Feature Writer: Flit
Feature Title: I, SUCCUBUS 4
Published: 14.05.2025
Story Codes: Erotic Horror
Synopsis: A succubus is summoned, and an alliance is kindled.
I, Succubus 4
Do you know what it is to be summoned?
It’s a soft, slow, gentle pull that begins almost imperceptibly and then increases, and increases, and increases, until you feel as if you’re being sucked through a straw by a giant. There are ways to resist, and ways to evade, and ways to delay, but I had no interest in such trickery this time.
This time I was being called upon to do what I would revel in doing anyway.
This time I was being called upon to hunt, and that I was being called upon as mice call upon a cat only made the summons more entertaining, and the result more delicious to contemplate.
The weak may seek to control the strong, but when they do they play with fire.
The strong are the fire, and they fear no control.
I returned to my quarters and prepared myself in advance. I oiled my crimson skin until it gleamed, looking as smooth and supple as it was, nearly demanding touch. My hair I wore short, a tradition from the times when I was human, and roamed the deserts as a warrior. Long hair could serve then as a handicap, a sign of overconfidence, an easy target for an enemy’s grasping hands. I’d permitted it to grow after becoming a succubus, thinking it added to my allure, and perhaps it did but it was a manifestation of my overconfidence, overconfidence that had twice led to my downfall.
Now I wore it short, and when my master had seen it thus he had nodded, in approval or acknowledgement or something else, I cannot say.
I dressed in a soft, short dress, black fabric of a kind so thin and fine that it felt like wearing water and flowed over my body like a second skin, clinging everywhere I wanted it to cling and showing off everything I wanted to show off. Some succubi prefer to be naked at all times, and there are times for that, but my power was like a blade stored in a sheath. Drawing it forth was a demonstration and a declaration, and of a type that frightened the weak and enticed the strong.
The weak do not concern me, but the strong are worth considering.
I was prepared.
I was ready.
And I felt the summoning’s tug.
I took a moment then, a moment to appreciate what was about to begin. There’s a feeling before battle, a feeling of coiled tension waiting to be unleashed, a moment warriors know as well as they know themselves, and that moment should be savored, if only briefly. I closed my eyes, let myself indulge in the anticipation, and then…
…then I opened my eyes and smiled.
And I let the summoning take me.
There is much to be learned from how you are summoned, and where. Some skilled magicians can summon you directly into chains, or other encumbrances. Others summon you into pits or traps, designed to leave you helpless. Still others summon you in ways that tell you what sort of entrance they wish you to make, into a pool of water to emerge dripping and eager, or into a cave to emerge blinking into the light.
Not these, though, these magicians clearly wanted me seen from the moment of my summoning. I wasn’t here to make an entrance on my own behalf, but to demonstrate their power, and that which was intended as a show of strength for their master was a show of weakness to me.
A summoning takes no great strength, but ensuring that your summon stays within a protective circle does, and these magi were wanting in that regard.
Not that I could simply stride out, but they had limited their circle to preventing me from leaving. They had done nothing to prevent me from reaching out with my words and with my mind, and this was stupidity made manifest.
The circle was wide across, thirty paces or so, and was inscribed into one end of a temple to some god or other. The space was sunk into the bare rock of the place, and surrounded by seating for the faithful, or for those who wished to observe the ceremonies, and the seating was well-packed today for succubi always tend to draw crowds.
I arrived standing, a choice of my own. Arrive kneeling and you send one message, arrive sprawling and you send another, but I wished to show strength, and confidence, and power.
There was a ripple of surprise as I arrived, and interest, and the crowd murmured to itself, and I observed them casually, taking care not to show too great an interest. There were a wide variety of creatures there, demon and human and more, but the only ones on whom my gaze lingered were the demon-prince and his consort.
He was tall and muscular, grey of skin and green of eye, and he looked at me with interest he tried to hide behind a mask of detachment.
He was a poor actor, but it didn’t matter. Succubi can sense desire, and his flared to life the moment he saw me. I could feel his lust, felt my own in turn, wanting to savor his life, wanting to swallow his soul, both because my master had commanded it and because I had been so long without feeding.
