6 comments/ 59431 views/ 25 favorites Sometime Succubus Pt. 01 By: Quince The glass slipped out of the hand that was drying it and shattered on the formica floor. "Fuck, fuck, FUCK!" bawled Tres, "Fuck it backwards, fuck it sideways, fuck it into next week and then fuck it some more!" She headed for the entry way closet, where the vacuum cleaner lived. "You gotta get lai-aid," Nina chanted from the sofa without looking up from her magazine. Tres checked, Hoover in hand, and glared at her roommate. "Don't start with me, Nin, or I swear to God I'll disembowel you with a salad fork." "You see? This is what I mean," said Nina. "Abstinence makes the heart grow grumpy." She folded her Newsweek and came to stand at the kitchen door, watching as Tres stooped to plug in the vacuum. "Seriously, T, when was the last time you had sex?" "I don't know; VJ Day." Tres was slogging through a dissertation on "The Economic Recovery Occasioned by the Advent of the Second World War," and references to the subject had a way of invading her quippage. She stood for a moment, poised over the "on" switch, and then: "A year anyway. Since Darren." "Well for Chrissake," said Nina, who had nothing good to say about her Tres' most recent long-term boyfriend, "so how long since you've had good sex?" Tres turned on the vacuum and began sucking up the shards of glass. Her knee-jerk reaction had always been to defend Darren, the grad-student-cum-teaching-assistant whom she had, until the previous November, dated since the fall of her junior year. But now, as the remains of the glass tinkled in the plastic tube, she found she couldn't summon the energy. He had, she supposed, been her first real love, but if she were absolutely honest with herself, the bloom had begun to fade at least a year before they had actually split. He was intelligent, but pompous; courteous, but pleased with himself for his courtesy, and, although she didn't know for sure, she suspected Nina was right: the sex had been ordinary, not to say by-the-numbers. Darren was attractive, in a loose-limbed gangly sort of way, and when he was discussing some point of history—his specialty had been Revolutionary France and the Napoleonic period—his green eyes blazed, and his face seemed almost handsome. But although he took inordinate pride in his intellect, he took less than none in his personal appearance. Convinced that she found his thin limbs and long face as unattractive as he did himself, he would only make love in the dark. Then he was almost painfully gentle with her. "I want to cherish you." had been a refrain with him. At the time she'd thought it sweet and sensitive. As time passed however, the phrase had taken on the cadence of a bleat, as if she'd been sexually involved with a more than usually intelligent sheep. As she vacuumed, she continued to consider Nina's question. How long had it been since she'd had really good sex? Had she ever? Pre-Darren there had been several men, well, ok, four. Perhaps the best had been the first, her co-editor on her high school newspaper: Benjamin, short, wiry and whimsical. Sex with Ben had been fun, in a goofy kind of way. They hadn't been in love, but they'd been easy with each other, and since both were determined to discard virginity before they got to college, they'd decided to experiment. They'd set up weekend "study sessions," sometimes at their homes, if their parents were out, occasionally at some suburban motel. Once alone, they tried everything they could think of, with mixed results. Intercourse: initially quite painful; eventually pleasant and companionable. Oral sex, receiving: yes indeed! Oral sex, giving: upside—fun to give pleasure, and hear efforts appreciated; downside—peculiar taste and potential soreness of mouth and jaw. Anal sex: freaking ouch! Mutual masturbation: always fun. Sex in public: kind of thrilling, kind of freaky. Being tied up: scary and exciting. Tying him up: same, with added small sadistic thrill—Tres worried about that one a bit. When they'd run out of inspiration, they had poured over some of the less skeavy porn magazines. Neither of them had a thing for feet. Tres enjoyed wearing lingerie, but not nearly as much as Ben liked seeing her in it. He'd adored spanking her, and, to her surprise, she'd enjoyed being spanked more than spanking him. Dirty talk had given them some trouble. The notion of it excited both of them, but they couldn't seem to pull it off. In retrospect, Tres suspected it had been a lack of the appropriate vocabulary. Ben's best effort—"Suck on my manhood, you hot Momma"—had them both laughing so hard that he couldn't maintain an erection, and her ribs ached too much for anything much more erotic than a quick finish with her vibrator. Their one attempt at roleplaying—a hooker/john scenario—exposed Ben as the least convincing actor since Elizabeth Berkeley in Showgirls or Keanu Reeves in, well, pretty much anything. Post Ben, Tres had had a drunken one-nighter with an improbably well-endowed utility infielder on the Junior Varsity squad. That had been really unpleasant. He'd been so proud of his equipment, and so disinclined to do anything more original than hammering away at her with it, that she'd sworn off dating for six months. She'd tried a brief affair with a professor, but guilt over his repeated adultery made his company depressing and the sex only sporadically successful. Looking back over that dismal few months, Tres felt that what the poor man had really needed was either therapy and a forgiving wife, or a genuine scarlet woman, a real amoral home wrecker. She had never seen herself that way, and even if she had, given the potential pay off, she'd have been disinclined to summon up either the inclination or the energy. It wasn't that Tres didn't have a pretty good opinion of herself, both mentally and physically. In Ivy-league doctoral program was not geared to the intellectual shrinking violet. And, she liked what she saw when she looked in the mirror. She was neither tall nor particularly short, around 5'5", with long legs, a short, trim waist, and what she thought of as "proportional" breasts, which is to say ample enough to give her some curves, particularly when combined with what Ben used to call "a nice plump rump", but not so big as to make her look either freakish, or surgically enhanced. She occasionally envied Nina her tea-cup tits, which looked equally perky with or without a bra, but just as often, she took some half-acknowledged pleasure from the looks she could get at the local hangouts with a couple of undone buttons, or a clingy sweater. But back to the question at hand: how long had it been since she had had really joyous, toe-curling, scream-out-loud sex? She turned off the vacuum. "Ah shit, Nin," she sighed, and the thought hit her hard, harder than she had anticipated, "I don't know that I've ever had good sex. I mean, mostly it's like pizza, right? Even if it's bad, it's good on some level, isn't it?" Nina stared at her for a full minute before replying. "Roomie," she said, finally, "that may be the saddest question I've ever heard asked. Get your coat. We're going to drink too much, and then we're going to figure something out…" A couple hours later, both women were slightly drunk, and Tres had misplaced her volume switch. "CASUAL SEX AT A…?" Nina shushed her quickly, and both women looked around at the booths in the almost deserted pizza joint. The few remaining patrons were apparently too drunk either to hear Tres' outburst, or to think it worthy of much notice if they did hear. Tres continued more quietly, but with no less outrage. "What in the hell makes you think that a one-night-stand is, in any way, a good use of my not-exactly-limitless fucking time?" Divided between her intellect, which told her to reason with her roommate, and her third mojito, which was encouraging her to drag Tres out onto Old Campus and smack her a couple of times for being such a hellacious prude, Nina tried the retort conciliatory: "I know it sounds a little crazy…" "Crazy?" interrupted Tres, who was drunker than Nina had realized, "I think 'crazy' is