I, Succubus Pt. 07

I left the desert world behind and returned to an ambush.

I had thought my destination secure. My master the incubus had made his home in a demonic realm and had there crafted a fortress so powerful that it had served as an impregnable bastion from which to plan and conquer. The chamber I made use of for my comings and goings was nestled deep beneath the fortress, in a fissure that extended far into the rock. One wall of the chamber was open to the elements, and looked out into the fissure where, far below, lava flowed.

Elemental beings of fire and magma made their homes there, for little else could survive in that harsh and unforgiving place. Looking out upon it was useful to me, reminding me that power comes in many forms and strength in many flavors.

It was a lesson that served me well, and one that saw me through many trials.

I returned to that chamber with the power of the demon-prince's soul still pulsing within me, the tingling aftereffects still warm and blissful. His had been a powerful soul, and its consumption was like a warm meal and a roaring assault at once, energizing and empowering me.

It did not, however, forewarn me of the peril I faced.

I had become accustomed to leaving from and returning to the same place, and this custom was overconfidence born of familiarity. If someone knew of this pattern it became simplicity itself to interrupt it once access had been gained to the chamber, and someone had gained such access and learned of my pattern and lay in wait.

I learned of my peril the moment I returned. I arrived in my customary place, within a well-worn circle against one of the cavern's smooth stone walls, and found myself immediately bound by something warm and wet and alive.

Tentacles.

Tentacles that had erupted from the stone itself to wrap themselves around my wrists and ankles, hauling me back against the wall, leaving me spreadeagled and helpless.

I looked around, first at my bonds and then for my ambusher, and it took me no time at all to find her, for she made no effort at concealment. She stood proudly in the center of the cavern, blue-green of skin with a shock of red hair that fell nearly to the floor. She wore little, a diaphanous garment that clung to her smooth, toned body and seemed to flicker and flow over her skin, as if she were wearing waves from the ocean-sea.

She also wore a triumphant smile, and her deep orange eyes glowed with malice and delight. She was beautiful, and she was powerful, and she had taken me by surprise, and I cursed myself for my carelessness, for strength in the service of the unheeding is no strength at all.

"Free me," I snarled, hauling fruitlessly against my bonds.

"Oh," she said, "I think not. It took so much time to set this up, after all. And my master would be... most displeased with me if I failed to apprehend you."

"Your master," I growled, "will be my prey, and so will you."

"He'll have nothing to fear from you," she said, chuckling. "And nor will I, soon."

Her voice was bubbly, playful. She was plainly enjoying herself. So might I, in her situation, but enjoyment should never be the master of efficiency. Enjoyment should always be collared and held at heel, for if given free rein for too long it becomes weakness.

"And why is that?" I asked. I was playing for time. I had little else I could do, but retaining control in moments of peril is the difference between victory and defeat, strength and weakness.

"Because I'm going to destroy your mind," she said, leaning in just a little closer, her eyes meeting mine. "With my little pet here. I call him Pockets."

More tentacles emerged from the wall and floor as she spoke, entwining around my legs, my arms. They moved within my clothing, and I felt the cloth beginning to strain, ripping apart as the smooth, eager tendrils moved inwards, caressing my flesh, squeezing and teasing as they went. They were warm, and wet, and felt very pleasant indeed against my skin, like being stroked by lubricated leather, leather that moved around my body with worrying skill and assurance.

"He's such a good boy," she said, smirking. "His venom is as potent as yours and more. If I tell him I want you to be overwhelmed by lust, your mind to be shattered but your body left intact for my master's enjoyment... well. He'll do just what I want. He does so enjoy pleasing me."

"Not as much," I snarled, "as I'll enjoy destroying you."

She clucked her tongue at that, stepping back, looking me up and down with a malevolent look.

"Pockets," she said, turning and walking towards the door leading up into the keep, "I think the mean lady needs a lesson. Destroy her mind, but leave her body intact. Take your time. I want to savor her screams as we take the keep."

She stopped at the door, leaned back to look at me one last time.

"My name," she said, "is Sussura. Remember it as you shatter."

Then she was gone, letting the door slide shut behind her, leaving me trapped in the clutches of a tentacled monster.