He, though, was not the interesting one.
His consort was.
She was slender, and short, and human, with golden skin much-kissed by the sun, and she should have been frightened to be surrounded by demons, but she was not.
She was angry, and her anger was masked far better than his lust, and pulsed far more intensely.
Anger in the weak is no concern of the strong, but something in her told me that this one was no weakling, and if she was not yet in a position to have her way she had no intention of remaining subjugated forever.
She wore a white gown, modestly cut but tightly stitched, so that a demure garment became a sensual study. There was a tiara on her head, to mark her as powerful, but a collar on her throat, to mark her as property. Her eyes were blue, and flashed with the emotions her face masked so admirably.
My prospective victim was chained to the altar behind me, but I paid him no mind, not yet. He was incidental to my goals, though my ravenous hunger whispered in the darker recesses of my mind.
Instead I reached out with my mind and whispered to her.
“Hello, friend,” I said into her mind.
Her eyes widened slightly but she gave no further evidence of having heard, which impressed me. It is difficult to keep your wits when another’s mind touches yours unexpectedly, but her face was placid and calm, even with no eyes upon her but mine.
“Hello,” she said, speaking the words inside her mind. “How can you speak to me through the circle?”
A man approached the barrier of the summoning circle and spoke. His voice was high, and reedy, and sought to command me, and it was a struggle not to laugh in his face. This man may have been a sorceror, but he had the bearing of a peasant and the presence of an anthill.
“This man,” I sent to her mind, “is not nearly so wise as he thinks. And you are not nearly so helpless as you were before.”
She was silent for a time, then, and her face gave nothing away. The crowd was growing restive, wanting their show to begin, and the pipsqueak mage in front of me was growing louder and more angry, looking for all the world like an angry bug in fancy robes. He gestured, and a length of glowing rope formed in his hand.
His intent was clear. He meant to use that feeble spell to command me.
I lifted my chin, baring my throat to him. It was meant as a challenge, and the murmur of the crowd said they saw it as such. Certainly he did, for his face flushed and he snarled and whipped his wrist forward, sending the rope through the circle at me.
The rope moved slowly.
I did not.
I looked carefully at his spell, reached out with my mind, and found that he had ensorcelled the tip to go where he bade, but had not so treated the rest of the rope, leaving it vulnerable to anyone with the wit to look.
Weakness. Foolishness. Carelessness.
I waited until it breached the barrier then reached out and caught it in one hand just behind the questing tip and hauled, drawing it taut and pulling hard.
He had not been prepared for that, and found himself being dragged forward, the rope fastened around his wrist serving as a leash. His eyes went from surprised to horrified as he was dragged bodily through the barrier, the barrier meant to keep me in but not to keep anyone else out.
Foolishness. Magic is a weapon, like any other, and weapons ill-used can be as dangerous to their wielder as their foe. Warriors who forget this once seldom have the chance to forget it a second time.
He was speaking as he was pulled through the barrier, trying to banish me or summon a ward or something else, I know not what, and I silenced him by bringing my lips to his and letting my venom seep in. This was no warm kiss, no soft melding of lips, this was hard, and strong, and overwhelming, and he twitched and shivered as my lust overpowered his resistance and overrode his mind.
There was an outcry from the crowd, surprise and fear and interest and more, and I paid it little mind. Instead I reached out to the consort and whispered to her, whispered while still holding the mage in my deadly embrace.
“Do you wish him to live?” I sent to her.
“No,” she responded, and the word was hard and cold and final in my mind.
An entire crowd was roiling in shock but she was not. She was certain.
Certainty in the midst of chaos is strength in a place of weakness.
I raised one hand, letting claws extend, and brought it down, shredding the front of his robe, exposing his manhood. He was proudly erect, my venom having done its work well, and I could feel his lust and need, and my own.
It had been a long time since I’d fed, and it’s always satisfying to prey upon one who thought to command me, and knowing that a second prize lay behind me, chained to the altar, only added to my anticipation.
