MEETING MY SUCCUBUS 3

Feature Writer: NSCarter

Feature Title: MEETING MY SUCCUBUS 3

Published: 08.04.2021

Story Codes: Erotic Horror

Synopsis: Adam learns that he is becoming an incubus.

Author’s Notes: This is the third chapter of ‘Meeting My Succubus’ so it would be a good idea to read the first two parts before this if you have not already done so. I should point out that the word ‘neurovore’ is not my invention but was coined by the late Sir Terry Pratchett and I have borrowed it. He used it to describe someone who lives on their nerves, while I use it to describe someone who feeds off other people’s powerful emotions. I felt the need to include a fair bit of ‘world-building’ here, but if you are patient there will also be some sex. There is an episode in this chapter that involves interracial kink between Chinese women and white ‘European’ men. I realize this might be offensive to some, but in my defense it was inspired by an illuminating conversation with a female friend who is of Chinese ancestry, so I know that it does exist as a phenomenon, at least for some. Please remember that the opinions of the characters are not necessarily the same as mine. You might want to skip this tale if you have strong traditional religious views — but then probably in that case you might be wiser to avoid Literotica altogether! It goes without saying that all the characters engaged in sexual activities are over eighteen (in one case by several centuries), this is of course a work of fiction, and the copyright is reserved by me, N. S. Carter, and I forbid its use, in whole or in part, without my explicit permission.

Meeting my Succubus 3

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Thank you, Harpreet Singh. That will be all.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Then she looked a bit more serious and addressed Clara.

“Melantha, my dear, I thought you would have learned your lesson after that business with the necromancer, and now … let’s check that I have it right?”

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

“So, you reveal to a mortal that you are a succubus?”

Clara nodded, seeming to shrink into herself a little.

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

Again, another nod.

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

Nod.

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

This time there was not even a nod.

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

Then she gave a little chuckle and spoke,

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

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

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

She clapped her hands and laughed again.

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

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

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

She gave me an amused and slightly pitying smile.

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

“So, hell is …?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“So, I’m an incubus?”

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

“It might be more accurate to say that you are ‘the’ incubus.”

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

“How do you mean, ‘the’ incubus?”

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

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

“Incubuses don’t tend to live very long.”

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

“But I thought you said I was immortal?”

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

Now I was beginning to feel slightly irritated.

“What’s that, My Lady?”

She gave me a thoughtful look.

“That takes a bit of a longer explanation. Please be patient.”

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

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

I nodded, wondering where this was going.

“Why was that?” She asked.

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

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

“That’s right.”

Then she seemed to change tack.

“Do you know what an incubus is, Adam?”

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

She chuckled.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Cedric happens to be a common name among imps, Adam. I’ve no idea why.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

The Lady gave me a sympathetic look and said,

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

Then she seemed to recollect herself.

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

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

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

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

“I’m so sorry, Adam, I didn’t know this would happen …”

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

Then The Lady continued in a surprisingly gentle tone,

“However maybe there is something you have, and they didn’t, which might help.”

I had to ask,

“What’s that?”

Looking at Clara she answered,

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

She smiled at her little joke before explaining.

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

I was beginning to experience something akin to shell shock.

Clara gave my hand a squeeze.

The Lady then said,

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

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

“Is Doctor Tsiang present today?”

When he spoke, his voice was surprisingly deep.

“Yes, My Lady. In the library I believe.”

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

He bowed and left to do her bidding.

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

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

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

I had the impression that if she wanted to The Lady would be perfectly capable of telling me what I needed to know and that there was another agenda here. However, I filed that thought away and being the gentleman I am, or try to be, I rose to my feet to greet her.

“Pleased to meet you, Doctor Tsiang. I am Adam Grant.”

She turned toward me, blushing slightly but at the same time giving me a shy smile.

“Pleased to meet you too, Adam, and you can call me Michelle.”

