I, Succubus Pt. 05

The next month in the demon-prince's kingdom was... intense.

My display had caused no small degree of comment, and my destruction of the chief sorceror had created a power vacuum, and no small number of important nobles made themselves heard on the subject.

Some wanted me humbled, and punished for my insolence, but these were few in number and weak in spirit, and the cries of the weak are ignored by the strong.

Some wanted to see another demonstration, motivated by lust or mischief or both, and these were larger in number and did as I wished them to do, for manipulation is a tool that can be used to magnify one's strength many times over.

Some wanted to benefit themselves, and chief among these were the sorcerors who had served beneath the chief wizard and who now vied for his position, and others who fancied themselves magical practitioners, and these, too, did my work for me, for the more hue and cry that was created for my return the better.

But I could not be found.

They tried. They sought me with magical arts, conjurings, sometimes drawing forth other beings and sending them to seek me, but I refused to be found, save by the few such beings I chose to destroy for sustenance and amusement.

They tried summoning me directly, but the chief wizard had held close to himself his secrets, and the specific way he summoned me was lost upon his demise. I could have resisted it, or evaded it, but his paranoia had led him to render all his notes in tomes that disintegrated when he died, and so when his acolytes went to his rooms they found nothing but ashes upon his shelves.

They tried using their own powers to summon me, but trying to summon a being you do not know is a tricky business, and trying to summon a very specific individual without knowing their name or anything about them is taxing even to the skilled, and these acolytes were not skilled.

The demon-prince was first amused, and then agitated, and then irate, and then enraged. He had not loved his magus, but having the man so publicly and easily destroyed reflected upon him, for if such a man rose so high while being so weak who could say but that others might be as vulnerable? Perhaps the demon-prince himself?

Such talk, once begun, is difficult to quash, but without my presence, without a convincing show of his power, such talk was inevitable, and so it inevitably began. Whispers in corridors, furtive meetings in dimly-lit rooms, secret messages passed between enemies making common cause, all that and more began, which suited my plans well.

But there was one in that kingdom that could summon me, one that knew my name, one that harbored no love for the demon-prince.

His consort.

Genevieve.

Genevieve saw what was going on around her, and suspected that it was my intention, but she had other things to concern herself with.

She had opened her mind to lust when she invited me to share what I felt as I fed, and now lust burned within her. To be the consort to the demon-prince was to endure his depravities without giving her true feelings away, and she had mastered this art, but after feeling what I had felt she had begun to hunger for it.

At first she thought this was merely a late bloom of lust, of her body accepting his in a way she had not before, but it wasn't long at all before she realized what she was truly feeling.

It was when she had that realization that she decided that calling out to me wasn't merely something she was considering but was something she was very definitely going to do.

And so she did.

I prepared myself very differently this time than I had when I was first summoned to that realm. Then I had come in a dress, aiming to entice and to seduce the eyes and minds of those who watched. This time, though, what was called for was not seduction, or not of that kind.

What was called for, what she would react to, what would seduce her completely, was power.

And so I dressed in leather, severe and sexual, carefully-worked and formfitting and polished until it gleamed. The outfit brought out precisely the effect I wanted, domination and control and strength.

I did not want to merely be seen.

I wanted seeing me to bring those who beheld me another step closer to working my will.

Strength comes in many forms, and preparation serves often as the handmaiden to conquest.

Genevieve's time since my summoning had been... difficult.

To be in a kingdom bursting at the seams with political tensions is troublesome enough, but to be the figurehead attached to the monarch of such a kingdom is to spend each day upon a tightrope with jagged rocks far beneath. Add to this that her mind and body had been given over to lust far beyond what she'd known, and that the demon-prince had become more sexually demanding, and that she had begun to truly enjoy herself in ways she knew well to be inspired by corruption, and her state of mind could best be described as frantic.

