I, Succubus Pt. 06

In the next two weeks a remarkable series of events occurred in that kingdom.

Surprising accidents befell two of the demon-prince's most trusted counselors, men so loyal to him that they'd never dream of betraying him. One was discovered stabbed to death behind a most-disreputable brothel, causing a scandal whispered about by friend and foe alike. The other was found slumped over in his study, dead of an apparent heart attack, and if this seemed peculiar to anyone given his youth they found it prudent to not remark upon it.

Meantime, Genevieve moved with skill and haste, reaching out and recruiting members of a conspiracy, though she was careful not to call it that, careful to assure all she spoke with that she was merely working out contingencies, and if these contingencies hinged upon something terribly unfortunate happening to the demon-prince, well, accidents do happen. Just look at what had recently befallen the two counselors.

Some she charmed and some she threatened and some she bribed and two she seduced, and in the end she had her plans in place.

And all the while the whispers about me grew.

None knew of my meetings with the consort. None knew of one or two other bits of assistance I rendered. None knew that I'd ever returned to the kingdom after my initial summoning.

But they did know that I'd come, and slain one of the demon-prince's chief sorcerors, and departed, and that his court magicians had been unable to find me since, no matter how they tried and scryed and delved.

This was weakness, weakness where there should have been strength, and weakness in a court is blood in open waters, attracting predators even where none had been before.

If he had been able to produce me, humble me, destroy me, he would have secured his position admirably, but he could not, and every day he went without doing so was a day where he stood upon a shrinking ledge with a long, long drop beneath him.

If I had simply stayed away he might well have fallen on his own, or he might have survived with some difficulty, but such did not suit my plans, nor my master's.

For my master, the incubus who had bound me, watched what I did and what I did not do, and though I knew not whether he approved or disapproved I felt the weight of his presence, and the call of his soul.

I hungered for that soul.

Twice in that time he called me to him, and both times I went willingly, even eagerly.

Once he tried to punish me for the rebellion he sensed beneath the surface, and I accepted the punishment with relish and glee, taking each blow of the whip, each cruel torment, as a reminder that he saw me as a threat, sensed me as a danger. That feeling, that knowledge, that deep-rooted sensation was a balm to my mind even as my body was cruelly tortured, for the more dangerous he thought me the more eager I became to prove him correct.

The second time he called me he took me back to the arena where we had first met, where he had first bound me, and we watched the contests. Some fought and some fucked and some left the arena in chains and some did not leave that place at all, and we roared with the crowd, both of us remembering our own contest upon those sands, and at the end of the night he took me down to that altar and we gave ourselves to lust upon it.

He was in no danger from me, his binding was too secure, but I permitted myself to forget that and let my body struggle to suck his soul free, to claim him, to conquer him, to consume him, and if it was all futile it nonetheless gave my body permission to turn pleasure into passion into raw, erotic glory, and in the end he forced me to climax repeatedly, to surrender to pleasure as the crowd looked on.

Whether he thought it reward or punishment I cannot say, but it only whetted my appetite for him, only fanned the flames of my rebellion. The crowd thought it a demonstration of his power, and it was, but it was more than that, if only to the two of us.

Then came the day of the demon-prince's return.

He returned angry, and frustrated, for his journey had been a fruitless search for a sorceror who could find me, but he had found none but mountebanks and charlatans and weaklings. Only one had made an effort I'd even felt, and it was as insubstantial as a butterfly's wing and as easy to ignore.

The demon-prince called for his concubine to be brought to his chambers, as she'd known he would do. He always returned with a need for her, no matter how many whores he'd had on his travels, and her late enthusiasm in the bedchamber had only made him more eager for her.

She waited for him in the antechamber before his bedroom, which was unusual. Normally he preferred to find her naked in his bed, but this time she had plans. He looked down upon her with wrath and suspicion, and she smiled up at him with seductive delight.

"My lord husband," she whispered, "I've prepared a surprise for you. One I think you'll find particularly appetizing."

Two of his guards stood within the chamber, waiting for their dismissal. Normally they'd search the room before he entered it, but she had planned for this as well. She wore the same long, high-necked robe she'd worn when she called to me, and with nothing beneath it. She smiled sweetly up at him, raised her hands to the collar, parted it, lowered her hands slowly, drawing it apart, letting him see the blissful expanse of golden-tanned skin that lay beneath.

"Leave us," he snarled to his guards, for he had little on his mind but lust and anger.

The guards looked at one another, then at him.

"My lord-" one began, and that was as far as he got.

"Leave. Us," the demon-prince growled, and there was anger and finality in his words.

The guards shrugged and left, taking up their posts outside the chambers. As they walked out Genevieve let the robe fall, standing naked before the demon-prince, making him open his inhuman eyes wide in lechery. One of the guards glanced back, nearly stumbled as he caught sight, and it was well he did not for if the demon-prince had caught him it would have gone hard for him.

Instead the door shut behind them and Genevieve reached out to take the demon-prince's hand. She led him into the chamber where he saw his surprise.

I was his surprise. Naked and bound to the wall, arms and legs spread wide, wrists and ankles fastened to the wall with chains, within a circle of protection that rendered me utterly powerless, helpless and unable to feed.

Perhaps I should explain.

We had discussed this night, Genevieve and I, lying in bed together. The demon-prince, for all his faults and flaws, was not so careless as to permit himself to be caught unawares, nor expose himself unnecessarily. His guards always checked rooms before he entered them, and he would have been able to sense my presence if the circle had not rendered me harmless. He was no sorcerer, but he had skill and strength enough for that, and concealing such power would itself call attention in... other ways.

So to lure him into a room he would have to be distracted, and the room would have to be devoid of threat, and the only way to render a room in it devoid of threat was to make myself powerless and helpless.

