Interview with a Succubus Pt. 02

**CHAPTER 3: FIRST SHIFT**

Tim Jones is a freelance writer most comfortable with covering war zones and conflict. After a mysterious publication owner promised him a large payday and an all-expenses paid trip, he found himself traveling to Bayeux, Normandy, France to meet a mysterious art collector, an impossibly beautiful woman named Keres. She strikes up a new contract with him, with a life-changing payout at the end. But did he bite off more than he could chew...?

The succubus named Keres let the scalding hot shower steam over her voluptuous body as she stood, eyes closed and arms braced against the walls, lost in thought. Was she making the right decision by bringing this human... this freelance reporter into the fold? She hadn't told him everything about her people's circumstances. That there were other... demihumans out there, as a long-lost friend had described them. A pantheon of myth on the precipice of revelation. Not every race wanted the exposure. And she wasn't sure this man would be able or willing to do the exposing.

But gods, was she tired. Keres felt the weight of the centuries bearing down on her. Hundreds of years of hiding from the world, the scars of untold attempted murders peppered over her body. She was not some divine nightmare cast down from Heaven to wreak havoc on the earth! Evolution had simply worked differently on her and her people. We predated the myths. Were worshiped as priests and oracles. Sacrifices made in our name lived long lives full of the most exquisite pleasures we could offer them. Other demis lived similarly. Fear warped humanity. Fear drove us into hiding. We no longer have to live in fear. This is what she told herself as she walked headlong towards this ultimate betrayal.

She felt the familiar pang in her abdomen, that infernal pit sitting at the intersection of hunger and lust alighting once more, and she sighed with frustration. Two hours, she thought. It had been just two hours since Tim Jones had passed out beside her from herculean exertion. Two hours since she had tasted another's pleasure. And already, her body craved more like it was starved. She let her hand run down her body, over her titanic breasts and across her rippling abs, to the place where her thighs met. In the wet heat of the shower it was harder than usual to tell, but she knew: her pussy was positively gushing with need. She knew masturbation was futile, that it would simply drive her wild with desire until her cravings could be truly satisfied, but she also knew that she'd indulge in it anyway.

She closed her eyes and imagined her nervous system aflame. Her fingers found that brightest spot right above her labia and began to rub in little rhythmic circles. Fireworks went off across her darkened vision and her breath hitched as she felt the first spikes of bliss plant themselves in her flesh like so many delicious daggers. She moaned softly. She leaned forward closer to the wall, and let her massive, pillowy tits mash themselves into it and each other, holding her up like an anchor. Her hypersensitive nipples - every inch of her was primed for sex, in truth - sent rapid and increasingly powerful tingles up her spine as they made contact with the wall and generated friction upon it.

She really shouldn't--but it was too late to stop. The pleasure was already building to a climax from her simple ministrations, which was of course another eternally frustrating aspect of her demihuman neurology. Cumming was the easy part. Cumming was trivial. She could cum without moving, and had - many times - before. Orgasm was not the goal. Her fingers pushed in between her moist folds and began to thrust to a silent rhythm. A moan escaped her lips as the pleasure ratcheted up another notch. She was careful to be quiet, lest she accidentally wake Tim in the other room; he needed all the rest he could get for the weeks to come, to say nothing of the jet lag he must undoubtedly feel. Her free hand wandered to her trembling left breast, and briefly turned up the brightness behind her eyes with a sharp tweak of her erect nipple. The pain was mostly overshadowed by more immense, compounding pleasure, but it was just present enough to bring her back to reality for a moment.

Right. The matter at hand.

She turned the shower off and stepped out. Wrapped a towel around her unreal curves. Wrapped her hair in a second towel. The washroom was overly humid - she knew it would wreak havoc on her curls if she stayed in here a moment more. She walked out and towards the bedroom where Tim slept - and paused. She couldn't return to his side tonight. She would just wake him up, body demanding more sex as it was, which he almost certainly wouldn't be able to provide, which would only sour her mood. There was another bedroom with a balcony down the hall. She walked quietly to it.

