Meeting My Succubus

And make her beg I did. I repeatedly took her to the edge, ever closer but not quite there. My tongue always sliding just too slowly, or a fraction of millimetre from where she most needed it, or maddeningly just not quite as firmly as she would need to find release. Soon my fingers were able to join in the fun as her hands were no longer doing anything but twitching helplessly by her sides. She began to writhe against me to try to gain that last tiny bit of stimulation she needed to get there, but to no avail, as I was able to always deny it to her, just when it seemed within reach. Finally, she managed to speak.

"Oh god, Adam, you're torturing me -- I need to come".

And I delighted in answering her.

"Come on now, Clara. You can do better than that. Be a good girl and say 'please'. In fact, maybe you should beg for it." I am not even sure where this was coming from as I have sometimes played teasing games with lovers, but nothing as intense as this.

I resumed teasing her even more and she thrashed around, her heels drumming disjointedly on my back, and I could hear her frustrated groans becoming even louder.

"I am not a 'good girl', I am a sex demon and I do not beg ..." She ground out; words punctuated by breathless gasps.

"Have it your way then" I said lightly and resumed my efforts. In case you can't tell, I was really getting into this, discovering a ruthless side to myself I had not known existed.

She was getting to a state where complete sentences were beyond her.

"Bastard", "cruel bastard", "evil son of a bitch" all came out at some point, then some words in a guttural language that certainly did not sound polite or complimentary and some others I can't remember. And then the swearing stopped, and I heard her say it.

"Please".

I slackened off a little and said, "Please what?"

"Please ... let me come". She may have been the succubus but if anyone could be accused of being demonic at that point, I have to admit it was me.

"That's better, my good girl, but you are still going to have to beg".

There was one last shudder of her body, almost like a physical manifestation of her resistance being broken and she said it.

"I beg you, Adam. I beg you. I will do anything -- just let me come".

This was it. My cue to reverse what I had done before. Now fingers found exactly the right places, in the right way with the right pressure. My fingers curled inside her and without any seeking or uncertainty pushed on that sweet spot while my tongue extended further than I thought it could and flicked strongly and rapidly across her engorged clit and she cried out, at first shouting "Oh fuck" and then something in another language I did not know. She came and I rode her orgasm with unerring skill, keeping her there in utter abandon for longer than I would have thought possible, before allowing her to come down just before it crossed the line into something like pain.

She was left utterly limp. Her legs had slipped from my shoulders and lay over the end of the bed, twitching and bent almost boneless at the knee. The only sound coming from her was breathless panting. I gently moved up her flushed and sweat-soaked body, planting almost random gentle kisses on her as I passed, as if to atone from my earlier 'cruelty'. When I reached her head and was able to look down at her I was surprised to see that her eyes were open when I had imagined they might be closed, but they were at first unfocused.

She made a few unsuccessful attempts at speech.

"I ..."

"You ..."

"We ..."

To which I answered, smugly,

"Definitely all of those".

Then her focus returned, and she said,

"I think you've broken me".

She followed up by saying, her tone one of puzzlement and even perhaps wonder,

"What the fuck just happened? I am supposed to do that to you, Adam."

At this point I could resist no longer and reached down to kiss her. Something deep and beyond words passed between us as I gazed into her huge brown eyes. To lighten the mood I spoke again,

"So, I have managed to impress a succubus?"

She smiled but then suddenly looked worried.

"I am going to be in so much trouble if they find out".

The sudden change of tack, and mood, caught me out.

"What do you mean?"

Clara hesitated a moment, as unsure whether she should tell me, but then seemed to decide that it could not make any great difference now.

"There is a strict rule that we must never let any mortal man taste our cunt juices. I kind of forgot about it over the years as it is not something the wizards and other creeps I ended up with ever wanted to do -- which is kind of ironic really since if those seekers of magical power had realised what they could gain ..."

At that point she stopped, perhaps realising that she had said too much. I didn't press her, but made a mental note to ask her more later.

"But yes, you did impress me. In fact as the saying goes, you 'rocked my world'."

