Meeting My Succubus Ch. 03

This is the third chapter of 'Meeting My Succubus' so it would be a good idea to read the first two parts before this if you have not already done so. I should point out that the word 'neurovore' is not my invention but was coined by the late Sir Terry Pratchett and I have borrowed it. He used it to describe someone who lives on their nerves, while I use it to describe someone who feeds off other people's powerful emotions. I felt the need to include a fair bit of 'world-building' here, but if you are patient there will also be some sex.

There is an episode in this chapter that involves interracial kink between Chinese women and white 'European' men. I realise this might be offensive to some, but in my defence it was inspired by an illuminating conversation with a female friend who is of Chinese ancestry, so I know that it does exist as a phenomenon, at least for some.

Please remember that the opinions of the characters are not necessarily the same as mine. You might want to skip this tale if you have strong traditional religious views -- but then probably in that case you might be wiser to avoid Literotica altogether!

It goes without saying that all the characters engaged in sexual activities are over eighteen (in one case by several centuries), this is of course a work of fiction, and the copyright is reserved by me, N. S. Carter, and I forbid its use, in whole or in part, without my explicit permission.

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It turned out that the residence of The Lady was on Cromwell Road, facing the Natural History Museum. I found it ironic that an advisor/therapist to those of a demonic persuasion was sited opposite a building dedicated to scientific enquiry. Maybe in future they would have a wing there specifically for infernal beings, with my stuffed body on display in a glass case. OK, so I was in a bit of a peculiar and fragile state of mind that morning, and you could hardly blame me given my experiences since meeting my succubus, Clara.

The house was one of a terrace of imposing four-story houses, appearing to date from Georgian times, with an entrance flanked by columns. There was a small brass plate next to the door which had an inscription in such small letters that even from a foot away I had to squint, reading 'Advisor on the Obscure'. In slightly larger letters beneath was written 'Unwelcome Visitors will be Devoured by Demons'. I could only hope that we were in the 'welcome visitors' category.

Sometimes, when what is strange is an absence, it takes a while to pinpoint the issue. In this case it came to me quite quickly since it was a practical matter. There was no doorbell. Nor was there any kind of knocker.

I turned to consult Clara. She had been uncharacteristically quiet for the last part of our journey, even holding my hand, clearly nervous. However, before I could speak, the door opened, and there was a tall distinguished man who, judging from his colour and the dastar he wore, was a Sikh. For a moment he simply stood there, scanning us, and in this cases 'scanning' seems the most appropriate word since it felt like passing through one of those gates at airport security. His face gave two contradictory impressions, with a blankness that suggested almost that there was 'nobody home', and at the same time evoking a sense of focussed attention.

We must have passed his scrutiny since without any of us speaking a word he moved gracefully aside and gestured for us to enter.

I wished I had the time to look at the paintings covering the walls of the entrance hall. They appeared to be originals, and many of them were in a style suggesting that they were centuries old. All were portraits, and while there was nothing obviously non-human in their faces, I had the strong feeling that this was the case for many of them.

Before I could take a closer look, 'Miss Marple' came out to greet us. I say 'Miss Marple' because she bore an uncanny resemblance to the character in the popular TV series. She was a diminutive older woman who had a twinkle in her eye suggesting mischievous intelligence.

She addressed Clara, though she called her by a different name.

"So, Melantha, what kind of trouble have you got yourself into this time?"

Though the words sounded critical, the tone suggested resigned affection and it was evident she did not expect an answer, at least not yet. She turned to the gentleman who had let us in.

"Thank you, Harpreet Singh. That will be all."

Without a word he turned and left, leaving me wondering whether he was capable of speech.

The Lady led us into a little sitting room which had a comfortable set of a sofa and armchairs arranged around a coffee table, all looking to date from Victorian times. The room had a large window looking out onto a small walled garden, an arrangement I had trouble reconciling with what I knew of the geography of the area.

