Locked in with a Succubus, part 4

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...

Locked in with a Succubus, part 3

Part 1. Part 2.

“I’m a prostitute,” Nicole said, absolutely straight-faced and without a hint of shame. “Men pay money to have sex with me.”

Her directness completely threw George off.

“Well...um...”

“Does that bother you?” Nicole asked in a voice that sounded as if it had been dipped in honey.

“No...um...I mean if you’re...um...happy...if it’s what...”

He held out his palms.

“I’m not judging,” he said.

Oh dear. George knew he was making a hash of it and tried to rally.

“I mean, if you look at it a certain way, I do the same thing with the people I go and visit,” he said. “We’re both giving people a bit of company. Only I don’t have to do the...uh...physical side of things...”

George ran aground.

“I’m trivialising it, aren’t I? It’s not the same at all. I’m not forced to...uh...do those...uh...other things...”

Dear oh dear. Keep on digging why don’t you, George.

Nicole didn’t seem to be taking any offence. She laughed at his discomfort. That was good, he supposed.

“It’s fine,” Nicole said. “I get paid well and I enjoy the work.”

Understanding suddenly dawned on George. There could be another reason why Miss Kitson had sent him here.

“Um...Miss Kitson, she didn’t give you any money to...”

“To do what?” Nicole asked, affecting an air of deceitful innocence.

“Oh, nothing,” George said.

It must be the wine, causing his tongue to flap like a flag in a gale.

“Nothing?” Nicole said. She raised a pencil-thin eyebrow.

Her sunglasses made it impossible to tell, but right then George fancied she was staring right through him with a piercing stare. She examined him, no trace of emotion on the flawless mask of her face.

“You’re a virgin, aren’t you,” she stated.

“What,” George protested. “Me? No...of course not. I mean...I’ve had my share...I know what it’s...” he blustered. “Yes,” he admitted. No point lying; she’d see right through it anyway.

“I thought as much,” Nicole smiled. “I saw how uncomfortable you looked whenever I stood close to you. You’re shy around women.”

“Yes,” George admitted. “Don’t make a big thing about it, okay.”

“I’m not judging,” Nicole said, smiling as she held out her palms.

George realised he’d used the same response when she’d told him she was a prostitute. He laughed.

“Another glass?” Nicole asked.

“What?” George looked down. He’d managed to empty the glass without realising it. “Oh, yes please.”

Nicole refilled his glass and walked back to her seat, leaving behind a swish of her musky scent. It really was rather fine, George thought as he started on a second glass. Fruity, bubbly...vital, somehow. Really moreish. He’d have to be careful he didn’t drink it too quickly, in case it went straight to his head.

He noticed Nicole still hadn’t touched her glass.

“You’re not drinking?” he asked.

“I don’t drink wine,” she answered. “I do love the aroma of a freshly popped bottle, though.” She picked up the glass and swirled it beneath her nose, savouring the aroma. “Especially a vintage brimming with such youthful vigour.”

George smiled and shook his head. Beautiful, delightful and very odd.

“How old?” Nicole asked.

George realised she’d gone back to the other topic. “Thirty-four,” he answered with a grimace.

Nicole’s supple red lips formed a perfect ‘o’. She sat back in her chair.

“Really?” she said.

George nodded.

“I always thought it would be one of those things that would just...you know...happen one day. And, well, it didn’t. Or rather it hasn’t.”

“I think it’s sweet,” Nicole said. “It’s admirable to wait so long for that certain special person.”

George’s expression became pained.

Nicole raised an eyebrow. “You’re not waiting for someone?” she said.

“I’m not against the idea of sex for a bit of fun,” George said. “It’s the deception I don’t like. You know how it is. Some blokes will say anything to get in a girl’s knickers. And then they’ll kick them out of bed the next morning without so much as a how-d’you-do. There’s the other stuff as well—getting them drunk, getting them vulnerable—”

“Paying for it,” Nicole interrupted.

“Paying for it,” George repeated. “Drugging the poor lasses if they’re desperate and ratbag enough. Raping them.” George shook his head. “I’m not going down that route,” he said. “I’d rather go without than resort to tricking or forcing the girl.”

Nicole made circular motions with her finger on the table. “So you’re not against the idea of casual sex, so long as the other participant is willing.”

“Oh no,” George said. “I’m not one of those no-sex-before-marriage types. Not that I’ve got anything against them,” he hastily added. “I’m fine with the idea of sex for fun, with the right precautions of course. It’s just I’m a bit...well...crap around girls as you noticed. And I’m not exactly a prime specimen of manhood. Let’s face it, there’re easily hundreds of blokes a girl at a nightclub would rather take home first before getting to me.”