Sometimes guile paves the path of strength, and few victories worth claiming are gained without peril.

Genevieve had not liked the plan. She considered that permitting the demon-prince to fall to whatever cabal arose to claim him was preferable, but to do so was to throw herself onto the pyre of fate and hope not to be burned, and that pyre burns as it will. Better by far to claim the flame as your own, and make yourself its master.

She had considered, and she had agreed, though not without reservation.

Then, on the day of the demon-prince's arrival, she had chalked the runes herself at my direction, empowering them with her own magic, for she was a diligent sorceress, not terribly strong but intelligent and capable of making careful use of what she had. She had advised me to put in weaknesses, but he would have felt them even if he hadn't seen them.

The trap needed to be most-carefully laid. To strike a false note would be to endanger Genevieve and my own plans at once.

I had watched her at work from within the circle, and pronounced myself satisfied with the result.

And then it was time to bind me.

No magic here, these were well-made manacles, installed at her request by the castle armorer, and if he wondered what use would be made of them he was wise enough to keep his wonder to himself. They were far too small to encircle the demon-prince's wrists but would have fit nicely around hers, and a few blushes and glances aside served to convey far more than enough to satisfy questions left unasked.

I stood with arms and legs spread and she flushed as she knelt, flushed even more as I teased her with my tail, the tip stroking tenderly over her neck, sliding along the skin where my fangs had penetrated. She smiled softly, but did not object, nor try to brush my tail away. She had grown comfortable letting her mask drop around me, though not so comfortable that she did not sometimes draw back out of reflex.

She bound one of my ankles, then the other, securing me firmly in place, then stood. I pressed my wrists back against the wall, forcing her to stand on tiptoes and lean against me in order to bind them, and now her blush was positively glowing on her cheeks. The mere presence of a succubus is enough to excite lust, regardless of magic or aphrodisiac effect. We radiate it, call to it, enhance it, and to be this close to me, particularly when I was naked, was to bathe in desire.

"I could leave them unfastened," she said, repeating a conversation we'd had several times. "And merely close them."

"No," I said. "He must know me to be bound. He must be able to test it. He will certainly check, and if he senses a trap he will destroy us both."

She sighed, knowing it to be true, and fastened the manacles around one of my wrists, and then the other.

"And how do you know," she asked, "that I will not betray you? Deliver you to him to enhance my own standing at your expense?"

I let my tail wrap around her waist in answer, holding her close. My tail is strong, but not so strong that she could not pull away if she wished, and yet she made no effort to do so, leaning against me, looking up at me.

"Your desire is not," I said, "to be a higher-status slave. You want to be a queen. A queen, and then an empress."

She smiled at that, but did not respond further. We heard the sound of horns at the gates and knew the time was drawing near.

"Power the wards," I said. "He must not sense me until it's time."

She nodded, leaned up, and kissed me softly, tenderly. It was a bold move on her part, inviting my venom, baiting me teasingly, bold and brave at once, and I rewarded it with a response, a warm and passionate kiss that melded with her lips for a moment that stood still, a tiny eternity in a day that would decide our fates.

Then she broke the kiss and stepped back, careful to lift her feet clear of the wards. She reached down, pressed her hands to the ground, and poured her magic into them, powering them up, and I felt myself being made helpless and powerless and fragile.

It was a feeling I despised, however necessary. Sometimes victory comes at the price of temporary weakness, but that lesson is a lesson I've never found to be anything but bitter on my tongue.

She glanced up at me, looking for approval, and I nodded fractionally, then let my head droop, my body sink against the shackles. She frowned, then turned and made for the antechamber to await the arrival of the demon-prince.

Then he arrived, and found me as she'd left me.

There was a moment when he first beheld me where it could have gone either way. He could have turned and bolted, called in his guards, and depending on whether Genevieve had the presence of mind to free me quickly I could have escaped or been cut down there and then.

He almost did.

And then he didn't.

He'd just been on an expedition seeking to find a way to me, and here I was, naked and chained, near-enough gift-wrapped for him and so he did not run, and that act of lust-laced avarice sealed his fate.

He reached out with his mind, probing the circle, testing the spells that bound me, and found them secure. This took no great sorcerous skill, and he had little, but little enough to sense strength and power, and more than enough to see that I was as powerless as I appeared, as helpless as a newborn lamb.

"How?" He asked, turning to his concubine. "How did you accomplish this?"

"I have some small skill," she said, inclining her head upwards as he towered over her, "and she left traces, traces enough to lead me back to her with enough time and attention. After that, well, she was far too confident, and fell into my trap."

"I see," he said, looking at her with new approval, his wide-set eyes flicking over her naked body, her wide, innocent eyes. "You have done well."

She visibly flushed at the compliment, nibbling at her lower lip, almost a parody of a pleased servant. He brought one massive grey-fingered hand up to stroke her cheek tenderly, then turned to me.

He stepped over the circle's edge, careful not to touch the runes that held it intact, and reached out to grasp my neck in his hand, squeezing roughly, making me choke and gasp for breath before he loosed his hold just enough to let me breathe.

"You," he snarled, "have caused me no end of problems."

"Have I?" I asked, my tone carefully calculated to needle him without driving him into a murderous rage.

"Because of you," he growled, "I've had to spend a month stamping out plots that never should have been. Chasing shadows. Listening to charlatans."

"Whatever for?" I asked. "Nobody's ever caught a shadow."

He snarled at that, flexing his arm, tightening his hand about my throat, cutting off my air. He sought to break me, to demonstrate his power, to see fear rise in my eyes, but I have been to the deepest parts of my soul and fear has no place there. As to power, well, I've felt power too, and he only felt the need to exert his when I was powerless and the strength one displays under those circumstances is no route to victory but often a signpost on the way to defeat.

