It's time to meet yet another one of the demon clans from my Blood and Fire series. You can read all about the succubi in my short novella, Angel's Keeping, but first enjoy a little taste of their magic with this story about a wistful young man and his darkest fantasy.
It started innocently
enough: she appeared in the coffee shop, a fair-haired girl, a little gothic
doll. She wore dark lipstick, gray eyes
framed by dark lashes and smoky eyeshadow.
She wore her hair with a headband decorated by the skull-and-crossbones
symbol, and her off-the-shoulder black blouse showed the tattoo of a Chinese
dragon winding up her right shoulder. She
sat in the corner, sinking into the cushions of a sofa to watch the readers with
silent interest.
Darren noticed her
during one of his poems, her head tilted slightly to the side as she listened,
fingering the heavy pewter pendant around her throat. She was instantly captivating: dark and
elegant, beautiful in a way he might never have expected.
When he left the stage,
though, she glanced away, almost skittishly, and
stood up again, hurrying out the door.
***
That night, Darry woke
in a cold sweat. The sheets tangled up with his legs; his arms trembled as he shot up
from his mattress, dripping and feverish.
He’d been dreaming
about her. Her gray eyes, turned
shyly up to him as she knelt in front of him, silently asking permission to
touch him.
He drew in a heavy
breath and ran a hand through his damp hair.
Beneath the cool
sheets, his cock gave a petulant throb.
It stood fully erect, almost annoyed that the dream had stopped, that
the velvety feel of that strange, mystifying girl and her gentle hands had been
stolen away from it.
As he lay back down, he
reached absent-mindedly for the stiff member and started kneading it. He hardly thought about what he was doing—the
memory of her pretty face would not be pushed away.
The eager arousal was
still very real, even if his fantasy girl was gone. Putting his other hand behind his head, he
closed his eyes and tried to remember how she had looked to him in the dream: naked,
slender, on her knees with her dark, dark lips pouted in a little cupid’s
bow.
Another throb. He let out a tiny sigh as he closed his
fingers around the head of his cock and slowly stroked the length of it,
squeezing gently as he thought of her pale, slender hands.
Who
is
this girl? he thought. She’s
driving me crazy.
He thought of her
black-cherry lips kissing his flat stomach, just below his navel…her pert
little breasts pressing softly against his groin, nudging against his erection,
her nipples grazing against his thighs.
He imagined her delicate fingers closing preciously around his shaft,
almost like a prayer, and he could see her shy expression again, those big gray
eyes gazing up at him as she brought those lips to the head of his cock and brushed
them across the tip, her warm breath tickling his skin.
He moaned to himself,
closing his fist a little tighter, moving it a little more quickly up and down his
shaft as he imagined her pert little tits pushed up close to his thighs,
imagined tiny, stiff nipples tracing against him. Those cherry lips opened just a little, just
enough to taste the head, to brush it, to kiss it shyly and then trace the tip
of her soft, pink tongue around it, like licking the frosting off the head of a
cupcake. His cock jerked in his palm;
the first bead of semen formed like dew on the head of it and he felt the
climax building, tense along the lines of his groin.
Her mouth, warm and
wet… her tongue, like soft, rolling sugar around his stiff erection. He imagined those long dark lashes closing
over those beautiful eyes as she moaned around him, her purring pleasure
thrumming against his skin.
His rhythm grew faster
now, desperate: in his mind he felt her dragging her tongue up and down his
cock, closing her mouth around it and eagerly taking it deep, savoring it,
adoring it, hungry for his cum. His
free hand came out from under his pillow and fisted in the sheets. He choked
back a cry of release as his cock jumped, the first jet of semen spurting into
his palm—in his mind he was no longer in her mouth but in her pussy, her tight
little cleft convulsing around him as he came in her heated, lithe little body. He came hard, squeezing his cock with a soft
moan as he imagined himself deep in her warm, wet sex.
When the last trembling
spasms of his orgasm gave off, he found himself breathing heavily, still
clutching the sheets, shaking with release and surprised at himself. The intensity of his fantasy—almost frightening.
