I, Succubus Pt. 02

I felt the collar bleed off my pleasure, felt it keep me just on the edge and not quite let me leap off, and I tried to force my pleasure through and I failed. I withdrew my tail with some difficulty, my body not wanting to believe my mind when I tried to persuade it, and when I finally extricated my tail, finally tugged it free, finally gained a tiny space of relief inside my mind, he obliterated it.

He dropped the whip, reached around with that hand, placed it on my forehead as he stood behind me, and I felt a pulse of raw pleasure arc from his hand down through my body to my sex. It should have carried me over into an apocalyptic climax and instead it merely brought me so close to one that I could almost reach out and taste it, I could feel its warm release kissing my skin, and then the godsdamned demon-spawned barnacle-fucking thrice-cursed collar stole it away from me and left me shaking, moaning, hanging limp from the bonds as my body screamed at my mind to do something, anything, everything and my mind had no answer.

I thought I was prepared for his punishment. I thought I was strong. I thought I could not be truly mastered.

I was prepared for nothing. I was weak. I was utterly mastered.

He lifted his hand from my sex, let his long, blue finger trail up the inside of the chain binding my nipples and clit, drawing the chain taut, putting gentle pressure on the clamps, adding a thrill of pain to the onslaught of pleasure. I tried to focus on one to the exclusion of the other, tried to bring myself home, but each time he sensed it, each time he'd make the one I was trying to ignore too intense to ignore. I yearned to surrender to pain or pleasure, and instead I was conquered by both.

He kept me there, caught up in that trap, my mind and body tearing at one another like sharks in a feeding frenzy, for what was probably only minutes but what felt like ten eternities wrapped up in one. His finger traced up the chain and down, up and down, and with each gentle tug my desires surged, desperate for the climax my body felt certain would erupt at any moment, and it never did. The collar tingled as it drained off my pleasure, keeping me poised on the precipice and unable to leap or fall, and so I stood and suffered wonderfully, beautifully, terribly.

His hand finally released the chain and he stepped up close behind me, pressing himself up against me from behind, and I thought and hoped that his own desires had overcome him. I was foolish to harbor such hope. He wasn't using my body for his pleasure, he was using his body to make my torment all the worse. His hands came to my breasts, cupping them, squeezing them, kneading them, making my poor, clamped nipples ache all the more. My venom flowed from them beyond my control, trickling down over my body, and his attentions only made it worse, so much worse.

And then he spoke.

"Pleasure," he said, "is your weapon and your strength. But if you do not wield it carefully it becomes a weapon used against you."

My thoughts were scattered, my mind incapable of comprehension, but his words sunk in deep, writing themselves into my thoughts far below the conscious level. I heard them and understood them, even as I writhed and moaned and gasped, incapable of hearing or understanding anything. If I think back I can hear them still, for that was his first and most important lesson, and one that I treasure and cherish.

That was when I heard a sound that sent fear running through me, fear and arousal intertwined. The sound of his fangs extending, and my body celebrated, thinking that this signaled the climax that I so desperately needed, and my mind rebelled, knowing full well that this was simply the sound of my torment amplifying, the sound of everything that had gone before made worse, the sound of my mind about to shatter.

He brought his fangs down to my neck just above the collar, tugging it down just a little to give him the room, teasing me by letting me feel the tips of the fangs without plunging home. I drew in a ragged, shaky breath, sweat dripping from my body, my muscles aching, my whole body pulsing, and then his fangs sunk home, flooding me with his venom, flooding me with his desire.

There are no words. No words for the state I was in, no words for what my body experienced, no words for the sheer, unalloyed, unfettered pleasure and pain and passion that he inflicted on me. A lifetime's lust caught up in a single instant, an instant that lasted forever. The merest touch of that lust was enough to shatter me, and then it didn't relent, grinding the pieces of my fragmented mind into dust, and grinding the dust into nothingness. He promised to reforge me and this was the fire into which I was thrust, thrust and made molten and then reborn anew. The collar tingled, and the tingle became a buzz and the buzz became a steady pulse as it went from channeling off a river of lust to trying to pour away an ocean, keeping me from cumming though I know not how.

I became aware that his fangs had retreated, and then became aware that he was standing in front of me, and then I heard someone screaming and only realized after some time that it was me.

"Master," I whispered, when I finally gained control of myself, and my voice was raw and cracked. "Master. Master. Master."

I said the word over and over again, and each repetition was a tribute and a benediction and a surrender and a plea.

"This collar," he said, one hand encircling my throat, lifting my chin up from where it had fallen to my chest, exhausted, "can be removed one of two ways. I can unhook it and you'll be able to cum normally. Or I can snap my fingers and make it and that chain vanish and it will pour back into you every last sensation it drained from you as it prevented you from cumming. All at once."

White-hot terror speared through me, terror for once shared by body and mind. My mind knew that I could not withstand that avalanche of sensation, my body knew nothing but the pure pulsing fear that rocked me, fear so deep that even my need to climax could not overcome it.

"Master," I whispered, for I could form no other words, but he heard the terror and dread, heard them and welcomed them.

And he snapped his fingers.

The collar vanished, the chain with it, and I suddenly felt everything. Every stroke of the whip, every touch of his fingers, every tiny bit of pain and pleasure, every climax I'd been denied, every sensation that had tortured me to the edge all hit me at once, and it was too much. Too much to withstand, too much to take, too much to even comprehend. It was like having a campfire described to you and then being thrown into the sun. His venom and his words and his whip and his touch and his lust and my own all impacted with the force of a thousand mountains and I was lost to them, and to myself.

I came in the first instant, and the climax did not stop. I felt it all, as if every blow with the whip, painful and pleasurable alike, were landing simultaneously and repeatedly, driving me from painful ecstasy to pleasurable inferno and back again. I felt the chain's pinch on my nipples and clit as if the chain were still there, felt his tug against it as if it was happening, felt his hand on my sex and on my head and his magical pulse as if he were doing it again and again and again, a hundred times over and more.

There are limits, limits which even succubi must respect, and he threw me through those limits into the pure sexual void beyond. I thought myself strong, but strength didn't matter in that realm, nor endurance, nor focus, nor submission, nor anything at all. My need to climax was blown through in the first nanosecond and after that I was simply a tiny speck carried along on a sexual tide towards destinations unknown.

I lost myself there, lost myself for some time. I don't know how long it lasted. Perhaps an hour, perhaps two, probably not more, certainly not less. An hour of the best, worst, most wonderful, most horrible sexual climax of my life, and when I came back to myself I was lying unbound on the cold, hard floor, shaking and moaning, quivering and gasping, my body sending urgent signals to my brain but the signals were confused and contradictory and my brain was in no condition to respond anyway and so I simply lay and shook.

His words cut through the fog. His voice made my soul stir.

"The first step is the hardest, slave," he said. "When you can walk, return to your chambers. Soon I'll send for you. Prepare yourself if you wish. It will not matter."

I heard him walk away, heard the chamber door open and shut, but I couldn't lift my head to look. That would have taken too much effort and I was too weary. Instead, I lay there and drifted, letting my mind and body settle down slowly. There was only one thing I could muster the energy to do, and that one thing I felt I needed to do, could not lie still without doing.

"Master," I whispered, and the word contained volumes. Submission. Subjugation. Acceptance. And, buried beneath it all but strong as any, a raw hunger to break free and conquer. The ache at the core of my being, a need that cried out to me from the primal depths of my succubus soul, a need all the more powerful for being unsated.

Perhaps I'll tell you more of my time in servitude. Perhaps I'll tell you if I broke free. Perhaps I'll tell you of the time before. Perhaps.