I threw him to the ground before me, and he landed on his back. He tried to scrabble away, but his movements were slow and his mind was addled and I was upon him before he made more than the feeblest efforts, standing over him, looking down with a predatory smile.
“Mercy,” he whispered.
“Mercy is the gift of the strong,” I purred, sinking to my knees between his legs, one hand encircling his cock, holding it steady. “Not the demand of the weak.”
He opened his mouth to speak again, but I was done with his words. I leaned in, parted my lips, and descended upon his manhood, taking it deep into my mouth and lashing him with pleasure, letting my venom sink into his cock directly, letting my long tongue wrap around it and squeeze, rippling warmly, wetly up his length.
He was struggling to hold on, to forestall his climax, and I refused to permit him this dignity, brushing aside his control and spurring his lust on, forcing him to his pleasure almost instantly.
He cried out then, feeling his downfall, knowing that he was lost, and I did not stop.
To drain a man slowly is a gift, the warmest pleasure he could ever know, but this creature did not deserve that gift. This pipsqueak sought to control me, this weakling intended to collar and bind me, and for one this lacking in power to presume so far above his station was an insult that deserved to be returned in kind.
He writhed on the ground as I drained him, swallowing his essence and not permitting him to stop, not as his cock throbbed and ached, his balls emptied, his body surrendered to pleasure. I reached into his mind and forced him to remain erect, forced his lust not to flag, forced him cruelly towards another climax.
He looked down at me, his eyes wide with panic and shock, realizing then what I intended to do, and how powerless he was to prevent it. I lifted my lips from his member only briefly, long enough to speak a single sentence.
“Your mistress could have saved you,” I whispered, my voice so low only he could hear, “and chose not to.”
He gasped then, and turned to look at the consort, who met his gaze with a pitiless stare. I know not what had passed between them that she would throw his life away thus, but whatever it was was contained in his desperation and her refusal.
Then I brought my lips down again and he had more pressing concerns to occupy his mind for the brief remnant of his life.
The crowd had settled down, some enjoying the show’s unexpected turn and some enjoying this man’s downfall and some simply enjoying the sight of a succubus at work. There were ribald jests and nervous laughter and the occasional cheer and I paid it all little mind.
I had more important things to focus on.
His cock pulsed in my mouth, ready to erupt again when I commanded it, and I commanded it, and he arched his back and howled as his pleasure was drawn forth long before he was prepared. He was whimpering and he was shuddering and I reached out and tugged at his soul, drawing it down, down to his cock, and he felt it preparing itself to release into my grasp.
I could have made it more pleasurable for him, could have waited, could have drawn it out, could have given him time to recover, and I did not. I used my pleasure as a cudgel, rather than as a balm, lashing him with it rather than embracing him with it, and he cried out in an unendurable mix of joy and regret, lust and despair, as I drained him, sucking his soul up, up, up, and into my warm, wet mouth.
He felt it leave his body, stared wildly down at me, and I pulled my head up, met his gaze, and swallowed it down, let the black fires within me consume it whole, and his last moment was of pleasure-laced terror as he paid the price for his weakness, for his arrogance, for his presumption.
Then his head fell back and he lay, soulless and lifeless and still, upon the cold stone floor.
There was silence in the chamber then, the silence of a crowd stunned by what they’d seen. They’d expected to see me feast upon a helpless prisoner and instead had seen the sorceror who’d summoned me led to his doom. No few of them cast dubious eyes on the circle that held me at bay, and the sorceror’s acolytes conferred among themselves, glancing at their former master with fear in their eyes.
I spared them no more than a passing glance. Mice led by a weevil were worth no more than that.
Instead I looked to the demon-prince and his consort and gently inclined my head, bowing from the neck. It could have been a mark of respect, and was taken as such, but the purpose it served was to reassure and calm. The crowd had been growing restive, and a panic breaking out would have served me poorly.
It was time to give them something else to focus on.