"You destroyed my sorceror," he said, holding his hand tight around my throat, then loosening it so that I could respond.

I took care with this, drawing breath in a measured inhalation, not choking and spluttering as he wished me to do. Control such as he sought to display is undermined by such things, and so I breathed in carefully even as my lungs screamed for air, even as my body ached to breathe in deeply.

"Your sorceror," I whispered, "destroyed himself when he sought to command strength with weakness."

"And now?" He asked, his eyes narrowing, lips parting. "Do you call yourself strong, powerless and chained?"

"Would you like to find out?" I asked, tilting my head just slightly, putting a seductive spin on the words.

It was a challenge few men could have withstood. I was chained, I was helpless, but for all that I was still beautiful, still infinitely desirable, and he had been without his consort's touch for a month and such pleasures as he could find on a month of hard riding and investigation would undoubtedly have been unsatisfying. I could feel his lust within him, feel it even bound as I was, and I could see it in evidence in his body. The tension. The heavy breathing. Where his eyes lingered.

Still, though, he was cautious, cautious enough to check my bindings, reaching up to the manacles around my wrists and tugging hard, and it was well that Genevieve had heeded my command to secure them well, for if they had fallen free he would have broken my neck before she could have intervened. He dropped down, performed the same examination on my ankles, and I took the opportunity to tease him with my tail, stroking the tip along his bicep, smirking down at him when he let out a small sound of exasperation.

"Satisfied?" I asked, when he stood again.

"Not yet," he growled, unfastening his trousers, stepping out of them, making sure to toss them well clear of the circle to avoid smudging the wards.

His cock was revealed, huge and achingly hard, plainly desperate for relief and release, but he held himself back for a moment more to reach out with his mind and ensure that the circle held, and it did. I was truly unable to drain him, unable to use magic, unable to do anything beyond the physical, and my physical form was chained.

Chained and eager for the contest to begin.

I could feel its imminence, feel his lust, feel my own in turn, for even a helpless succubus is a creature of primal lust, lust that we feel every bit as strongly as we inspire. I was wet. My nipples were hard. My skin tingled. My mouth watered. My fangs were eager to sink into yielding flesh.

I was hungry.

He glanced back at Genevieve, who had taken position on the bed, lying on her stomach, naked and attentive. She smiled at him and licked her lips, giving every evidence of an eager voyeur. One of her hands stole beneath her and she let her fingers seek out her sex and rub it softly and she let out a lovely little moan of anticipation, and it was perhaps that sound as much as anything that sealed our triumph and his downfall.

He turned, stepped forwards, drew his cock to my eager, quivering sex, and thrust in hard.

There was no artistry to this, no subtlety, no attempts to pleasure me. He wanted to take me, to claim me, to make me know I was being fucked as much as to fuck me. He was hard and he was rough and he wanted to show his dominion and domination, and I responded eagerly, for sex is my weapon and my pleasure and my sustenance and I cried out happily as he drove into me again and again, knowing full well that my pleasure would only serve to antagonize him, that his pleasure would only serve to drive him.

And my tail slid down and went to work unfastening the manacles around my right ankle, and then around my left.

It's a clever little thing, my tail, long and prehensile and capable of much more than you would think to look at it. I can use it to tease and use it to arouse, and simply reminding some of my otherworldly nature is enough to do both and the tail serves in that respect as well.

But it can also do things like steal into a keyhole and flick the tumblers this way and that until the lock pops free.

My wrists were still bound, but my legs were not, and though I held them as if they still were so encumbered, held them as if I was still chained, I was now much, much more dangerous and my prey did not yet realize it.

Unaware prey is vulnerable prey, and vulnerable prey is as good as slaughtered.

He drove in again and again, and my cunt clenched down around him and squeezed, rippling wickedly, urging him on even as he struggled to break me, to make me cry out in pain, to beg for mercy, mercy he could deny.

It was folly. I've been broken, and once made to beg, but those circumstances were not these. This was weakness trying to imitate strength, and I met it with strength without pretense of weakness, crying out in sexual bliss, enjoying the attentions he sought to inflict, letting my eagerness show plainly as he drove me into the wall again and again and again. I felt his manhood deep within me, felt the hard, pulsing length eager to erupt, and I struggled to keep his pleasure from roaring forth too soon.

I could not compel him, I had only the arts of my body and my mind to work with, but they were enough. The sight of my pleasure increased his wrath, but made him want to exert control over his own and so he struggled to refrain from his climax, and my body did the rest, delivering him pleasure without offering too much.

His breath was coming in ragged gasps, sweat soaking his frame, and he was getting close, so very close, and soon he would erupt no matter his own attempts at restraint or mine.

It was a perilous moment, for if he came before it was time his mind might clear enough to free himself from me, or do fatal damage to me. Our plan hinged on delivering him to just the right moment at just the right time, and the time was coming close and the moment was fast approaching. All hung in the balance.

His hips shifted as he withdrew, ready for another thrust, one that would send him over the edge, one that might undo all our efforts, and his eyes met mine. He knew his pleasure was near and he wanted to savor it, savor it in my eyes, and I knew in that moment that he meant to destroy me after he'd had his way with me, and that knowledge only made me hungrier, for to add my life to the stakes only heightened the pleasure.

His toes curled, hips thrust hard, driving his massive length deep into me.

That was when Genevieve struck.

She had been waiting, biding her time, giving every indication of arousal as she watched, knowing full well that if she moved too soon he'd be alerted and evade, too late and he'd triumph and destroy me. But to wait until his climax was imminent, until his guard was down, until he was at his most vulnerable, that was her task and her duty and her salvation.

