Malcubus Ch. 02: In the Garden

Rosmerta was impossibly sexy, so sexy that she presented a conundrum. How do you focus on the physical motions of sex when the girl below you is the most beautiful thing you've ever seen, heard or felt? Maybe that's hyperbole, but it was genuinely hard to keep up my rhythm when every cry, quiver and wriggle of her body beneath mine was a fucking work of art. When she finally came her pussy clamped down even tighter on my cock, warm liquid spraying into my pubic hair. She screamed into my hand, too loud, way too loud, and clawed at my arm as milk beaded atop her nipples. It was an incredible sight.

I must have had incredible focus, because I kept fucking her.

After a minute of thrusting, Rosie had recovered sufficiently to take charge again. She still looked like a woman possessed, her eyes shining with mad hunger, but maybe that was just the grey light of predawn that illuminated her. She was coherent enough to stop her moaning when I removed my hand from her mouth, at least. My rhythm was slowing as she leaned up to kiss my neck. My own orgasm approached, and I was still sane enough to not want this to end.

Rosie was whispering in my ear. "I'm going to do something," she said. "Trust me."

I trusted her. I needed her. I lo-

She rolled us over so she was on top, and the dew of the grass chilled the back of my neck. She was in control now, and I groaned pathetically as she sat up atop me and started to slide back. I thought she was getting off me. Instead, though, she slid backwards until she was on all fours, my cock straining against her pussy. It should have hurt, and maybe it did, but I was past caring.

"Cum for me, Eric," she whispered as she started to raise herself up and down. "Give it to me. Don't think, just cum."

Energy raced through my balls, my abs contracted, and I followed Rosie's command. My cock spasmed in her tight hole, she kept pumping herself up and down on me, and my whole groin felt so damn hot. The cum pouring out of me was like fire, moving into her, setting her pussy alight and leaving me even hotter...

I forced my eyes open and my head up. Rosie was still riding me aggressively, her eyes closed in rapture, but that wasn't all. Her green runic tattoos were visible and they seemed to writhe and pulse beneath her skin. More importantly, her pussy was glowing.

My orgasm didn't just feel like fire. As my cock spurted into her depths, her slit glowed as though magma flowed beneath it, and lines of red and orange firelight pulsed into my cock. I could feel them even as I saw them move, waves of heat and energy pulsing out from Rosie's pussy, travelling through the veins of my cock, settling deep inside me. I could taste sulphur.

This would have been a completely appropriate time to scream, but my loud, ragged moan was solely one of pleasure.

I stopped cumming and Rosie stopped bouncing, leaning forward again and lying atop me. Before she cut off my view I saw the glowing firelight fade from our groins, felt the flaming energy dissipate in my balls. It burned away to embers inside me, leaving me changed. Reforged.

Rosie gave a satisfied sigh from atop me and kissed my forehead. I realized that despite the chill, we were both soaked in sweat.

"What... what the hell was that?" I panted. I'd forgotten to whisper, but it hardly mattered; I could hear thumps coming from the house, from Moira's bedroom.

"Permanent aid," she whispered. I babbled senselessly for a second, and she had to silence me with a kiss. "Master," she said, "as nice as it is to rest with you inside me, you need sleep to adjust to the Shaping. And," she jerked her head back towards the house, "I'm pretty sure we just woke up your ex."

"Holy shit," I swore, then: "fuck." There were lights on in the house, at ground level. Moira's room. The hallway. There were windows right above us, still mercifully dark, but we had run.

And so run we did.

I started falling asleep perhaps a third of the way back to my house. I don't fully remember most of the walk; a deep fatigue was spreading from my balls out through my whole body, fogging my mind and weighting my limbs. At first Rosie had to lead me, then I was leaning on her heavily, trusting that her demonic strength could support my weight. Birds sung around us as the sun clawed its way towards the horizon. I don't remember sneaking back into the house, only collapsing into my bed after a half-remembered walk, unable to think of anything but the need for sleep and the soporific weight in my groin.

I do remember Rosie leaning over me, brushing my hair back and stroking my shoulder tenderly. "Just sleep now," she was whispering. "Everything's okay. I'll be here when you wake up."

***

Her lips were just about to brush against Hugh Jackman's stubble when the screen door banged downstairs. She tried to hold onto the dream, to press herself against him and stay in his grasp forever, but she was already waked up.