I raised my hands to my shoulders and slid my dress down slowly, taking my time. I could have torn it asunder and been naked in a moment but the crowd needed to be lured back to quiescence, not dragged there. The fabric descended, revealing my breasts, then moving lower, lower, catching around my waist until I lowered my hands and slid it to the floor, leaving me completely unclothed, my oiled red skin gleaming, my body on full display.
There were appreciative sounds from the crowd, but I cared not for their interest. I cared only for the demon-prince’s…and his consort’s.
He certainly seemed interested, his eyes drinking me in, but her interest ran much deeper. She barely showed it, a slight widening of the eyes, a gentle tremble of the lips, but those signs on a face schooled to immobility were powerful signals of well-hidden desires. She met my eyes for a moment, and in that moment she saw that I knew what I had seen, and a blush bloomed on her cheeks, radiant color on that golden-hued skin.
I turned slowly, giving the crowd a good look as I pivoted to face my victim, my tail dancing behind me. He lay helpless on the altar, heavy chains attached to manacles at his wrists and ankles, and he stared at me with mixed emotions. He’d witnessed what I’d just done, of course, and feared that his own fate would be as painful. I could sense his lust, and his terror, and both were my allies in that moment, for it was not merely him that I had to conquer.
I was playing for much higher stakes than that.
I knelt beside the altar and reached out to stroke the side of his face gently, soothingly. His lust called to me, and I hungered for it, for it had been long since I’d fed and one rushed draining had only whetted my appetite, but I held myself back for the moment. The crowd needed to be seduced, to lust for me, to hunger for me, and to bring them to that point required that I show tenderness, and restraint, and so I did.
His eyes were wide, his breathing ragged. He’d been within the circle when I’d fed, and to be a succubus is to radiate lust, especially when feeding. He was eager, and he was terrified, and he was doomed, and he knew it. I leaned in to press a tender kiss to the side of his face, and another to the corner of his mouth, letting my venom seep in slowly, letting it overtake his mind softly.
He moaned at that, turned his head to look up at me, and I met his lips with my own, kissing him slowly, building from gentle to passionate, a lover’s kiss more than a conqueror’s, and by the time the kiss broke he had surrendered to me.
He relaxed back onto the altar, his muscles unclenching, his breathing coming under control, and I moved, kissing slowly down his body, tenderly, softly, making sure to show my body to best advantage to the crowd. My lips left a trail of venomous kisses as I moved, and I could feel him being drawn further and further into the embrace of desire. He could not escape me, chained as he was, but the more I worked on him the less that was any concern. In truth, even if the manacles had fallen free and I’d stood back I doubt he would have tried to escape. He was mine, and he knew it.
My lips came to his manhood, and I teased it slowly, luxuriantly, deliberately drawing a contrast between the cruelty I’d inflicted on the feeble sorceror and the pleasures I gave to this man. My lips wrapped around the side of his cock, my long tongue extended out and wrapped around and around it and squeezed warmly, wetly, deliciously, making him throb, making him ache for release and relief, release and relief that I held him back from briefly.
I wanted him to enjoy it, and I wanted the crowd to appreciate it, and so I worked him up until his lust was nearly boiling within him, until his cock was twitching in my hand and his body was quivering beneath me, and only then did I move up, part my lips, and descend upon him, moving down onto his cock until it was deep in my throat, and with a thought I bid him climax, and he did.
His back arched, his body tensed, he let out a long, low, soulful moan, and he came hard, spurting his seed deep into my throat, and I drank it down, swallowing around him wetly, letting my mouth urge him on, inflicting pleasures beyond his wildest expectations, until he was temporarily spent, spent and gasping.
And still alive.
I could’ve drawn everything from him as I had the sorceror, but this man had given me no insult, shown me no arrogance. True, he was weak enough to be left out for me like a fatted calf, but though that made him my prey it did not make him my enemy.
So I swallowed his seed and drew back, letting his half-hard cock pop free from my mouth, and I moved in over him, lying atop him, pressing my warm, eager, oiled body into his, squirming and writhing atop him and putting on a show for the crowd, the crowd that had begun to murmur in appreciation.
This was the show they had been promised, and it was more and better than they’d expected.