Time seemed to slow then, as she vaulted over the edge of the bed, as he drove his cock in inch by pleasurable inch, as I moaned in unfeigned pleasure. He saw her move out of the corner of his eye, and his head started to turn, which was a mistake.

It exposed his neck.

And as she landed and her foot struck out, dragging across the runes of the protective circle and obliterating them, making the circle sputter and fail, I leaned forwards and sank my fangs into his grey neck just above his shoulder and my venom pulsed into him.

He tried to turn away, tried to withdraw, but he was deep inside my eager cunt, and I tightened around him, preventing his withdrawal. My freed legs came up and wrapped around his hips, holding him in place, and I let my venom flow, pouring it into him, overwhelming his already lust-addled mind with aphrodisiac poison.

He'd already been on the verge of climax, already near release, and this nearness met the thunderbolt of my venom and my restoration and my eager pull. Pleasure overwhelmed his mind and body as my sex gripped him, as I called his climax forth, and he came hard, spurting into the thirsty maw of my pussy, and I swallowed all he had to give and demanded more, more, more.

He tried to free himself, but he faced an insurmountable challenge. He was too aroused, too overwhelmed, and Genevieve had timed her betrayal too perfectly, and in the face of that he was undone.

His back arched as pleasure overrode him, and I withdrew my fangs and leaned back against the wall, savoring my triumph. I felt his cock spurting within me, and each spurt heightened my power over him, and my control, and my strength, and each brought him lower, made him weaker, brought him closer and closer to defeat.

I could have pumped him dry then and there, but though his life would have been mine his soul would have escaped. He was no mere weakling like his magus, and to claim his soul would require time, and I wanted his soul and I had the time to claim it.

My wrists were still shackled to the wall, and Genevieve stepped forward to free me, but I shook my head, bidding her cease.

"No," I said. "He'll do it."

She stopped, surprised, then looked at the demon-prince, her lord husband, our prey.

"Free my wrists," I said, and with the words I tightened my grip on his mind, making him shudder as he felt the weight of the power I'd claimed from him, the power I held over him, the strength that held his weakness in an iron grasp.

He tried to disobey, tried to fight, but I'd drunk too deeply of his strength, taken too much from him in his climax, and his struggle was the struggle of the weak, and the hopeless, and the doomed. It was short-lived, and it was pointless, and its end was inevitable.

His hands rose against his will, freeing one of my wrists, then the other, and then I lifted myself free of him and made him stand helpless before me, helpless and bent to my will.

Genevieve watched, impressed, and then I reached out to her, drawing her to me, and kissed her softly, tenderly, a celebration of impending triumph and a coup carried through, and she returned the kiss, her lips melding with mine, her arms encircling me, her tanned body warm and eager and tingling with excitement.

It was a good kiss, long and luscious and gentle, and when it ended she was gasping, from the aphrodisiac venom, from need, from relief that our plan had succeeded. I turned her slowly in my arms so her back was pressed up against me, her shoulders just above the level of my breasts, and let my hands roam over her, stroking and caressing, moving with proprietary interest as the demon-prince watched, held in place by my will.

"Walk to the bed," I told him. "Lie upon it on your back."

And he did. He could do nothing else. He'd given me too much strength, too much power, too much control, and had too little left to try to reclaim it, to try to save himself. Genevieve watched as he obeyed, and her breathing got noticeably heavier, her lips parting in a soft sound of arousal as I let my fingers roam down to her eager, wet sex and tease it, stroking it gently, my tail coming up between her legs and sliding between her pussy lips.

She leaned back against me, let out a soft moan, and then visibly straightened, stepped forwards, and I let her leave my arms and advance on the bed where her lord husband lay helpless and doomed before us both.

His cock was still hard, he'd taken too much of my venom for it to be otherwise, and his broad, muscular chest heaved as he watched her advance. If he were in control he could have overpowered her in the space of a breath, but he was utterly helpless and could only watch as she climbed up on the bed and crawled over him, letting his cock slide down her body as she moved, between the cleft of her breasts, over her flat stomach and down, down to her dripping, eager sex. She took hold of his cock, guided it to her entrance, and held herself there, looking down into his eyes.

"I want you to know something," she whispered. "She didn't corrupt me. She didn't force me. She didn't ensorcell me. I wanted this. And I still want this. I want her to destroy you. And when she does, I'll claim your throne and turn this kingdom into the power you never could."

His eyes had widened as she spoke, the feeble hope that she might aid him in some way dashed, and then she sank down upon him slowly, descending on his cock smoothly, moaning as the massive length stretched her pleasurably. She leaned forward, placing her hands on his chest for balance, and let her hips rise and fall in slow, smooth, short thrusts, working her way down onto him a bit more each time.

"I've wanted my revenge," she whispered, "since you came to my village and destroyed it. I swore as I was carried away that I'd see you repaid in full. And tonight is the night I claim my vengeance."

I slid up behind her, letting my hands glide over her body, squeezing her breasts, stroking her neck, letting her feel my warmth, my nearness, and she leaned back against me as she rode him, accepting my embrace. My lips came down to her neck, kissing tenderly, sweetly, wickedly, making her sigh as she felt my venom sink into her skin.

"I've been more attentive this last month," she whispered. "More receptive. More eager. You took it as your due, supposed that I'd just enjoyed the show, and I did. But it was more than that."

She slid down that last inch, burying his cock completely inside her, and she let out a moan too intense to be disbelieved. She brought one finger down to her clit, teasing it as she shifted her hips back and forth, fucking him in short, smooth thrusts, building towards her pleasure moment by moment, and he stared up at her helplessly, hearing what she was saying but unable to respond.

"I was dreaming," she whispered, "that I could do what she did. Fuck the life and soul out of you. Drain you dry. Leave you nothing but a withered husk. That was the most pleasure I got from you, lord husband, that... and this."