And yet, to the outside world and most especially to the demon-prince, she had to remain as she had always been, calm and placid, grateful and generous, yielding willingly to advances she had thought odious before. She was observed constantly, as the consorts of rulers always are, and so she had to remain impassive, pristine, virtuous, obedient while inwardly she was consumed with lust, with need, with sexual demands she could not sate, could not meet, could not free herself from.

She tried to resist calling me, tried to resist for reasons she could not articulate even to herself, and yet from the start she had known that it was a resistance doomed to failure.

And so, one night, ten days after my first appearance on that realm, when the demon-prince was out on a short tour of his kingdom, she had dismissed her servants, locked and bolted the door, and prepared herself.

There were soundproofing wards in the door, and she activated them, she being a practitioner of small skill but some competence, and then she dressed, choosing a formless royal robe and nothing beneath. The robe itself was no tool of seduction, bulky and thick, but pulling it open to reveal herself instantly nude would be a powerful tool in a seductive arsenal, and moreover one that she could use to walk through the palace if she wished with none the wiser but she and her prospective lover.

She had no lovers, of course, save for the demon-prince, but light flirtation is an art known to every woman, and hope is a leash men willingly place upon themselves.

So she clothed herself, and stood in that concealing robe, and faced the mirror, and whispered my name.

"Vanya," she said, her voice low, but clearly audible, and I appeared.

Behind her.

I was so close that a bare inch separated my breasts from the back of her robe. She saw me in the mirror, gasped, spun about, and she stepped backward and I stepped forward, her retreating and me advancing, until she was backed up against the mirror and I leaned in over her.

She was trembling, unable to control her fear or her arousal completely, but she tried. She swallowed hard, endeavouring to master her voice before she spoke.

"I had expected," she said, her voice almost even, almost controlled, "you to appear within the mirror."

"If you do what people expect," I said, my face close enough to hers that she could feel the heat radiating from me, "you can achieve no more than they permit. Become unpredictable and you will go far."

She met my eyes as I spoke, which took an effort of will. My eyes were orbs of solid black, and focusing upon them is hard for the mortal mind. Her eyes were a deep and verdant green, and in them I saw ambition, and frustration, and lust, and more.

"You could destroy me," she said, and this she did manage to say without trembling.

"I could," I agreed, bringing one hand up to stroke her cheek, letting her feel the touch of my fingertips beneath the soft, smooth leather of my gloves. Her body stiffened at my touch, then shivered slightly, an uncontrollable tell, a sign of the arousal she felt burning within her.

"You could-" she said, and I parted my lips and permitted my fangs to extend and that silenced her.

"I could," I whispered, "take you to heights of sexual ecstasy beyond your mind's ability to comprehend them. I could burn out your mind with lust and leave you an empty, soulless husk. I could drain and revive you a dozen times, prolong your pleasure for so long as I wished, and when the end came I could make you gratefully beg for it, beg and mean it."

A curious change happened as I spoke, a change few would have understood but I grasped completely.

Fear vanished from her eyes, but her lust only grew. Her breathing grew deeper, steadier, her body calming even as her mind was set on fire.

"You do not mean to destroy me," she said, and now her voice truly was steady.

"I do not," I said, fingers trailing along the side of her neck, down to the high collar of her robe.

"What do you intend?" She asked, drawing herself up slightly, as a soldier at attention.

"I intend," I said, "to destroy your lord husband and leave you on his throne. I intend to leave this place with you as an ally indebted to me, a debt I may call home in the future. I intend to guide you to dominance, and leave you to control it if you can."

"If I can," she said, putting no small weight on the word 'if'.

"If," I repeated. "Power is not a gift, or a token. Power is a war that ends only in death."

"Well then," she whispered, smiling for the first time, a fierce smile that suited her well. She reached up to the neck clasp of her robe, unfastened it, let the robe fall free, revealing her naked body to me. "Train me. Teach me. Make me a warrior."

And I did.