“Poor little human,” I whispered, stroking his brow tenderly. “You’re doomed. But I’ll make your end more pleasurable than you could’ve dreamed.”
There was fear in his eyes, but also longing, need mingling with surrender.
“Please,” he whispered, his voice hoarse, tinged with lust, barely able to form words.
“Oh, prey,” I purred, shifting my hips, drawing my dripping, eager sex along the underside of his rigid cock, “begging won’t save you. Nothing at all can save you now.”
“No,” he moaned, visibly struggling to focus, struggles not helped by my wicked gyrations.
His cock throbbed, twitched, desperate to be inside me, and I was eager to welcome it, but I forbore, waiting to see if he would manage to voice his request. I brought my hands to my breasts and squeezed, kneading them, putting on a show for the crowd, a show they were watching with rapt enjoyment. The magi that had survived were gathered around in a huddle, talking animatedly amongst themselves, and the sight made me smirk. Weaklings crave company in a crisis, when the brave may act alone.
“My bonds,” my victim groaned. “Let me not leave this world in chains.”
That caused me to pause, and take a closer look at my victim. It was said from a position of weakness, true, but it betrayed hidden strength, pride that not even his imminent demise could quench. He looked up at me hopelessly, helplessly, trying to hold my gaze, swallowing as my tail encircled his cock, my hips lifted, drawing up, up, up until he was poised. He swallowed hard, readying himself to be ignored, for me to simply descend and claim him, but I did not.
“Your name?” I asked.
“Khavil,” he answered, trying not to thrust upwards with his hips, trying to control his rebellious body that yearned to rush him to his end.
“Very well, Khavil,” I said, and reached up, pulling the manacles free, then leaning back to free his legs, to the murmur of the crowd, the crowd that could hear none of what passed between us.
Khavil sighed, in relief, in surrender, and then I sank down upon him, welcoming his cock deep into my molten, eager cunt, feeling him throb within me, his life ready to spend itself, his soul yearning to spurt free. He did not try to hold back, a token of acceptance, his gratitude made manifest, but I did not rush him towards his climax.
The sorceror had been an arrogant fool, and had deserved his undignified death.
Khavil remained brave even in the face of his soul’s destruction, and for that he would reap a final, pleasurable reward, a soldier’s death on a sexual battlefield at the hands of an apex predatress.
My hips rose and fell, my eager, wet sex inflicting delicious pleasures upon him with every motion, sucking inhumanly at him, squeezing him, kneading him in a way no mortal woman ever could, and he responded, moaning and sighing, his eyes rolling back in his head as I guided him towards his pleasure. He was shuddering, quivering, and it would take only the slightest bidding for him to climax, but I held him back until he regained himself, opened his eyes, looked up at me in radiant wonder, and then I sank down and thrust his pleasure upon him, my sex tightening around him and soaking, urging him on, demanding the pleasure I had permitted him to withhold until now.
He drew in a short, sharp breath and then he came, and came hard, spurting into me again and again, and my greedy cunt swallowed his seed down, swallowed it all and demanded more, more, more. He cried out as pleasure overtook him, shaking beneath me, and it was an effort of will for him to keep his freed hands in place over his head. His fingers curled into fists, but he did not mean to strike me. He had accepted his fate, and would not disgrace himself in my eyes with futile struggles.
His climax ebbed, but I kept him hard within me. I permitted him the grace of time, not forcing him to immediately climax again and again and again, to immediately spend himself until he was gone. Instead I reached up, took his wrists in my hands, and guided them to my hips, permitting him to hold me, to touch me unbound.
He inclined his head gently, taking it as I intended, as a mark of respect for a worthy-if-defeated foe, and his hands opened and settled, stroking and squeezing, his hands rough but his touch gentle. The crowd likely perceived this as a demonstration of my power and my dominion over him, but such power was obvious, such dominion was clear. This was more than that, though how much more none but Khavil and I would ever know.
I remained unmoving there for a moment, holding him fully within me, his cock hard but his seed spent, and then I rose again and descended, proceeding at a gentle pace. He sighed, feeling himself succumbing, feeling my venom seeping into him, for my sex secretes aphrodisiac venom every bit as insidious as my lips, and it was being rubbed into him, working at him, reducing him to nothing more than his lust.