She sank down upon him again, rose up, using him for her pleasure, delighting in his subjugation, his domination, his defeat. Her fingers were eager between her legs, her golden-toned thighs tensing as she rolled her hips, rising and descending, playing him along towards her climax, towards his demise. Her breasts bobbed with each thrust, nipples hard and eager, her lips parted as she cried out in anticipation.

She was serving her own pleasure now, working herself up without heed to him, needing nothing from him but his achingly hard cock, his cock and his immobility. She leaned back, arching her back, turning her head to invite a kiss, and it was an invitation I accepted, leaning in over her shoulder to let my lips find hers.

This kiss was fiery, passionate, demanding. She wanted my lips to be on hers when she came, wanted to make it clear to him that her pleasure was something she commanded, not something he could control, and I obliged her, letting my long, forked tongue invade her mouth and wrap around her tongue, letting my fingers squeeze and knead her round, smooth breasts.

She moaned out in pleasure, moaned into the kiss, and she sank down upon him and stroked her clit just so and she came, came shuddering and shaking, breaking the kiss as she writhed atop him, writhed in my arms. It was a good climax, hard and fast and wet, and it carried on for some time, and I helped it right along with licks and kisses, until it finally subsided, leaving her shivering with his cock still inside her.

Then I reached down, my fingers brushing hers aside, and sought out her clit and gave the poor, oversensitive nubbin just a little caress of magical pleasure.

Her eyes went wide as she felt it, felt what I'd done, felt her body suddenly ready to climax again far sooner than her mind was prepared for, and she drew in a shocked breath, a breath that came out as a shriek as a second orgasm seized her, seized her and did not let go, and in the middle of it my fangs sank into her neck and I poured what little venom I'd replenished into her.

She'd tasted my venom before, and my magic, but this hit her all at once, and when she was already in the throes of pleasure, and the effect was enhanced beyond all hope and reason. It carried her off, transporting her, and when she finally came down she all but collapsed atop him.

It was a moment before she could speak, and then only by lifting her hips and letting him pop free.

"That, lord husband," she whispered, pronouncing the title with exquisite scorn, "is what my pleasure truly looks like. And now it's time for her to claim you. She's told me it will take some time. I want you to know I'll savor every moment, and none more than when I see her drain your pitiful soul."

She rolled off of him, stretched like a cat, and nearly purred in contentment. Her legs tried to close, and she hissed at the sensation, spreading them again, looking over at me with a blush and a smile.

"Enjoy him," she said, speaking to me as if he weren't present. "Take your time. The plot is in motion. They know that if he doesn't emerge soon he won't emerge at all. By the time this night is over I'll be in control of this kingdom."

She paused then, smirked, turned to him.

"And you," she whispered, "will be a soulless husk, and all you ever were, or are, or could have been will be obliterated when she drains you dry."

I felt him struggle at that, struggle vainly against my control, and I held him in place without effort. Such strength as he'd had he'd given to me, given when he could have destroyed me. If he'd snapped my neck when I was in his power he'd still have his kingdom, and his concubine, and his life and soul, but he couldn't resist taking his pleasure from me.

His pleasure was his weakness, and his weakness was my triumph.

I leaned down, bringing my lips to his cock, playing them down one side and up the other, savoring the taste of her sex upon him, letting my tongue encircle his cock and wrap around it, squeezing and rippling, putting on a show for him and for her alike. She watched with interest, enjoying the display. He watched with horror and pleasure in equal measure, dreading his impending demise but captivated by lust.

"Feels nice, doesn't it?" She asked him. "Her tongue. Her lips. She used them on me, you know. While you were out riding around your kingdom she was teaching me the ways of pleasure, and of power. Right here, in this room, on this bed. She showed me... so much."

I drew my head up, parted my lips, descended upon him, taking him into my mouth and sucking softly, slowly, letting him build towards his climax but not forcing it upon him, letting him climb that mountain gradually knowing that his lust and his despair walked hand-in-hand. He was large but I took him in effortlessly, something I doubt few ever had. His cock throbbed in my mouth, his body quivering, and I could feel his need in that alone even if his mind was not howling it at me.

I placed my hands upon his thighs and set to work with a will, descending and swallowing around him, rising and sucking as I went, my tongue wrapping around his cock, dragging warmly, wetly with every motion, bathing him in delicious moist friction, sensation, pleasure. Some of it was art and some of it was skill and some of it was venom and some of it was simply being what I am, an incarnation of sexual desire, and it all worked together to pulverize any reluctance his body might have felt. His mind yet rebelled, but his body was mine and with it I could conquer his mind and claim his soul.

"She spoke of this," Genevieve told him. "She told me that with weaker beings claiming a soul is as easy as claiming a life, but for the stronger it takes time and preparation. She said that to drain you properly might take hours. For some it might take even longer."

This was true. The stronger the being, the greater the time it took if I wished to claim the soul. Merely claiming his life would have been easy, but a blade could have done that. Claiming more, though, took not merely strength, but skill and preparation. His soul was anchored deep within him, and freeing it would be no easy feat.

No easy feat, but not impossibly difficult, either, and tasks such as this were what I lived for.

"I told her," she said, "to take all the time she needed. I told her that I wanted her to extinguish your soul. I told her that I wanted my face to be the last thing you saw, in this life or any other."

He shuddered at that, feeling her wrath and mine, feeling the weight of the preparation that had been put into this trap, a trap he'd fallen into, a trap that held him in its iron jaws.

