the room and into concealment. Benjamin was asleep, the covers drawn to his chin. She stood there for a while just looking at him. She reached out and tousled his hair before gripping the edge of his quilt and pulling it away. He awoke with a start, but before he could raise an alarm, she held her fingers to his lips, quieting him. His body relaxed when he recognized her and he settled back onto the sheets.

She sat next to him on the bed and gently placed a palm against his cheek. He nuzzled it. She let him for a while and then her palm drifted downwards over his chest, the flat planes of his stomach and into the dense forest of his curls. His cock was awake and when her fingers wrapped around his length, he moaned. She fisted him without preamble until his hips began to jerk and his tight little bottom began to churn on the sheets.

She clambered onto the bed then, straddling him. She gripped his cock in one hand while she parted the lips of her cunt with the other. She aimed his swollen shaft at her entrance and then sank downwards, swallowing him. He groaned as he was sucked into her velvet heat. She placed her palms flat on his chest and then began to move her hips, rising and falling on the column of flesh that she had imprisoned in her body. From where I was, I could see the way his thickness distended her hole; the way his cock, now wet with her juices, glistened; the way her anus tightened and released in turn as she rose and fell. His body thrashed as he was used, but she had him pinned down. It was unbearably erotic.

The end was not long in coming. He shuddered softly and then his body went rigid. His toes curled and his back arched, as she sucked his essence out of him. She held still as he spurted, her loins glued to his. When his breathing finally quietened, she slowly lifted her body off his. His cock was slippery from a mixture of their fluids. She got on all fours between his parted thighs, her ass in the air, the swollen lips of her cunt cum-smeared. Her face dipped downwards and she began to lick him, her tongue running languorously up and down his still swollen length. His body quivered with each lick. She didn't stop until he had softened and his cock lay spent along his thigh. She crawled forward then to kiss him on his lips, letting him taste her and himself.

She seemed reluctant to let him go, but she finally tore herself away. She pulled up the coverlet and tucked him in. She seemed for all the world like a mother with her child, gentle and solicitous, except for what I had witnessed, that desperate frantic coupling. When she was done, she pulled her dress over herself and tiptoed out of the room. He was already asleep.

I waited for a few seconds in my hiding place and then followed her at a discreet distance. I trailed her down the winding stairs into the basement where the servants had their quarters. On the way, I snatched off a wall the short sword that I had taken for a souvenir all those years ago. She stopped in front of a door of rough hewn oak. She bent over the lock, struggling with the key that she had fished out of a pocket and finally managed to work it loose. She pushed open the door and stepped through. It was when she turned around to close the door behind her that she saw me. I was already at the threshold.

She started back, fear grappling with guilt in her eyes. She kept backing up as I strode forward until her bed nudged the back of her knees and she had nowhere to go. She was scanning my face for some hint of what I proposed to do. But my eyes revealed nothing. I tossed the knife onto the bed, not taking my eyes off her face. I could see that she was beginning to panic, her eyes now flitting between my face and the knife that lay on the sheets. It had a quiet menace that dwarfed anything that I could possibly say.

She seemed to be holding her breath and I knew that it would come out as a scream. I didn't want her waking up the household help, at least not yet. So I leaned forward and covered her lips with mine. Her first reaction was one of shock. And then she melted into my arms, her body pressing itself against my own. I ran my palms down the planes of her back and over her derriere, savoring the softness and the resilience of her flesh. I pushed one knee forward and she yielded, trapping my thigh between her own.

And then, she began to grind her crotch into the hardness of my thigh as I drank from her lips. I wondered at her hunger and then it struck me. I leaned forward a little and nuzzled her ear.

"You didn't come, did you, my little slut?" As I poured the words softly into the shell of her ear, she moaned her answer.

"Do you want to come?" I persisted.

"Yes," she whispered, her voice barely audible, "Oh, God ... yes."

"Do you want me to make you come?"

"Yes," she murmured, "please ..."

I could feel the soft pulp of her cunt through the thin barrier of silk as she rutted against my thigh, her body a slave to her hunger. If she kept that up, she would come soon enough. But I had other plans for her. I stepped away from her, gripped the thin cotton of her dress in one fist and ripped the garment off her body. When she was naked, I slipped the silk robe off my shoulders and let it sidle to the floor. She moaned as my body was unveiled.