I needed more.
I needed to use him to demonstrate my power and my pleasure.
I needed to instill not merely fear, but desire in my audience, particularly the royal couple.
I could feel their lust, even among the crowd I could pick it out, and his was certainly strong, strong and yet he held himself in check.
Hers, though, blazed like a wildfire, even as her face remained an impenetrable mask. If it weren’t for the desire I felt radiating from her she might as well be watching a bakery demonstration, or listening to ill-tempered courtiers paying homage. I could feel her still in my mind, though neither of us had spoken again, and I looked up at her as I rose atop my victim, and then opened myself to let her feel the tiniest fraction of my sexual pleasure as I descended.
Her eyes went wide at that, and she let out a soft sound, inaudible to anyone not standing beside her and yet I heard it clear as a bell.
The demon-prince did not notice. He was too busy watching the performance I was putting on before him.
My victim moaned beneath me and I returned my gaze to him, letting my mouth open, my fangs extend. That caused a reaction in the crowd, eager murmuring, fear and desire and interest at once, but my victim was beyond fear now. He had accepted his fate, and wanted to please me in turn for the favor I showed him, and so he lifted his chin and turned his head, exposing his neck in clear invitation.
It was a perfect moment for my purposes, one I could have scripted no better. For the crowd to see him submitting to me of his own free will spoke to them of the pleasures I was capable of inflicting, the glorious sexual ecstasies I could demonstrate, and no few of them envied the captive even as they knew his demise was approaching.
I leaned in slowly, letting my breasts drag against his chest, letting my tail slide slowly along his forearm closest to the crowd, and I brought my mouth to his neck and sank my fangs in and let my venom flow.
He cried out at that, not in pain, for my venom is painless, but in lust so raw and pure that it transcended all else. There is a notable difference between venom implanted with touch and venom thrust directly into the body, and I poured in an overpowering dose. Respect for his bravery was one thing, but I had other aims in mind and for them I needed a helpless tool of my desires.
His hands dug into my hips, fingers clenching hard, and I welcomed the feel, relished in it, a small helping of pain only making the pleasure all the sweeter, the feeling a mark of his absolute surrender to need and lust. I rolled my hips, moving his cock within me, letting it slide deliciously against the walls of my sweet, eager sex, inundating him with pleasure.
I drew my fangs back, sat up atop him, and rode him in slow, sensuous thrusts, drawing up and sinking back down, tightening around him with every withdrawal, then descending again and clenching wickedly around him anew. He was making sounds beneath me, half-moans, half-growls, as he drank from the fountain of lust but could not satisfy himself.
I threw my head back and fucked exultantly, indulging myself for a moment, giving in to my own pleasures and desires, the sheer joy of feeding after being so long denied. My downfall was behind me, my attempts at salvation before me, but here, now, in this moment all that mattered was that I was predator and beneath me was my trapped and helpless and delicious prey, his cock hard and eager within my cunt, his body flooded with lust and my venom, his soul pulsing and soon to be mine.
That was when the demon-prince’s consort whispered into my mind.
“Let me feel it again,” she said, her voice in my head as clear as if she’d spoken directly into my ear.
I let my eyes focus on her, half-opened, a small smile playing over my lips. For her to reach out with such a request was a good sign, but to pounce upon it too soon would be to waste the opportunity. In my life as a human I set no small number of ambushes, and the key to such things is to spring them neither too early nor too late. Too early, and your prey spooks and runs. Too late, and they have time to prepare.
This time, though, it was reversed. She thought she was prepared. And this one, once she had decided upon a course, would not run. So I met her gaze, raised my hips, dropped them down, and did not respond to her request.
My victim moaned beneath me, feeling his climax growing closer, his balls achingly empty but his body preparing to cum anyway, his chest heaving, his hands shaking upon my hips. His pleasure was palpable, obvious to all who saw him, and the crowd was responding, watching intently, rapturously, delighting in the show, delighting in his downfall, all save the consort.