George paused. Nicole didn’t appear to be paying attention. Hard to say with her sunglasses—why was she still wearing them?—but she looked like she was staring into space. George watched as she ran a moist pink tongue over her supple red lips. He caught a whiff of her musky perfume again. Stronger this time.

“Sorry,” Nicole said, snapping out of her sudden trance. “Daydreaming.”

Had her pale cheeks picked up a red tinge?

“Um, Miss Kitson, she didn’t...?”

“No, Inari has not given me any money,” Nicole said with a smile.

“That’s a relief,” George said. “She has some very strange ideas sometimes. About what she thinks people need.”

Nicole leaned forward towards George.

“Does it disappoint you Inari hasn’t given me any money to have sex with you?” she asked.

George recoiled. That directness again. He guessed it came with her profession, but it sure made him feel uncomfortable.

“No...um...I mean you’re...um...really beautiful and I’m sure you’re very...um...good at what you do...”

Good golly, could he dig himself any deeper?

George took a deep breath.

“I’m sure it would be very pleasant,” he said, “but it wouldn’t feel right. I’d always know you only did it because you were paid to. It would feel like cheating, like it didn’t count.”

Nicole smiled at his tongue-tied stammering.

“It’s fine. I understand perfectly,” she said.

“You do?” George said, letting out a sigh of relief. He looked down at his ratty old jumper. “Besides,” he said. “I must be way below your usual clientele. Who are they?” he asked. “Lawyers? Politicians? Football stars?”

Nicole regarded him with an enigmatic little smile.

“Is that the writer in you?” she said. “Digging for interesting stories.”

George blushed. “Sorry. Mustn’t pry.”

Nicole leaned right across the table. Conspiratorial.

“Would you like a little tour of my house of sin?” she whispered.

To be continued...

Locked in with a Succubus, part 2

Here's part 2 of the little mini-serial I'm running here. Part 1, the introduction, is here.

This was a nice place, George Mead thought as he walked up the steps to the front door. Elegant Georgian terraced housing stretched right up the hill. A quiet street. Posh without being ostentatious.

He rang the bell and was surprised by the woman who answered. She was younger than he’d expected, and far more attractive.

“Nicole?” he asked.

“Yes,” the woman replied. “And you must be George. I was told to expect you.”

She was gorgeous. Delicate high cheekbones, luscious red lips and pale white skin on a face that could easily grace the cover of a fashion magazine. Her jet-black hair was cut in a stylish bob with wings to frame those perfect features. Her figure was hidden by an elegant white fur coat. Her eyes were also hidden; she wore a large pair of black sunglasses. They looked very chic.

Absolutely gorgeous. She could have been a French film star, or a perfume model. What was he doing here?

“That’s right,” George said. “Miss Kitson sent me.”

Nicole didn’t seem so thrilled. Actually, that was a bit of an understatement. George thought he was about to get a door slammed in his face.

“I bring wine,” he said, holding a bottle aloft with a cheerful grin.

The bottle was Miss Kitson’s idea. It was also her bottle. George didn’t have a clue on the quality. There wasn’t even a name on the bottle, just a label featuring silhouettes of sylph-like women dancing around oversized bunches of grapes on a plain yellow-gold background.

It overcame Nicole’s reticence. She looked at the bottle and her cold hostility thawed into a warm smile.

“Come inside,” she said.

George tried to place her accent. He didn’t think it was French, although it had a similar sensual eroticism. Brazilian?

“Let me take your jacket,” Nicole said as he crossed the threshold into a neat little hallway.

“Er, thanks,” George said.

He let her help him even though he didn’t really need the help. Was it him, or was she standing a little closer than was entirely necessary? She seemed to linger a little over helping him remove his garment. Odd girl, George thought as he watched her hang his jacket up next to the door. Extremely beautiful, but odd.

She picked up the bottle of wine and examined the label. Her supple lips turned up in a smile.

“Will you join me for a glass?” she asked.

“Sure,” George replied. It was why he was here after all.

He followed her through into a large kitchen-slash-dining room. For all her glamorous appearance, Nicole’s house looked surprisingly normal, bland even. Her kitchen was so clean and tidy George wondered if she’d ever prepared a meal in it. Nicole opened a cupboard and brought out a pair of pristine wine glasses. She popped open the wine bottle and took in the released aroma with a murmur of pleasure. George caught a whiff of something both fruity and spicy. Nicole poured out two glasses, but instead of passing one to George, placed both on the table instead.

She pulled out a chair and motioned George to sit on it. Again, she seemed to linger a little longer than was necessary behind him. This time George felt a strange prickling sensation on the back of his neck. What an odd girl.

Nicole moved away, leaving behind traces of an exhilarating musk that crackled up George’s nostrils. Nice perfume. She sat opposite from him, her eyes still hidden behind big black shades.