I could feel his mind, feel his presence through his touch. His tentacles moved up, flexed, and my dress was torn asunder, falling to the floor in tattered scraps, leaving me naked and bound. Such magic as I had was useless here, trapped as I was, but magic is far from my only weapon, nor my deadliest.

The deadliest weapon of any warrior is the mind. Even in the worst situation a sharp mind and relentless focus can cheat defeat of its prize, and offer victory to the worthy.

I was in a position where resistance held no promise, and so I relaxed into the embrace of the tentacles, feeling them sliding wetly over my body, tiny suckers planting what felt like a thousand tiny kisses over every inch of skin they touched. I felt the liquid they exuded seeping into my skin much as my own venom would into a victim, and with similar effect. My skin was growing warm, my body aroused even over and above my normal state.

Pockets sought to arouse me and use my lust against me, but to attempt to conquer a succubus with lust is to fight her upon her home terrain, where she is strongest and most sure. Many have tried, but only two have succeeded. My master, the incubus, and the mage who first turned me, and I hungered to conquer each of them in turn, to feed their lives and souls into the black flames of my hunger and claim them completely.

But to succeed in that I first needed to overcome my present circumstances, and so I leaned back against the stone, spread my legs a fraction of an inch apart, as far as the tentacles would permit, and made a show of opening myself up to the alien lusts of the tentacles.

"Very well, Pockets," I whispered, doubting very much if the creature could understand me but using the words to focus my own mind. "If you think you can conquer me, try. Show me the end your mistress has in mind for me."

The tentacles worked over my body, encircling my breasts, the tips fastening on my nipples and sucking at them, squeezing, kneading, giving me the sort of attention a skilled lover would only dream of. I let out a moan, half-choked back as if I were trying to conceal my arousal, and the tendrils seemed to take it as incentive to redouble their efforts.

More of the warm, wet lengths moved up and down, stroking and caressing, teasing and pleasuring, and the more I felt their touch the more I could feel the mind behind them. It - he, very definitely he - had a mind very different from those I had encountered before, a massive, alien presence that seemed bound up by something, something outside itself, and as I examined it I realized what it was.

A binding spell, and a powerful one.

Sussura had placed a binding spell upon his mind, restricting him to obeying her orders, and this was the stepping-stone upon which I knew the battle would turn.

A beast that could be bound by one could be conquered by another.

A creature chained by another's will could be outmaneuvered, out-thought, and out-fought.

And anything and anyone that sought to challenge me was my natural prey, for to challenge me is to invite doom.

"Ohhh... Pocketsss.." I moaned, feeling his tendrils fasten upon my breasts, suckling at them, drawing forth my venom, and I permitted it, letting my poison flow into him, letting him drink of my lust and of my power. I made a show of writhing slightly, my hips shifting against the wall, as if overcome by his will, and he responded eagerly, his tentacles becoming more assertive, his motions more confident.

He thought he was serving his mistress and succeeding in driving me into the throes of madness.

He was, instead, racing towards his demise, though ensuring that outcome would take great care and skill.

Tentacles moved up my legs, working towards my eager sex, my tight little ass, and I pretended to resist, to try hopelessly to evade, and I could feel the response in his body and mind, the surge of anticipation and pleasure it brought him to feel how his helpless prey shook in his grasp.

I let my tail come down to entwine around one of the tendrils, made a show of pulling fruitlessly at it, as if I were trying to haul it away when I very much wanted his ministrations to continue, wanted him to be drawn further and further in. His tendrils kept at it, keeping up the pressure, and I let him draw out another dose of my venomous milk, let it seep into him.

It was working on his mind subtly. I could feel it, feel lust tingling in his touch, feel his grasp becoming more eager, and more careless. He was beginning to hunger for my sexual pleasure, my venom and Sussura's commands mixing in his vast mind, and the more I showed myself vulnerable to pleasure the more eager he became.

His tentacles approached my eager sex, one from the left, one from the right, one from above, and I let my breathing grow heavier with anticipation, not knowing what signals he would take from me but putting on a show, as much for my benefit as for his.

The more I behaved as his prey the more he treated his victory as a foregone conclusion, and victory is fickle, loving to spurn those who seek to grasp her too quickly. Victory must be courted, and treated with respect and devotion, for only then will she give herself to the suitor who behaves as she demands.