At this point the non-gentleman took over and when she offered me her hand to shake, surrendering to the spirit of mischief, I bowed down and gently lifted it to my lips. I felt a little shock at the strength of her erotic reaction and a quiet moan escaped her lips.

The Lady then spoke again.

“Why don’t you take Adam with you? That way he can ask his questions without an audience and I will have a chance to catch up on a couple of hundred years of gossip with Melantha. You can use the guest bedroom next door.”

I could not help but notice Clara and The Lady exchange a knowing smirk. Clara quickly got up and whispered in my ear.

“Have fun. Remember that when you feed you also feed me. Just make sure you tell me all about it tonight.”

With that Michelle scurried from the room with me in her wake.

With the door closed behind us she gave an embarrassed little giggle and said,

“Well, that was awkward.”

I could not help but agree. It was a bit like being a teenager with a girlfriend having to deal with unsubtle innuendo from well-meaning aunts.

She opened the door to the guest bedroom, which was opulently furnished with a color scheme based on a vibrant and sensual crimson, and it was clearly the kind of bedroom where sleep was not the foremost function on the interior designer’s mind.

It was big enough to have a small table and a couple of elegant antique chairs, and that is where we sat.

Michelle tried to set a professional tone.

“The Lady has been kind enough to let me use her library for my research, although I guess I am never going to be able to publish my results, but on the other hand she pays well. Anyhow, there are not that many reliable sources on the incubus, they have never been much for writing their memoirs, but I will tell you what I know.”

She then proceeded to outline how it worked. Some of it I already had some idea of, although she was able to make it clearer, and some of it was new. There was an odd but rather erotic tension between us that came from hearing her describe all this while not referring to the building lust between us, made all the more piquant by her evidently being ashamed of what she felt. I could see a faint blush on her neck and in the top of her cleavage that so clearly signified arousal, the alternation of eye contact and then looking down, the unconscious touching of her hair and even once or twice the nervous biting of her lower lip. It was adorable and at times I struggled not to simply jump her.

At the same time what she was telling me was fascinating.

There had to be mutual lust between the incubus and his ‘victim’. When Michelle said victim, she put air quotes around it. This kind of reassured me in a selfish way since I had been worried that I was going to be expected to bang lustful ugly grannies. OK, so I’m shallow, but at least I’m aware of it.

It was also clear that there had to be some form of sexual need or desire on the part of the ‘victim’ that was not being met. There had to be a strong element of sexual frustration. Amusingly Michelle felt the need to point out that this did not mean that the ‘victim’ did not love her partner if she had one. However, in this case I could already sense that Michelle did not currently have a boyfriend.

Another feature that many of the sources mentioned was that even before the incubus established more overt power over his ‘victim’, she would feel a compulsion to tell him of her feelings and secret desires, even though it was clear that he would be able to use this information in her seduction. This power seemed to require proximity, and perhaps even touch. In my mind I speculated on the idea of producing some kind of pheromone that had properties akin to scopolamine. At the same time, I think that both of us were aroused by the fact that Michelle was telling me something I would most likely be using ‘against’ her quite soon.

Next, she told me that when a woman consumed my pre-ejaculate or precum I would establish complete sexual power over her. It seemed that I produced chemicals that keyed in her response specifically to me. As Michelle spoke, the scientist in the back of my head was speculating on the involvement of dopamine and serotonin in some kind of mechanism with parallels with that of addiction, keying in pleasure to a particular stimulus. She emphasized that in the absence of any sources in the last couple of centuries, people had written about it in a way that did not draw on modern science.

All the sources stressed that what did not happen was the victim falling in love with the incubus, and one insightful writer had even speculated that this was a form of defense mechanism, since the incubus was already vulnerable to the anger of jealous men and the last thing he would need would be to leave in his wake a trail of lovelorn women willing to throw it all away to be with their beloved. Again, this made sense to me, and it made me happier to feel that I would not have to navigate that problem. I even wondered whether the fact that Clara seemed to be falling in love with me might have something to do with her not being human, or at least not fully so.