The wine was an odd colour, George thought as he examined his glass. He’d thought it was a white, but it was yellower than any white he’d ever seen, almost like sparkling honey or amber. It must be a specialist brand. That would explain the label.

“I hope this isn’t really expensive,” he said.

“Why?” Nicole asked.

“It’d be wasted on me,” he said. “I’ve got no palette to speak of at all when it comes to wine. It’s all grape juice gone off to me.”

Nicole laughed.

In truth, George didn’t really like wine, but he took an experimental sip anyway. It would be rude not to drink it.

Mmm, that was nice, really nice. It was sweet rather than dry and made his whole tongue come to life, like there was a wild party kicking off in his mouth. He took another sip—bigger this time—and relished the fizzing sensation as it slipped down his throat. Delicious. He took a gulp. He could drink this all night, or at least until he fell out of his chair.

Nicole swirled the glass under her nose. Her nostrils dilated as she savoured the aroma. She didn’t drink.

“How do you know Inari?” She asked.

“Miss Kitson? I’m sort of her odd-job man,” George answered. “I do a bit of gardening here, mend a few wires there. That kind of thing. I help her out with her psychiatry work sometimes.”

“Really,” Nicole said, leaning forwards. Her wine glass was in her hand, but she still hadn’t touched a drop.

“Well...” George started. “I say help out, but really it’s just talking to people. And listening. Miss Kitson sends me out to visit people and I talk to them and listen to their stories. They’re usually old dears, poor things. It’s sad really. Their husbands are long dead, the family doesn’t give a toss, so they’re left on their own. I go over, have a cuppa with them and try and cheer them up. That’s all people need sometimes—someone to talk to. I don’t need any fancy certificates to do that.”

George looked at Nicole.

“I thought that’s why Miss Kitson sent me here, but you don’t exactly look...”

“Old,” Nicole finished for him with a smile. “I’m not lonely either,” she added.

Her smile held extra meaning.

Of course, George thought. A girl as pretty as her would never lack for male attention. It didn’t mean she always had someone to talk to. Being beautiful wasn’t always a guarantee against feeling isolated and separated. Maybe that was why Miss Kitson had sent him.

“But do you ever get a chance to talk?” George asked.

Nicole cocked her head to the side, as if George had said something which had genuinely surprised her. She looked at him and then laughed. It was light-hearted laughter, nothing malicious or mocking about it, more like she was laughing at herself for missing something obvious.

“It’s very noble,” Nicole said, “giving up your time to talk to those lonely old dears.”

“I like it,” George said. “I’ve always wanted to be a writer. To be good at that you have to get out there and hear what people have to say. Some of these people, the things they’ve seen throughout their lifetimes, the stories they know...It’s fascinating. I never understand why they get abandoned when they have such tales to tell. It’s tragic.”

Nicole looked at George with an impish smile. “I can give you some stories,” she said. “Did Inari ever tell you what I do for a living?”

“Um no, I don’t believe she did,” George said. He wondered what was coming next.

“I’m a prostitute,” Nicole said, absolutely straight-faced and without a hint of shame. “Men pay money to have sex with me.”

To be continued...

A new manyeyedhydra mini-serial starting here!

It’s time to try and boost readership of this blog. Plus I haven’t posted any original stories up on the internet for a while. A while back someone asked for a bone. Well my friend, here’s a nice juicy one for ya.

I have an ulterior motive for this (besides the obvious if-you-like-this-then-go-buy-my-books). There’s a short story I’ve been working on since Christmas that keeps juddering to a halt. By breaking it up into nice bite-sized chunks and posting them up here, I might start to feel enough deadline pressure to get the damn thing finished. Readers baying for new chapters often has that effect.

Er, Succubus Summoning 201. Shhhh!

The story will start proper next Sunday, but in the meantime here’s an introduction to whet the appetite. It goes without saying all work is copyright me (as in M.E. Hydra). Reproduce it elsewhere and I’ll send Nÿte round to tear out your twitching soul. Also, if you happen to have found your way here despite being less than eighteen years old, please leave now. You might be safe for the first chapter or so, but sooner or later the story will head off into areas that will make your hormone-riddled brain implode and I really don’t want to be landed with the clean-up bill.

Anyway—

* * * *

Locked in with a Succubus

A phone rang in an innocuous little terraced townhouse. It was answered by an extremely attractive woman in a chic white fur coat.

“What do you want, Inari?”

The woman seemed irritated by the intrusion.

“Why me? I told you I don’t want to get involved. I’m not one of your game pieces.”

The girl paced. Her delicate nostrils flared with anger.

“Gift?”

The girl paused. Suspicion and anger gave way to surprise.

“Really? How old?”

She heard the answer. Her full red lips curled up in a predatory smile. Her cheeks flushed bright red.

“Oooh...”

To be continued...