understating things a bit. How about humiliating? What does degrading do for you? Not to mention fuckin' LIFE THREATENING…" "Tres, would you shut up!" Nina counted to five slowly then: "Like I said…" "And why would I ever want to fuck some stranger at a costume party?" muttered Tres. She was quieter now, as if the enormity of the suggestion was—like the nature of the universe or the existence of God—just a little too much to contemplate. "Couple of reasons:" replied Nina, trying to keep it together, "first of all, I happen to have an invitation to a very nice, upscale kind of costume party. Less chance of the clap than you might have picking up some drunken frat boy at Toad's. Also, it's gonna be Halloween: masks on, inhibitions off. And you're gonna be in costume and mask too, so if anything goes wrong, nobody knows you." "How does nobody know me at the Yale…" "Not here, Stupid! This is a party Mike got invited to up at Wesleyan. We've got something else planned—well, I've got something else planned, and it's gonna blow his…Anyway, the idea is: you take the tickets, borrow my car, go find Conan the Barbarian, or Captain Jack Sparrow, or whoever, and let him fuck you silly. I've even got a costume you can wear if you like." "Nin," Tres was getting tired, and the single syllable came out on a whine, "what're you gonna wear, and how'm I supposed to fit into anything of yours anyway? My boobs're bigger." "C'mon home, Roomie," soothed Nina, putting an arm around the upright but unsteady Tres. "All will be revealed to you and your boobs in the fullness of time." PART II It was now close to sun up, and, to Tres' surprise—if she could summon any surprise through the haze of alcohol and exhaustion, the night still hadn't ended. The two friends had staggered home sometime after 3:00 AM, and just as Tres was heading gratefully off to see if she could hop on board her gently spinning bed, Nina had one of those late night second winds, which, as far as Tres was concerned, made the woman so generally disliked by all right-thinking people. Nina: "You gotta try in on while you're drunk." Tres: "Why do I hafta do any…?" Nina: "Cause you'll just pussy out if I let you get sober, now go in your goddam room and put this on, and if you're not out of there in twenty minutes, I'm fuckin' comin' in after you!" And Nina had shoved a garment bag into Tres' arms, opened the door to the smaller bedroom, and shoved her roommate inside. Nina seriously considered crashing. In her condition, she probably could have slept through El Alamein, but then she realized that she had a meeting with her advisor in something like five hours. If she closed her eyes now, she'd be up and ready in time. Cursing herself, Nina, and the dozy shit behind the bar who mixed the drinks so damn strong, she switched on the overhead light, pulled the garment bag off the hanger, and stared at the Halloween costume her best friend wanted her to wear. It looked like a cocktail dress: a stretch satin number in blood red with narrow shoulder straps, a scooped neck, and a low back. Even to Tres' slightly glazed eyes, the thing looked good. And expensive. The skirt would likely hit her mid thigh. Tres frowned. Wasn't that a bit high for a cocktail dress? She shrugged and began slipping out of her clothes. Didn't matter anyway. Wasn't like she was going to wear the fucking thing out in public or anything. She took off her bra. Couldn't wear any of the bras she owned under that. Her white cotton panties stayed in place. No need to get totally naked just to try on a dress which probably wouldn't fit her anyway, and… She slipped the dress over her head, adjusted the shoulder straps, and tugged down the skirt. The cool fabric felt wonderful against her overheated skin. She reached into the neckline and adjusted her breasts. Damn thing doesn't leave much to the imagination, that's for sure… She stepped in front of her full-length mirror. She looked amazing. There really was no way she was wearing anything this revealing out in public, but wow! The fabric molded to her curves, supporting her breasts, while at the same time pushing them together to form a deep cleavage. Spandex, or some similar artificial ingredient, made the satin cling to the curves of her waist and belly, emphasizing the slimness of the one and the flatness of the other. The skirt hugged her hips and behind, and ended a few inches above the knee, making her legs seem longer than they actually were. She turned in a slow circle. Mistake. Her head wouldn't stop turning. When it finally did, she cocked a hip and struck a model's pose. She smiled at her reflection, then she frowned. Great dress, but what makes it a costume? She turned back to the bed. Sheer red thigh-high stockings and a red garter belt, a wonderfully delicate pair of red lace, fingerless opera gloves, and a mask. The mask was a show stopper. It was made of soft but stiff leather—very little give to it. A domino, it covered half of the face, ending just below the eyes, with an inverted v cut out for the nose. It had a commedia del arte feel to it: a mask for an ingénue, or perhaps a soubrette; certainly for a beautiful young woman. The high, gently curved forehead, coquettishly arched brows, and large almond-shaped eye holes attested to that. Only two features would have prevented Cinderella from wearing it to the Ball: it was blood red—perhaps dyed to match the dress, although surely it was older than the dress could be, and it had two small sharp horns protruding from the forehead, perhaps two inches above the brows. Tres starred at it as she slipped on the hose, garter belt and gloves without thinking. Then, with a small excited tremor she could neither place nor understand running through her body, she reached for the mask and brought it to her face. There was no visible padding, but the leather inside the mask felt soft and warm; unusually warm, as if a pair of soft hands caressed her face. The effect was made the more strange and pleasurable by a slight pressure at her temples, just beneath where she imagined the horns to be: as light as the touch of a lover massaging her brow. It fit her perfectly, as if hers had been the head for which it was crafted. Tres tied the strings at the back of her neck and turned back to the mirror intent upon surveying the full effect. She took a single step and cried out in surprise. She was wet. Her vagina was wet! What in the hell…? A small damp circle stained the crotch of her panties. And her nipples were hard, tight, almost painful. How? Why? She hadn't even been thinking about sex. Hell, she hadn't thought about sex for the last…fifteen minutes? She'd had sex on her mind all night, ever since she'd broken the glass and Nina had asked, what? When was the last time…? And then the bar; that idiotic suggestion that she should go to some fucking costume party, and just…just…find some hot guy and fuck him silly. She'd thought it a lousy idea at the time. Or she thought she'd thought it was a lousy idea. Her body and her mind had apparently disagreed on that subject. And her mind was coming around to the idea that her body had a point. All of a sudden she could think of nothing she wanted more in the world than… "Roomie!" Nina's shout jerked Tres' head around to face the door. "You still alive? C'mon out. You show me yours, I'll show you mine." Then Nina's voice lost its tease. "I swear to God, Tres, if you're fuckin' asleep…" "Nin, come here." Tres' own personal second wind had crept up on her without her noticing. She didn't even feel particularly drunk anymore. She undid the garters on her stocking and slipped off her now soaked panties. "Look at me in this costume. Tell me what you think." Tres' voice had deepened. Her simple invitation for Nina to enter the room carried a hint of sensual promise. It had almost come out on a purr. PART III Nina pushed her roommate's door open slowly. She'd donned her own costume while waiting for Tres to try on the devil outfit. Had anybody asked her why, Nina probably would have talked about making her friend feel more comfortable, or about showing her roommate how