"You are beautiful," she whispered. She had a hungry look in her eyes. She looked like a wolf after a lean winter. Her lips parted in a soft sigh as she reached for my breasts. I grabbed her wrists before her hands could reach their destination.

"I didn't say you could have me," I said quietly. She looked disappointed, but didn't attempt to defy my diktat. She knew better than to do that.

I placed a palm on her chest and pushed, tipping her over onto the bed. She lay there sprawled, her hands loose by her sides, her thighs flung wide open. The halo of curls that framed her cunt were wet, matted with her juices and Benjamin's. Her body was an open invitation, one that I intended to accept. I lay down on my side next to her, my head propped up on one arm. Her darker skin was a beautiful counter point to my pale one. I imagined how we would look, our limbs enmeshed, and shuddered.

She was looking at me questioningly. She was aching for me to begin. I placed a palm gently against her cheek and turned her face towards mine. Her lips parted, eager to receive me. I captured her lips between my own and gently sucked the sweet flesh. The flavor of her juices merged with the sharper tang of his cum to make an exotic mix. When I finally let her go, she was panting.

I ran a soft trail of kisses along her skin before dipping my tongue delicately into the soft hollow at the base of her throat. My tongue swirled in the pool of sweat that had gathered there before resuming its journey. I drew a wet line along the deep valley between her breasts before capturing one nipple between my thumb and forefinger. It was stiff and puckered. When I twisted it gently, she groaned. I could see that she was restless. Her thighs were opening and closing of their own accord and her fingers were tugging at my hair. I knew what she wanted.

My lips nibbled their way up the slope of her breast and seized her other nipple. I was gentle with her. I sucked her engorged peak softly, patiently ... wetting it. And then I began to run the flat of my tongue along its wrinkled surface in long greedy strokes. Soft little noises were bubbling from her throat. They were gibberish, but I knew what they meant. They were the unmistakable sounds of a woman begging to be fucked.

And then I bit into her softly. She moaned as I shook my head gently, worrying her captured nipple like a dog would a bone. She held her breath as I slowly drew her flesh out, letting her feel the edge of my teeth. Even after I let her go, I was still connected to her by a thin silvery thread of spit that stretched and then finally broke, snapping back against her bruised skin. It was time for more.

I worked my way around her body to kneel between her thighs. I slid a thick pillow under her hips, raising her up. I wanted her to be able to watch as she was taken. Her lips, thick and engorged, were sealed shut from Benjamin's juices. He was smeared all over her. Even her thighs were stained with his cream. She looked delicious. There is nothing more beautiful, I thought, than a woman who has just been fucked. For a moment, I considered delicately flicking her open with my tongue. But I somehow had the notion that she would prefer something a little more brutal. So I plunged my thumb into her wetness and sliced upwards splitting her open. She was raw and swollen from her little encounter with Benjamin. Her tight little hole was stretched open and he was still bubbling out of her.

I couldn't wait any longer to taste all that lovely meat. I dipped my head, opened wide and sucked the wet, cum soaked flesh of her pussy into my mouth. She wailed and her hips shot up off the sheets, but I held on. As I rolled her flesh in my mouth, my tongue washed her clean. Her breath was now coming in ragged gasps and I knew she was very close. I wanted to be inside her when she came.

When I released her, she mewled like a kitten that had been denied its cream. But she didn't have very long to mourn her loss. I buried my tongue in her tunnel. There are times I particularly enjoy having a prehensile tongue. This was one of those. As it laved the walls of her pussy, my tongue lengthened until it was licking the mouth of her womb. She gasped in disbelief as she was stuffed with pulsing, slithering tongue. Her body was shaking and her fingers were clawing the sheets, drawing them up into sweaty clumps. And then she began to come in huge spasms that clutched at my flesh, squeezing it, milking it, hugging it.

I rode out the storm and when she had calmed down, I emptied her. The rim of her hole was pulsing like a heartbeat. Her clit was swollen and its pink tip was peeking out of its sheath. My tongue has other talents and it seemed a pity just then not to use them. My tongue darted out again. Its soft tip wound itself delicately around her clit and stripped it clear of its hood. And then I began to milk it like a tiny cock.