I brought one hand up, encircling her throat, constricting slightly, used my free hand to gather a handful of her long, golden hair, tug it taut, holding her head steady. I brought my face closer, staring into her eyes, seeing everything she felt reflected in them, letting her stare into the endless black depths of my own eyes in turn.

"Lesson the first," I said, speaking directly into her mind and not aloud. "Keep your head. Retain your focus amid chaos and chaos becomes your ally, and the doom of your foes."

Then I kissed her. Warm and wet and slow, the aphrodisiac venom coating my lips seeping in as she met the kiss and returned it.

She did not try to evade, nor stand stoically, but welcomed my lips with her own, meeting my passion and showing me her fire, and as she felt the venom seeping in she gave herself to it, letting the arousal build unhindered. She was showing me acceptance, and eagerness, and a willingness to learn, and within it she betrayed no fear.

Fear did not drive her, nor chasten her, nor hinder her.

I let the kiss break, pulled back an inch, and she held herself back from following, showing me her control, showing me her focus, showing me her embrace of my lesson. Her eyes met mine, and much passed between us in that moment. I dropped my hands, stepped backwards, waited to see what she would do.

The aphrodisiac, my presence, the lingering effects of our contact as I fed, all coursed through her, and yet she held herself back from surrendering to lust. Instead she raised her arms above her head and turned slowly, performing a graceful pirouette, showing off her body to me, a body that invited lust in those who beheld it.

She was beautiful, taller than the norm, though not so tall as me, her skin that peculiar golden tone that only the sun's kiss on pale skin can bestow, looking as if lit from within, with long, blonde hair and small, tight breasts that moved and swayed with her motions. Her sex was close-shaven, and glistened with arousal, betraying her need even as her expression revealed only what little she wanted it to reveal.

"You've caused chaos aplenty," she whispered, speaking aloud, keeping her voice steady and even despite her obvious need, showing me with that simple gesture that she retained control. "Ever since your... display the entire kingdom has been in an uproar. My lord the demon-prince has been furious."

Her hands dropped to her breasts, squeezing them, kneading them, pinching her own nipples, and she permitted herself a small smile.

"And lustful," she said. "His desire for company in his bedchamber has grown enormously."

I arched an eyebrow, enjoying her display, watching as her hands descended slowly down her body, but making no other reply.

"I used to find his attentions distasteful," she purred, her fingers moving down over her close-shaven sex, and she parted her legs slightly to permit herself freer access. "But since that night I've found myself welcoming them. Even more, hungering for them. He's noticed."

Two of her fingers curled back and up, and she thrust them in smoothly, driving deep into her eager cunt, but holding my gaze as she did, showing me that she could maintain her expression even as she brought herself higher and higher in the realms of lust, her voice betraying only the slightest strain.

"He likes that I'm more eager," she said, "but he wouldn't like it nearly so much if he knew what I was thinking of."

She withdrew her fingers, brought them up to her lips, sucked them softly, tasting her own arousal without breaking eye contact.

"I think," she whispered, "of what you shared with me. I let my body try to drain him as you drained those men. I let myself dream that I can suck him dry and leave him conquered and destroyed."

And now she did speak into my mind, not in words, but with an image. An image of me at prey, but instead of Khalim my victim was the demon-prince, and the consort reclined on his throne, naked and fingering herself to the sight.

It is much more difficult to send an image than words, and to send an image that you have not seen but have to create is harder by an order of magnitude, and yet she did it and did it while bringing her hands down again, resting them now on her hips, staring at me in a way that could not be anything but a challenge.

"Focus in the midst of chaos," she whispered, and it was clear she had taken my lesson to heart.

"Lesson the second," I said, speaking into her mind, my fingers coming up to the clasp at the neck of my outfit, unfastening it, loosening the strings that kept the corset-like top in place, drawing my fingers down to hasten the unraveling. "Power comes in many forms. Know how to use them all, but reveal your power only when it works to your advantage."