fun or even empowering wearing a sexy outfit could be. All true; but it was also true that Nina loved sex like an oenophile loves wine. She loved everything about sex: the act itself, the various rituals of seduction which preceded it, the literature and iconography which surrounded and celebrated it. She had planned an evening's debauchery for Halloween night in celebration of her lover's newly acquired lectureship, and she'd just slipped into the naughty schoolgirl costume with which she intended to surprise him at his new office. She had been having serious trouble waiting to show it off. Any excuse would have done, and the fact that she was notably pie-eyed made the decision to wear it that much easier. The door opened slowly, and the two women stared at each other. Tres saw a petite minx with her dark hair pulled back in a pony tail. Nina had a white collared shirt tied above a flat tummy, and unbuttoned to reveal a white, lacy push-up bra exposing the tops of small, silky breasts. She wore a red plaid skirt, so short as to reveal a flash of white cotton panties at the slightest movement, above-the-knee white stockings, and black Mary Janes. She was the stuff of professorial dreams, or nightmares, but she was recognizably Nina, and she gaped at her friend, finding absolutely nothing to say. Tres seemed to have disappeared into her costume. Gone were the quick, compact movements of the efficient graduate student. The woman with the long honey-blonde hair and the voluptuous curves moved with the languid grace of a practiced seductress. Each shift of her body seemed to offer up some part of herself for the temptation of an on-looker: the curve of a breast, the slope of a thigh, the thrust of a hip or buttock. Her eyes through the mask were hooded and languid, and her voice, when she spoke, was soft, low and inviting. "What's the matter, Roomie?" the sexy she-devil breathed, "Cat got your tongue?" "Holy shit, Tres," rasped Nina, "Is that really you? You've gotta be the hottest, um…" "Succubus," Tres hissed, and then checked herself. Where had that word come from? What did it mean? "What's a succu…what was it?" Apparently Nina didn't know the term either. Tres sounded a little more like herself when she replied. "I don't know. It just came into my head. It's some kind of sex-demon, I think." She stepped towards her roommate, stopped, and slowly spun a few feet from where Nina stood. "Anyhow, that's exactly how this costume makes me feel. I could do anything," she giggled, "or anybody with this on. How do I look?" "You look amazing!" whispered Nina. "You sound drunk off your ass, but you look, I don't know, almost edible." And now it was Nina's turn to wonder at her own choice of words. "You look pretty tasty yourself, Roomie." replied Tres, walking slowly towards the smaller woman. "Edible, huh? That's a pretty big word for a slutty little schoolgirl like you." She was close now, and Nina could feel Tres' breath in her ear as she leaned in to whisper, "Do you know what it means?" "Good enough to eat?" squeaked Nina. "Right you are," purred her friend, "But I'm the big girl, so I get to go first." With that Tres laid the tip of her tongue at the angle of Nina's jaw, and drew it slowly up her throat to trace the top of her ear. Nina shuddered at the sensation, and her voice caught as she protested. "Tres, are you sure you want to…? Sometime Succubus Pt. 01 Tres dropped her hands lightly onto Nina's shoulders and pulled back to look directly into the smaller girl's eyes. "Yeah." she rasped. "I don't know exactly why, but I want to. I want to badly. Let's not be Tres and Nina tonight. Let's be these costumes. You're a naughty little schoolgirl, and I'm an evil temptress come to entice you into sin. Not that you're going to need much enticing," she cooed, turning Nina to face the full-length mirror. She stood behind her victim, untied the knot in her uniform shirt, and brought her red-gloved hands up to cup the schoolgirl's small breasts, feeling for her nipples through the bra. Finding them, she squeezed gently and felt them harden into stiff little nubs. Nina sighed and squirmed. "Look at yourself," laughed her roommate-turned-seductress, "you're panting for it, aren't you, you naughty little slut?" "Ooh, God yes!" Nina had given herself over entirely to the electric sparking of the other girl's fingers on her nipples, and the flood of moisture rushing to her cunt. She looked into the mirror, seeing her schoolgirl self in the clutches of a beautiful she-devil, and the sight alone was almost enough to make her come. She ground her ass against her captor's groin, and joined in the game. "No, please! Don't touch me there. Ooh, no, don't squeeze my little boobies like that. What will the nuns say? They think I'm such a good girl!" "But you're not, are you, my little beauty?" hissed the demoness, "You're a wanton little vixen aren't you? Full of impure thoughts and lustful fantasies." She'd unhooked Nina's bra, removed it, and now held it in front of her face. "A push-up bra?" she mocked, "Why're you wearing something like that? Do you think the boys will like you better if you have bigger tits? Do you think that'll make them want to fuck that juicy, wet cunt of yours more?" Tres now dropped the bra and continued teasing a nipple with one hand while the other slowly made its way down Nina's body to the waistband of her panties. "Don't worry, lover," she whispered as she kissed and licked her whimpering captive's ear, "a hot little bitch like you can have any cock in the classroom. Even teacher's. But you already know that, don't you? You've sucked teacher's big cock, haven't you?" "No!" squeaked Nina, "no, I'm a good girl! I never…! Stop it, you're frightening me, please…" The last word became a groan of pleasure as Tres' first and middle fingers found their way under Nina's panties, past the fleshy outer lips and deep inside her pussy. She watched herself in the mirror, her schoolgirl uniform hanging from her body, breasts bouncing, impaled on the probing figures of her beautiful tormentor. From beneath the mask, Tres' voice came, low and sultry, mocking and insolent. "You're not frightened, sweetie. You're horny. Your hot little cunt is so wet I can hardly feel my fingers. Want to see?" Tres drew her fingers from Nina's pussy and waggled them before her victim's fascinated eyes. "Want to smell, mmmm?" wafting her sticky fingers under her roommate's nose. "Hey lover," Tres cooed, and an evil grin spread across the beautiful devil's face, "you wanna taste?" Nina whined in protest as Tres' hand left off caressing and pinching her nipple. The she gave a small shriek of pain, as the same hand grabbed hold of her pony tail and pulled her face backwards until she was looking up into the grinning face of the Succubus. At the same time, Tres' other hand dived back into the schoolgirl panties, buried the same two fingers in Nina's cunt, and removed them again, covered in the slick juices of her arousal. The Succubus smoothed the viscous liquid over her captive's lips, as if she were applying make up. The naughty schoolgirl hummed and moaned. She licked her lips, tasting herself on them, and then began licking the fingers that had plundered her pussy just moments before. "Look at the good girl now," mocked the Succubus, "sucking herself off my fingers like a bitch in heat. You're a slut, aren't you? A horny, cum-crazy slut. "Ooh God, oh shit this is so fucking hot, I…ungh…" Nina groaned as Tres' newly cleaned fingers found her clit and began gently stoking it back and forth. "Oh GOD! oh yes, oh please yes yes please…" "Do you want to come, my sweet little slut? Do you want me to keep playing with your pretty pussy?" "Please, please, please pleasepleaseplease…" "Tell me what a slut you are. Tell me that you belong to me. That your soul "—I'm a Succubus, thought Tres to herself. That's what I do. I seduce my victims, fuck them to death, and steal their souls. Or that's what I'm pretending to be—"belongs to me. Say it!" "Yes, Oh GOD! Yes!" screamed schoolgirl Nina. "I'm a slut, a naughty, nasty little whore! And I'm