Michelle floored me though by then mentioning that I had the power to decide on what my ejaculate would do; whether it would impregnate the woman. I could not help but notice that when she began to talk about this area. she no longer met my eyes at all and the constant blush on her upper body deepened considerably. I did not need to be a genius to see that this idea was both arousing and deeply disturbing for her.

I had to ask at this point a more specific question.

“So, I can make a woman pregnant then?”

She hesitated a moment, though not due to a lack of knowledge.

“Yes. Demons cannot reproduce … in that way … but because you are also human … you can father a child and it would be fully human.”

She surprised me a little by continuing, after a nervous giggle.

“The sources suggest that you are very fertile. They say that if the woman is not barren and the incubus decides to impregnate her then she will become pregnant, without fail.” I could not help but notice that generally Michelle had been careful to talk about ‘the incubus’, but now suddenly she was referring specifically to me, and I suspected that it was a rather telling slip.

“There are even suggestions from further back, in times and places where the incubus was more common and to a degree accepted, that a woman having trouble conceiving would actually seek out an incubus, even apparently with the tacit acceptance of the husband.” This amused me, the idea of the incubus as a forerunner of the sperm donor! What she said next though really blew my mind.

“Once he has sexual power over a woman the incubus can also to make some minor physical changes to her. Again, there is the suggestion that some women sought them out to have them rectify minor but troubling blemishes … birthmarks and scars.” Here both the resident scientist and the resident entrepreneur in my brain pricked up their metaphorical ears. I did not need to be a genius to see the potential!

Michelle had come to a halt, but I could sense there was something else important that she needed to tell me but which she found even more embarrassing than what had gone before.

“Come on. Out with it.”

So, she told me, stuttering and uncharacteristically tripping over her words. Once that initial mutual lust is established, that spark between the incubus and his ‘victim’, it is essential that their mutual lust be consummated. If not, then the need would build in the ‘victim’ until she literally went crazy from her unsated lust. For the incubus the results were not so immediately devastating but would be the equivalent of someone eating a diet lacking an essential vitamin, and they would become increasingly unbalanced and reckless in their behavior.

My first reaction was to mentally say ‘Oh shit’, thinking back to Jasmine, Elena and Sister Mary. Then of course I grasped the more pressing issue and raised my gaze to Michelle. She was twisting her hands awkwardly in front of her. It was utterly adorable and with that my decision was made. I was going to have my wicked way with her. After all it seemed it was my duty, so to speak.

Fate had conspired to release me from the constraints that had always governed my sexual relationships. I had never even considered cheating, but this was not cheating since Clara had encouraged me and believed she would benefit. Consent was not an issue since I knew beyond a shadow of a doubt that Michelle wanted this. In fact, it seemed I had become a man/ being/indeterminate entity with an ability to perceive consent, removing the need for it to even be stated.

I was going to enjoy this. I was going to enjoy Michelle.

“Come here,” I said.

She hesitated for only a fraction of a second before getting up and coming around the table to stand in front of me. I examined her, letting my eyes roam freely from her dainty little feet in her heels, up here slim and shapely legs which she evidently looked after meticulously, keeping them smooth and free of hair. My gaze lingered over the way her dress clung to her hips, tight enough to leave a suggestion of the panties she wore, then up over her flat belly to her small but shapely breasts. Though she was wearing a bra I guessed that her nipples were hard enough to show slightly through them, and she was aware of it and this added to her shame, knowing that I knew. And her shame stoked her arousal.

Now my scrutiny had traveled up the perfection of her neck to her lovely face, framed in raven black hair, with her huge brown eyes.

“Tell me, Michelle.”

Though perhaps she guessed what I meant, she said,

“Tell you what, Adam?”

“Tell me why you feel so much shame at your lust for me.”

She did not try to deny that lust, but she did try to get me to show mercy.