***
“Do you think she’ll
show up again?”
Winnie—Darry’s longtime
best friend—didn’t seem nearly as enamored by his story of the strange girl in
the coffee shop as he’d hoped she’d be.
“I’m hoping she’ll be
back at tonight’s open mic,” he said. The sounds of the university marketplace
clamored around them; he found himself scanning the crowds for the girl he has
caught such a fleeting glimpse of three nights ago. Winnie was right though: he would probably never see
his mystery girl again, and even if he did she would probably not be nearly as
perfect as he remembered her.
So why couldn’t he stop thinking of her?
“I can’t explain it,
Winnie,” he said, feeling his ears go warm.
“I keep dreaming about this
girl… she keeps me up at night.”
Winnie frowned. “I’m eating.”
“Well, I’m serious,” he
replied. “I can’t get my mind off of
her.”
“You’re insane,” his
friend said. “You’re obsessing.”
He sighed. “Will you come with me?”
She rolled her
eyes. “Why do you want me there?”
“You can be my
wingman.”
“You want your ex to be your wingman on a mission to
meet this fantasy dream girl you’ve never met before and probably don’t have a
chance with?”
He flashed her a
sheepish little smile. “You’re not my ex.
You’re my best friend.”
She threw her head back
with an exasperated groan. It was
enough, though; he knew she’d come. Who
could resist the best friend card when it was played?
As he finished his
burger and got to his feet, stooping to pick up his books, a curious sense came
over him—the same feeling he’d had lingering just over his shoulder for
days. He saw the flash of something out
of the corner of his eye, and he spun, for an instant sure that the little
gothic doll was standing across the university quad watching him.
But he didn’t see her.
***
He’d brought his own
portfolio along to the coffee shop, like he did every night there was a poetry
reading, and he’d hoped his mystery girl would be there to hear him. When she wasn’t, his
heart fell, and he almost turned down his chance to read altogether. There had been members of his literature classes
there, though, who urged him on, and Winnie, too.
“Fine,” he muttered at
her, shoving his portfolio into her hands and picking up his anthology of
British Literature instead. He’d read
William Blake: the Romantic writer was the current subject of study in his
English course and the poems were short and sweet.
Of course, the moment
he read the title of the first piece, she entered the room. He
caught sight of her just as she slipped in the door, not even tinkling the
little bell above it, and he fumbled over the title. Her pretty eyes flickered up to him—shy and
plaintive, just as they were in the dreams he’d been having of her—and she
slipped unnoticed into the corner, quietly taking a seat to listen.
Winnie had noticed his
sudden hesitation, and she followed his gaze across the room to look at
the little doll herself. Tonight, his
mystery girl wore a delicate blouse that covered her throat and cleavage with
an overlay like a spiderweb. There were
no sleeves—the black, interweaving patterns tied up behind her neck, like a
choker. Her flesh beneath the lacy weave
was pale as a delicate champagne rose; beneath the webwork there was an opaque
black length covering the front of her body from her collarbone to her
navel. When she had turned to inch past
a few of the café stools, Darry had seen the opaque material only covered her front; her graceful
back was bare except for more of the dancing woven overlay, and she had another
tattoo right on the small of her back: two small, winged dragons facing away
from each other and some kind of hieroglyphic character between their opposing
wings. All around the hem of the blouse were more black threads, dangling down
like tassels.
A smile came to his
face and he glanced down at Winnie for confirmation—the look on her face, though, was decidedly
suspicious, and when she looked up at him, she had an eyebrow quirked in
troubled doubt.
The strange girl across
from him, though, waited for his voice like a patient devotee.
He read three of
Blake’s poems, and descended the
stage to the subdued but appreciative applause of the other poets in the
crowd. Winnie snatched at his sleeve, demanding his attention.
“That’s your dream girl?” she muttered. “She’s… she’s not much, Darry.”
He frowned. “Are you kidding? She’s gorgeous!”
Already he could feel
the low murmur of arousal in his loins.
The girl was much more
beautiful than he had remembered—she was so beautiful he thought he might lose
it if he had to go one more night knowing only the wispy dream version of her.