yours, your slut, your wanton, cock-crazy slut, my soul is yours. Whatever you want just pleasepleasePLEASE make me cum!" Without another word, the Succubus threw her victim down onto the bed. Standing over her captive for a moment, as the smaller woman looked up at her with lust, need, and fear fighting for supremacy in her large brown eyes, she listened to the schoolgirl's incoherent pleadings. Finally she lowered herself on top of the girl—she no longer thought of her as friend or roommate—and attacked the pretty red mouth with a devil's kiss, forcing her tongue into her slut's mouth and thrusting in and out, fucking her face as a man might with his cock. Her hands, meanwhile, had once more found those lovely tiny breasts, and were squeezing and pinching, eliciting muffled cries and squeaks from the writing body beneath her. She parted her victim's legs with her thighs, and pressed the top of her knee against the schoolgirl's now naked pussy. Eventually, the Succubus pulled her tongue from her slut's mouth and brought it down to her breasts, licking and sucking and biting. At last she knelt between the girls parted thighs. "Watch me!" she commanded, as she parted her captive's labia with her fingers. "I'm going to eat you all up." Nina had to swallow a scream as she felt Tres' tongue lash her clit. Up and down and back and forth the devil-girl's tongue tossed her poor clitty about like a tiny boat on rough seas. She watched as ordered as her mistress rewarded her for her fealty. The smooth, impassive horned maiden's mask contrasted strangely with the feral eyes behind it, and the growls, laps and howls coming from the demon as she devoured her willing servant's juicy cunt. Almost instantly, Nina felt her orgasm beginning. The muscles of her legs tightened. Her head flew back, her eyes closed, and she came and came, losing herself in a series of protracted spasms the source of which she could never after identify. PART IV Hours later, Tres awoke, naked and shivering on her coverless bed. Without looking at the clock, she knew she had missed her meeting. Well shit! Although she couldn't imagine she'd have been able to contribute much given the bender that she and Nina had gone on last night. Her head throbbed, and there was a strange taste in her… Memory came rushing back into her consciousness: "Oh shit, Nina!" What had she done? She could only remember patches of it, but what she could remember brought tears to her eyes. Nina had been her best friends for years, and now what? Had she ruined everything? What on earth had made her say the things she'd said? Had she—this couldn't be right—humiliated her friend and roommate, seduced her, called her a slut, made her beg for an orgasm? Had she then provided that orgasm? She had a mad impulse to giggle. Wonder how it was? Considering it had probably cost her a best friend, she hoped it had been very fucking good indeed. Very good fucking indeed? "That's not funny! Shit, shit, SHIT!" Listlessly, Tres tossed on a robe and wandered out into the kitchen. Nina was sitting at their kitchen table, a cup of the foul herbal tea she enjoyed by her right hand, working away on her laptop. The two women gazed at each other for a long time. At last Tres decided that she had either to speak or to break down sobbing. To her confusion and annoyance, she wound up doing both. "Nin, I am so sorry." Tres wailed. "I don't know what got into me; I had no idea I was anything like that drunk. I'd never have…the things I said…" The tears took over, and Tres stood in her kitchen bawling uncontrollably. After a little while, she felt Nina's arms come around her, and she heard her roommate's voice shushing and soothing. "Trey, babe, don't worry about it. It's alright. Really. It's ok. Shhh." And then, just as Tres was getting herself under control… "You made me come like a fuckin' freight train!" Tres looked up appalled, and then suddenly both women were laughing like maniacs. Tres was doing some residual crying at the same time, and both had aching ribs by the time they managed to sit down across from each other. "You really don't mind what we did last night?" Tres asked, "The way I acted, the things I said?" "Not if you don't stress about it. I'm not dumping Michael for you, but I'm not exactly wracked with guilt about it. You know, it's funny: I've never been with a woman before. It was pretty cool, in some ways." "I called you a slut." Tres ventured tentatively. "You made me call myself a slut, and a bunch of other filthy things, if memory serves." replied Nina. "Tres, honey, please don't worry about that part of it. I am a bit of a slut, actually." "Nina!" "Well I am. I'm a woman who enjoys sex, who seeks out sex, who experiments sexually. (So are you, by the way, if last night is any indication.) And that's all that 'slut' really means. The word's got a little edge to it because we think of it in the mouths of upright, unpleasant men in Nineteenth Century novels. But in a purely descriptive sense, I am happy and proud to be considered a big old slut. And I'll tell you something else." "What?" "Your calling me a slut, and making me call myself a slut, and making me beg you to let me come turned me on more than anything else last night. Although your pussy-licking skills come in a close second. Where did you learn to do that, by the way? "Jesus, Nin!" Tres was delighted that her roommate was behaving so casually about the whole thing, but she wasn't sure that she could be as cavalier. "I don't know. I guess from Ben. At least, he did me, and I liked it. I guess I just did what I remembered him doing. I've never been with a woman either, you know." "Did you enjoy it?" And wasn't that a loaded question. Tres discarded her knee-jerk denial as both false and insulting. She had enjoyed some things: "Parts of it, I suppose. This sounds fucked up, but I really got off on having power over you. It turned me on seducing you, thinking of you as my victim. I don't think I actually came—I didn't really need to, I guess—but as I was making you come, I thought about ordering you to do me. The image of you as the slutty schoolgirl on your knees servicing your demon mistress…well, I might have come without even touching myself down there. Does any of that sound crazy?" "Not really," replied Nina, and Tres blessed her for taking the whole discussion seriously. "It sounds like you have a real dominant streak in you. I'm kind of the opposite. I'd have gotten off on being ordered to pleasure you. I was kind of hoping you'd spank me for being such a naughty little girl. But in retrospect, I guess I'm glad you didn't. Gives me something to look forward to when I spring my little surprise on Michael." "Oh yeah," breathed Tres, "Shit, Halloween. I don't know if I could wear that outfit to a party, even one thirty miles up the road." "Are you joking?" shouted her blessedly unchanged best friend and roommate, "After last night, you don't have a fucking choice. I'm betting you'll be bowlegged for a week afterwards, but you will be so much easier to live with!" TO BE CONTINUED… Sometime Succubus Pt. 02 PART I A week, later, Friday, October 31st, at around 7:30 in the evening, and Tres had a lot on her mind. A little less than a week ago, her roommate and best friend had knelt before her on her bed begging for an orgasm which Tres had eventually supplied. That evening had been, at once terrifying, blissful, confusing, and something like forty seven other adjectives condensed into around an hour of the best sex she, an avowedly straight woman, had ever had in her life. A week later, and the word, or words, that came most readily to mind as she thought back on that night were "impossibly fucking inconvenient." She didn't have the time to worry about her sexual orientation just now. She had a fucking dissertation to finish. And she certainly didn't have time to wear an outfit which made her look like the Whore of fucking Babylon to a fucking Halloween party to which she hadn't been fucking invited in the fucking first place. All of which begged the following question: what the fuck was she doing in a borrowed car heading to the aforementioned fucking party wearing the aforementioned fucking outfit? Tres wished she did drugs. At least then she'd have some rational explanation for her behavior. She had come out of that bedroom naked except for a bathrobe—and how had that happened, by the way? She had no memory of removing dress, gloves, stockings or mask.