It was pure sensory overload. Her body had not yet recovered from her last release before she tripped into her next. Her body jerked like a puppet on a string, her limbs loose and uncoordinated. Her throat was raw from screaming. When I was done, she lay there, her eyes open and unseeing, lost in a world that I couldn't share. I suddenly felt a flash of resentment. I had something that might get her attention.

I picked up the short sword and held it before me. It was about eight inches long in the blade and four in the hilt. The scabbard and the handle were of jade, a pale green that was almost translucent. Both were delicately carved, with a pattern of veins so real that it looked alive. Blood seemed to pump beneath its skin. I wrapped my fingers around the grip and eased the knife from the scabbard. It glinted in the light.

The glitter of the blade caught her eye. I twisted the blade slightly and our eyes met over the line, shimmering with menace, that it carved in the air. At first, there was fear in her eyes. As I watched, it became a quiet acceptance. A soft little sigh escaped her lips and her eyes fluttered closed. She waited for the searing pain of the blade to cleave her flesh.

The soft mounds of her breasts were rising and falling with her breath. As I held the knife poised above her body, I could already see it sneaking between her ribs, sliding into her flesh. I could see blood bubble from the wound and stain her skin. The knife seemed to have a life of its own. It seemed to thrum in my hands, seeking its purpose, sensing death and wanting it. And I was tempted to give it what it sought.

But at the peak of its arc, when the blade was poised to plunge into Imelda's hapless flesh, I tamed it. I slid the knife back into the scabbard. It locked with a muted click. And then, struck by a strange impulse, I placed the smooth tip of the scabbard against Imelda's ravaged hole and buried it to the hilt in her flesh with one smooth thrust. Her eyes snapped open just as the smooth guard of polished stone smashed into her clit.

She seemed to have lost her voice. Thick gurgling noises rattled in her throat as I slowly eased the weapon out of her body and then drove it home again. I fucked her with it, caressing the warm pulsing walls of her cunt with the stone scabbard. It slid in and out of her with soft sluicing noises, the jade now glistening with her wetness. She seemed to be clutching at it, her cunt a blind hungry mouth that sought the mercy of that exquisite reaming.

And then she began to come, her head thrown back, her body arched, the golden skin of her throat stretched as tight as the surface of a drum. I reached forward, encircled her throat with my free hand and squeezed. As the knife continued to drive in and out of her throbbing cunt, the air began to disappear around her. As she was slowly starved of breath, the pleasure multiplied until she could no longer bear it and she passed out, her body still twitching like a drunken mannequin.

As I waited for her to come around, I admired my handiwork. She looked well fucked, her face flushed, her nipples engorged, the knife still buried in her cunt. It was a while before her eyes fluttered open. She groaned as she tried to move her limbs. I'm sure every inch of her ached. I wrapped my fingers around the hilt and slowly withdrew the weapon from her cunt. She moaned as she was emptied. She had this fawning look in her eyes – love and gratitude and adoration all mixed up. I brushed her hair back from her sweat streaked forehead.

"I want you gone in the morning," I told her quietly as I turned to leave. I couldn't have the domestic help getting between me and my prey. She was lucky to be alive.

It was mid morning before he surfaced. He had obviously been worn out by his exertions of the night before. As he sidled into a chair next to me, I rose to pour him a cup of tea. Another quirk that I had acquired during my stay in England. It was the best Darjeeling, subtle and delicate. Just the aroma was enough to make my heart sing.

"Where's Imelda?" he asked, confused.

"I have given her the day off," I said cheerfully, "And all my other staff. I like to empty my house sometimes. Today, it's just you and me."

He blushed at the barest hint of a promise that seemed buried in my words. He looked fetching when he blushed. His presence was distracting. As I closed my eyes and raised my cup to my lips, I could hear the steady beat of his heart and the quiet throb of his pulse, the music of his body rejoicing in being alive. I rejoiced with him. I had big plans for him that night. I shivered in anticipation. It was going to be a long wait. I of course had ways to keep myself amused. He ... well, he would just have to stew in his own juices.

The hours fled by as usual. For centuries, I had sought a means to release Meridiana from her curse. I was no closer to an answer, but the search kept the guilt at bay. It was dusk when I heard the door open. He stood in the entrance, awkward, hesitant to violate my sanctuary.

