Juice for Juice

But most importantly, pure, unadulterated pleasure, at coming raw inside succubus pussy.

As I metabolized his jizz through the walls of my vagina I regained some cogency and thanked him. The desperate flush receded a bit, and I took in the scene around me. My pants were wrecked, my panties sodden. The floor would need cleaning. Our shop was full of boners as our customers gazed longingly at where Dwayne and I were still joined. And Bethica sat a few feet away on the floor, holding my first fucker in her arms, his cheek on her chest, whispering reassuring things to him. A small jealousy flashed through me, and my pussy ejected Dwayne.

"You okay now?" he asked, offering me a hand up.

I took it and stood. After a moment, I nodded. I felt okay. I'd need to take a few more loads before I was back to normal, but I'd been stabilized by the internal deposit and I could resume my duties.

"Sorry for the scene," I said to the room.

No one seemed especially bothered, except in the hot sense, and I went back behind the counter to get our stamp.

"Let me see your loyalty card," I said to Dwayne, and he smiled broadly as I filled it up. People love our smoothies.

#

Juice For Juice is our territory—Bethica's and mine. We have a contract of mutual dominance, and it amplifies the effects of joint rituals performed in and on the space. Combining my amateur grasp on suggestions with her flimsy command of wards, we're able to do one seriously cool thing under the auspices of our territory.

#

It was six a.m. on a run-of-the-mill Thursday. We were opening in an hour to serve the breakfast smoothie crowd, and my heart was fluttering.

Bethica was just too hot.

She sat cross-legged in a chalk circle in the break room, naked, a thin sheen of sweat glistening on her smooth shoulders, sloped breasts, soft belly. She took deep breaths, in and out, filling her lungs and then exhaling. Her chest rose and fell. The candlelight flickered. I was wet.

I sat facing her in my own circle of chalk, channeling a week's worth of power. My arousal helped, as did Bethica's. We were feeding off of each other's libido, weaving our magic together. The room was a weak sauna.

My eyes wandered downward, to her vulva, swollen and drooping open in excitement. I knew mine was in a similar state, if less pretty.

My breath caught as I examined my business partner. My lips cracked. The heat was getting to me. I needed a drink, water for my lips, Bethica's fluids for my soul. I thirsted. But the ritual came first.

"For desire without inhibition," I said.

"For desire without danger," she chanted back.

Fuck, the words sounded so much better when she said them. For the ritual, it didn't matter what I did with my hands, so I stroked myself idly. I wanted Bethica to do the same, to stop holding back, to touch herself while staring into my eyes. I didn't have to say anything. Our wants were entangled, and she sensed mine. We locked eyes and she smiled.

The chalk circles glowed briefly and the candles blew themselves out.

We sat in the dark, magic almost complete. There was just one more step: the sealing kiss.

Bethica came toward me in the darkness, crawling on her hands and knees, and placed her lips on mine. I immediately tried to tongue her, unthinkingly, and she pulled back laughing.

"You're such a horndog, Stina."

"Yesss," I moaned, two fingers deep in my pussy. "I'm a sex demon, shoot me."

Suddenly the lights came on. Bethica stood by the door to the kitchen, hand on the switch. She started dressing. I fingered myself with abandon. She smiled at me, too sweetly, and it brought me over the edge.

"Come on, we have to get the prep done," she said.

I bent forward, legs and core trembling from my orgasm, nodding as best I could. "Be right there," I breathed.

When my body had calmed down a bit, I stood, instantly clean thanks to the inherent succubus prestidigitation that I fortunately inherited in full, and pulled on my pants. Bethica sniffed the air.

"Another success," she announced. "That should hold us over till next week."

I just nodded again.

Our customers would be a little bit hornier than they would otherwise be, and no fluid transmission in our shop would carry disease. This was the one ritual we performed regularly in our territory. It was an amateur joke by the standards of our moms' generation, but it was an important asset to us. Lowering people's inhibitions and keeping them safe made casual transactional sex with strangers a less daunting proposition in a world where it's generally fraught.

Bethica, satisfied with the ritual, returned to the kitchen. I followed.

#

The ritual wasn't always enough.

Gene balked.

"Come onnn, dad!"