Keres, naked except for the towel, looked out over the moonlit French countryside, deep in thought. This wasn't the right way to go about things, she thought. She had been desperate - in more ways than one, tragically - before tonight. Post-coital clarity had introduced - or reacquainted her with - anxiety about what the future held. The last time an official Council of "Demihumans" had been convened, she remembered, a cadre of Spanish Fascist soldiers had busted into the old bombed-out church that had been their meeting-place and proceeded to commit a veritable massacre. Keres had barely made it out alive, only to discover the whole bloody, horrific affair had been essentially an accident; apparently the Francoists thought a gathering of the CNT-FAI was taking place there, and they wanted to stamp out some anarchists for fun.

That was nearly 90 years ago; there had never again been a full council meeting. Pockets of leaders had occasionally met up to discuss survival and adaptation strategy, but there was no formal unity anymore. The different "types" of demis had all decided from then on to fend for themselves. By revealing the succubi and incubi, she'd be revealing other types as well, it would be an unavoidable knock-on effect. And with no way to know what other groups wanted, what they themselves might be planning... well, it could all go wrong. There had never been a war between different groups of demihumans before. If anything could agitate them to war, it might be this.

She needed the necklace. With it, she might be able to convince everyone that this was the right course of action. Without it, not a chance in hell. Tim might be able to help her find it. She at least had two weeks to confirm - at least with herself - that this was a good or bad idea. And in the meantime, she'd at least be able to enjoy a regular meal.

***

Tim Jones woke up to sunlight streaming in from the open window. The early-morning air was brisk, but already the sun promised heat. Birds chirped from nearby trees. He confirmed that he was in a French chateau, sleeping in beds whose linens cost more than a decade's worth of his salary at any job he'd ever had. Next to him, the bed was empty, but the aches that ran across his body confirmed that last night he'd slept with the most beautiful woman he'd ever come in contact with, and she'd almost killed him, and he was supposed to do that again and again for the next two weeks. He groaned and sat up. Checked his watch. 10:30 AM local time. Keres had let him sleep in, apparently. At least she wasn't a cruel mistress.

Well yeah, you idiot, he thought. She's also looking for good publicity. Keres had described in detail how she wanted him to write up her kind's whole coming-out party. He didn't think she'd been lying about anything, but he'd absolutely dealt with people like her before. He was useful to Keres. The moment that changed... well, he had to make sure it didn't.

Tim got out of bed and made to get dressed, picking out an outfit similar to yesterday's. A chance to be less disheveled than when he'd arrived straight off the 12-hour plane trip. As he was pulling on his pants, he happened to catch a whiff of himself and almost gagged. The pungent aroma of sheer adrenaline rolled off him in waves. He could almost see his own stink cloud; better take a quick shower.

He made his way groggily to the bathroom, carrying his Ziplock bag of TSA-approved toiletries. He'd need to go shopping at some point to get regular bottles of shampoo and toothpaste, but there was enough for today, at least.

The heat and sting of the shower felt incredible. Tim could feel the exhaustion of the previous day wash out of him through his feet. He could stay here forever, if only he didn't have work to do; begrudgingly he set about his hygienic tasks with cold efficiency.

As he unthinkingly lathered his hair and body, he thought he caught the faintest whiff of fresh-picked strawberries. The second the scent hit his nostrils, a funny thing happened. The last remaining hint of fatigue suddenly evaporated. Energy surged through his veins. His dick, which he felt was the most punished aspect of his anatomy this morning, sprang to attention as though he had never fucked a day in his life. He almost bowled over from the sudden onset of horniness, and looked around wildly. Keres was nowhere to be seen; she couldn't be heard from the hallway, either. He looked down and saw that his cock was throbbing desperately, seeming to grow slightly bigger with each pulse of his heart and- wait, what? His balls were starting to fill up. Visibly.

Employing the same ruthless efficiency with which he approached washing his hair, Tim took his steadily-growing dick in his hand and began to stroke vigorously. It felt like an emergency, like every second he wasn't jacking off was another second closer to exploding or something. With each stroke he could feel his balls, now each the size of an egg, gurgle expectantly. He tightened his grip on his shaft and moaned uncharacteristically. He needed to cum. If he didn't, he was worried about what might happen.