I descended again, locked my lips around the base of his cock, swallowed repeatedly, letting the inhuman muscles of my throat work him over, bathe his cock in warm, wet lust. I could feel his soul stirring within him, beginning the slow process of working itself free, and I tugged at it gently, unhurriedly, drawing it loose suck by suck, lick by lick, swallow by swallow. It was an achingly slow process, one helped along by sexual bliss, and so I inflicted this bliss upon him and let him writhe in it, let him struggle in it, let him drown in it.

"Your guards aren't coming," she said, reaching out to stroke the side of his face. The gesture would have been tender, if not for the intent behind it. "The two outside have already been disarmed. The garrison is loyal to me, now, as is most of your council. You were searching far afield for plots, lord husband, but there were plots right here at home."

Her fingers had descended between her legs, stroking and rubbing, pleasuring herself as she watched me pleasure him, her golden thighs parted, putting herself on full, eager display. She moved without haste, savoring each stroke, each touch of her fingers, each moment of her pleasure, drawing as much joy from the demon-prince's torment as from her own explorations.

His climax was close, and while I was permitting him a leisurely approach to it I was certainly not holding it back, nor allowing him to do so. He tried, but the effort was wasted, a man trying to empty the ocean with a fork would have made more progress. His back arched, his breathing grew heavier, his fingers twitched as he struggled to break free of my control, struggled and failed.

She noticed, though, noticed and smiled.

"You're close, lord husband," she whispered. "I can tell. I can always tell. Soon you won't be able to help yourself and you'll cum deep in her hot, wet mouth and every spurt of your seed will give her more power over you, more control. Every drop will be a step towards your doom."

He moaned at that, and in that moan was an admission of defeat, an admission that set her fingers to work with more enthusiasm, that fanned the flames in her eyes, that turned her smile into an expression decidedly predatory and sinister.

We'd spoken of her taunting him, and I had known it would help undermine even his efforts at resistance, but it was doing much, much more than that. Her obvious delight in his downfall and her role in bringing it about was making him wilt, helping me to batter down such defenses as he had. He'd thought himself her undisputed master, and the realization that he was not, and never had been, was a weapon as potent as any I could hope to wield. He sighed in despair, and groaned, and came.

His climax surged and I fastened my lips around his member and swallowed hard, draining him as he gushed into my eager mouth, swallowing as pleasure claimed him, sucking and sucking and sucking and demanding more, more, more, and more he gave.

His body shook, wracked with pleasure beyond his comprehension, spasming as I swallowed his seed, his arms shaking, his chest heaving, his eyes straying over his concubine, his wife, his betrayer. Her eyes flashed, lips parted, and she moaned softly, a tiny sound of feminine pleasure brought on by his distress. She rolled onto her side to observe him more closely, her breasts pressing into his arm as she drank in his downfall.

He came again and again, until his balls were empty, until his seed was spent, and I could have kept him going but only at the cost of permitting his soul to escape and so, instead, I stopped, drew back, swallowed hard. I climbed to my hands and knees and moved in over him, letting my breasts drag against his chest, my tail looping around his cock, and I lay upon him fully, letting my body press into his.

"That was delicious," I whispered to him, and it was. Drinking from his life's essence, feeling his soul beginning to work its way free, tasting his life was a glorious buffet for my senses, spice and sweetness and fulfillment all twining together in a dozen, a hundred, countless different ways, leaving me tingling and eager for more.

My tail drew his cock slowly up and down over my hungry pussy lips. I lifted my hips just enough to permit this, playing the tip of his cock over my entrance, basking in the sensation, the feel of having him there, trapped and helpless, my meal, my adversary, my prey. He was warm, his body radiating heat as it strove to replenish his essence, burning him out from within as lust overrode his body's need to preserve itself. I pressed a kiss into the side of his neck, and another, moving with leisurely indulgence as his body renewed itself and his defenses continued to crumble.

"Your soul is coming loose," I whispered, lifting up just a bit, staring down into his eyes, seeing defeat and despair written there. "I can feel it. It wants to surrender. It wants to spurt into me. It wants to be mine. And it will be."

I drew his manhood up and down between my dripping, eager pussy lips, letting the tip soak in my venom. He was hard again, he'd never really stopped being so, and eager, his cock aching to be inside me once again, the memory of the pleasures of my cunt overcoming his need for self-preservation.

I sat up, lifting my hips, drawing his cock up until it stood straight upright and I was poised atop him, ready to descend. Genevieve saw what I was doing and rose herself, leaning in to kiss me, and I permitted it, wrapping my arms around her and meeting her soft lips with mine, turning slightly to be sure the demon-prince could see it clearly. It was a lovely kiss, slow and passionate and eager, and she was breathless when the kiss broke, leaning her forehead against mine, shuddering with need.

"When last I fed," I whispered, speaking to her but audible to him, "I let you feel the pleasure. I think this time... you should feel my need, too."

And I reached into her mind and showed her, let her feel my hunger, the insatiable lust at the core of all succubi, the absolute pulsing need to drain, to fuck, to consume, and her eyes went wide in shock. It was only a fraction of what I felt, but even a fraction of my need would be impossibly powerful to a human.

"Ohhh..." she whispered, hands moving down her body, one settling on her left breast, squeezing and kneading it, the other descending between her legs, stroking her sweet sex eagerly. "I can feel it. The need. The hunger. I can feel what she wants to do to you, lord husband..."

That's when I sank down upon him, his cock sliding deep inside me in one smooth stroke of my hips, until he was buried to the hilt in my pulsing, eager cunt. I placed my hands on my hips and rippled and squeezed around him, letting my eager sex do what she would, inflicting pleasures upon him, calling out to his arousal, massaging his cock inhumanly. He could not move, could not respond, could do nothing but lie there helplessly as I used him for my pleasure and his, and I felt his impotent rage battle his arousal, battle and lose.