—totally bewildered by what had just happened, but resolved that nothing like it was ever going to happen again. And it wasn't the sex either. The sex had been fine; great even, if she were honest with herself. Even though she hadn't come. No, it was the loss of control which had accompanied the donning of the mask: the rush of moisture to her pussy, the lascivious and predatory thoughts invading her psyche. She wanted sex, sure, but she wanted it on her terms, not as the result of some alcohol-induced bacchanalia. And Nina didn't fucking help matters either. Of course casual and anonymous sex as a Halloween treat had been her idea to begin with, so it was probably inevitable that her roommate would wind up agreeing with the little voice in the back of Tres' head: the one which said: "You likened sex on your terms to bad pizza. Your little stint as a Succubus got you so worked up you almost came spontaneously. Why fight the obvious conclusion?" So she was going to the party. Nina and the voice had had their wicked way with her, but she had managed to impose a couple of conditions. She was wearing the short, low-cut, red possible-cocktail dress with red, French-cut lace panties. The only other option underwear-wise was nothing at all, and she didn't have that kind of confidence. She was wearing the red lace opera gloves, the garter belt and the stockings, as well as a pair of strappy red heels, but not the mask. The strange, beautiful devil girl's domino sat on the passenger's seat regarding her impassively. She was also wearing a long khaki trench coat and a fedora sat on her lap; in essence a second costume. If she didn't feel up to the satanic slut look, she could always go with the more conventional film noir femme fatale. Tres found the exit from Interstate 91 and followed directions to a private house a mile or so from the Wesleyan campus. The building and its grounds were impressive: a red brick Georgian mansion on several acres, beginning with landscaped gardens close to the house and fading into uncultivated woodland in a middle distance made obscure by the gathering evening fog. Tres parked her borrowed car, and sat for a moment arranging her thoughts. She had come to the first minor crisis of the evening: which costume? Her hair was down and carefully styled. The film noir hat would screw that up. Once on, that fedora really couldn't come off. On the other hand, the trench coat tempted her. It was stylish without being particularly revealing. Whereas the dress...her eyes caught movement in the headlights of an arriving car, and she slumped down in her seat. Well shit on rye toast! So much for choices. Dr. Weidner, her thesis advisor, waddled towards the party dressed in an aviator's leather jacket, scarf, cap and goggles. He looked like a 1917 Luftwaffe version of Mr. Potato Head. Tres had no desire to encounter the man. He was eminent in his field; possessed of a brilliant historical mind. He was also a hard-drinking, cantankerous and probably gout-ridden 68, although he looked closer to 80. Outside of his field, he had the conversational skills of a traffic cone, and at all times the hygienic habits and appearance of a flatulent and overweight pug. If she were to stay at this party, she would have to wear the costume in which she was least likely to be recognized. She sat thinking of nothing much for a few minutes. She considered leaving. She reconsidered. Well fuck the world in general and Weidner in particular. She'd come this far, she was going inside, for a while at least. She reached for the lovely red mask, brought it to her face, and reached around the back of her head to tie the ribbons. Again there was that warm feeling where the leather touched her skin; again the slight but pleasant pressure on her forehead just beneath the two short horns. Tres felt as if she'd just slipped into a hot bath. Her entire body relaxed as moisture began to gather between her legs. Her nipples tightened as her imagination began to conjure up dark and carnal images. She could almost feel her everyday persona dissolve like sugar in hot water. All the tensions, insecurities, small lacks and petty needs melted away and she was a Succubus again: confident, seductive, predatory. In the glow of the car's overhead light, she looked at her reflection in the rear view mirror, then she reached for her lipstick. She twisted the tube and watch the red, glossy stick emerge from its sheathe. As she brought the make up to her lips she imagined a man—it didn't matter who; some random victim: the young Vietnamese student who had sold her a cup of tea earlier that evening perhaps. She imagined him on his back on a bed watching her as she brought his hard cock to her lips and painted them with the precum she had coaxed from him. She thought of holding his eyes with hers as she ran her tongue slowly and lasciviously over her lips before taking his swollen cockhead between them and running them slowly down his shaft. In her mind she heard him moan and whimper... Without warning, a small orgasm exploded through her, and her body jerked slightly with the pleasure of it. The lipstick, which she had finished applying perhaps half a second before, flew from her hands and landed on the dashboard. Mechanically, she recovered it, closed the tube and put it aside before looking back into the mirror. No smear. No mess. Her lips looked red and full, wet and inviting. Without removing her trench coat, she got out of the car, and headed for the lights surrounding the house's front door. She found a bell recessed to the right of a pair of massive white double doors, pressed it, and listened to the distant and sonorous chimes. Almost immediately the door on the right swung open, and a middle-aged man dressed in the livery—tailcoat and black trousers, stripped vest and white bow tie—of a Victorian butler stood before her. "Good evening, Miss. May I see your invitation?" Tres found herself bemused by the casual gravitas of the man's behavior in conjunction with the slightly nasal Bronx-y sound of his voice. She handed over the card Nina had given her. The butler, if butler he was, nodded, and ushered her inside. "My name is Mr. Franconi, Miss. May I take your coat?" "Thank you, Mr. Franconi." replied Tres formally. She found herself in a grand two story entryway with public rooms to her left and right, and a marble staircase curving up to a balustraded balcony above, off of which she imagined bedrooms and perhaps dens or studies. She felt the butler's hands at her shoulders, and she slipped out of the trench coat, feeling the cool air of the entryway play across the exposed flesh of her legs, back and chest. She turned and found Mr. Franconi examining her with an amused if slightly rueful smile. "I take it you approve, Mr. Franconi?" she asked archly. "Have a nice evening, Miss." he said, and turned away to hang up her jacket. Tres looked to her right. Three steps led down into a large brightly lit living room, beyond which was a paneled dining room containing a bar and buffet table. Perhaps twenty people, all in costume, sat and chatted, drank and flirted. The costumes ranged from the standard: a chubby, red-faced cowboy, a nervous-looking young priest, a tall, awkward princess, to the inventive: a slot machine tottering around on a pair of long, shapely fishnet-clad legs, and topped by a pretty face with a bob of bright purple hair, to the risqué: a vampire with a mesh shirt exposing a muscular chest, Wonder Woman in red, white, blue and gold one-piece with three-inch stilettos on her long red boots, a cheerleader in a tight varsity sweater and a short flared skirt. Guests ranged in age. A small woman dressed as Harry Potter looked like a young grad student, while a couple in khaki shirts and pith