The older gentleman had handed me a credit card—that's how I knew his name—but he hadn't ordered anything that cost money, so I'd returned it to him and clarified how we accept payment for drinks.

"You can't be serious."

"Dad, these are the best smoothies in Stewardland."

Gene was in with what had to be his daughter. She looked to be nineteen, maybe twenty. Cute in a plain way, dressed in an oversized green college hoodie.

"I think you should find someone else to help you with this," he said sternly, turning so that he wouldn't be making eye contact with me or his kid.

"Who? Eric? He's only sixteen."

"Not your brother!" Gene cried. "Of course not your brother!"

"None of my guy friends from high school came home this winter," she whined.

I did my best to sympathize with Gene's unease, but he was holding up the line.

"I explained this already," complained the daughter. "You said it wouldn't be a problem this morning."

"You did NOT explain this," argued Gene. He turned to me, agitated. "Can't I just pay cash?"

"Sorry, sir, we don't typically make exceptions. Would it be easier for you if your daughter wasn't watching?"

His eyes widened, and the overwhelming strength of his desires made them clear to me, even with my shit abilities, even without skin-to-skin contact. The clarity was unlike anything I'd felt before, and my body burned with empathetic want.

"I... see," I said, startling him, as he hadn't said anything. "You're in a safe place, Gene. Just two friendly succubi who want to take your sperm as payment for smoothies."

Bethica turned from the blender to support my statement with a nod.

"And I don't mean to presume, but I think if your daughter brought you here to pay for her smoothie, she's okay with our process."

Gene's daughter blushed and looked away.

"What gives?" asked someone from the door, frustrated with the line's viscosity.

"Be right with you!" Bethica called.

I smiled at Gene. If you've worked in service you know the smile. I wasn't mad, but, "I'm going to need you to make a call, sir. I can process your order, or you can leave."

He made a show of being cornered, even harrumphed, but when he looked at his blushing daughter he relented.

"If you need me to do this," he said.

She seemed to sense that he'd already given in, because rather than push further, she just shrugged. He turned back to me. "So how do we do this?"

I slipped under the counter and undid his fly. The heat coming off his body was exquisite. Loads varied in quality, and this was going to be a good one.

"Just release in my mouth when you can," I said.

I produced Gene's cock, an achingly hard and veiny five inches, and introduced it to my tongue. His daughter watched, rapt. He was so swollen, so ready. I took all of him into my mouth. Before my mind could fully form the thought that he wouldn't last long, thick ejaculate flooded my senses. I struggled to swallow it all. This guy was so hot for his kid and that heat was transferring to me. I wanted to grow a cock, to plunge it into her mouth. I knew I could, with enough magical expenditure. I considered asking Mom for help before the feeling passed, the heat receding with Gene's erection.

Usually I stand after taking a load, but I remained on my knees, looking up at my customer, holding his softening cock between my lips.

He was panting. "There," he huffed, "I did it."

Gene's daughter shook her head as I ran my tongue along his frenulum.

"You ordered a smoothie too, dad. You gotta give her another."

"This is ridiculous," he protested, even as his dick stirred back to life.

The daughter crossed her arms. "No, YOU'RE ridiculous, dad. And you're a bad actor, too. Just come already, okay?"

Chagrined but enjoying himself on a fundamental level, Gene shut up and let me milk him for a second load.

"Think they're gonna fuck?" Bethica asked me, whispering in my ear as the two of them left the shop holding their smoothies.

I shrugged. I was just doing my job.

#

About a year in we hired another woman, Susan. Bethica's smoothies were just too popular, and we had some intense commuter crunches. Susan wasn't a demon like us, and wasn't expected to collect loads. She just worked the register and sometimes the blender when Bethica and I had too many cocks to suck. We'd started getting accolades in the East Fortune papers and even Zagat recognized us, so we had a pretty constant stream of business and the money worked out.

Susan was a consummate professional, in her late twenties with a decade of experience in food service. She was almost better with the customers than Bethica, and her movements behind the counter exuded efficiency. She never blinked at our shop's quirk, and we never caught her staring during a blowjob. Looking just to Susan, you might have thought we were a normal shop.

Another upside to the hire was that we could take more breaks if we needed them.