One tentacle fastened itself upon my clit, the other two stroked up and down each side of my ebon-lipped pussy, smooth and wet and slick with my arousal, and though I was feigning being prey my arousal was very real.

I was hot, and wet, and the thought of devouring his soul made my pulse race and my mind dance and my molten sex grow more and more ready with each passing moment.

"Please, Pockets," I whispered, speaking as if it took great effort to form words, "don't edge me too much. I need it so much..."

I leaned my head back against the cavern wall then and moaned, a moan that became all the more eager as one of his tentacles wrapped around my neck and the tip came to my mouth, tracing over my lips teasingly. I brought my lips together around it and gave it a soft, suckling kiss, one that let my venom mingle with his.

That was when the two tentacles teasing my sopping pussy thrust in deep and my eyes went wide and I moaned around the tip of the tendril between my lips.

It felt wonderful, the twin lengths thick and hot and eager, questing within me, thrusting and writhing, exuding their aphrodisiac poison inside me even as my eager cunt bathed them in my own arousal. I could feel them quivering, feel Pockets growing more and more aroused, feel him seeking to bring on my pleasure, and that was his fatal mistake.

Pleasure is not my weakness.

Pleasure is my strength.

This is something those who challenge me learn at their peril, and this was the moment Pockets began to realize his danger, for as he sought to bring on my pleasure I could feel his own approaching.

His pleasure was different from mine, different from any I had felt, but the more he touched me the more I became attuned to his mind, for succubi are creatures of sexual pleasure, demonesses of lust, and we adapt to nothing so well as to the lusts of those we seek to prey upon. I could sense the need for release building within his mind, feel it within his body, and I worked him towards his pleasure even as he struggled to work me towards mine.

It was a race, but one of a great length, a marathon rather than a sprint, and I am built for such contests and he did not yet know that he was racing at all. He thought his victory was assured, that there was no battle to be fought at all, and such presumption is the handmaiden of defeat. His tentacles quivered within me, his body shook, his mind pulsed with raw sexual need.

And I fastened my cunt tightly around his tentacles and sank my fangs into the tendril invading my mouth and I unleashed the raw sexual fury boiling in my mind.

His whole being tensed up, his tentacles going stiff and rigid for a moment, and I did not let up, pouring my venom out through my fangs, holding my sweet sex tight around his invading lengths, flooding his mind and body with lust, lust he had thought he was burying me in, lust he only now realized was a blade in my hands and not his to wield.

There was a moment, a frozen instant that seemed to drag on for years, where he tried to resist, to pull back, and I did not permit this, would not permit this. He had sought to conquer me, and worse still had sought to conquer me after being weak enough to be bound by another, and I would not allow this insult to stand. His climax hung in the balance for that petrified instant, and then it broke and I felt it pour forth as his tendrils spurted over me, spraying their aphrodisiac venom wildly, leaving my body soaking wet and my mind rejoicing.

He tried to escape, but he could not. His orders from his mistress prevented him from departing even if I'd permitted it. He would have been hard-pressed to overcome my resistance if he sought to leave this place, but it was a moot question. The chains of his binding lashed him to his mistress' will, and thus his prior defeat ensured his present doom. He could not disobey her, could not escape, and nor could he simply tear me limb from limb though he was strong enough to do so.

She had ordered him to overwhelm me but leave my body intact, and so he was forced to fight a battle he could not win with weapons he could not wield for the sake of a mistress who did not care enough to ensure his victory properly.

That was his fatal weakness. I was determined to make my survival hers.

"Poor Pockets," I whispered, speaking directly into that cavernous mind now, "you're not leaving. Not when I'm having so much fun..."

Whether he understood the words or not I'll never know, but he certainly felt the shift, felt the change. Before he had been the predator and I was the prey. Now he was desperate and trapped and his only hope was to overwhelm me with lust, and so he tried.

His tentacles moved over my body, smearing his messy venomous climax into me, and I welcomed the fiery feel of his venom, let it lend me strength, let it lend my arousal power, and if he understood that he was feeding the flames of his own funeral pyre he gave no sign. He was trying frantically to bring forth my climax, and even if I had permitted it it would not have saved him, but I refused to permit it.

