tagBDSMThe Curse of the Succubus Ch. 03

The Curse of the Succubus Ch. 03


*** Chapter 3: The Curse of the Dress ***

Fed? What did she mean? This was an insane nightmare! I had to get free. I tried the chains again. They held. I tried moving the carriage. No luck. I looked about me. And saw the driver.

I had not really spared him a thought since I shot him with an arrow from my bow. But now he was resting, arrow in belly, against a tree by the forest road. And the look he gave me scared me.

It was not hatred. It was hope. Hope beyond hope. He looked like a man who had just bet his last money on the tumbling dice, and now he was praying to all the Gods he knew that they rolled his way.

"Do you know," the woman said, her scent and soft voice distracting me, her head on my chest, the fabric of her black dress caressing the side of my upper thighs and belly. "Do you know how long it takes for a man to become ready again?"

I shook my head to clear it. "I don't know," I rasped, not really caring. "Half an hour?"

She shook her head, the dress sliding against me as she did so.


Shake. Slide.


Nod. Slide.

Then I understood. Oh no. No, no. The dress, the stiff, shiny fabric was now caressing my limp member, and I could feel blood rushing down to it! No! Not now! Not after what just happened.

I groaned and became angry again. I shouted and fought, just like I had done before. Nothing helped, and now both the woman and her driver laughed. His laugh was bitter, hers as clear as ever.

She lifted my shirt up to my armpits and pulled the pans further down, completely undisturbed by my feeble attempts at fighting her. The woman pressed her impossible body against me. Her breasts were firmer and bigger than I would have thought possible on such a slender frame.

She began to dance, a dance of slow, yet irresistible seduction. Sometimes close and intimate, sometimes barely touching me. The dress tickled, it caressed, it denied me access to the naked body beneath, yet the fabric gave me a pleasure no mere skin could emulate.

"My Lady," I gasped. "My Lady, please!"

Her tinkling laugh trickled into my ears as she danced, swaying in tune to some unheard, slow piece of music made by a master of sexual desire.

"You like my dress?" she asked, tossing her long, blonde hair and looking at me from under the longest pair of lashes I had ever seen.

"Yes! Yes! I want to, my Lady... Please let me...?"

"Let you what?" She shifted her hips just a little, and the sensation of cool, black fabric being pulled over my huge, stiff member made it impossible for me to reply for many seconds.

"Let me, my Lady! Let me have release!"

Laugh. "Oh, you like my dress?"

"Yes!" The I licked my lips. "Yes, my Lady! It is so.... good!"

"Then focus on the dress," she whispered. "Look at it, feel how it touches you, how it brings you pleasure."

I did. I let my poor eyes linger on it. The shiny black material, how it shimmered in the sunlight. I had never known that a mere piece of clothing could make my blood flow so hot, so unnaturally hot! I stared down at where her motions made the folds of the dress slide and bounce against head and shaft.

The dress. The sweet, blessed dress! Giving me such pleasure. More pleasure! More dress! Slide and bounce, slide and bounce! Now... Now. Now!

"No!" I yelled as the dress was pulled away just as I was about to finally burst. "No!" But the fabric was a foot away from my great, swollen head, and no matter how much strength I used trying to reach it, I failed.

This time I did not look at her: I had eyes only for the dress. I looked at it, feverishly begged it to touch me as I began spilling my seed in vain. My manhood throbbed rhythmically, denying me pleasure with every drop of wasted juice.

Finally it was over. My legs were shaking, and my mind filled with an urge to break the damned woman's nose with my head.

She, on the hand, stood beside me, hand on my shoulder and gasped in pleasure. I could feel the aura around her, feel her power and beauty. I could headbutt her all I wanted, and it would not hurt her in the slightest.

Her lips sought mine. "What a feed! You are such a treasure, my poor highwayman..."

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