“I didn’t think you
were into tattoos, piercings and black makeup,” Winnie scoffed. “You’ve never ogled a single Suicide Girl:
you’re strictly a Playboy Playmates man.
I mean, come on… she’s kind of scary.”
He flushed. “Get off it, she’s pretty.”
“Face it… she’s not
your type.”
“I might
be his type. You never know.”
Winnie spun and Darry
felt his face go instantly warm. His
little gothic doll had drifted right up beside them, silent and unheard.
Her voice was quiet and
silkily gray, without a hint of offense or affront.
“I mean, I assume
you’re talking about me.”
The scent of roses was
all around her. For a moment he was
dizzy from it.
“I’m Genesis,” she said
to him, extending her pretty, delicate hand.
Somehow he managed to take it, though he remained speechless as she gave
it a single, gentle, almost too familiar squeeze, and let it drop.
“That’s a beautiful
name,” he said.
Winnie stared at the
both of them, glancing from one to the other, her face a startled mask of
confusion.
“I enjoyed your reading
of The Tiger,” she
said. “I love Blake. I also like The Marriage of Heaven
and Hell, do you?”
His face fell. “I… haven’t read it.”
She smiled. “We should get together sometime and discuss
it.”
Then, something very
strange happened—Genesis leaned forward, laying a hand tenderly on his shoulder
and brushing her lips against his ear as if they’d been intimate friends
forever. The air around them seemed to
grow thick and shimmery, like the mirages that danced on the horizon on hot
days.
Next to him, Winnie
cringed and shrugged down into her jacket, as if something insectile had
crawled across her neck. Genesis’
voice—though she only whispered—seemed meant as much for her as it was for him.
“I can give you what
you’re looking for,” she said. “Passion…
pleasure… pain. I can give you
everything.”
Her tongue, tiny and
perfect and pink, slowly slid across her white little teeth—distractedly, Darry
realized her canine teeth were pointed, like fangs.
Winnie made a strangled
sound of fear beside him, and Genesis turned her attention there. Darry caught the strange sparkle in her eyes,
like the sun glinting off tinted glass.
“You, too,” she
whispered to Winnie. “I can make you cry
from pure bliss, drown you in your deepest desires until you never want to
resurface. I can teach you what it is to
hurt, and to love…”
Winnie shook her
head—all around them, the entire university café seemed to buzz on, nobody
noticing the strange little spell that was going on between them. Darry saw his best friend flinch; a sudden
look of fear crossed her face and she brought her hand to her mouth.
“Oh, god,” she gagged,
and spun, searching for the bathrooms.
As she rushed off towards the back, he reached out after her, but
Genesis put her own hand on his arm and gently brought it down again.
“Darren,” she said
quietly; it didn’t occur to him to wonder how she had learned his name. “I would very much like for you to walk me
home.”
He found himself
nodding. The smell of roses was like
heaven.
***
The sidewalks were
silent, mostly abandoned, as he followed his little gothic doll back to her
home. It was just the two of them,
walking quietly, and—to his strange surprise—saying nothing. She led, he chased; she glanced up from under
her dark lashes and flashed him a smile, like a lady leading a puppy, and he
trotted obediently at her heels. It was
a clear night, but there was no moon, leaving only the streetlamps to cast
their pools of light along the path.
Her hair was so fine
and pale; he thought it must be soft, like long strands of spider’s silk. Without realizing he was doing it, he reached
out to catch a few strands drifting in the breeze—and Genesis ducked away,
spinning to face him.
At first he thought she
must be angry, but she was smiling again, a sweet little smile, like dusted
sugar. They had stopped between the
streetlamps; in the slanted darkness he thought she looked very, very pale, almost
white.
“Darry,” she said
quietly. “Do you want to touch me so
badly?”
He couldn’t believe his
own words as they escaped him. “Oh, God, yes.”