There were a number of ornaments of various kinds scattered around, but at first glance nothing out of the ordinary. At second glance there were some oddities, such as the carriage clock on which the second hand alternated between going clockwise and then anticlockwise, as well as a blank white canvas in a room where modern art of that kind seemed completely out of place and I wondered whether it would be blank to all eyes.

We were waved over to the sofa while she sat in one of the armchairs. Without asking, she poured coffee for all three of us from a tall pot into mugs. These were charmingly out of place and at the same time kind of quaintly appropriate since they all had Harry Potter themes.

Without preamble she asked Clara to explain what was going on, and so she began, addressing her as 'My Lady', a little haltingly at first but then gathering confidence. Throughout she clutched my hand.

It took some time and I managed to get through two cups of the delicious coffee during the narration. I wondered idly whether the coffee was really something special or it was only a consequence of my newly enhanced senses. The Lady listened intently, bringing to mind what someone once said about how Lenin 'could exhaust you by listening'.

Towards the end Clara pulled me up short when she explained with a particularly mournful tone, giving voice to it for the first time, that she thought she had fallen in love with me. On the one hand I felt a pulse of sheer joy, and at the same time I could not help but notice that her tone suggested some combination of sharing a terminal diagnosis and confessing to a shameful addiction. A little part of me was saying 'is the idea of being in love with me that awful?', but then I grasped that it was about something different. Clara, or rather in this case Melantha, had been around a long time, and she was only now experiencing falling in love.

Once Clara had finished, there was a moment of silence and then 'The Lady' shocked both of us by bursting out in raucous laughter, which could not be described as ladylike in the least. It took her some time to recover, and then she said,

"Oh dear, I haven't laughed so much since I heard about Napoleon's mishap with a penis-growing potion. He thought the quantities were in the metric system! Still, I suppose it ended up motivating him to conquer most of Europe to compensate."

Then she looked a bit more serious and addressed Clara.

"Melantha, my dear, I thought you would have learned your lesson after that business with the necromancer, and now ... let's check that I have it right?"

Poor Clara looked mortified and sat with her eyes downcast, clutching my hand even harder. I made a mental note to ask her about 'that business with the necromancer' at an appropriate moment.

"So, you reveal to a mortal that you are a succubus?"

Clara nodded, seeming to shrink into herself a little.

"Then you allow a mortal with no knowledge of our world to save your life and so become your master?"

Again, another nod.

"And as if that is not enough you let him feed on your essence?"

Nod.

"Oh, and just to make things even more of a mess, you fall in love, which by the way is not even supposed to be possible for a succubus?"

This time there was not even a nod.

The Lady sat absolutely still for quite some time, clearly thinking.

Then she gave a little chuckle and spoke,

"I guess someone must be looking after you. If you had only made one of those mistakes then you would have been in a world of trouble, but strangely the combination might give you both a bit of protection."

She took a sip of her coffee, which I imagined must have been cold by now, and continued.

"If you had only been guilty of telling a mortal about yourself, the Lords of Hell would have extinguished you. But because you became bound to a master, they are not allowed to do that while he lives. Given how they think, they might have solved that problem by ending him. However, they cannot do that now since he is also of a partly demonic nature, and so they cannot kill him unless he breaks our laws."

She clapped her hands and laughed again.

"They are going to be so pissed-off if they do find out. I love it." Hearing her use a term like 'pissed-off' was a little like imagining the Queen saying 'fuck'.

At this point too many things had been mentioned that I did not understand, and I had to ask, even though I would struggle to frame the question.

"Please ... My Lady ... these Lords of Hell ... What ...?" At that point I ran out of steam.

She gave me an amused and slightly pitying smile.

"I know, Adam, this must all be rather strange to you. The Lords of Hell actually live in Knightsbridge, which is appropriate since they are very status conscious and have a tremendous appetite for what I guess you could call 'posh bling'."

"So, hell is ...?"

"Well, I am tempted to say 'other people', that is if you include demons as people, but that Lennon fellow had it right with 'no hell below us' and 'no heaven' at all ... as far as I know. Hell is simply any place where demons rule. You could think of it as a little bit like the way the French embassy here is considered to be a part of France. Well, it is not really like that at all, but it is as good a way of explaining it as I can come up with."