"Come here," I said. It was barely a whisper, but in the tomb like silence of that room, my voice resounded.

I was sitting in an armchair in the middle of the room. It had a surface of plush green leather and it was soft, the sort of thing one can sink into. I was wearing a kimono of scarlet silk. It was unusually light. I was naked underneath and the silk molded itself to my skin. My eyes held his as I untied the sash at my waist. I was still in the chair, my body framed by the silk of the kimono which now lay open. I slid my bottom forward, parted my thighs and planted my feet firmly on the carpet. I reached downward and carefully peeled open the petals of my cunt with my fingers. He moaned as the wings of my sex unfurled.

"Come here," I said again. And this time he heeded me.

He walked forward, still a little uncertain, almost as though he were in a dream and he would wake up at any moment. When he was within a few paces of me, I raised my hand as a signal to stop.

"Take off your clothes," I commanded.

He hesitated for a moment, but the need to be naked for me was far stronger than anything that his modesty could muster. He was clumsy. His fingers fumbled at the buttons of his shirt and he ripped the last one off in his impatience. I ran my eyes over his lean torso as he struggled with the rest of his clothes. The sound of the zipper being drawn rasped in the silence and he was naked except for his boxers. There was an unmistakable bulge in them and I'm sure he ached to set it free. He hooked his fingers in the waistband of the boxers and drew them downwards. He sighed softly as his cock leapt free. He was already hard.

His eyes were riveted to my cunt. The tip of my forefinger was running in slow, sensuous circles over the engorged stem of my clit, sheathing and unsheathing it. He seemed mesmerized by the sight of the pink tip sliding in and out of view. My finger drifted lower to bury itself inside me all the way to the root. When I withdrew it, my skin was slick with my juices. I raised my finger to my lips and slowly slid it into my mouth, stripping it of the wetness. His cock twitched as my finger disappeared into my mouth and then re emerged.

I crooked my finger at him and beckoned him closer. He walked towards me, his cock bobbing with eagerness. When he was only a couple of paces away, I pointed downwards, making it clear where I wanted him to go. He dropped to my knees in front of me. He spread me open even wider, hooking my knees over the soft upholstered arms of the chair.

He just looked at me for a while with an expression on his face that bordered on reverence. And then his head dipped towards the open flower of my cunt. He planted a soft kiss on the moist pink flesh, wetting his lips. And then his tongue emerged to trace a long line from my hole to my clit. As my taste exploded on his tongue, he shuddered as though a million volts of energy were galloping through his body. I smiled to myself. He was hooked. When you taste one of us, there is always a price to pay.

He worked on me patiently - licking, sucking, teasing. His lips and tongue were restless, uncertain what parts of me they craved more – the quivering length of my clit, the succulent thickness of my lips or the welcoming warmth where he could drink but never quench his thirst. I stretched my body like a cat and breathed a quiet sigh of satisfaction. I hadn't felt so pampered in a long time. I was unaccountably pleased by the fact that this pleasure was not at the mercy of time or choice. I knew he would please me as long as there was breath in his body.

But wonderful as that divine licking was, there were even greater rewards that awaited me that night. I hadn't forgotten. I grabbed a fistful of his hair and twisted his face upwards. He mewled pitifully as he was torn away from the taste that now held him captive. His lips and his chin were drenched in my juices. His eyes were glazed and his nostrils flared at the sweet fragrance of me. He tried to wrench free, to blindly seek my warmth again. But I was having none of it. He had tasted enough. Now it was my turn to take him as he had never been taken before.

I dragged him up to his feet, my fingers in his hair. His limbs seemed to have turned into jelly. His knees buckled and he would have collapsed if I hadn't caught him. I scooped him up in my arms and carried him to a table a few feet away. I laid him gently on the surface of green felt framed by wood. He lay there loose limbed, emptied of will, his cock painfully erect. My juices had set fire to his veins and turned his mind into mush. There was now only one thing that he was good for, only one purpose that his life, or what remained of it, was meant to serve. In the time that remained to him, his body would thrash in the throes of pleasure so complete that death would be a mercy. To live and not have that ecstasy would be torment. And since my heart is as soft as a light soufflé, it was a torment that he would be spared.