His mind was spinning,
spinning… he knew, distractedly, that this was insane, that he was following a
stranger home with no idea who she was or what she wanted from him; he’d left
Winnie behind when she was sick and in trouble, and all he could think of was
this girl’s gossamer silver hair, her pearlescent white skin, her soft, velvety
gray eyes…
She laughed quietly. It was like a little patter of rain and wind
chimes.
He sidled up closer to
her, and when she didn’t shy away this time he slipped his arms around her
waist. She was shorter than him, coming
only to his chest—he could bow his head and breathe in the scent of her hair,
clean and silky beneath his lips.
“Who are you?” he
whispered. “What are you doing to me?”
“Nothing you haven’t
dreamed about a thousand times,” she whispered back. She tilted her head up to him, those black
cherry lips parted in a pouty smile, offering them up for him to steal a
kiss. Still lost in the haze, the
floating perfume of roses all around him, he did.
Her mouth was soft, and
gently eager. When he kissed her she
reached up her hands to cradle the back of his head—she even tasted like cherries.
“Sweet boy,” she
chuckled as their lips parted. “Do you
know what you’ve stumbled on?”
He shook his head.
She was quiet just a
moment, searching his eyes—then, she laughed again, a merry tinkling sound, and
his momentary trance was broken.
“You don’t want to
wait, do you?” she asked sneakily, pressing her body a little closer to
his. He couldn’t have lied to her:
already he had a raging erection straining under his jeans, and she had to feel
it as much as he did. He shook his head,
and pressed his own hips closer to hers, as if he could show her any more
plainly by rubbing his insistent cock against the flat of her belly.
“Then,” she murmured
sweetly, taking a moment to glance from side to side. “Why don’t you do it?”
He gave her a look of
surprise, and followed her glance up and down the street. It was a residential block, with well-lit
houses lining both sides of the road; anyone could come outside to bring their
trash barrels to the curb, or to let the dog out, or smoke a cigarette on the
porch. Anyone could drive past, pulling
up to any one of the houses right across from them.
“You want to do it,”
Genesis said. “I can tell.”
“Here?” he
whispered. “Right… right now?”
“Uh-huh,” she
replied. Taking another quick assessment
of their surroundings, she smiled as her gaze rested on a white garden fence,
marking the edge of someone’s lawn.
“There,” she said,
tugging him in that direction. Wriggling
out of his arms, she quickly slipped towards it.
“Genesis!” he
whispered. She threw him a flirting
glance over her shoulder, then climbed up on the little white railing, sitting
herself on the crossbeam between two posts.
As he crossed the small
space of grass to her, she reached out her arms and pulled him into an
embrace. Wrapping one arm around his
neck to kiss him, she let her other hand drift down to expertly unfasten his
jeans and slip the zipper down.
Before he knew it she
had her hand on his cock—like a patient admirer she slowly caressed it, petting
it firmly but gently as she coaxed it free between them.
“Christ,” he
murmured. “What are you doing?”
She pulled him closer,
lifting one leg up around his waist. He
saw that, beneath her knee-length, flowing black skirt, she had on thigh-high
nylons… but no panties. Her soft, sweet
womanhood was clean-shaven, smooth like an alabaster statue.
His cock gave a
familiar, eager throb. He closed his
eyes and moaned quietly, and pressed his body against hers. He could feel her smiling as he kissed her,
leaning back on the fence to open herself up to him, guiding his cock to the
opening of her smooth, pink cleft. A
thousand questions went through his head but they were all immediately
forgotten as he inhaled her perfume again—roses and wine and incense, some
bitter, ancient incense—and she slipped the head of his cock into her wet, warm
flesh.
Another moan—he slid
himself in slowly, savoring each dewy inch of her little pussy, tight and
welcoming. He decided he had to be
dreaming again: it couldn’t be real, fucking his little gothic doll in public, right there on the street in
front of somebody’s well-lit house. But,
there it was. She took him in with a
happy sigh, tilting her head back and guiding his hands to her hips.
“Oh,” he muttered, eyes shut, slipping
into a slow, gratifying rhythm. Her
pussy was hot and eager; she lifted her hips to meet him with every deep,
indulgent thrust, and he felt her firm and tighten around him when he slid it
all the way in.