I'd kept the link open, letting Genevieve feel a fragment of what I felt, and lust blazed in her eyes. Her fingers were frantic between her legs, her hand desperate to inflict pleasures, to try to quench fires raging beyond her control.

"Yes," she moaned. "I want this. I want to feel it as you drain him. I want to feel it as you claim him. I want to feel it as you destroy him."

She growled the last word, and I smiled, reaching down to stroke my clit, knowing that it would make my sex gush around his cock, soaking him in my venomous arousal, and then tighten around him, working the venom into every inch of his straining manhood. For me it was a delicious tease, wicked foreplay, delightful anticipation. For him it was a thunderbolt, rocking him, grinding his control to dust and seizing hold of his need.

"She's holding back," Genevieve whispered, her voice hoarse, her breathing heavy. "I can tell. I can feel it. She's going slowly in order to ensure she claims your soul. She could just force you to cum right now and keep you cumming until you were a shriveled husk. But she won't."

"I won't," I said, leaning forward, letting my hands rest on his chest. My breasts were leaking venom, small droplets that fell upon him like a gentle rain, and each impact made him shudder. "I'm going to take all the time I need to ensure I claim you completely. Your soul will not escape me. Your soul will be mine."

His cock was throbbing within me, aching for release, for relief, for climax, and I could feel his need, feel it twining with my own, his need to give me his seed, and another swallow of his delicious life's essence, and mine for another step closer to claiming him completely. My thighs tensed and relaxed as I rode him slowly, and with each rise and fall my sweet sex sucked and rippled about him, giving him more and more of the pleasure he needed and dreaded, the warm, wet friction that drove him onwards, ever onwards towards his doom.

Genevieve's fingers were frantic, stroking her clit madly, my lust setting her mind on fire with need. She knelt at his side, leaning over him, the smooth golden globes of her breasts swaying beneath her. Her hands were inadequate to meet the needs she felt, and she knew it, and she looked at me with need and with hunger and with awe bordering on worship. Her legs were parted, her smooth thighs spread wide as she struggled valiantly to give her body the release it craved, the release that would only add fuel to the fire.

"Please..." she whispered, leaning towards me, resting her head on my shoulder.

"Please. It's too much. I need it. I need..."

"Careful, mortal," I whispered, taking a grip on a handful of her hair, guiding her to my breast but holding her lips an inch away. "I can give you what you want and more, but you tread towards darkness."

"I know," she said, looking up into my eyes. "I know where this leads. And I accept it."

"Very well," I said, and guided her lips to my breast, permitting her, forcing her to drink.

The venom of my breasts is different than the rest, restorative, bracing. I can use it to bring back someone I've drained almost to the end, and sometimes do so for the sheer pleasure of draining them anew, or to permit me to capture the soul of a truly formidable foe, but a mortal experiencing the taste finds their minds warped by the ways of lust, and a mortal who chooses it freely is a mortal who gives themselves over to desire.

Her lips fastened and sucked, and I smiled, settling down atop my prey and permitting Genevieve her descent into depravity. Her lips were eager on my nipple, soft and wet and sublime, and when she thought she'd had enough she sought to pull back and I did not permit this, holding her in place, forcing her to take more. She looked up at me, wide-eyed, and I reached down with my free hand and stroked my clit softly, sending a spasm of pleasure through me, and through my victim, and through Genevieve.

"This is no path to tread lightly," I said. "Give yourself over to it. Embrace it, and make it yours."

And she did.

I would have permitted nothing else, but she accepted my words and drank greedily, drank even after she knew the truth of what she had accepted, taking my offer and making it her demand, taking her fate and making it her choice, taking what might have been and molding it into what would be.

It was bracing, energizing, a lustful cocktail to an already sex-drunk mind, and as she drank I drove my prey on, my cunt fastening around him and squeezing in earnest, taking his slow stride towards climax and turning it into a headlong sprint.

Faster and faster I drove him, my pussy flooding around him, my hips moving in short, sharp thrusts, back-and-forth motions that dragged his cock against the walls of my quivering, eager sex, and soon he could take no more.

Genevieve could feel it through our bond, feel the imminence of his pleasure, and I permitted her to pull back, to finally cease drinking from my breast.

She'd drunk much, and her eyes were wild, her lust too much for her body to contain, and only the link with me and the promise of a reflection of my pleasure served to sustain her. There were desires within her now that she could not meet on her own, could not control or sate or slake, and she knew it, knew it and accepted her new-forged fate.

Her hand resumed its work between her legs, and I reached out and caught it, caught it and guided it from between her legs to between mine. She looked at me, questioningly, wondering if I was denying her even the shadow of pleasure, and then she let her fingers do as I bid, stroking my clit, and felt the surge of pleasure through our bond, felt it smashing into the demon-prince's scattered and pitiful defenses, and she understood.

I wasn't denying her her pleasure. I was giving her control of her pleasure.

She set to with a will, then, fingers at work madly, desperately, skill being overridden by need, and I indulged in it, enjoying her fervor, enjoying her desperation. She leaned in to press a kiss between my breasts, and another lower, lower, and I leaned back to give her free access to my body, let her lips work their way down to my eager clit, let her lick up and down the lips of my pussy as they spread wide around his cock.

She was feral, out of control, running wild, and being on the receiving end of such desperation was delightful. My back was arched, my tail stroked his balls, my thighs lifted and descended in short thrusts, most of the work being done by my molten cunt as I quivered around him, eager to feel him spill more of his seed within me. I met his eyes as she worked on me and very deliberately tightened around him once, twice, three times, and he could stand no more.

He came into me, came hard, came with an audible moan that escaped even my control over him. I held my own pleasure in check, riding him through his climax with fierce intensity, but Genevieve could not do the same. She felt his pleasure and mine, and the combination drove her into a violent orgasm, one that overwhelmed her and left her shaking and crying out on the bed beside him, her pussy gushing as pleasure drove her madness to new heights, new heights that still weren't enough to satisfy her.