Then she injected a note of command into her voice and said,

"Now fuck me."

I did not need any urging. My cock was impossibly rigid and as I slid into her now perfectly lubricated pussy, it felt wonderfully tight around me. In fact for a moment I wondered whether I hadn't somehow grown in size, or at least in girth, for it to feel that tight.

I was still in control, and I could sense in some way that this was what she wanted, perhaps even a new experience for her. I moved as slowly as possible into her, millimetre by millimetre, this time perhaps in a sense torturing both of us, but to me it was worth it. At first I continued to gaze into her eyes, but then moved down to kiss her on the lips again, surprising her by gently biting her bottom lip. Then I moved my attentions to the side of her neck, kissing her just below her ear, before whispering in her ear,

"I think you like being a good girl for me, don't you Clara?", all the time keeping up slow deep strokes with my cock, all the way in and then slowly all the way back until the tip was just inside her entrance, pausing just for long enough to make her worry that it would not be returning, before again slowly but remorselessly thrusting into her. Despite the incredible way her pussy felt as it clenched around me, I did not seem to be having a problem keeping from coming.

Unaware I suspect even of what she was doing, Clara first put one hand on my back and the other around the back of my neck, and soon after wrapped her legs behind my arse, as though trying vainly to urge me on, to make me speed up. She began to groan again, at first perhaps even deliberately to try and get me to lose control, but soon I'm sure no longer aware of what she was doing. She began to beg again, this time as though now her defences had been breached the words were coming easily to her.

I pulled back once more to look in her eyes and began to gradually speed up my pace. She closed her eyes and I slowed, making her open them in surprise.

"Keep your eyes open and look at me Clara or I'll stop".

Although it required increasingly desperate efforts to do so, she kept her eyes open, looking into mine even as her orgasm approached, and as she went over the edge I was rewarded with an incredible sight, as her irises changed colour, rapidly going from brown to emerald green, then dark blue, then an unbelievable almost luminous light blue and finally black, as her pussy pulsed and clenched around me before, unable to keep them open, her lids came down and she shrieked my name, and I lost control and came, and this time the feeling was so intense that I also cried out, something I don't think I had ever done with any other lover.

Now I was truly spent and hardly had the strength to push myself off to lie next to her. Clara's head turned, her eyes opened to look at me and I could see that they had returned to their previous shade of brown.

For the first time I looked at the bedside clock and realised it was gone three in the morning, and exhaustion caught up with both of us. Neither of us spoke; I think at that point we were both beyond words and had no need of them. I pulled a sheet over us, switched off the bedside lamp and pulled her to me, wrapping her in my arms.

***

I awoke, realising it was already gone nine, and for a moment thought I would be late for work, before realising that it was Saturday, and on top of that reminding myself that since I was the boss no-one would reprimand me anyway. Clara had not evaporated in the night nor snuck out with the first rays of dawn. In fact she looked so normal, aside from her beauty, and so solidly asleep that I began to look for alternate explanations for what I remembered.

However, my visit to the bathroom quickly brought a halt to that. In front of the mirror I studied myself. At first glance my face did not look particularly different; merely 'bright-eyed and bushy-tailed' as my dad used to put it. Then for some reason I remembered the odd sensation I'd had in the night of my tongue being longer than usual. I stuck it out. It didn't seem any different at first glance, until I used it to touch the tip of my nose. That was most certainly different. You know if you can touch the tip of your nose with your tongue and that was not the case before. Strangely, but also fortunately, it didn't feel different in my mouth, not sort of awkwardly full or anything.

Then it dawned on me. Yes, the same thing you have already thought of. I looked down and sure enough it did seem to be bigger. My cock that is. Both a little longer and definitely fatter. Now obviously men's ideas of their cock size are notoriously subjective, and I am not one of those obsessives who go round measuring it, but it was definitely bigger.

And that was when I realised something else had changed. I could see my cock looking straight down, without leaning over or sucking my belly in. It is not that I was fat, or even overweight, but like most guys who have to spend long hours in work, eat normally, occasionally have a beer and don't spend time in the gym every day, I had a bit of a belly. 'Had' being the operative word. My belly now was flat.