“Don’t make me tell you. Please.”

“We both know you have to tell me, Michelle. You told me how this works and I am now going to ‘reward’ you by using it all on you, knowing that you are defenceless against me.”

My senses were steadily becoming more attuned to her responses, and I was able to feel how her pussy had clenched as I said the word ‘defenceless’, even though she had tried to stop it.

“You are worried that your wetness might be showing through that lovely dress of yours aren’t you Michelle?”

She gave a little nod, blushing even more than before.

“The good news is that it isn’t … yet. So, tell me.”

Michelle gave up and began to explain, remaining in front of me exposed to my casually predatory gaze traveling over her body.

“I was raised in a very traditional Chinese family … and they … we … tend to still see … white people as being less cultured than us … less civilized. I know it is stupid, but I guess it has influenced me as well.”

I could begin to see where this was going, and found it rather amusing.

“The only boyfriends I’ve had were Chinese … and my last boyfriend … Jack … had a bit of a complex about white men. It was sort of a mix of superiority and inferiority. He looked down on them culturally and intellectually but … at the same time … he imagined that white men were better able to sexually please a girl … that they had bigger … cocks.”

Again, she hesitated, her pussy having clenched again at saying the word ‘cocks’, which I was sure was not part of her usual refined vocabulary. I mischievously ramped up her embarrassment.

“The answer is yes, Michelle.”

Momentarily derailed, she fell into my little trap.

“What do you mean, Adam?”

“You were wondering if I have a big cock … and the answer is yes.”

This time she clenched so hard her body visibly quivered.

“Please carry on, Michelle.”

She took a deep breath and tried to recover her equilibrium.

“On the one hand he hated the whole idea … but on the other it really … turned him on. He started to read erotic stories about it. They call it WMAF, which stands for ‘white male Asian female’. He even got me to … talk dirty to him along those lines and he found it … incredibly exciting. But afterwards he would be so ashamed. And towards the end he would then turn on me … pretending that it was my fantasy … and that was when I broke up with him.”

She paused, her eyes downcast. Now I spoke.

“But by then the damage was done wasn’t it, Michelle?”

She finally managed to raise her head and look into my eyes, though only briefly.

“Yes. His fantasy had become my fantasy. I started reading those stories … and then … playing … with myself.”

I had to see the funny side. After all anyone who is not incredibly sheltered has come across the whole interracial genre of pornography, most often the idea of black men with big cocks fucking white women, and everything that goes with it. It had always made me a bit queasy since so often, at least in the past, for a black man to be perceived as showing sexual interest in a white woman, regardless of whether it was reciprocated, was a death sentence. Now I was in a parallel situation where I was the threatening ‘savage’ male with the big cock! I was not offended but rather amused and incredibly turned on.

Without warning I stood up, and despite the heels Michelle was now looking up at me.

I slowly reached out to her face, gently stroking her cheek, and began to speak in a low voice, injecting a hint of a growl into it, and a certain ‘roughness’ that was far from the way I was brought up to talk to women.

“My pretty little sophisticated Chinese princess, so refined and delicate, so educated and cultured … you are about to be violated by an uncivilized barbarian.” I guessed that this was not the moment to mention my doctorate in genetic engineering.

She began to lose control of her breathing, first with a gasp and then audibly panting.

“Please, don’t …”

“You know that there is nothing you can do. You are mine by right of conquest.”

It seemed to me that her body had begun to vibrate with lust, like a human tuning fork resonating to my words.

“My big barbarian cock is going to defile and stretch that little Chinese pussy of yours and there is nothing you can do to stop me.”

