A Succubus for Halloween

His succubus didn't look evil. She looked more like the cute little succubi from Japanese anime rather than the rapacious soul-stealing demon of western myth.

Her brow scrunched up as she considered his question. Yes, it made her look cute.

"I'm a sex demon," she answered. "I exist to fuck. That might make me evil according to some moral standpoints."

Mostly those that spent every Sunday in a church, and every other day hectoring people who didn't share their beliefs, Landis thought.

"Not me," Landis said. Whatever faith Landis might have started with had long since lapsed. All superstitious nonsense as far as he was concerned.

"That's good," his succubus said, fixing him with her jet-black eyes, "because I really like sex. Lots and lots of sex."

Landis's cock sprang to attention beneath his dressing gown.

"And you're mine?" he asked.

His succubus nodded. "You gave me your seed. Now I'm yours to do with in any way you desire," she said, her voice a delicious purr.

Landis licked his lips. His mouth felt dry again.

That was the moment he decided he was going to go to the Halloween reunion party after all.

But first there were other things to take care of.

He untied the front of his dressing gown.

* * * *

The party was at Abigail Steadman's swanky Georgian townhouse on the very posh Parillaud Road. Landis wasn't surprised. The whole purpose of reunion parties was to beat former classmates over the head with the trappings of current wealth and success. This couldn't be accomplished from a shitty little council house in the heart of Coventry.

It was why Landis had been so reluctant to attend. By most standards he was doing very well for himself as a coroner, but that wouldn't be enough for these people. And there was always that thing...

"Oh, hi Mike," Abigail said as she answered the door. Eighties pop music blared out from behind her. "We didn't think you were coming."

"Changed my mind," Landis replied with a smile.

Abigail was dressed in a sexy tiger costume. Like Landis, she was pushing forty. She'd been a real looker once and still had the figure of a fine woman now, but the lines of age had started to scrawl themselves across her face and her eyes sparkled with the hardness of experience rather than youthful exuberance.

Landis would still do her.

Not that he'd get very far. Oh, Abigail might taunt him with lusty glances and teasing smiles—just like she'd done when they'd both been back in university—but the real message was always clear in her eyes.

You're not good enough for me.

She wasn't giving Landis that look tonight, not after seeing he had a girl on his arm half her age and twice as attractive. Instead there was doubt, uncertainty and fear. It was the knowledge the days of being the centre of attraction for all men were waning. Someday soon she was going to look into the eyes of the men she used to tease and see that same look come back at her.

You're not good enough for me.

Hurts doesn't it, Landis thought.

"Who's your friend?" Abigail asked.

Landis paused. "Suki," he said.

"That's a fantastic costume, Suki," Abigail said. "You really didn't need to go to all that effort. I hope that wasn't Mike's fault."

She put a hand against her mouth as a mock screen.

"He was always so competitive back at university." She winked at Landis. "Took things way too seriously."

Competitive? Landis thought.

"I like intense," his succubus said, her voice low and filthy.

That's right, you tell her, Landis thought. Too serious, indeed.

Abigail laughed and ushered them into the house.

"I'm so glad you could make it, Mike," Abigail said. "It's been what, years?"

She took them into the living room where most of the other guests were gathered. It wasn't exactly like one of those movie scenes where the whole room stops dead to take in the new arrivals, but it was close enough to tickle Landis. The chatter died down; people stared in their direction. He knew what they were thinking. Is that Mike Landis and who is that gorgeous girl on his arm?

Not everyone came to the conclusion Landis was hoping for.

"So is this your lovely daughter?" John Stern asked him once they'd gotten the obligatory reacquainting and catching up out of the way.

The intervening years hadn't altered John much. A few strands of grey had crept into his mop of curly blond hair, but he still had the same boyish good looks and ungainly charm he'd possessed as a student. He was dressed up as Superman.

Daughter! The cheek of it, Landis thought. Oh wait, he supposed his succubus did technically look young enough to be his daughter.

"Only when we're playing the really naughty games," his succubus said, cuddling up to Landis.

If the purr in her voice and the pout of her lips hadn't made the nature of their relationship clear, the kiss that followed would have removed any lingering doubts.

That's that cleared up, Landis thought, a little giddy from her kiss.