OK. So it was all real, at least for selected values of 'real'.

Oddly, I was able to file it away in my head as something to give serious thought to later. As if it was routine for me fuck succubae and then find my body miraculously altered in ways that the adolescent nerd I had been in my teenage years could only have fantasised about (and did). I guess in truth I would have been a lot less calm about it if the changes had been in the opposite direction!

I put my head round the door and saw that Clara was still fast asleep. I quickly threw on some clothes and ventured out to a couple of local shops. This was my normal Saturday morning routine, that being the one day when I refused to do work of any kind.

As a regular they know me in the bakery and Keith was putting my usual couple of croissants in a bag for me as I approached the counter. I was suddenly aware not just of the appetising scent of the place, setting off pangs of hunger and making me realise just how starving I was, but it seemed to me that I could perceive the individual components, the cinnamon, the doughy scent of the fresh bread, even the buttery odour of the croissants.

"A bit late aren't we, Adam? What time do you call this?" Keith said, mock severe. He had a point though, as in truth I was a creature of habit and could be relied on to turn up at eight every Saturday morning and it was now rather later than that.

I apologised profusely and promised it wouldn't happen again and even jokingly begging him not to fire me. Then I surprised him by asking him to add in another couple of croissants and a Danish pastry for good measure. He gave me a comic-book leer and said,

"Entertaining, are we?"

I was so on top of the world that morning that responses came easily.

"Well, you never know Keith. It doesn't hurt to be prepared. Maybe a passing supermodel will drop in for a spot of breakfast".

Alright, so not exactly repartee, but then this was Keith, and it got a laugh.

Next stop was the coffee place. Again, Mary was preparing my usual coffee to go once she saw me come in. Once more I found myself not just enjoying the aroma of generic 'coffee' but actually feeling that I could disentangle the different varieties, some sharper than others, though I had no idea which smell went with which name.

"Actually, could I have two of those please, Mary?"

She stopped for a moment and gave me a caricature of a suggestive grin, which looked kind of odd for someone who was otherwise to my mind such a motherly figure.

"Someone got lucky last night then, Adam?"

I considered for a moment the events of the previous night, not that I was going to be describing them to Mary, and responded,

"Well, I suppose 'lucky' is as good as any other word for it".

Then heading back, I passed our local member of the homeless, Jeremiah. At least that was what he called himself and it wasn't as if I was going to demand to see his passport. I put my things down on the windowsill next to him and fished out a pound to give him. Just then I heard a superior-sounding voice reprimand me.

"You really shouldn't do that, you know. It only encourages them. And he will just go and spend it on drink."

I turned to see a ridiculously overdressed horse-faced woman standing looking at me, seeming to expect me to put the money back in my pocket or apologise or both. Although I considered several responses, I decided she did not deserve a reply, other than what I did next, which was to fish all my loose change from my pocket and put it respectfully on the bit of tatty cardboard in front of him, saying,

"Well, I don't know about you, Jeremiah, but I feel like celebrating today. Have a drink on me". Childish I know but I hate rich people denying even crumbs to the poorest while cloaking themselves in virtue. OK, end of sermon!

When I got back, Clara was still asleep, so I took the coffees into the bedroom. I leaned over and kissed her on her forehead.

"Wake up, you've been asleep for a hundred years and your prince is here".

She groaned and opened one eye, looking distinctly grumpy at being woken.

"Well, O.K., I'm not a prince, but on the plus side I am bringing you coffee."

At that she opened the other eye and sat up, a truly distracting sight when the sheet fell from her without her even noticing, revealing her firm round breasts, somehow all the more arousing for not being a deliberate gesture as far as I could tell.

I handed her the coffee and she grabbed hold of it like a lifebelt, prompting me to add,

"So, you are not a morning person then?"

At that Clara put on a guttural mock eastern European accent and said,

"I am a creature of ze night. How dare you, a mere mortal, disturb my slumber in the hours of daylight."