This was a lot for me to get my head round, and on top of that I was determined not to accept what I was told without question. I decided to let this pass for the moment and moved on to things that were a bit closer to home.

"Clara reckons that I am now immortal. Is that really the case ... like I am going to live for ever?"

The Lady looked at me and gave a smile that was less than reassuring.

"Hmmm, well, the answer to that is kind of yes and no."

This time it was Clara who jumped in, a pleading note in her voice.

"Please, My Lady, I think he needs a bit more of an explanation than that. I do as well."

The Lady looked at me, I think assessing how to explain it to me.

"It's like this Adam. In principle you are immortal. You will not age. But it does not mean that you are invincible. If you jump off a tall building you will end up just as dead as anyone else, and will make just as much of a mess. More to the point if someone shoots you or stabs you or poisons you, then you will be just as vulnerable as the next man; and being an incubus, I am afraid that is a lot more likely to happen."

At least I had a name for what I was, or what I was on my way to becoming.

"So, I'm an incubus?"

She thought for a moment and then said, stressing the word 'the',

"It might be more accurate to say that you are 'the' incubus."

OK. Now we were back to me being puzzled, which had pretty much been my default state since meeting Clara.

"How do you mean, 'the' incubus?"

"Well, you are the only one I know of, at the very least in London, and in fact the only one I have heard of at all in the last couple of hundred years."

It sounded like I was a pretty rare breed. Or perhaps more of an extremely endangered species. Maybe David Attenborough would narrate a documentary about me.

"Incubuses don't tend to live very long."

That didn't sound so good. Clara gave my hand a squeeze.

"But I thought you said I was immortal?"

"In theory yes, but you have to keep something in mind."

Now I was beginning to feel slightly irritated.

"What's that, My Lady?"

She gave me a thoughtful look.

"That takes a bit of a longer explanation. Please be patient."

I waited, trying to demonstrate patience, and with a little smile she continued.

"I guess you are aware that in the United Kingdom the bears are extinct, and the last wolf was killed some three hundred years ago?"

I nodded, wondering where this was going.

"Why was that?" She asked.

I felt a little as if I were back in the classroom, but I played along.

"Because people perceived them as a threat." I was tempted to facetiously add 'miss' on the end but decided not to push my luck. She may have looked like a harmless little old lady, but I had the very strong impression that I did not want to get on her bad side. I might be facing something worse than detention or a note home to my parents.

"That's right."

Then she seemed to change tack.

"Do you know what an incubus is, Adam?"

"Not really. I mean I've heard the word and know it is some kind of male sex demon, but that is about it."

She chuckled.

"Well, that is the very brief version, and it is not wrong in so far as it goes. But there is rather more to it than that."

She paused to collect her thoughts, I guess realising that she would have to give me a remedial level lesson.

"Firstly, you have to realise that all demons are neurovores. They feed off strong feelings or emotions, and in some cases even powerful thoughts. There are different kinds depending on the types they can consume. Some feed off hatred, others from fear, and so on.

"Sex demons, that is incubuses and succubuses, are sustained by lust. They are also unique in having started out as human beings before acquiring a demonic nature, and in general over time the demonic part becomes steadily more dominant, though there do seem to be exceptions."

At this point she seemed to give Clara a significant look before continuing.

"This hybrid nature is also the reason why many 'pure' demons tend to look down on you, as well as not trusting you. I suppose it has parallels with humans' attitudes to sex workers."

To my irritation she stopped, rang a little bell on the table and waited. After a couple of moments, a very small man came into the room. A very small man with horns. Why had my life suddenly become a movie directed by David Lynch?

"Cedric, do you think you could rustle up some sandwiches for us?"

He bowed and left the room without a word. The Lady looked at me and smiled.

"Cedric happens to be a common name among imps, Adam. I've no idea why."

It broke the tension a little and I laughed. She continued.

"Where was I? O yes, I was going to tell you what you are becoming.