He looked at John. Yeah, she's my lover. How about that then?

"Nicely done, you jammy bastard," John whispered in his ear. He gave Landis an affectionate tap on the shoulder and moved off with a wink and a smile.

It was so weird. He'd been terrified by the prospect of this reunion. Landis had grown up in a village encrusted on the arsehole of nowhere. Moving onto university—with its swarms of confident upper-middle class students already chummy with each other through a shared education at a posh public school—had been a massive culture shock. The sense of being looked down upon had irked Landis considerably. What had sustained him was the knowledge he was smarter than them. They might have the advantages of inherited wealth and a privileged upbringing now, but in the future Landis was confident their positions would be reversed.

It hadn't happened.

At first he'd thought it was the thing. It held him back. If he stepped out into the light of fame and importance there was always the fear the thing would be revealed and destroy him with crippling embarrassment. He blamed it for making him cautious, for making him keep his head down. How many opportunities had it caused him to turn down?

Then, with time, he realised it didn't matter. He lived in Great Britain, the island where social mobility stood still. Making coroner was about the best he could hope for. An evening of having this point rammed home by a bunch of privileged brats braying about how well they'd done had not exactly been a tempting prospect.

Of course they'd done well. It's easy when the cards are stacked in your favour right from the start.

Or maybe not.

Where to start?

What about Michael Salthouse, supposed future captain of the England cricket team? Given his current girth, the only service he could provide his country was if they needed a new roller for the pitch.

Or Anne Reynolds. She was going to set the literary world alight... if they ever took an interest in advertising copy for baby care products.

And Harry Leigh, his old flatmate Harry. At university he'd been the anarchist—all long hair, snarls and spittle. His band was going to be bigger and more notorious than the Sex Pistols. Now he was another faceless cog in the corporate world.

To think he'd been terrified of this. It seemed ludicrous now. They were all as much failures as he was. That's what happened. People grew older and their dreams rotted, unfulfilled, on the branch.

"So what are you up to nowadays?" Harry asked.

Landis loved it when he was asked that question.

"Me? Oh I cut up dead bodies for a living."

The reactions to that one never got old.

Did he even need to go through with the plan? They were hardly intimidating him with their 'success'. He was already thoroughly enjoying the envious expressions he saw on the faces of the men as they stole glances at his lovely succubus, and the catty glares of hate from the women.

Oh, why not. It'd be fun.

* * * *

"We need to really put them in their place."

"How?"

"You know how they tell nervous performers to overcome their fears by visualising their audience naked..."

Landis listened, the smile on his face growing as his succubus explained her plan.

* * * *

They stood in Abigail's tidy kitchen. An assortment of tasty-looking cocktail snacks was arranged across the tables.

The original plan was to lace the punch. That was the cliché after all.

It was a pretty bad cliché. There was no punch. This was a middle-class house party. Some drank wine, some drank beer. Some didn't even drink at all.

How to get everyone?

Then he saw the cake.

Of course, the cake.

The large cake was baked in the shape of a toothy pumpkin head and sat on the centre of the kitchen table. It was homemade and it was obvious Abigail had spent a lot of time both baking it and applying the layers of orange icing afterwards.

No one would turn that down. It would be impolite given how much work Abigail had spent on it.

Landis motioned to the cake and checked the door to make sure no one was coming.

His succubus smiled and held up the end of her tail. Drops of pink liquid welled up behind the devil's point. One dripped onto the floor and sent up a wisp of pink perfume. Landis caught the scent of something spicy and sinful.

"Don't get too close," his succubus warned. "It's extremely potent."

"What happens now?" Landis asked. "You drip it on the cake?"

His succubus gave him a mischievous smile. Her tail suddenly sprang to life and plunged down into the heart of the cake. The whole cake began to wobble and shudder, behaving more like a plate of jelly. There was something queerly arousing about the scene.

His succubus closed her eyes and gave a sigh that sounded suspiciously like orgiastic release. The cake swelled up and then deflated back down to its original shape.

"Did you just molest a cake?" Landis asked.

His succubus winked back at him and pulled her tail out of the cake.

"Won't they notice?"

There was a bloody great hole in the cake. Of course they'd—

Oh.