Then she broke the spell with a laugh that was more a cackle than anything else; definitely not particularly sexy, except coming from her it was, maybe all the more so for seeming so natural.

"I should have asked. You do like coffee? I could make you some tea if you prefer." Then I wondered whether I actually still had some teabags somewhere.

But it was not a problem.

"Adam, I was kind of remade for you. That means that I don't just have the ideal tits for you, which I can see you can't help ogling, but it also means I like the same things as you."

I was still trying to process this, both as a scientist trying to understand the implications, and as me, suddenly finding myself in a relationship with a succubus.

"So, I take my coffee white with no sugar and I really hate tea, just like you".

She was right and at the same time it struck me as amusing that something that detailed in my tastes could end up being encoded in my semen.

Clara clearly needed that coffee, drinking it all in a matter of seconds.

"Can I smell some fresh croissants? I hope so because I am starving."

I couldn't help but ask, partly to tease her but also out of genuine curiosity,

"You don't just exist on men's seed then?"

She cackled that wonderful dirty laugh of hers.

"No. And just as well for you lover boy, because even though you do produce a lot and it's truly scrumptious, if that was all I ate I really would end up fucking you to death like the legends claim." And she waggled her eyebrows like a theatrical villain.

"I guess there are worse ways to go," was my somewhat predictable response.

With that she rose from the bed, still naked. It took all my self-control not to jump on her as she grabbed my discarded shirt from the night before and wrapped it round her, before sauntering into the kitchen.

We sat on bar stools at my kitchen counter, Clara with her lovely slim legs on display beneath the shirt that only just covered her hips, and with just one button done up showing both her cleavage and her cute naval. She wolfed down her croissants and the pastry, drank a whole carton of orange juice and then reached for the bunch of bananas I had in my fruit bowl.

"Ook," was my immediate response. She looked at me blankly, so I said,

"You know, like the orang-utan in Terry Pratchett."

She was still looking at me blankly. O.K. so this was clearly not something passed on in my seed. Among the people I know and work with (sadly all too often the same people, and what you might call nerds or geeks) the Discworld books of Terry Pratchett are close to being Holy Writ, and even quite obscure references are instantly recognised. I made a note to get her to read them if I could.

"OK, never mind. He's just a writer I like."

To change the subject I asked,

"Do you always have this much for breakfast?"

Clara considered for a moment, then said,

"Well, I guess I've always had a healthy appetite, but the truth is I need to eat a lot more when I change; when I become someone new."

Again the scientist, never that far away, came to the fore. This made sense thinking about it. It had to need a lot of energy, and raw material if it came to that. As she seemed willing to bring up the subject, I couldn't help asking her more.

"How far back can you remember?"

Clara thought for a bit before answering me,

"Each time I change, for a new man, I lose some of the detail of my memories, so it gets foggier and foggier as you go further back. The earliest thing I can remember with any clarity is when that funny old queen died."

"You mean Queen Victoria?" I asked, surprised to say the least.

"No, the one who was really pale and never married and made a real thing about being a virgin, though I doubt she was."

I was kind of glad that I had paid attention in my history classes. Though to be honest, nerd that I was in school, I pretty much paid attention in all my classes, except for physical education of course (I stopped turning up and they never chased me up on it).

"You mean Elizabeth the First? Spanish armada and all that?"

Clara paused for a moment and then said,

"Yeah, that's the one".

So, she was saying that she was half a millennium old, at least, and yet I was inclined to accept it. Without me asking a question, she chose to tell me a bit more.

"As time has gone by it has been harder and harder for me to find a place. I don't officially exist, no birth certificate, and nowadays there are more and more records. So, I have ended up living more and more on the margins, with crooks, cranks, refugees and so on.

"I think that is why I kind of decided 'to hell with it all', out of a kind of desperation, and told you what I am. I have reached the end. I can't bear the thought of going on like this. And at the same time if I end up back in hell then they will make an example of me and ..."

She sounded so forlorn and hopeless in that moment that I wanted to hold her and promise to protect her, but she carried on,