I doubt she realized it, but her mouth was now opening to emit sweet little gasps, even though until then my only touch had been of my hand on her face, and her diminutive size made my hands seem quite large. What we were doing was a strange mixture of roleplay and something far more powerful. On some level she was playing a part but at the same time it was becoming ever more real for her. She was still Michelle, the sophisticated and highly intelligent academic, but she was also the princess about to be ravished by the barbarian. Perhaps the strangest thing of all was the way I derived the greatest pleasure from knowing that I was fulfilling her fantasy. It was my first introduction to the idea that a good dominant is one who in fact recognizes that the true power lies with the submissive.

“Soon you will no longer be a princess, but just another of my slaves, and do you know what the worst thing about will be for you, the most humiliating thing?”

She shook her head.

“You are going to enjoy it.”

My much more sensitive nose could now clearly detect the aroma of her arousal, and I was sure that I would see a damp patch on her dress were I to look.

I stepped back and sat once more.

“Take your dress off, Michelle.”

She hesitated and looked at me with a mute appeal.

I laughed mockingly, and simply said,

“Do it.”

Unable to look me in the eye, she awkwardly unzipped her dress and took it off. It struck me as comical that she carefully placed her dress on the other chair, and I guessed that it was expensive and she did not want it damaged.

Michelle looked lovely in her delicate matching bra and panties, in elegant and almost virginal looking white lace.

I took my time to examine her once more, knowing how much it was arousing her to be on display like this, and all the while knowing the inevitability of what was coming.

Without prompting this time, she took off her bra. Her breasts were lovely. Small but standing quite high on her body and clearly very firm. Her nipples were surprisingly prominent and the aureoles took up a larger area than I expected. I could not help but say,

“You are very beautiful, Michelle.”

Of course, I then added,

“You will make a perfect slave … once I have trained you.”

I could see the flushing of her skin spreading down her neck, over her shoulders and down her arms.

“Take off your panties but leave your heels on”.

Michelle obeyed, accomplishing the difficult task of removing her panties over her heels with a charming awkwardness.

Now she was naked. The heels were perfectly fulfilling their task of displaying her legs as well as ensuring that both her arse and her breasts were pushed out.

I had contemplated making her undress me, but I decided against it. I simply stood up without a word and took my clothes off. I didn’t rush but neither did I make any kind of display. I was treating her as being of no more importance than the furniture in the room. She was there, just like the chairs or the bed, for my use.

Why was I treating her like this? Because that was what turned her on.

Once I was naked, I sat once more.

Michelle was clearly fighting a powerful urge to stare at my erect cock.

“Look at it.” I commanded.

She did and while she stifled any more obvious reaction, she was probably unaware that her mouth was slightly open.

As I think I mentioned before, I was always a bit awkward about getting blowjobs, struggling to believe that it was what a woman wanted. Maybe I was also troubled by something I once read about them being symbolic of men wanting to silence women. However now, with this scene being choreographed by Michelle’s own lustful urges, I had no trouble saying,

“Kneel before me, girl, and put your hands around my cock.”

In something akin to a trance she did as ordered. The sight of her elegant little hands with their red-painted nails around my manhood was a powerful aphrodisiac. Not that I needed one. Precum was already leaking from the tip of my cock.

“Tell me, Michelle. Is it as big as you imagined?”

Her last vestiges of resistance to her own shameful desires was crumbling.

“It’s a lot bigger.” The strange thing was that even as she said it, and despite my having the same simplistic male ego as any man, I was aware that it was more arousing to her to say that than it was for me to hear it.

I am not sure whether it was the result of my learning about my demonic nature, needs and abilities, or if it was simply that new part of myself asserting itself, but I simply let go in a way I had never done before with a woman. I followed my urges, perhaps happier to do so knowing that ultimately they were Michelle’s. How else could I explain my willingness to use my strength to gently but firmly push her head down so that my cock entered her mouth.

She struggled to open wide enough to get the head in past her teeth. For one bizarre moment I even wondered whether, should she with an involuntary reaction bite it off, my new powers would allow me to regenerate it? This shows I think the strange detachment that allowed me to both be fully in the sensual pleasure of the moment and at the same time to be an observer.