My climax is my own. I will take my pleasure, but only those who conquer me may inflict it and Pockets did not conquer me.

His tendrils hauled me forward off the wall, drawing me down to a kneeling position with my arms drawn back, but he was not seeking my submission. He was merely trying to open me up, to expose me to more of his tentacles, and I cooperated eagerly. I felt one tentacle tip probing around the crinkled pucker of my ass, and I smirked at that, sending him a mental image of me being overcome by the gambit, of me screaming in submission as he claimed me, and he thrust in and tried to make that vision a reality and he failed.

I felt the intrusion as another warm, pulsing, pleasurable length, and I clenched down around it and pulled hard, sucking at his lengths with all my being, for succubi can do things that others simply cannot, and pouring pleasure into him as I welcomed his invasion was trivial to me and shattering to him.

His tendrils quivered, radiating tension as he struggled to hold back his lust, and I brushed this control aside and thrust his climax upon him, and he came hard within me and I drank deep of it, swallowing it all and demanding more, more, more. Drinking from a beast this size should have been like drinking from a waterfall, and was, but when it came to lust I was the ocean-sea and all the waterfalls of creation would never do more than make me more powerful.

I felt his pleasure, and I felt his despair, and I felt the binding shaking around his mind as he struggled to break free and either retreat or inflict violence upon me, but Sussura's binding held strong and he was caught between her spell and my insatiable lust, and it was in that moment that he realized that he was well and truly doomed.

Doomed by his own weakness in letting himself be bound, and doomed by my lust and power, for when the weak challenge the strong they do so at their own peril.

The gush of his climax was magnificent, tasting of his strength and his life and his strange power, and once he began to climax I did not permit him to stop until he was drained almost to the point of oblivion.

It was then that I bade him cease, and forced him to release me, for he had given over nearly all of himself to me and his body obeyed my will before his own.

"Pockets," I whispered, standing slowly, "it's time to end you. But not like that. I won't end you while I kneel. I am not your subject. I am not your prey. I am not your victim."

I stood in the center of the room, legs apart, relaxed and eager, ready for the finale, ready for the end of our contest, ready to claim the victory I had earned, to begin to redeem the carelessness that had nearly undone me.

"I am your doom," I said, whispering it aloud and into his mind at once, making sure he felt it, and the quiver of fear that ran through his mind was delightful to me. "Come and face me."

And he did.

He could do nothing else. He could not retreat, could not resist, and could not disobey me. His tentacles lurched forth from the wall, extending towards me despite his best efforts, efforts that I shrugged aside with contemptuous ease. They wrapped around my legs, moved up to my sex, and I bade them stroke and tease me for a moment, wanting to exult in my triumph and his downfall, but only for a moment.

Celebration is one thing, but it should never come at the cost of victory. This was Sussura's flaw, and one I intended to take great pleasure in using against her.

But not yet.

I had other things to accomplish first, and the demise of Pockets was first among them, and so I reached out and used him for my pleasure. He thrust into me, into my wet, eager pussy and my tight, pleasurable ass and other tentacles moved up over me, burying me in a writhing mass of lust-addled need, warm and soaked with his arousal and my own.

I reached out and grasped a tentacle with each hand, guiding one to my mouth and sinking my fangs into it anew. I needn't have done it, his lust was already approaching a fever pitch, he did not need the assistance, but I intended to conquer him thoroughly and completely and so I poured my venom into him until I was temporarily spent, then cast that tendril aside and guided the other to my mouth and thrust it in, fastening my lips around it and sucking and licking and swallowing hard.

He was a slave to the pleasures I was inflicting upon him, his body wracked with sensations he did not understand, his mind shackled and helpless, helpless to stave off the death of his body and soul, and I was sure to pour into him that knowledge along with the overwhelming lust of my being.

I wanted him to know he was being conquered. I wanted him to know he was being destroyed. I wanted him to know that his weakness had led him to his doom, and my strength would be his executioner.

I felt him shake as the knowledge sunk home, felt the raw, primal fear and then felt the fear twine with the juggernaut of lust that was tearing through him, working hand-in-hand to drive him to his end.