We worked pretty tirelessly that first year, and it caught up to us. We needed time off for rest, for doctor's visits, you name it. So it wasn't rare for me to find myself on my knees at Juice For Juice, sucking cock after cock while Susan handled the rest of the business. I obviously preferred the times when Bethica was around, because I loved her and reveled in her presence, but there was something different, something fun about those days when it was just me and the human woman, and load collection was my sole responsibility. I could abandon myself in the feeding, smell the nostalgic scent of Hell in my sweat as I indulged.

#

It came to our attention that our pricing structure was triggering gender dysphoria for some trans men. We worked with community leaders in the East Fortune business district to establish a club of Load Donors, who would hang out at the cafe next door and show up to pay for folks who physically couldn't purchase our smoothies on their own. For some of these customers, the inclusion was enough; for others, we threw in some roleplay. Bethica in particular was good at this, swallowing the donor's load while making eyes at the customer. "Thanks for the meal," she'd say, with just a touch of succubus charm in her tone, and the man would smile back as the donor made themselves scarce. The Load Donor program was a big success, and also allowed us to serve many more smoothies to children and cis women. (Of course, for the kids, they had to tell the donor what they wanted and then wait outside—we were a strictly 18+ establishment.)

#

No one makes it through life without a wrong assumption or two.

When I first met C, I assumed she had another customer's loyalty card, fully filled out, and was here to redeem it. She walked into the shop alone and with purpose, and not like Jenn Green who had been all business. No, C clearly came in for a smoothie. She made a beeline for the register.

"What can I get you?" I asked cheerily.

"I hear the honeydew kale blend is to die for," she said.

"Strangely, yep!"

"I'll take a medium."

"Okay, can I have your card?"

She furrowed her brow, then began rummaging through her purse. "I thought it wouldn't cost money?"

"Oh, no." I refused the credit card she offered me. "I meant the loyalty card you're exchanging."

"This is my first time here?"

"I'm sorry, let me back up." I pointed up, at the loyalty program info panel hanging from the ceiling. "I assumed you were here to redeem a loyalty card, but clearly not. In that case, since, yes, our smoothies don't cost money, but loads of sperm," I pointed to the other notice, "you could avail yourself of our Load Donor program."

C cracked a smile.

"I can pay."

To my discredit—and I should note, this isn't all on me, but on a millennia-old sex essentialism endemic to my mom's people—I didn't follow.

"Excuse me?"

"My junk doesn't really give me dysphoria and I haven't really decided whether or not to get bottom surgery. I figure while I still have it and it works I might as well try the best smoothie in the nation."

Mentally I raced to keep pace with C as she spoke casually about something that I'd always assumed was a deeply personal topic. And even as I noticed that this took work on my part, I was kicking myself: Juice For Juice was a deeply personal establishment. I sucked hundreds of cocks on some days. And while there was always the veneer of transactionalism, it would have been delusional to claim that it was impersonal.

"Sorry, is there a problem?"

I took another look at the woman. She was young, about my age, and tall with a slight, delicate build. She wore her long black hair in a ponytail. Her t-shirt looked like it was from some kind of tech startup and her septum was pierced.

"Not at all," I said as quickly as I could. Of course there was no problem. If she could pay she could pay. I didn't have to process anything except the order, same as with any other customer. "Can I get a name for the order?"

She just said, "C."

I turned back to the kitchen. "Susan, one medium honeydew kale for C."

Susan looked up from the orders she was already working on and gave me a thumbs up.

"Alright, you're good right where you are," I said to C.

Her cock had great elasticity, and I enjoyed wrapping my hand around it. I looked up from my position on my knees on the floor and saw her looking down at me. Our eyes met as my tongue reached her crown, and I shivered. I didn't make conscious note of this at the time, but in retrospect, C's casual confidence and easy smile weren't unlike Bethica's.

C lasted a little longer than the average, and her load was a little thin, but it tasted good and I definitely let my arousal carry itself away a bit as I savored it. Warmth spread through my chest and I felt a tingle in the vestigial nub where a full succubus's tail would be.

"C!" called Susan from the counter, drink in hand, interrupting my reverie.

C tucked her cock back into her rainbow boxer briefs and reached for the drink.

"I hope this is as good for me as that was for you," she laughed. Then she winked and left. I blinked as a small trickle of her jizz found its way down my chin.