helmets were well past sixty. Most were in their thirties and forties: grad students and young professors, intelligent, pleasant, charming people, no doubt. Tres had been one of them herself. She had enjoyed parties very like this one: good food, pleasant music—coming from a live acoustic band in what looked like a small ballroom to her left—intelligent conversation. Tonight, however, she saw the whole thing differently. To Tres the grad student, these were her peers; to her succubus self, they were prey. Perhaps it was Nina's original injunction to come to a costume party for anonymous sex. Perhaps it was the erotic impulses which suffused mind and body whenever she tied on her devilish domino, but as her gaze wandered between the costumed figures, she imagined guest after guest in her sexual thrall. She had entered the room now, making her way across it towards the bar in the dining room, and she felt eyes upon her, appraising, admiring. She nodded and smiled at a compact man dressed as Robin Hood, picturing him tied spread eagled to a bed tearing open his white peasant shirt as she impaled herself upon his swollen cock. A bottle blonde dressed in a black leather jacket and poodle skirt caught herself staring and turned quickly away. Tres imagined the woman on her knees servicing her sodden pussy. Her mind conjured an image of herself with her hands gripped in that dyed blonde hair as she ground her naked cunt against her squealing victim's pretty face. Even the elderly couple in jungle gear wasn't exempt from her voracious imagination. A short fantasy danced behind her eyes. In it, she danced seductively before the man, hypnotizing him with the promise of her body as her eyes sapped any will he had to resist. She then ordered him to bind his wife's hands and feet, so that the woman could watch appalled as her husband stripped himself naked and mounted his demonic mistress from behind, fucking her like the mindless animal he had become. As scenario after scenario played out in her mind, the corners of her mouth turned up in a lascivious half smile. She had almost reached the three steps leading into the dining room, when she noticed for the second time a young man dressed as a priest. He was probably her age: close to 30, but he looked fully ten years younger. Perhaps it was his pale, freckled face under close cropped red hair which made him look such an innocent, or perhaps it was his thinness. He was well over six feet tall, loose of limb, and gangly. His long arms stuck out from the black sleeves of the cassock like sticks, and although the costume was designed as a full length robe, Tres could see not only the black wingtips which covered his feet, but the socks over his ankles as well. He was not a handsome man, but the Succubus wasn't looking for lovers. She was looking for victims. And the thought of seducing a priest appealed to the devil in her. Besides, while the tall man's thoughts may or may not have been on his bible, his eyes were certainly glued to the voluptuous curves of her tits. She slid her gloved hands up the bodice of her dress as if to adjust the fit. With a little pressure on the outside of each breast, she deepened her already considerable cleavage, watching with satisfaction as the priest's eyes widened and his mouth opened slightly. Then, still cupping her boobs, she gave the man a little half-finger wave. His eyes immediately shot up to meet hers. She pursed her lips in a reproachful moue, frowned, and wagged her index finger at him in a "naughty naughty" gesture. His face flushed, and she shot him a wicked smile. The she turned her back on him and headed into the dining room, giving her hips an extra little swing as she walked away. At the bar, she asked for a vodka rocks. The bartender was a stocky woman with short iron grey hair framing a young unlined face. She was dressed as a circus ringmaster: red cutaway coat and top hat over a black minidress, fishnet stockings and long black boots. "Devil woman!" she said, handing Tres her drink. "That is a hot costume. And a gorgeous mask." "Thanks," Tres replied. "You look pretty good yourself." "Nahh," the bartender waved a dismissive hand, "I need to drop another ten pounds to really make this work, but hey, fuck it! It's Halloween, right? "Right you are, Sister," said Tres, raising her glass to the other woman in a toast and taking a sip. "Mmm, that's nice. Hey, do you know the layout of this place at all? Is there anywhere to go if a girl wants a little privacy?" "Bout a hundred and thirty bedrooms upstairs. What'd you have in mind?" "Can you keep a secret?" asked Tres, leaning towards the bartender. The woman nodded. "Well," the Succubus smiled, "I'm thinking of fucking a priest." "It's a nice night for it." said the bartender. PART II Tres couldn't see the young man when she returned to the living room, but she did see an open door at the far end of the room close to where he had been standing. She made her way across to it, enjoying the various expressions of admiration, desire, and envy on the faces she passed. Slipping through the door, she found herself in a game room complete with covered pool tale. At the far end of this, open French windows led onto a balcony with a delicate white wooden railing. She passed out into the foggy night, thinking how strange it was that she didn't feel the cold, half-naked as she was. A few yards to her right she saw him, hands on the railing, staring out towards the belt of woodland, black against the dark blue of the moonlit sky. Tres lost herself in her role play. As her Succubus self claimed her mind and body, she could feel the pounding in her heart and the warm wetness of her cunt. The thrill of the hunt excited her as much as the prospect of taking her prey. The young man had not yet noticed her. She approached him quietly. She was almost upon him when he became aware of her. With a slight start, he straightened, pulling his hands from the railing and taking a step or two backwards towards the wall of the house. She stopped in front of him, and slightly to his left, leaned her back against the railing—which thrust her chest forward—cocked her head to the right, and enjoyed his discomfiture. His eyes fell quickly to her cleavage then snapped up again to meet hers. "Nice costume," she purred, "so tell me, Father, are you meditating on sin?" "Oh, uh, thanks," the young man stammered. His voice was pitched low, and he spoke quietly. "Uh, my Uncle lent it to me. He's a priest. Episcopalian. I'm not. Not a priest, I mean. It's just a costume. Although I'm at the Div School down at Yale. Um, sorry. My name's Brent." He held out his hand. She took it and held it, brushing her fingers against the top of his wrist. "Brent," she said, trying the name on her tongue, "Father Brent. Brent of the Div School. Are you studying for the priesthood?" "Oh no. I'm getting a Ph. D. in Comparative Religion. Um, so you're a devil girl, or something?" "I'm a succubus, Father." She was still holding his right hand in hers, and now, as she came off the railing, she brought her left hand up to take his wrist. As she spoke she drew his hand up towards her face, caressing it with both of hers. "You know: an evil demon who uses her feminine wiles to seduce men into trading their souls for sexual ecstasy?" "You don't look all that evil to me," he replied. And a shudder went through his body, as she scraped a long red-painted fingernail lightly over his palm. "Oh but I am, Father. Evil, cruel, merciless, and irresistible. So, how about it, handsome? Want to trade? One kiss: your soul is mine, and I'm all yours." "Oh wow, oh God," babbled Father Brent, "shouldn't I be saying something like, I don't know, 'Get thee behind me, Satan!' or something?" "Oh come on, Father!" breathed the Succubus, "You're already mine. You've been staring at my boobs all night. It's taking everything you have not to stare at them now. Here," she dropped his hand, took a step back, and cupped her breasts, offering them to him, "look at them. They're nice, aren't they?" Her voice came soft and languid with sexual promise. "So big and