Feature Writer: Carmine
Feature Title: Tales of the Crimson Succubus: Shackled in Perpetuity
Published: 14.01.2003 / BDSM Library www.bdsmlibrary.com
Story Codes: Erotic Horror
Synopsis: She-devil “Crimson Succubus” and her assistants teach submissive, Nina, the wonders of isolation and bondage.
Tales of the Crimson Succubus: Shackled in Perpetuity
Crimson Succubus squatted before her thrall Nubian Nina. In an open palm dangled a pair of iron manacles, fire treated so that the metal was strong and smooth. Succubus placed a cheek against Nina’s stomach. Bringing her free hand around to cup the thrall’s ample but supple bottom, Succubus drew her closer, the she-devil’s flesh burning Nina’s mahogany skin. The slave gasped; in response, Succubus moved her cheek downward, at last easing it into the moist and tender crevice between well-muscled thighs.
Looking down, Nina licked her lips, smacking them as Succubus began to twist the manacles from side to side. The thrall arched her back, and as her arms floated upward, the thew lining her midsection constricted in intricate patterns. Succubus turned her face inward, her lips resting against Nina’s cleft.
Succubus pulled away and grinned. Before Nina could react, the she-devil snapped the manacles around the thrall’s ankles. She then stood up and reached for another pair. Nina stared at the irons. They were simple shackles, well constructed with burnished bolts and what appeared to be a complex locking mechanism. The chain between the anklets allowed her to stand akimbo but no more. She surmised that she could hobble but that walking could present a problem.
“Extend your arms and interlace your fingers.”
The suddenness of Succubus’ command startled Nina, so much so that as she obeyed she also lifted her eyes, locking them temporarily on those burning orbs of her mistress. As Succubus placed the armlets onto her wrists, she took notice of the moment of indiscretion, and once the irons were secure, she withdrew several steps and brought her open hand back.
The backhand almost took Nina to the ground, but she managed to stabilize her seat-lined thighs and tighten her wondrous gut. Succubus’ eyes continued to blaze-their enflamed orbs scintillated like blood on glass-but rather than strike again, the she-devil stepped forward and spread her leathery wings, which in turn engulfed most of Nina’s slender body.
“Remain still, darling,” Succubus hissed.
From the she-devil’s pliant lips emerged a long, trident-tipped tongue. The asp-like appendage extended forward, at length coming into contact with Nina’s lower lip. There, the lingua fluttered like a butterfly in flight, its tip wiping away several droplets of blood that had collected at the mouth’s edge. Nina fought to keep her own tongue in check.
“Delicate creature,” Succubus crooned as she smacked her lips.
Into the alcove entered four brawny thralls. Two-by-two, the men carried a massive hearth between them, the conveyance poles bending from its cumbrous weight. Sweating profusely, the thralls placed the hearth in front of Nina then closed a massive iron door behind them.
Succubus stood across the hearth, staring at its crackling coals. With silent elegance she reached for a poker, which even now glowed red from intense heat. Nina blinked her downcast eyes. When she had first come under the demon’s service, she had undergone an intricate branding ritual. Was she to change owners?
“No branding for you, darling,” Succubus said as if responding to the slave’s very thoughts. “At least not one of ownership. Something different, I would think.”
As Nina sat on her calves, Succubus began to stir the hearth’s contents, making the flames go higher and higher while the embers sparked and hissed. Driving the rod deep into the emulsion, she twisted it round and round, bringing out other colors, such as bright blue, scintillating yellow, and gelatinous black. Smoke began to fill the tiny room.
“Remain here. Do not change position. Wait for me.”
With that Succubus withdrew.
For uncounted hours Nina knelt before a hearth, her wrists and ankles manacled. At first she rather enjoyed the bonds, particularly the ones on here wrists. The iron felt cold, and as time passed, the metal became one with her body’s heat. She kept her forearms extended, making a game out of the shackles’ ballast. Sometime later, she abandoned the diversion, bringing her hands to her stomach, but even then she could not escape their weight. Sweating profusely, the slave ached for their removal, so she began to fidget, and at once she felt the weight of the anklets, the tops of which had started to dig into the flesh and bone.
At twilight, the iron door opened and into the room stepped Lord Draco, one of the Succubus’ overseers. Tall and muscular, the man was dressed like an executioner, his face obscured by a leather cowl from which escaped tresses of waist-length hair. Two suicide straps were wrapped around his chest, holding up a pair of loose-fitting synthetic pants lined with infinite rhinestones. On his forearms he wore spiked bracelets.
Without fanfare Draco dropped to one knee and loosened the anklets. As he did so, Nina placed her head on his shoulder, letting her hair tease his nose.
“Lord,” she sighed licking her tongue. “Now the shackles about my wrist, in exchange for any favor.”
Draco stood up and placed a boot on Nina’s left thigh. He then grabbed her wrists and produced a silver key. Nina began to writhe like a snake expecting a meal, but instead of loosening the wrist-irons, Draco tightened them, cutting off much of the circulation in her tingling and numb hands.
Draco clasped Nina’s neck with his left hand, while with his right he unbuttoned his trousers.
“The favor,” he growled.
Eyes downcast, Nina reached out and lowered the man’s pants, causing a thick cock to spring out, its mushroom head bouncing up and down. Before Nina could reach for his love-member, Draco pulled her in, squeezing her neck so that her mouth opened wide. As she struggled to breathe, Draco shoved his cock into her, driving it all the way down her throat. There he kept it for a moment or two, and as he withdrew ever so slowly, he shot a glutinous load, the alabaster fluid dribbling down the sides of her mouth.
“No water, so drink up.”
And with that he left the room.