Her hands were curled into the armrests of her chair, her forearms tense, her face as expressionless as ever save for a slight twitch in one eye.
“Please,” she whispered into my mind, and I dropped down heavily upon my victim, but still did not respond.
My nipples were hard, my body crooning in delight, my pulse racing. His grip had slackened on my hips, his body suffused with the pleasures I was inflicting upon him, craving his release, craving his relief. He stared up at me in wonder, and I looked down upon him in contentment, the feel of a starving woman seated before a feast. My hands were braced upon his chest, but I let one hand move down between my legs, teasing my clit, using my pleasure to fuel my hunger.
“Please,” she said again, and then I struck.
I stopped holding my victim back and permitted him to climax, sinking down low upon him and letting my sweet, eager sex fasten around him and suck hard, inflicting his release upon him. My eager fingers stroked my clit, drawing me closer to my own pleasure, and the feel sent shockwaves of ecstasy through him, ecstasy he felt even as he spurted into me again and again, his body draining itself to serve his pleasure, letting me draw in sips of his life, his essence, and they were delicious.
And in the middle of all that I reached out and gave her what she asked for.
Her eyes went wide as she realized what I’d done, that what I’d shown her before had been the faintest echo of pleasure, and this time I was giving her much, much more. She felt as I felt, the power, the hunger, the pleasure, the fires of lust and need that burned within me.
Her control was impressive, truly, but it faced an impossible task.
Her mouth parted, a soft sound emerged, and she inclined forward at the waist, trying to limit what she showed, and in this she was nearly successful.
The crowd didn’t notice a thing. They were too focused on me, and my victim, and the show we were putting on for their amusement. I doubt one in a hundred of them would have remembered that the consort existed, let alone spared her a glance.
The demon-prince was oblivious, watching me with more-reserved but still-hungry eyes. If he spared his consort a thought in that time it was only in passing.
But I noticed. I saw. And what I saw were the seeds of my triumph upon this world.
I could feel my victim’s need pulse beneath me, his life yearning to spurt itself away, his soul desperate to be sucked free and devoured, but I held him back, restoring his control. I needed him brought to the edge of obliteration and held there, needed the crowd to feel his lust and need, to ache for his doom.
And I needed the consort to take another step down the path that would lead her to me.
Khavil moaned, his hands falling from my hips, lying at his sides. His body had begun to wither, and what power he had left was focused entirely upon sexual pleasure, now, and he hadn’t the strength to hold up his arms. His breath was hard, ragged, his body shuddering as it was wracked with pleasure beyond his comprehension, pleasure that should have tipped him over into climax a dozen times but could not until I permitted it.
I could have restored him, could have let him drink from me, could have kept the cycle going for some time, but that was not what was called for here.
To the crowd, this was an execution.
To the demon-prince, this was a demonstration.
And to the consort, this was an offer.
I lifted my hips, and let my sweet sex squeeze Khavil’s eager cock as I rose, then descended smoothly down, indulging myself, taking my time, even as my hunger roared within me, desperate to feed, desperate to devour, desperate to suck the life and soul of my victim free.
In times past, I would have indulged my hunger without restraint. Before I was conquered. Before I was collared. Before I was taught the nature of power.
Now, I had learned. I had grown. I had become more than I was before, stronger in chains than I had been in freedom.
“Soon,” I whispered to the consort’s mind, “I’ll claim him. I’ll suck out his soul and destroy it. I’ll drain him to the last drop and leave him nothing but a husk. The pleasure is…indescribable. Feeling even a fraction of it will change you. It will give you desires, cravings, that many would find unnatural.”
She swallowed hard, then, looking at me, her emotions trying to hide behind her inscrutable mask, trying and failing.
I could see the lust that beat within her heart, and the need, and the desperate craving for freedom.
Khavil moaned beneath me as I lifted my hips again, drawing his cock out until only the tip was within me, and I held myself there, poised, ready to descend. He shuddered, staring up at me, knowing full well that this was his last moment of life, knowing it and welcoming his end.