"An incubus will only be attracted to a woman who lusts after him. And only women who are not being sexually satisfied will lust after him. So that rules out those who are asexual, those who are lesbians and being generous I guess about fifty women in London who have men who can meet their needs."

She laughed what was rather a dirty laugh to be coming from someone who appeared to be a genteel elderly lady.

"OK. So, I am exaggerating, but not that much. Most men are dreadful at sex. They seem to realise it on some level but instead of trying harder they put all their effort into ensuring that women don't stray, or even have the opportunity to, and if they do then on punishing them."

At this point Cedric came in with a generous tray of sandwiches, and a pitcher of homemade lemonade with some glasses. I could not help but examine his horns a bit more closely. In fact, the better term would be antlers, since they branched out in several places and I concluded it was a good thing he was so short since otherwise navigating doorways would have been a bit of an issue.

He caught me looking and surprised me by showing that he could in fact speak, and his accent could not have been described as genteel, though I did wonder if it was not an act.

"What yer looking at mate? Never seen a bloke with a pink tie?" Until he said it, I hadn't noticed his garish pink tie, worn with an otherwise conservative three-piece suit.

Before I could come up with a response, he left with an amused smirk.

The Lady gave me a sympathetic look and said,

"I don't think that's the first time he's used that line. It's probably why he wears that awful tie. Not very original, our Cedric, but he's actually quite a sweetie when you get to know him ... but don't tell him I said that."

Then she seemed to recollect herself.

"So, getting back to what I was saying. Oh, and please help yourself, the ones with the cockroaches are particularly delicious ..."

Even under these circumstances I knew when someone was pulling my leg and I tucked into what turned out to be cheese and pickle.

"Men react to the incubus in pretty much the same way their ancestors did to wolves and bears, which is one of the reasons why they don't live so long. On top of that for various reasons they seem to quickly become unstable and even develop a bit of a death-wish, but apart from that ..."

Suddenly I was aware of a sobbing sound beside me. It was Clara.

"I'm so sorry, Adam, I didn't know this would happen ..."

Although I was more than a little shocked at what I had just been told, my immediate instinct was to comfort Clara, which I did, putting my arms around her and telling her that it was OK.

Then The Lady continued in a surprisingly gentle tone,

"However maybe there is something you have, and they didn't, which might help."

I had to ask,

"What's that?"

Looking at Clara she answered,

"The love of a ... I was going to say good woman ... but I guess it would be more accurate if less romantic to say the love of a ... morally ambiguous sex demon."

She smiled at her little joke before explaining.

"I suspect that it might just give some balance to your life that other incubuses never had. You should also keep in mind that when you feed from the lust of a ... human woman, you will also be feeding Melantha through the link you have. In fact, if you do not feed, not only will you suffer but so will she."

I was beginning to experience something akin to shell shock.

Clara gave my hand a squeeze.

The Lady then said,

"I think it is time to bring in someone who might to be able to give you a little more detail on the matter."

She rang her bell again. This time it was Harpreet Singh who appeared, and I realised that in fact he was capable of speech. She asked him,

"Is Doctor Tsiang present today?"

When he spoke, his voice was surprisingly deep.

"Yes, My Lady. In the library I believe."

"In that case would you please be so good as to summon the good doctor?"

He bowed and left to do her bidding.

For some reason 'Doctor Tsiang' conjured up for me the image of a distinguished and rather elderly Chinese gentleman, perhaps with a drooping moustache, a groomed beard and long white hair worn in some kind of ponytail. I could not have been more wrong!

The door opened and a diminutive but gorgeous Chinese woman entered, wearing a luxurious blue silk dress adorned with a pattern of flowers and with her tiny feet shod in elegant black stiletto heels. It struck me as an odd way to dress to spend time in a library. I could also sense that she was definitely human, and she was responding to me. Her response was an intriguing mix of lust and at the same time shame that she was feeling that lust.

"Adam, I would like you to meet Doctor Tsiang. She is our expert on sex demons and I am sure she can answer your questions in far more detail than I could manage."