At dawn, Sable Agrate walked into the small chamber and found Nina asleep, although she remained on her knees. As quietly as possible, the she-devil removed the irons about the slave’s ankles. Bringing her ebon wings into the back of her body, Agrate sat down, crossed her legs like a Buddha ready for meditation, and began to rub the thrall’s left ankle.
With a start Nina opened her eyes. Her first instinct was to run, but she knew well that if she moved then Crimson Succubus would enact an even more severe form of punishment. So instead she took several spasmodic breaths, and as she did so she came to realize that her legs had been freed.
“Poor little beast,” whispered Agrate, her talons rubbing Nina’s toes. “Succubus is much too cruel, what with her notion that discipline and lust belong united. Wantonness should be expressed freely, not with so much hubbub and crude accouterments. What do you think, dear?”
Nina trembled, shivers coating her whole body. Agrate’s words tasted like fine wine and at a perfunctory level she let them intoxicate her soul. But deep inside Nina accepted Crimson Succubus as her one and only mistress. She wore the demon’s brand on her neck. It was the sign of a fine heard. She was Galatea to Pygmalion, for Succubus had molded her from lifeless ebony into a creature made of flesh and bone. And so it was that Nina remained silent while the she-devil continued to massage her ticklish foot.
Bored, Agrate gently put down the thrall’s ankle, cracked her knuckles by twisting her wrist several times, and locked her unusually long hand around Nina’s chin. With her free hand she clasped the slave’s right wrist, easing her middle finger under the shackles so that it pricked at the flesh beneath.
The talon dug into the flesh. Several drops of blood emerged, one of them dropping onto the stone floor. There it spattered, creating a wondrously decadent pattern. Agrate admired the stain but soon turned her attention back to Nina. Squeezing her chin, she forced the poor girl to look into her eyes.
“I will not ask again: answer me.”
With her talons dug deep into Nina’s chin, Agrate pulled her forward. While she licked Nina’s lips, the demon ran her middle finger along the girl’s wrist, creating a tiny gash that quickly filled with blood. Standing up, Agrate wrenched Nina’s wrists over the hearth. Several drops of blood fell onto the coals. Smoke turned pitch black as the viscous fluid sizzled on fiery rocks.
Agrate pushed down, easing the girl’s arms closer to the flames. Heat coated tender forearms with a nice shade of red; tiny hairs curled at the intense tepidity. Gooseflesh formed about her forehead and shoulders, turning curiously cold as she began to shiver. She wanted very much to scream and run, but she held firm, her quivers becoming inextricable spasms of anticipation as Agrate pushed the arms even lower. Covered with perspiration, Nina closed her eyes, calmed her breath, and waited.
“It seem I have my answer.”
Agrate set the thrall loose, leaving the wrist shackles on, and exited the chamber.
At midday, Nina’s precious knees were covered with welts. She had been stalwart in remaining motionless, at most moving her arms up and down or arching her shoulders to relieve some the pressure on her lower back and thighs. When the door opened, Nina held her breath. She was certain that yet another of her mistress’ minions would enter and like a feline use her like a ball of string.
Rays from the sun streaking about her cerise body, Crimson Succubus stood in the entryway. She inspected her thrall, folded her wings, and snapped her tail before walking into the room. Once inside, she dropped to one knee and scrutinized Nina. Focusing the majority of her attention on her wrists and the manacles that remained fixed and secure.
“Spurned all propositions, I see.”
The she-devil brought her tail around and forced the barbed tip between the iron cuffs and Nina’s burning flesh. When Succubus rubbed the tail on the delicate skin, Nina gasped, her back stiffening and her eyes growing wide. It took everything she had left to stifle a shriek.
“Thank you, mistress,” Nina said smirking with relief.
“Don’t thank me yet, dear.”
Succubus used her statuesque thighs to push herself up; concurrently, she reached out with her left hand and clasped Nina’s manacles. As she stood up, she also wrenched the thrall upward. Succubus took several furtive steps back, carefully moving around the still-burning hearth. She then pulled Nina’s arms over the cauldron-shaped vessel and without any forewarning brought the shackles in direct contact with the fiery coals.
Nina screamed as the shackles seethed from the heat. The iron radiated torridity, its emanations like lice jumping onto Nina’s already damaged flesh. Nina felt her legs buckle, but she knew that if she fell the top of her body would succumb to the same fiery fate. So instead she used her upper canines and incisors to dig into her lower lip, immediately drawing forth so much blood that the thick fluid dripped down her chin, over her engorged breasts, and onto the floor.
Succubus’ impious heart rejoiced as Nina at last passed out from the pain. The demon released her hold and allowed the thrall to fall to one side. Nina had assimilated so much of the hearth’s heat that the coals had grown lukewarm, with the rocks on the periphery of the black cauldron actually having become cold.
“Wake up, beloved,” Succubus said dropping to one knee and with a curved fingernail gently tapping Nina’s face. “Resume your duties.”
Nina sat up. Succubus produced an elaborately carved passe-partout and removed the shackles, letting them drop onto the ground. The thrall rubbed her wrists, which had been permanently scarred from the manacles. The irons’ outline was perpetually etched into her skin.
“Oh, thank you, mistress!”
Succubus beamed and hugged her thrall. “Back to your chores, cherished one.”
For two cycles of moons Nina continued to admire her immutable shackles, taking particular pleasure when she would wash her hands or when she was allowed to wear jewelry that accentuated her wrists.
Months later, during a particularly brutal snowstorm, Nina was tidying up the Sanguinary Parlor in Succubus’ citadel when she heard steps behind her. She dropped to her knees and averted her gaze, staring at the carpet. Into the room walked Crimson Succubus, a pair of ankle irons cradled in her left arm.
As Succubus began her tease-lecture, Nina felt an orgasm already building deep inside. Many more would come as her ankles were subjected to the loving ways of the Crimson Succubus.