“This is it,” I whispered to her mind. “Say yes now, or forever wish that you had.”
She hesitated for the time it took Khavil’s failing heart to beat twice. And then she gave the answer I knew that she would.
“Yes,” she said into my mind, her lips parting, mouthing the word. She sat back upon her throne, spread her legs, let her hands clench down around the arms of her chair, and I felt her full assent resonating between us.
And then I sank down slowly upon Khavil and gave him the relief and release he’d been craving, gave myself the pleasure of draining his life and sucking free his soul.
He let out a howl, a long, last sound of immeasurable sexual release, of incomparable bliss, as my cunt settled down around him and pulsed warmly, wetly, my fingers eager on my clit, letting my own pleasure call his forth, summoning it, telling his body and mind that his end had come, that he no longer had to be held back. He felt the warm, wet walls of my pussy ripple around him, drawing his cock in and bathing it in luscious wet warmth, in uncontainable need, and when the first spurt of his last climax pulsed into me I permitted myself to cum in turn.
The feel of him beneath me, of his life’s essence spurting into me, was magical, indescribable, blissful far beyond sexual pleasure I’d experienced as a mortal. I could feel time slow to a crawl as each spurt of his cock, each pulse of his seed into my black womb was met with a pulverizing response from my body as I drew it in and called out to him for more, more, more, and more he gave until he had only one thing left.
His soul tingled as it prepared to give itself up, prepared to surrender itself to me, and my body ached, yearned to receive it.
“Khavil,” I whispered, so low that only he could hear, and as far gone as he was he heard it.
It was a sign of respect, a mark of kindness to honorable prey, prey that deserved a tiny bit of pride in defeat, of kindness in conquest. I saw an immeasurably small hint of realization flicker in his eyes as he heard, a miniscule bit of pride within the sexual bliss that overwhelmed him.
And then my hungry cunt sucked up his soul and swallowed it, and I felt the fires within me consume it, and everything he was, or ever had been, or ever could be was extinguished in a cataclysmic burst of pleasure.
My eyes opened wide, my lips parted, and white light poured forth as my pleasure reached its pinnacle.
For me it was blissful, and glorious, and pleasurable in a way that even the sorceror’s soul had not been, for his had been claimed hard and he had been unworthy.
For the crowd it was enchanting, entrancing, an erotic show far better than ever they’d seen before.
For the demon-prince it was mesmerizing, and I felt his eyes upon me as he leaned forward and steepled his long, grey fingers.
But for the consort it was life-changing.
She felt only a fraction of what I felt, but that fraction was enough to overwhelm her. She came, and came hard, as she sat there, and much as she tried to conceal her reaction it was obvious to even the dullest observer, but only I observed her.
All other eyes were on me, and she recovered before any noticed.
Any but I.
I lifted myself up off Khavil’s lifeless husk, pressed a kiss to my fingertips, then my fingertips to his forehead. It was a sincere gesture, but one I knew would play well with the crowd, and it did. I stretched, turned to the demon-prince, and bowed subtly from the waist, a smile dancing upon my lips, but the smile wasn’t for him.
It was for his consort, and she knew it.
The surviving magi had gathered round and were chanting a dismissal, and doing it quite badly. I could have battled through it if I’d wished, but to do so would have been to squander the gains I’d made, to shatter the plans I’d crafted, and so I permitted the dismissal to take root, reserving my energies for one last task.
“Speak my name into a mirror when you wish to see me again,” I said to the consort’s mind.
“How do you know I’ll want to see you again?” she asked, trying to pretend to strength she did not have, and I answered the question with a smirk.
The magi were chanting louder, but I held off their dismissal for a moment, knowing she had one more step to take down corruption’s path, and she did, and she took it.
“What is your name?” she asked.
“Vanya,” I said.
Then I grasped the dismissal spell and was gone from that place.
In time I would return. In time my plans would be put into motion. Perhaps I’ll tell you of those plans when next I speak. Perhaps I’ll speak of the mage who first transformed me into a succubus, or of the time before.
Perhaps.
THE END OF CHAPTER FOUR