soft. So firm. So juicy. And my nipples so hard and sweet. Would you like to touch them? Wouldn't you love to suck on them? One kiss, and they're all yours, along with the rest of me. I promise you I'm worth it." She grasped both his wrists and held them by his sides as she leaned into him, her breasts pressing against his chest, her mouth an inch away from his. "Kiss me," she whispered, "seal our bargain and let me devour you at my leisure." "Yeah, ok, but what's your name?" panted her newest conquest. For an instant, Tres came out of the delicious game she had begun. Then, even as she was raising her hands to his face to draw his mouth to hers, just before taking his mouth with her lips and tongue, it came to her. "Selina." moaned the Succubus, and she brought her lips hard against his, forcing her victim's mouth open and plundering it with her thrusting tongue. PART III Brent's mouth held the sweet aftertaste of red wine and chocolate, both of which had been on offer at the buffet table. He was a tentative, inexperienced kisser, and his gently probing tongue could not resist her assault. When she had satisfied her craving for his mouth and lips, she broke off and began kissing across his face and up his long neck until she reached his ear. As she explored this with the tip of her tongue, she rasped "You taste good, Father. Now let's go find someplace private, so you can renounce your vows of chastity." She broke away from him then and walked towards the game room door, leaving him gasping and disoriented. At the door, she turned back to him and beckoned to him with a crooked finger and a provocative pout. "Aren't you coming, Father Brent?" she cooed, "Don't you want to fuck me?" Then she disappeared inside. Her young captive loped after her, his ungainly stride made more awkward by his painfully erect cock. As he passed from the comparative light of the moonlit balcony into the darkness of the game room, he felt her hands reach out of the darkness, grab him by the front of his cassock, and slam him up against an interior wall. The she was on him again, grinding her crotch against his leg, reaching under his cassock, and squeezing his long, thin erection through his slacks. "Mmm," she purred, "is this all for me? This nice hard cock of yours? What shall I do with it, huh? What do you want me to do, Father? Suck it? Fuck it? Put it in my ass? Tell me what you want, Father?" "Oh, God, oh fuck..." groaned her captive. "Your God can't help you now, Priest," hissed the Succubus, kissing and biting at his throat, "your soul belongs to me. But 'fuck' I understand. 'Fuck' is good. Shall we fuck? Do you want to fuck my hot devil's cunt with your long hard cock? Is that what you want?" Sometime Succubus Pt. 02 "God, yes! Oh God, I want to fuck you, please, Selina, can I..." To her left, the Succubus saw a back staircase. She put her fingers to his lips, hushing him, and led him up to a landing off of which hallways led in both directions. Choosing one at random, she turned left and thrust her victim into the first door she opened. He fell forward and landed on the ground with a small grunt of pain. She closed the door, put her back to it and stood over him, surveying the room. It appeared to be a guest bedroom: a single queen-sized bed, (against which the hapless Father Brent had banged his shin,) a nightstand, an easy chair in a corner and a dresser against one wall. Nothing personalized the room; no pictures on the wall or books on the nightstand, and the comforter and sheets were utilitarian and plain. A to the left of the bedstead stood open revealing what was probably a bathroom, although it was hard to tell in the dark. "This will do nicely, won't it, Father?" She locked the door, pushed a rheostat for the light and dimmed it when it came on too bright. "Now..." The Succubus reached behind her back, undid the clasp at the top of her dress, and slowly peeled it off her body, exposing her full, firm tits, her large brown areolas, and her stiff pink nipples. She let the dress drop in a pool of satin at her feet and stood above him in nothing but panties, stockings, garter belt, heels and mask. The young man gazed at her body, fascinated, unsure of what to do first. An evil smile spread across her face as she realized the extent of his inexperience. Perhaps he was even a virgin. It didn't really matter. She walked towards him slowly, each hand supporting a breast. "How about my tits, Father? Do you like my big titties? I promised you could play with them..." He raised himself onto his knees as she approached, reaching out for her. She dropped her breasts, grabbed his wrists and pulled his hands to her boobs. He squeezed her hard. His hand found her nipples and he pinched and twisted them. He was clumsy and his hands were big and strong. It hurt a bit, but the pain fired her arousal. "That's it, lover! Squeeze my big tits, pinch them. I like it when you're rough with them. Ooh, yes, that feels so good. Yeah...uh huh...Does it feel good to you? Do you like my titties? Tell me how much you like them, tell me...ooh yes! Suck on them, that's it, that's right...yeah!" The young man had leaned forward and captured her left nipple in his mouth. He licked and sucked and bit it while his hands mauled her right tit. The demoness squealed and moaned. She grabbed the back of his head and forced his face into her chest. He gasped for air, momentarily smothered by her titflesh. His distress made her hotter still. She pulled his face out from between her breasts, allowed him a single gasp, and thrust him back again, squeezing her boobs around his nose and mouth. She held him for a few seconds, felt him begin to thrash in panic as he realized he couldn't breathe, and giggled as she finally released him. Her victim fell back onto the floor, and she straddled his chest, pinning his arms with her calves, her drenched pussy just inches from his face. "I've never killed a man with my breasts before," she said, giggling still. "Would you like to die like that, Father, gasping for air between my beautiful boobs?" "No, please," gasped the young man, "please, Selina, don't. Please get off. You're hurting my arms." "But I'm comfortable," cooed the demoness, "besides, I like hurting you. Causing pain gets my pussy all hot and wet and nasty. Tell you what," she said, "if I let you up, you will kneel between my legs and lick my kitty 'til I come, agreed?" "Anything," groaned her captive, "just please, Selina, have mercy. Don't hurt me any more?" Tres came out of the game momentarily. Hearing her victim beg for mercy had sent another rush of moisture to her pussy, but she had no real desire to hurt the man. She rose off of him slowly, holding his eyes with hers, and she was amazed to see the lust in his gaze undiminished by his momentary terror. If anything, he looked even more smitten than he had before, and the outline of his cock under his trousers, exposed by the rucked up cassock, looked as long and hard as ever. She frowned down at him, willing herself into a display of Selina's capricious cruelty. "Now, my little slave-priest," she snarled, "come to me on your hands and knees and eat me 'til I scream." She sat on the edge of the bed, pushed the soaked crotch of her panties aside and spread her legs, displaying the full, fleshy lips of her vagina. Father Brent crawled to his demon goddess as if hypnotized. He bent his head and inhaled the spicy perfume of her sex. Then he looked up at her, and there was real fear in his eyes as he spoke: "Please, Selina, be patient with me? I've never done..." Tres decided not to let him finish that sentence. The last thing she wanted right now was a discussion of technique. "Lick, Slave!" she growled, and thrust her hips forward even as she forced his head down between her thighs. She held him with her thigh muscles for a few seconds, and then relaxed and leaned back on her elbows as she felt his lips and tongue begin to explore her slit. The young man had never done this before. He was eager enough, laving her entire crotch with his tongue, trying to push it inside her, and kissing and sucking at