Strangely, his rough and rowdy masturbation didn't seem to be working. He could feel pleasure, of course--god it felt so fucking good--but it was like he was stuck on some kind of plateau. "Fuck," he muttered, and stepped out of the still-running shower. He needed to see if Keres was behind the door, fucking with his endocrine system or whatever it was she did last night. He didn't bother with a towel; hand still tugging on his cock, he peeked his upper head out into the hall. Looked right. Looked left; no Keres. God dammit.

He whispered her name. No response. Whispered again, louder. Nothing. Then he remembered: she could read his mind. Keres! He practically hollered in his mind. Still, nothing... and then--

*Oh, good morning, Tim. Did you sleep well?*

Keres! I need your help, he thought desperately, trying to stick as many emergency emotions to the thought as he could. Something... happened in the shower and now something's wrong with, uh...

*What happened?* she replied, "sounding" concerned. *Don't worry, I'll be there in a moment. Do you need medical attention?*

No, he thought back. It's not that kind of emergency. Though it could end up being one if this doesn't stop.

*Understood. On my way.*

True enough, within seconds he heard the clip-clip-clip of her heels briskly coming down the hallway. He retreated back into the bathroom as she entered the now-steam-filled corridor.

Keres had to stifle a laugh as she beheld her contract lover. Hair still sudsy from the shampooing, a look that mixed fear and hopeless arousal in his eyes, and... of course. She saw the problem immediately, could even smell a little bit of it on the air. When she had helped herself to a little self-pleasuring last night, she'd unwittingly released some pheromones, and they hadn't cleared out completely. Tim, having no way to know this, inhaled them.

"Oh dear," she said, smiling. "I'd ask how your morning was going but I can see the answer."

"I need-- help!" Tim panted. "Can't... cum! Keeps growing!!"

Keres was already taking her clothes off. "I'm really sorry about this, Tim," she said. "I had a shower last night a bit after our fun was over. And I had a bit more fun while I was in here. I thought anything I might've... left behind would have evaporated last night, but evidently I was wrong." She folded her blouse and skirt and placed it on the chair next to the sink. Next, she unhooked her bra and hung it on a towel hook, and finally stripped out of her pantyhose and panties. The whole process was decidedly less sexy than anything they'd done the night before, but Keres could recognize this wasn't the time for teasing.

She moved over to Tim and gently took his hand - still stroking frantically - away from his swollen member. Again, she had to laugh. Whatever trace of whatever pheromone she'd released last night had really done a number on his number. It looked beet red and the size of a summer sausage, nearing roughly ten inches in length and just about three inches in circumference--way bigger than he'd been last night, even when she'd revived him. The circumcised tip was pulsating. His balls - christ, his balls - were bigger than grapefruits. She could practically hear the cum churning away in there. Well, she thought. I wasn't planning on feasting this early, but I've never been one to turn down a meal. She kissed Tim tenderly, pushed him slowly to the ground. She straddled him, grinding her pussy lips against his twitching shaft for a moment, letting her wetness further lubricate his meat.

"Don't worry, Tim," she said. "I'll take care of this." She impaled herself on his sword without another word.

***

There is no such thing as an "average" human penis. This was a truth Keres had known for centuries, nearly a millennium, as she fucked her way around Europe, Africa and Asia. Different cultures and societies valued different attributes in sexual organs; the different ways in which different parts of the world expressed virility and fertility across time could fill an entire series of encyclopedias. Truth be told, she didn't have a set preference for genitalia, as she'd be perfectly content with any configuration so long as she could extract some energy. Big dicks, little dicks, circumcised, uncircumcised, pierced, tattooed, male dicks, female dicks--she could take them all and have a good time. Additionally, her malleability when it came to her own body meant that vanishingly few dicks - if any - were "too much" for her.

Tim's dick, right now? It was nearing that limit.

The first few minutes were fine. She could feel his member growing inside her slowly, but this wasn't a problem; she'd make him cum in short order anyway, and the problem would be solved. Most men - and this was merely her observation, not a point of braggadocio - couldn't last more than a few thrusts inside her anyway, if she was really determined to make them cum. As she humped his massive cock she clamped down rhythmically with her Kegel muscles, milking his shaft up and down the length of it. This was, in her expert experience, usually the killing blow - not that anyone died while sleeping with her, that is.