That always happened just when things were about to get good.

Cassie groaned into the darkness of her room and rolled over to check her clock. 5:57. That, plus the headache nibbling at her brainstem, made her groan again. She probably shouldn't have drunk quite as much last night, but that was what girl's nights were for.

Eric, or whoever was banging around in his room downstairs, had no such excuse for his misbehaviour.

Cassie ran a hand through her long, blonde locks and considered going back to sleep. It was tempting, but... she was awake now. While the memory of dream-Hugh was still clear enough in her mind, shouldn't she take advantage?

Slowly, gently, she slipped a hand into her pyjamas and closed her eyes.

***

"I'll do it," Moira said, "but I still don't understand anything. I still think this is just a really weird dream."

Eric looked down at the ever-shifting sand beneath his feet. "Then I guess I'm really fucked, aren't I?"

The classroom had broken apart completely now, consumed by the whirling sheets of sparking, shifting sand. They were standing at the centre of a quicksilver tornado. Even though this couldn't be real, even though none of this could possibly be happening, Moira felt afraid. "Eric?"

The winds were reaching out to him now, tearing at his skin. His shirt tore away in a flurry of dream-dust. "Rosie! You need to get..." he yelled to her. He yelled something else, too, but she couldn't hear it over the roaring winds.

Eric's hair was being stripped away, his gangly form vanishing beneath the gusts. Moira's stomach turned as if she was falling very fast, or perhaps ascending upwards - coming up from a great depth very fast. Eric was gone, the whole world was sparking and shifting, and everything around her was dissolving into sand. She turned back her head to scream -

And, outside, someone else did too.

Moira rolled upright in her bed, breathing fast. There was no Eric, no sand, no impossible mission. It really had just been a dream.

That cry outside, though - that hadn't been a dream. She could hear people murmuring.

Grey light tinged the curtains of her window, so it was almost daytime. They probably weren't burglars, then, but who else would be right outside her house while everyone was asleep? Who would be crying out as if in pain?

It took her a couple of minutes to pull on a dressing gown, check that the front door was locked, and peek out the windows at the front lawn. By the time she got back into bed, she was halfway convinced that she'd imagined the whole thing. Her parents upstairs hadn't even stirred.

It wasn't even 6 yet, so Moira still had hours until she had to wake up to go to work at the library. It was a good job for a bookworm like her, but it was still work, and sleep was preferable. She wriggled back under the covers and closed her eyes.

Eric.

Why had she been dreaming about him? And why now? She hadn't spoken to him in months. He wasn't exactly the kind of guy she'd normally have, um, 'private' dreams about, and this hadn't been one of those anyway. It had been really weird. Really, really weird.

He'd wanted her to help him.

She tried to push it out of her mind and get back to sleep. There was no point obsessing over it or psychoanalysing herself; after all, dreams fade into blurry memories after only a few minutes of waking.

When Moira got up for work two hours later, she hadn't slept for another minute... and she still remembered every one of Eric's desperate words.

***

Her Master is snoring within minutes of Rosmerta placing Him in His bed. The succubus looks down at Him, a little weary, but with a very satisfied smile on her face. It will take a few hours for her Shaping to take effect, but it is the first one she's ever performed on a mortal. When He wakes up, He will be one step closer to reaching His true potential.

As much Lust as she's taken from their couplings thus far, the effort has taken something out of her. Taking the lotus position in the centre of His room, she watches His chest rise and fall, meditating while her energies realign. The rising sun slowly lights up her face as she smiles unconsciously.

This is a beautiful world.

He will become the perfect Master.

Today will be a good day.

At the very back of Eric's closet, just a few metres from the resting succubus, there's a cardboard box. It's been carelessly stuffed with all the ritual paraphernalia used in yesterday's summoning ritual. At the very top of the pile there's an aged parchment scroll in a plastic protective case. Right next to the scroll is a sheet of fax paper marked with cursive handwriting. Through the cardboard box's half-open lid the last few lines on the paper are technically visible, although no-one will see it for quite a while.

The end of the page reads:

"I hope you can do this.

If you fail, or simply don't trust me, you lose nothing. If you succeed, however... perhaps we can be together again.

I'll be watching you."