the lips of her cunt, but he seemed to have no idea what or where her clitoris was. Eventually, she pushed him away with a snarl, spread her lips apart before him, found her clit with her middle finger, and hissed: "Here, Father! Lick here!" Things were better then. And as she hummed and moaned, encouraging her captive, Tres let her mind wander, seeing the two of them in her imagination, as a third party might. The scenarios thrilled her far more than her slave's adolescent fumblings: she, the beautiful demonic seductress taking sadistic pleasure in the services of a tortured young priest, whose soul she had stolen and whose vows she had shattered. Then she conjured an image of her first victim: the luscious young schoolgirl, mewling and moaning as the then nameless Succubus forced her head back and smeared the juices of her slut's arousal across the pretty girl's face and lips. She moaned aloud, grinding her pussy against her priest's face, forcing her clit against his wildly flailing tongue and fucking his face to a pleasant, if unspectacular, orgasm. Selina the Succubus pushed her slave away and looked at him, his face moist with her nectar, his eyes appealing, desperate for a word of praise. She considered how best to bestow it, and then how to be rid of him. Deep within herself, Tres felt a little sorry for the man. Awkward and shy, he had almost certainly having the most exciting sexual experience of his life. In his late twenties, poor Brent still hadn't quite grown into his body. She wondered if he ever would. She suspected he would make an indifferent lover, like Darren had been. He'd always be eager to please, but probably forever too nervous and insecure to assert himself as either a giver or a taker of pleasure. An idea began to take shape in her head. It was still early, and she was exhilarated rather than drunk or tired. She would blow this young man's mind, finish the game, leave her victim drained and exhausted, and start it again with someone else. She would stay at this party until sunrise if she had to, and seduce every man at it until she found one who could make her scream and moan and whimper as Nina had, and as this shy young faux-priest soon would. "Very nice, Father," purred the Succubus, "you missed your calling. You might have spent a pleasant life on your knees with your face between the legs of hundreds of pretty young sluts, instead of kneeling on hard marble in the corridors of draughty churches. How tragic, that no breathless young parishioner will ever experience that clever little tongue of yours dancing across her swollen clitty. Stand up!" He stood immediately; instantly obedient. "Now strip. I want to see your cock." The young man untied the strip of red material which had belted his cassock, and pulled the long black garment off over his head. Under it he wore a white dress shirt with the priest's stiff, banded white collar and black slacks. As he removed shirt and pants, he watched the half-naked Succubus as she sprawled languidly on the bed. She saw him watching her, and began to tease him, a small, cruel smile on her full, red lips. She slid a finger inside her cunt and brought it out again, most and sticky. Then she stuck out her tongue and licked up the shaft of her finger before sucking it clean. She held his eyes as she cupped a breast, brought the nipple to her lips and blew, causing the little bud to crinkle and stiffen. At last he was naked, and she smiled to see his long, thin prick erect and weeping precum from its tip. "Mmm, doesn't that look tasty?" breathed the Succubus, running her tongue across a pouting lower lip, "Lie down on the bed now, Father, and put your hands above your head. I'm ready to finish you off." Wordlessly he did as he was told. With the tie from his cassock, she bound his wrists together through a gap in the headboard. Then she sat beside him, negligently stroking his dick with a red-gloved hand. "I'm afraid none of my victims ever survive a night with me," said Selina with a smile, as she continued to masturbate him. "You see, I feed on the vital essence of my lovers. I drain them when they come in my mouth or my pussy. I fuck or suck them to death. And then I torment their souls for eternity." She let go of his cock then, and crawled up his body on her hands and knees, her breasts swaying enticingly. He felt them flatten against his chest as she gave him a chaste kiss on the forehead. She crawled down the bed again until her face was level with his crotch, took his erection back into her hands and brought her lips to within an inch of the swollen head of his prick. "Say your prayers, Priest," she whispered, "I'm going to suck you dry." Then she pushed the head of his cock past her lips and into her warm wet mouth. Brent's dick tasted of sweat and soap. She lapped at the head for a few minutes, teasing the slit at the tip, and she felt his body buck. He began to moan as she slid more of his length into her mouth. Her eyes drifted upwards, and she saw him watching her, fascinated. She let his cock come out of her mouth with a soft pop and ran her tongue slowly and obscenely up the side of his prick, fluttering it lightly over the tip. His breath came out on a strangled sound. Then she bared her teeth and bit him gently, worrying his cock like a tigress tearing a strip of meat from a kill. His back arched, and a high-pitched keening came from his throat. She growled in hers, nipping and mouthing him, alight with arousal from the naked power she felt. She was the predator, the huntress, the seductress. And he was her prey, totally at her mercy: hers to devour or to kill or to fuck or to... Another small orgasm shook her, and she pulled his cock from her mouth, savoring the gentle spasms as they receded behind her pussy. He was looking at her again now, ecstasy and need playing across his face. She smiled, formed her lips into an O, and took his whole length into her throat, not stopping until she felt her nose rasp against his pubic hair. He screamed as she deep throated him, his cries to God, his curses, and his pleadings dissolving into an incomprehensible medley of gasps and yips and groans. She pulled his cock from her mouth, and began running her fist up and down his spit-soaked shaft. "Come on, lover," she growled. "Feed me all that hot, sticky come! Shoot it all into my mouth. Right down my throat. Yeah, oh yes, oh yes, oh give it to me! Give me your come now!" And she plunged the head of his cock back into her mouth just as he exploded, shooting jet after jet of thick, white semen into the back of her throat. She locked her lips around his shaft, trapping his seed inside her as she swallowed, trying to keep up with the flow. Eventually, his thrashings subsided, and she relaxed her mouth. A small stream of white, viscous sap trickled from the side of her lips. She sat back on her haunches, panting, her breasts bouncing slightly with the effort to catch her breath. After a moment she found his eyes again with hers. She licked her lips, gathered the last of his cum from her chin on a finger, and sucked it into her mouth. He watched as she swallowed the last of his seed. Then she leaned in and kissed him, open-mouthed, and he tasted himself, salty and smoky, on her tongue. The Succubus smiled through her devil's mask, turned, picked up her dress, and walked into the bathroom. The young man lay tied to the bed, wondering if he should say anything, wondering if he could muster the energy. He heard water running, and a few minutes later, she emerged, her hands and face shiny, her dress hugging her curves, her makeup impeccable, her mask in place. She leaned over and stroked his face gently. "Thanks, Brent," she said, and her voice was low and pleasant, but the seductive purr was gone. She smiled down at him. "That was fun." "Um, yeah," said the naked young man. Then, speaking somewhat at random: "That was...I never...um...Selina, could you untie me?" "My name's not Selina," replied the lovely woman behind the Succubus mask, "and no." She turned and walked out of the room, and the noise of the party faded as the door swung shut.