“Do whatever you like
to me,” Genesis whispered in his ear.
“Oh, sweet boy…you just know somebody's going pop their head out their door, and see you
going at it like a horny dog on their front lawn…”
He groaned in response,
fucking her a little harder. She laughed
happily, putting her other hand behind his neck and hanging away from him,
opening up wider and taking him even deeper.
He pressed her against the little white picket fence and thrust faster,
more eagerly, driving his cock again and again into her slick, perfect sex. He
could already feel his orgasm building, his cock straining as her pussy
tightened around him, squeezing as he withdrew as if she couldn’t bear to let
him go, as if she needed his hard, desperate fucking to fulfill a deep,
forbidden craving.
She let out a moan,
thrusting her hips against him, eyes rolled back in pleasure. He fucked her faster, banging her sweet wet
pussy harder, feeling the hungry, frantic drive to explode inside of her, to
fill her up with it over and over.
“Can I—can I come in
you?” he gasped against her ear. She
nodded, head turned to the sky, body arched against his as she moaned in
rapture.
“Do it,” she
whispered. “Come in me as deep as you
can… please, Darry, fuck me until it runs down my thighs—”
“What are you?” he breathed, his rhythm
intensifying. He could feel it
approaching now—each hungry stroke brought him closer and closer, his cock
throbbing and swelling in her, the heated pleasure climbing with every deep,
slick thrust.
She suddenly let out a
voiceless gasp, thumping her hips against him, rocking back with a groan—he
felt her coming, her pussy tightening around him, quivering and clenching with
desperate pleasure. An instant later he
reached his own peak, and he was coming inside her, burying his cock in her as the spasms of orgasm shuddered through him. He came so hard he wasn’t sure she could take
it all, and sure enough as he pulled out it was running down her delicate pussy
lips, glistening on her thighs.
“Oh, God,” he murmured,
staggering away from her, grabbing his cock without realizing it and
immediately starting to knead the head.
“Oh, fuck…”
Then, she surprised
him: sliding down from the fence she dropped onto her knees and quickly took
his cock in her mouth. Sucking eagerly,
she licked every last drop of his cum and hers off of it, swallowing without question,
winding her tongue around the head with a hungry sound of joy.
“What are you doing?”
he panted, but then he gave another deep moan as he was coming again without
warning, semen jetting on her face and throat and blouse.
“Oh, God, I’m sorry,”
he muttered, but she only chuckled.
Blinking a little, she
returned to her licking. She was
patient, more gentle this time, slowly claiming the last of the cum on his
cock. When she was satisfied, she stood
up, and wiped the cum off her face, licking it off her fingers as she did.
Darry practically fell
backwards, putting out his hand to lean against a tree. Genesis gave him a sweet, joyous little
smile, waiting while he regained his breath.
“Is that better?” she
asked, when he finally managed to rearrange himself, and stood up straight
again.
“God, Geni,” he
muttered. “I don’t know—that was… God.”
“I like you, Darry,”
she said, taking his hand affectionately in hers. Again, he was struck suddenly by the glinting
sparkle in her eyes… like coins, glittering silver coins. And her teeth… they looked even more like fangs now.
“Would you like to come
home with me now?” she asked softly, brushing back a strand of his hair. “We can do whatever you like there… Anything
at all. You can do whatever you want to
me.”
He knew, somehow, that
this was not right. He knew there was
something very wrong about his gothic doll, something scary and dangerous and
thrillingly insane.
But… she was so beautiful… and he wanted her so badly…
He somehow managed a
nod, forgetting about those strangely bright eyes and her preternaturally sharp
little teeth. He only wanted to follow
her, to feel her soft skin and get lost in that strange perfume. He wanted to be in her again, again and
again, filling her over and over with his seed.
Nothing else seemed quite as important anymore.
He had to follow her
now.
Another throb. He let out a tiny sigh as he closed his
fingers around the head of his cock and slowly stroked the length of it,
squeezing gently as he thought of her pale, slender hands.“That’s your dream girl?” she muttered. “She’s… she’s not much, Darry.”
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