#

These lapses in professionalism weren't as rare as I'd like to make them out. We ran a pretty smooth operation for the most part, but there were slips in our shop, both on our part and on the part of our customers. The first few were almost scary. I worried a lot that if I couldn't keep the boundaries between what we were doing and romantic sex crystal clear, everything would crumble down. But as we became more experienced, we also came to better terms with the fact that the contradictions inherent in our business model meant there would be some emotional moments, and we learned to take them in stride.

One older guy, after releasing an intensely plentiful load in my mouth, started crying.

There was no one behind him in line, so I decided to take my time with him.

"Do you want to talk?"

He looked embarrassed. "I promise I only came for the smoothie," he said a little too abruptly.

"I'm not mad," I said. "The sex work policy is more for folks who come time and again for free BJs. This was your first time here, so don't even sweat it."

He took a deep breath.

"You DO want your smoothie, yes?" Bethica was working that day, and she passed him his drink.

"Yeah," he said, "thanks."

The shop was quiet for a moment, then he took a long draw on his straw and his face melted further. "That's fucking good," he said, voice almost breaking. "Shit, I'm sorry. I'll see myself out."

"It's okay," Bethica said in that way only Bethica said things. "Are you?"

He shook his head.

"My wife and I, geez, you don't want to hear this."

I shrugged at Bethica. The place was empty. She just smiled at me, then at the customer. "We have time. Do you want to sit?"

It was raining outside, not driving rain, but the kind of rain you'd make a white noise machine to emulate. East Fortune was gray and dark. I like to think our little shop was cozy in contrast to the streets. We had a fireplace video up on the TV that usually had our menu.

We sat down at one of the tables. The customer introduced himself as Dan.

"I'm Beth and this is Stina," said Bethica.

He nodded.

"I love my wife so much," he said, "but we haven't had sex in about fifteen years. That's not the worst part, of course. The worst part is that we had sex regularly for seven years before that, sex that hurt her. I didn't know."

Bethica took Dan's hand in hers. "Did she talk to any doctors?"

"The doctors," he said bitterly, "told her to drink some wine and relax."

Bethica nodded. "I've heard that one." She squeezed his hand. "Yeah. Yeah. Your guilt and her pain have killed her libido. It's totally typical."

"Typical?"

"There's support groups," Bethica said, "for people with vaginismus. You see lots of different stories and experiences. If you want, I can invite you to the one I'm in on Facebook."

"Vaginismus?"

"Wow, yeah, if you haven't even heard the word before you should one hundred percent check out this group. Even if there ends up being some other factors or conditions, it's a good starting place." Bethica was already on her phone, typing. "Dan...?"

"Danford Truxel."

"Found you. Okay, one sec... there we go."

"I don't know what to say."

"You don't have to say anything. I find that with chronic pain it's always helpful to have a name. Whether or how your wife wants to treat it is obviously up to her. But there's lots of causes, lots of comorbidities, lots of potential treatment avenues."

I watched in silent awe as Bethica handled the situation. This wasn't succubus charm or demonic empathy, it was just basic good person shit.

"This didn't really help me that much since I'm secondary with vestibulodynia, but I think I still have... yep... here it is." Bethica pulled a business card out of her pocket. "A really good pelvic floor PT. Maybe worth a consultation."

Dan had a lot to take in. Another customer entered the shop, so I left him to Bethica and got back to work.

#

My cell buzzed one day when it was just me and Susan in the shop. It was Mom. Dad had collapsed. He was at Oaks Hospital, and it was unclear how much time he had left. He'd been weakening for a while, and none of this came as a surprise, but it was still a gut blow. I clocked out.

"Susan, can you lock up?"

She nodded, but then said, "I can keep things running."

"Okay, if you want to sell some more pretzels or something be my guest. I just gotta go."

"Of course! Don't worry about a thing."

She gave me a hug and I left, apologizing to the line of customers on my way out for the fact that we wouldn't be serving any more smoothies today.

When I got to Oaks, Dad looked peaceful. Mom was the picture of shame.

"Oh honey," she said, standing and embracing me. "This is all my fault."

"Nonsense," croaked my dad.

He was in his early fifties, but he looked much older. His hair was white as snow, his skin thin and loose.

"What did they say?" I asked, kneeling by the bed and taking Dad's hand. It was cold.