His soul called to me, and I tugged at it, felt it coming towards me, saw the glow as it flowed up through his tentacles, ready to erupt into me, ready to be mine. I felt the power, and the strength of it, felt the sheer bliss that awaited me when I consumed it, felt it poised on the edge, at the point beyond which there was nothing but pleasurable extinction at my hands.

"This is it, Pockets," I whispered. "Time to break for me. Time to shatter for me. Time to die for me."

And he did.

My body tensed up as I drew in a deep breath and then I clenched down hard around him and bathed him in pleasure, in lust, in need, and my body responded, sucking at him inhumanly, drawing out not just his pleasure but more, more, more.

His climax quivered, and then erupted into me, the tentacles spurting madly, soaking me, his body giving all it had to give as I spurred his final pleasure on. It started as a burst, and then became a gush, and then became a geyser as he spent himself utterly, unable to hold back even the tiniest fragment of control, and I rode his pleasure as if it were a stallion galloping upon the open sands, for his climax was strong and powerful and I was his master.

I felt it when the last of his climax neared, felt it when his essence was spent and only his soul was left, and I closed my eyes to focus on his mind, to let him feel my power, to let him feel my strength, to let him feel my merciless wrath.

"This is the fate of those who oppose me," I whispered, and my body gave one final, pleasurable pull.

And his soul poured forth in a glowing tide, pouring into me, and I swallowed it down. My cunt, my ass, my mouth all claimed part of his soul, and I felt it flow within me to the fires of my dark womb, felt it rest there for just a moment, and then I consumed it utterly, screaming in ecstasy as I finally let loose my own climax and embraced the glorious sexual release I had denied myself until that point.

It was impossibly pleasurable, the sheer weight of his life and soul, the overwhelming force of all that had come before, the glorious sexual excess all refined to a point, and I shrieked in completion, in culmination, in savage sexual glee. My mouth opened wide and white light poured forth from my lips and my eyes as I claimed all that Pockets was, or ever would be, and destroyed it in a cataclysmic burst of sexual delight.

Somewhere, on another world, in another dimension, far below the seas, a massive leviathan shuddered and let out a low, rumbling death-scream, and then went silent and slowly fell to the ocean floor many leagues below, lifeless and soulless and spent, a mute testament to my power, and my wrath, and my vengeance. The tentacles pulled back through the wall, freed by his death from Sussura's command, and I watched them go in a haze of triumph, feeling the aftershocks ripple through me as the last of them disappeared.

I stood then, on shaky legs, knowing I had little time before Sussura returned, and I was not yet in any condition to face her, not without knowing much more. She would feel her pet's demise, she would know she had been thwarted, and she would know that I remained alive, alive and much more of a threat than she'd known.

I crossed to the armor stand against the wall, took from it my belt, sword, sheath, and one or two other little tricks that I put into the belt's pouches. I could hear a clamor from the corridor leading to the room's only door, and I stepped away from it, walking towards the wide opening that faced the fiery chasm far below.

Just as I reached it, just as I stood upon the lip of stone that protruded out over it, the door opened and Sussura stood there. Her eyes were wide with panic and rage, for she knew that her plans had miscarried and her beast was dead and his power was mine, knew too that she faced a more formidable foe than she'd planned on.

"You," she snarled, but could think of nothing more to add.

"I," I said, meeting her eyes with my own.

Much passed between us in that moment, a moment where our eyes locked. Challenge. Rage. Lust. Power. Hatred. Conversations have lasted for days without imparting nearly so much as we said to one another without words in that moment.

"I should have had Pockets tear you apart," she snarled, at last. Her eyes were wide and wild, enraged and impressed against her will.

"You should have," I said. "And you didn't. Soon, instead, I'll destroy you."

She raised her arms and I felt her reach out to prepare to cast a spell.

And I stepped backwards into the air and dropped like a stone towards the molten lava far, far below.

There is much more to say, of Sussura, and her lord, who together nearly succeeded in destroying my master, the incubus. More too of my life before becoming a succubus and since, for I have lived long and seen and done much. Perhaps I will speak of that soon, or perhaps not, but one thing I will tell you. I did not die that day, not in lava and not in battle. What did transpire, though, was far stranger, and far more harrowing, and far more glorious.