Only one thing would do that.

Pulse by pulse, spurt by spurt, I drew his essence out, my greedy cunt swallowing it all and still thirsting for more. He tried to hold back, and all his effort amounted to nothing at all. His body, his mind, were entirely under my control now. He'd given me too much, given up too much, to hope to stand against me, to even mount the feeblest of defenses. He tried, suffused with pleasure as he was, and I smiled and fastened around him and drew out another hard gush of his seed in response, showing him his pitiable weakness in the face of my power.

He was expecting me to cease, to let him stop at some point, but this time there was no need. I had a grasp on his soul, and I was drawing it down, drawing it near to where I could claim it. A stronger foe would have required me to revive him and drain him again, but this one was strong but not strong enough. His body was withering, his mind was fraying, and his soul was nearly mine.

Genevieve sensed it, sensed it even in her climax, and she rolled over towards us desperately, struggling to half-lift herself from the bed, bracing herself with one arm.

"It's time, isn't it?" She asked, her words husky, imbued with lust.

"Nearly," I said. I drew my hips up, let his cock slowly emerge until just the tip was inside me. "When I sink down upon him I'll unleash his final climax. Unless you'd rather I spare him?"

I asked knowing her answer, and the knowledge shone in her eyes, in her triumphant smile.

"Destroy him," she whispered, turning to look into his eyes.

"And his soul?" I asked, again knowing her answer.

"Obliterate it," she purred, holding her face a bare inch from the demon-prince's. "I want to watch as it happens, lord husband. I want to see her drain you and I want you to know that this is the end for you. There will be no revival, no reincarnation, no reprieve. This is the moment of your doom."

Somewhere deep within the knowledge flickered, the understanding, the despair.

I sank down onto him slowly, luxuriantly, my molten cunt eager, knowing what was coming, knowing what was imminent. Every inch of his cock felt delicious within me, his manhood hard even as the rest of him withered, his cock happy to lead him to his doom. His soul was sliding lower, lower, preparing to erupt into me, and I could feel its progress as I quivered around him.

"I will rule this kingdom," she growled, "as you were too weak to. I will conquer, and I will destroy, and I will become the queen of this world and you... will be nothing but a soulless husk. The prince is about to die. Long live the queen."

Then I slid down the last fraction of an inch, taking him in to the hilt, and his time was ended.

My thighs spread slightly wider, back arched, and I moved on instinct as my body prepared to feed, positioning him just so within my greedy, thirsty pussy. I pulsed around him, preparing to unleash the sexual deathblow, to consign him to sexual oblivion for all eternity. Sweat dripped off me, venom leaked from my nipples, my fangs, my whole being given over to this moment, this feast, this consummation.

He throbbed within me, his cock aching for release, throbbed and then erupted and I cried out in pleasure, in climax, in glorious completion that would no longer be denied.

It came over me in parts, and then all at once. My fangs extended fully, reflexively. My breasts tingled. My thighs shook, quivered, spasmed as I settled over him. And my warm, wet, eager cunt flooded as I came hard, bathing his cock in my venom, soaking him in my arousal, and then sucking hard, taking all choice away from him.

His climax erupted into me, and I felt it, felt it as if a geyser of pleasure had been unleashed within my pussy, carrying me along with it, and I swallowed it all, drinking down that massive load and demanding more, more, more. There was no stopping this now, no turning back, and I drank greedily, sucking away his life, his essence, feeling his soul coming closer, closer, its imminent arrival making me all the hungrier, all the needier, and my cunt fastened around him and sucked hard.

And his soul burst forth from him and flowed into my eager, pulsing pussy.

It was glorious. It was delicious. It was like having raw, pure pleasure poured into me from the inside. I felt it as it traveled up his cock, felt it as his body gave one last, massive spurt, felt it as it slid free of him and into my hot, wet, welcoming womb, radiating joy and delight as it went.

Genevieve felt it, felt it through our shared link, and she turned to me and I wrapped my arms around her, pulling her close, and sank my fangs deep into her neck, pouring out all the venom that I had left, and as I did I took the final step and consumed his soul, fed it to the black flames within me until nothing was left.

I let her feel it all, made her feel it all, not cutting down the sensation as I had before. This was a test, and if she failed, she failed. It was more pleasure than the mortal mind could stand, more than it could recognize, and she went absolutely rigid in my arms as she tried to process it, tried desperately, and it was just too much, too much for her to grasp.

"Surrender to it," I whispered to her. "Let it take you. Let it change you. Let the pleasure remake you as it will."

And she did.

She went limp, her body enslaved to sensation, sensation beyond her capacity or control, feeling things her body could not comprehend, at intensity beyond anything she could have hoped to prepare for. The sheer sexual pleasure of his soul's obliteration smashed into her, and she chose to welcome it instead of fighting it, chose to embrace it, and in that moment true corruption took hold.

I guided her down onto the bed beside the soulless husk of the demon-prince, letting her body ride out the moment as pleasure took her and molded her and became her, and when at last it passed she opened her eyes and looked up at me and there was acceptance there, and madness, and hunger.

"I have much to do," she whispered.

"You do," I said. "A kingdom to secure. A world to conquer. And-"

"Yes," she said. "I have not forgotten what we discussed. It shall be done."

"Excellent," I said, stroking her forehead softly. "Then my work here is done."

"For now," she said.

"For now," I agreed.

Much had passed between us, and much more would pass between us in times to come. Perhaps I'll speak of them next. Perhaps I'll speak of other things, for I have lived a long time and seen and done much, as a mortal and as a demon. Perhaps.