Her eyes trailed down as I slipped out of the suit's top, revealing my black-nippled breasts. I could feel her lust radiating from her, feel her trying to hold it in check, trying to maintain control, but her eyes were my allies in undermining this, for she could not stop staring at me, could not stop her heart from pounding harder, could not stop my venom from flooding her mind with dark thoughts. She swallowed hard, opened her lips to speak, and I closed the distance between us in three short strides.

I wrapped my arms around her, pressing her naked body to me, her breasts against mine, and I could feel her trembling, shaking with need that she tried valiantly to conceal, and even more valiantly to control. She was waging an unwinnable war, and we both knew it, but still she fought on, struggling to maintain her composure, knowing full well I would permit it only so long as I chose.

"Lesson the third," I whispered into her mind, bringing my mouth down to her neck, my fangs pressing into her skin but not yet sinking in, letting her feel the bite's imminence. "Choose your time to strike. And when you strike, strike hard and strike true."

And I struck.

My fangs sank into her neck, and I let my venom flow, let it pour into her, overwhelming her control, overpowering her mind. She let out a soft sound at that, a little half-gasp that spoke to me of how much she'd longed to surrender, longed to let go of her stone facade but had not permitted herself the indulgence until I took the choice away from her. She did not struggle in my grasp, nor attempt to evade the bite, but instead wrapped her arms around me and held on tight, a sailor in a storm-tossed sea.

Lust rose within her until she was panting, shaking, fingers clenching into my back, and only as the last of her control slipped away did I withdraw my fangs and raise my head to kiss her.

She did not surrender to the kiss, or submit to it, or even merely accept it.

She met my kiss with fire, and passion, and raw, furious desperation. On the battlefield she would have been a berserker in that moment, but in the bedchamber she was as frantic and more, her body responding to lust even as her mind let go of restraint.

I pushed her up against the wall beside the mirror, snatched up her wrists and pinned them to the wall above her head, whispering a spell to secure them in place, leaving her helplessly bound there. She moaned, writhed, struggling to free herself, glaring at me in raw, insatiable need, and the I lowered my lips, kissing my way down her body, my lips finding her throat, her breasts, lingering on each, my long, forked tongue extending and twirling, licking and stroking, my hands busy in turn, squeezing and kneading and stroking, descending slowly, slowly.

It was foreplay in the place of release, pleasurable cruelty as I took my time, time she would have given a castle to dispense with, and I knew it and she knew that I knew it and somewhere deep within her lust-addled mind her true self watched and learned, learned even as I tore her control from her and shredded her restraint into fluttering tatters.

My lips moved lower, lower, kissing across her flat stomach, enjoying the feel of her smooth, soft skin, the gentle scent of saffron and honey that clung to her sweetly. She was dripping wet, desperately eager, and yet I took my time, showering her pubis with tender presses of my lips and wicked swipes of my tongue.

She was making noises, guttural and involuntary, her body making its needs known without her assent. She stared down at me, wild-eyed, drinking in all that I was doing, all that I might do, all that I could do, and then my lips sought out her clit and teased it tenderly, flooding the stiff little nubbin with my venom, and she arched her back and howled.

It was well that she had activated the soundproofing, for if she hadn't the noise would have carried through the castle. It was a glorious, primal, raw sound of long-repressed feminine need, and then I brought up two fingers, stroking them softly over her eager, dripping pussy, turned my hand so that my palm faced inwards, and thrust smoothly home, curling my fingers towards me as I did.

She came almost instantly. My venom and her anticipation and the lingering effects of what I'd shared as I'd fed had prepared her, primed her, turned her into a sexual volcano primed to erupt. Her back arched, her breasts shook, her sweet sex flooded around my fingers, beneath my lips, and her body gave itself over to pleasure long-denied, pleasure that could be held back no longer.

Nor was it pleasure I would permit to cease.

"Lesson the fourth," I whispered into her mind, "overwhelm your opposition. Time given then is time that can never be retrieved. Break them and do as you will, for strength does not answer to weakness."