Tim's groans of pleasure signified that he was definitely at least feeling her handiwork. But there was no other sign he was any closer to orgasm. She looked down and saw with dismay that Tim's balls were now nearly the size of cantaloupes and only growing bigger by the minute. Inside her, his dick started to actively fight the walls of her vaginal canal, pushing against all sides of it like a pneumatic bladder. As she continued to thrust up and down, the friction of this motion began to increase - as did her constant orgasms - and it started to get more difficult to keep her rhythm up. She pushed through the growing fog of pleasure to stay focused on the increasingly concerning task at hand.

"Fuck, Tim," she said breathily. "Quite the hard-on you have this morning, eh?"

Tim groaned again. "I-it's st-starting to hurt," he said. "T-too mmmmmuch pressure, ngh."

Most of Keres's pheromones and psychic tricks were geared toward making people cum easier. To her knowledge, she'd never been able to cancel orgasms before. Yet here Tim was, still not cumming after nearly a half-hour of steady fucking. I'm going to have to shift to make room for this monster before too long, she thought. Things were actively getting uncomfortable now as Tim filled her cavity to capacity - and then some.

"Maybe this is the - mmm - wrong kind of stimulation," she said aloud. "Maybe you need something different." Tim looked at her with an expression of both pain and exasperation and said, "Ngh, fuck, whatever you need to do, go ahead and do it." She immediately hopped off his dick. The sudden lack of stimulation just made his member throb worse. It was now the full size of his arm, with a head the circumference of a small plate. It was slick with Keres's juices, but notably, none of his own - not even precum.

"I'm going to titfuck you while giving you a blow job," Keres said. "I'd throw some more pheromones your way to maybe make you pop faster, but I'm genuinely worried that would just make things worse for you. Let me know if this feels any different."

Keres snapped her fingers and an unmarked bottle of lube appeared in the air next to her. She poured some liberally on the insides of her tits and rubbed some on Tim's still-growing pole. He shuddered at her touch, but the grimace on his face suggested pleasure had decreasingly little to do with it. One thing she hadn't picked up on when she was fucking him as she lathered him up: his prick was on fire. Like almost uncomfortably hot to the touch. Did he have enough blood to make it through the rest of his circulatory system at this point? She knew now that something was amiss. If Tim's orgasm block was biological, she should surely be able to overcome it with this titjob. If it was... non-biological, let's say? Well, she'd have to resort to less pleasurable methods of breaking the lock before Tim passed out from pain or lack of blood flow.

She closed her eyes for just a moment and concentrated on the fire at her core. She directed some of it towards divination: what was the source of Tim's fuckstick frustration? Like a computer antivirus program, the portion of her magic that was dedicated to this task began to whir in the background of her mind, searching for the cause - and a cure.

While this was going on, she parted her tits and slid Tim's dick between them before wrapping it up in her massive cleavage. Despite her titanic size, the outrageous cock stuck out a full six inches above the swell of her breasts. She then took another small portion of her internal fire and brought it to the place where her jaw connects to her skull - she needed to make herself more like a snake than a human, and the fire gave her just the detachable part she was looking for. She opened wide, wider than any other person could, and tried to engulf his cock with her mouth.

Despite this wild change in her anatomy, Keres discovered that his head barely fit. Just his head alone was too gargantuan to fit in her mouth at this point... and it was still growing. Jesus Christ, she thought. This cock's going to kill me.

Still, she latched on, sucking his cockhead as best she could and hefting her tits up and down with vigor. The fluid nature of her tits meant that even with the immense pressure of her squeezing herself into him, his cock had room to expand further while losing nothing in the quality department. And she could feel him expanding. If this wasn't becoming a medical emergency, she'd think it was one of the hottest things she'd ever experienced. She kept up the pressure, willing him to cum with every stroke of her fat tits. She sucked and licked his growing glans with reckless abandon, desperate to make a dent in this absurd meat pole's preternatural prowess. No slouch in the stamina department herself, she nevertheless felt the first beads of sweat starting to form on her forehead. Every single trick she knew how to pull when it came to sex was being employed, and for the first time in her life, Keres felt like she was losing the battle.