The hole closed up. It was as if the cake hadn't been penetrated at all. His succubus tapped her nose and led him out of the kitchen.

They didn't need to wait long.

Landis watched, his eyes gleaming, as slices of the cake were brought round on paper plates. He watched the crumbs dribble from their fat lips as they scoffed it down.

They could bring up the thing to make fun of him all they liked now. The last laugh would belong to Landis.

He was surprised no one had brought it up already. Instead they talked about the usual boring middle-class things—house prices, holidays in the south of France, which universities their sons and daughters were thinking of applying to.

"It won't take long to act," his succubus whispered in his ear.

She dabbed her warm and moist tongue into Landis's earhole, sending an erotic shiver down his spine.

Landis was fascinated as the scene started to play out in front of him. It started quietly at first as a few started to fiddle with their collars.

"Is it me, or is it getting hot in here?" John asked.

It was a mild October night to Landis.

"I'm roasting in this thing," Tim Duvitski said. He'd come in a big hairy gorilla costume. "Anyone mind if I take it off."

No one minded. In fact some of the ladies were more than happy to see him stripped down to nothing more than a pair of white Y-fronts. They ran their hands across his chest and looked up into his eyes like cheap hookers touting for business.

* * * *

"The glands near the end of my tail produce a potent aphrodisiac."

"How strong?"

"They won't know or care where they are or who's watching. While under its influence, the only thing that will matter is fucking whoever or whatever is at hand."

* * * *

Hilarious. Absolutely hilarious.

Landis stood in the centre of the room and laughed as the orgy unfolded before him.

It was like watching a scene from a bad porn film. Or rather it wasn't; this was far too funny. A proper sex film would be all silicone enhanced curves and hard sculpted bodies, rather than this tragic collection of saggy bits wobbling together.

"I said we'd put them in their place," his succubus whispered in his ear. She lightly nibbled the lobe.

"Indeed you did," Landis said.

He produced a small portable camera and stepped around the heaving bodies, taking choice shots here and there with a manic grin on his face. His succubus hadn't been exaggerating about the 'whatever is at hand' part. The sight of the former university boxing champion burying his sausage between the former university cricket captain's sweaty buns was either the most revolting or most hilarious thing Landis had ever witnessed in his life.

He took pictures anyway.

Now where were the others? They must have slunk off to find somewhere private once his succubus's drug started to take effect.

That wouldn't do. Couldn't have anyone claiming they weren't here for the fun and games.

More importantly, where was John? Where was his old 'friend'?

He wasn't in the kitchen, but the sight of Harry pumping his cock back and forth into a bowl of green jelly was a reward in itself.

Not in the bathroom either, just Anne and extremely creative use of a showerhead.

He found him up in the master bedroom, having sex with Abigail on the big bed. Good taste, Landis thought. Pushing forty or no, Abigail still had a damn fine figure. John's Superman cape billowed out behind him as he pounded Abigail's pussy.

Perfect, Landis thought. He brought up the camera and pulled the trigger.

The flash faded, taking some of the fog from John's eyes with it. He looked blearily at Landis.

"Mike? What's going on?" he mumbled.

He looked down. His hips were still pistoning back and forth, like a machine on automatic.

"You put something in the food," he said, the words coming out slurred. His rock-hard cock plunged back and forth into Abigail's gushing vagina with rapid strokes. "Why?"

He couldn't figure it out? Landis thought. They'd spent the last couple of months at university mercilessly teasing him about the thing. Surely John hadn't forgotten.

"Payback of course," Landis laughed. "Doesn't this scene seem familiar to you?"

He took aim with the camera.

"Say cheese!"

* * * *

Landis waited until he heard the front door shut before he crept out of bed. He knew the others had early lectures; they wouldn't be back until lunchtime. He had the student flat to himself.

Dressed in only his boxers, Landis crept downstairs. The video was sitting on top of the VCR.

The others had brought it back last night after a boozy visit to a sex shop. Landis had pretended to be disgusted and had gone up to his room instead of watching it. In reality he was curious. He'd never watched a porn film before; had never so much as owned a dirty magazine.

He had the flat all to himself...

The title, 'Blonde Boobs', was emblazoned on the front of the cassette box. The cover featured a busty blonde girl with a smile that sparkled with filthy promise. With a girl like this it wouldn't matter how shy you were, Landis thought. She'd fuck your brains out anyway.