There was a long pause before she responded, a pause I used to drive my fingers home again, to let my tongue extend and slide down one side of her soaking cunt and curl around the base of my fingers, then withdraw back to coil about her clit.

"Yes," she snarled into my mind, forming the words with a tremendous effort of will. "Do it. Overwhelm me. Break me."

And I did.

Her mind was not yet prepared to climax again but her body was wracked by my venom and my skill and my will and would do as I commanded, and I commanded it to surrender to pleasure unceasingly. Her legs lifted from the floor, wrapped around my head, urging me on as much as she could, and my fingers thrust and curled, withdrew and straightened, lips and tongue busied themselves about her clit, tormenting it with every thrust, sliding away with every withdrawal.

It was a symphony, a pulsing rhythm that drove her onwards and onwards, towards pleasure, towards fulfillment, towards absolute sexual surrender, and I gave no quarter, no pause, no moment for her to catch her breath and gather her thoughts.

Her legs were shaking, breasts heaving, a thin sheen of sweat covering her golden-tanned skin. She was wrapped up in lust, in need, need given and inflicted, and she struggled to meet it head-on, trying to find focus in the midst of lust's madness. My tongue, my lips, my fingers moved incessantly, guided by her gasps and cries, and I felt her let go, felt her give in to a second climax even as the first had barely begun to recede.

It was pleasure raised to mind-shattering heights, and I forced it upon her, held her in pleasure's grasp, for it is in such flames that blades are born. She had lost control completely, her body wracked so deeply by lust that it was convulsing wildly. She was letting out a keening wail, a sound beyond sanity.

"Lesson the fifth," I whispered into her mind. "The strong do as they will. The weak do as they must."

I stood slowly, my fingers still at work within her, not letting her oversensitive cunt have a moment to recover. I leaned in close, my breasts pressing against hers, my ebon lips hovering a fraction of an inch from her own.

"In a moment," I said, "you will have a choice between strength and failure. Choose wisely."

Then I leaned in and kissed her, and as I did I thrust my memory of feeding from Khalim into her mind.

Her eyes opened wide as she felt what I'd done, felt the feeding as if she was atop him, riding him, bringing him to the point of his final, fatal, ecstatic release, felt her body responding as mine did, sucking at him greedily, drawing out his climax, and his seed, and his life, and his soul. She felt the raw, unfettered pleasure of a succubus at prey, and did it as my lips were locked upon hers, my fingers eager in her sex, my warm skin pressed to her quivering, shaking body.

It was too much, too much to withstand without shattering, and she shattered, but in the midst of that, in the midst of falling to pieces, in the midst of feeling herself torn asunder with blissful pleasure so intense it became torment, she managed to respond.

"Strength," she said into mind, and the effort it took to form that word was so great that it could have moved mountains.

Then she fell apart, a climax tearing through her that left her sagging in its wake, her legs no longer able to hold her, her body no longer able to support itself. She slumped forward, and if I hadn't caught her she'd have hung limply by the wrists, utterly helpless.

But I was there, and I caught her. I freed her wrists with a thought, and carried her to the bed, lying her upon it tenderly, waiting for her to regain her senses.

It took some time, but when she roused herself there was fire in her eyes, and confidence, and ambition stiffened with strength.

"So," she said, speaking aloud, "my lord the demon-prince returns in two weeks."

"Much can happen in two weeks," I said. I had shed my outfit and lay beside her in all my naked glory, inviting her stare, which she indulged in.

"Much can," she said, leaving unsaid how much had happened in the short time since she had called my name into the mirror. "We should plan."

And so we did.

We spoke of power, and of control, and of the barriers that stood between her and her throne. We spoke of counselors, and strategies, and seduction, and assassination. We spoke of what she would do, and what I would do, and what we would do.

And we spoke of my plans for the demon-prince's end.

Perhaps I'll tell you of that when we speak next. Perhaps I'll speak of the magus who first turned me, or my master, the incubus, and his plans and mine. Perhaps I'll speak of other things. Perhaps.