Part 1. Part 2. Part 3.
Time to start turning up the heat...
“Would you like a little tour of my house of sin?” she whispered. “I’m sure you must be curious to see how a high-class escort plies her trade.”
George was, actually.
“Why not,” he smiled.
Nicole looked at her wine glass. It was still full.
“It would be a shame to let this go to waste. Here,” she said, passing him the glass.
Well, it would be a shame, George thought. Before he knew it, he’d tipped the glass back and poured the whole contents down his throat.
“Heh, seems like you really like it,” Nicole said. “Why don’t you bring the bottle with you?”
Whoa, George thought as bubbles of light-headedness trickled up through his brain. He was probably going to regret this come tomorrow morning. Against his better judgment he picked up the bottle anyway. Damn stuff was so moreish.
Nicole led him through the back of her house. It seemed a lot larger than it had looked from the outside. And deeper. She led him down some steps and into a maze-like basement area. The first door Nicole opened led to a very odd room. It looked like a cross between a medieval dungeon and a fitness suite. There were stocks and full-sized crosses covered in black padding. A cage big enough to hold a man if he was on his hands and knees stood in the far corner. A variety of whips and floggers were mounted on the walls.
“Is this your...?” George asked.
“Yes, it’s my dungeon,” Nicole answered. “I bring naughty boys here and teach them some discipline.”
She looked at George and smiled. The bright red colour of her lips contrasted with her pale complexion.
“Have you been a naughty boy?” she asked.
“No no no!” George said, backing away with his hands up. He was thankful Nicole was still wearing her large shades. He suspected he’d be quite unnerved by the look she was giving him right now.
Nicole doubled up with laughter.
“That room was scary,” George said once they were back in the corridor. “Do people really pay you to tie them up and beat them?”
Nicole nodded. “People in power often have their day-to-day lives filled with hard choices. I think sometimes they enjoy ceding that power to someone else.”
George looked at her as if she was speaking Swahili. He shook his head.
“Diff’rent strokes for diff’rent folks,” he said.
They continued on through Nicole’s lower floor. She skipped the next door, but opened the one after it. Now this room was more like how George expected a tart’s boudoir to be. The lighting was low and soft. The walls were hung with heavy black velvet drapes. A huge circular bed took up most of the centre of the room. It was covered in glossy black silk sheets and plush black pillows. An apothecary’s dream of bottles and vials stood on the back shelves.
“This is my relaxation room,” Nicole said.
“Is that a waterbed?” George asked.
“Yes,” Nicole answered.
He pushed down on the edge of the bed and watched the surface sway with wet sloshing sounds.
“Can I?” he asked.
“Be my guest,” Nicole smiled.
“I’ve always wanted to find out what one of these felt like,” George said.
He put the wine bottle down, took off his shoes and dived backwards onto the bed. The bed rocked and swayed beneath him, waves lifting his body up and down. He grinned as he stared up at his reflection in the mirror on the ceiling.
“Yes, I think this is the right room,” Nicole said, looking about her.
George lifted his head up, puzzled.
Nicole took off her coat and hung it on a peg next to the door. Her body was even more gorgeous than George had imagined. She was curvaceous around her chest and ass, but there wasn’t an ounce of spare fat anywhere else. George knew this because he was seeing a lot more of Nicole’s body than he was entirely comfortable with. Beneath her coat she wore a skimpy black bra, panties, thigh-length fishnet stockings, and that was about it.
Her skin was the biggest surprise. She was covered from head to toe in black tattoos. It was an unusual design; George hadn’t seen anything like it before. It looked as if a mad scientist had scribbled all over her body in black pen, covering every inch of her exposed flesh in bizarre symbols and pictograms.
Nicole hadn’t finished disrobing. The bra went next. The mad designs continued across the ample swell of her breasts. Her left breast was decorated with a complex whorl that spiralled all the way down to the pink disc of her areole. George thought she didn’t really need additional help to draw the gaze to the perfect curves of her bosom.
His mouth gaped open. She was topless. Why was she topless?
“Uh...I thought you said Miss Kitson hadn’t given you any money.”
Nicole looked at George and smiled. “She hasn’t.”
Her skin wasn’t the biggest surprise.
She finally took off her shades and shook out her hair. A chill ran through George. What was that at her temples? Horns? And her eyes—god, her eyes—where were they? He saw now why she always wore those dark glasses. There were two empty black wells where her eyes should be. Nicole stretched her shoulders and a pair of black bat wings erupted from her back. A black tail—slender as a whip and ending with a spade-like point—unfurled down the back of her legs.
“Ah, much better,” she said.
She smiled at George. It was the same elegantly angled face; the same full, kissable lips; the same gorgeous contours of her body. Her features should have been perfect, but they also came with horns, wings, tail and those unsettling empty black eyes. It turned her beauty into something horribly wrong. Sexy into perverse.
“W-w-what are you?” George asked.
“I’m a succubus. I guess Inari neglected to tell you that,” Nicole said. “And you appear...” She turned a key in the door, locking it with a click. She hung the key around her neck like a pendant and dropped it down into her cleavage. She turned back to George. A predatory smile was on her blood-red lips. “...to be locked in with me.”
To be continued...