Landis's hands were shaking with anticipation as he popped open the box and fed the video into the VCR. His erection was already straining against his boxers as he sat back on the sofa and pressed play on the remote.

A few minutes later Landis had his penis out and was lazily stroking a hand up and down it.

Then the others burst in.

"See, told you," Tim said.

"Haha. Dirty bastard!" Harry said.

"Say cheese!" John said.

Landis looked up at them, his eyes frozen open. His right hand was still curled around his exposed dick.

The camera flashed.

They were gone as quickly as they'd entered, leaving Landis with a mounting sense of shame and dread over what they'd caught him doing.

* * * *

"That?" John said. "You drugged us, because of a stupid joke years ago?"

"It's insurance," Landis said, snapping away like a demented paparazzi while John fucked Abigail on the bed. "You have pictures. Now I do too."

"Pictures?" John said, his voice slurred as if he was struggling to stay awake. "There were never any pictures. Harry made us destroy the negatives."

Landis lowered the camera.

No pictures?

John grunted. "Fuck. What did you give us?"

He continued to pound Abigail's pussy on the bed. Her ass cheeks quivered with the force of his thrusts.

"I can't stop."

John's eyes were fearful now.

"Why can't I stop?"

Landis watched as John pounded Abigail faster and faster. Surely he couldn't keep going at this pace all night, could he?

No, he couldn't.

John's upper body stiffened. His face contorted in a grimace. He clenched his right fist over his chest. It looked like he wanted to cry out in pain, only there was no air left in his lungs.

Oh god. Oh no. Landis knew exactly what he was seeing.

John's hips kept thrusting back and forth even as the top half of his body shuddered to a halt, like a chicken's headless body dashing around a farmyard after decapitation. Not for much longer. John was crumbling, falling down like weather-beaten old ruins. He fell sideways and backwards, toppling off the bed.

Landis was frozen for a moment, then his medical training kicked in.

Myocardial infarction. First step was to raise the legs above the chest to increase blood flow to the heart. That was easy enough—the patient's ankles were still on the bed. Landis turned him over, flipped him on his back. The chest wasn't moving. Landis put two fingers against the man's carotid artery.

No pulse.

He placed his hand flat on the lower part of the sternum and pressed down in a pumping motion.

No response. No pulse.

He tipped the head back, pinched the nose shut and breathed air into the mouth.

No response. No pulse.

Landis repeated CPR and artificial respiration.

No response. No pulse.

He'd cut open enough bodies to know what was happening. The muscle cells in the heart had stopped contracting in a coordinated manner, bringing about ventricular fibrillation. The chambers of the heart were quivering ineffectually rather than pumping. Without blood circulation, hypoxia was setting in. All across the body cells were starting to die. The brain went first.

John Stern was dead.

"Abigail, where's your phone?" Landis said.

Abigail didn't reply. She lay on the bed, her eyes open and as still as glass. Landis put two fingers to her neck.

There was no pulse.

He staggered from the room. Through the open door he saw Anne continue to masturbate herself with the showerhead. Her motions slowed, stopped. She slumped backwards and the showerhead fell from her nerveless fingers. Water pooled on the bathroom floor.

Fuck. What was happening?

He knew what was happening. His succubus's secretion was too strong. It was tipping people over into cardiac arrest.

Everyone had eaten the cake.

They had to get help. He stumbled downstairs.

The living room was occupied by a mass of heaving, groaning flesh. The orgy was starting to wind down as the participants expired. His succubus sat on an armchair in the middle of it all. She seemed serenely unconcerned by what was happening around her.

"It's too strong," Landis said.

Was there something different about his succubus? He couldn't put his finger on it. She looked the same. Same horns, wings and tail. Same bottomless black eyes. Same studded leather bra and panties.

Maybe it was something in the way she sat, made her look cold, aloof...cruel?

"We need to get—"

His succubus turned to look at him. The corners of her lips turned up in a cruel smile.

She knew.

She supped on a glass of what had to be wine, although it could just as easily have been blood. The image put Landis in mind of an aristocrat or vampire queen, watching in bored amusement while her servants were flogged to death before her.