The Good Succubus

A cold peck and silence. Such had been the routine for weeks. After getting undressed and changed into their nightclothes, Lily and Clark would lie together awkwardly. Neither would move to touch the other. Hard ridges of muscle ran down his stomach. They begged to be touched, yet Lily stayed her hands. And neither did Clark make any moves to tickle or pinch the delicate skin peeking out from under the hem of her nightdress. Instead, they would end up trading a few muttered words for a half hour or so while the television replayed some comfortable, familiar nonsense. And the phones. They, of course, fiddled with their phones.

But they still looked, too. How could they not? From the corners of their eyes they'd nibble at the sight of bare flesh with bitter recollection of every inch of skin that lay inches away and still unreachable. Even in the ghastly glow of their screens, Clark couldn't help seeing the sweep of her neck veiled by her blond tousles and thinking about biting it just so. Just like he always had. Didn't she also look longingly and sidelong at the beard that lit her body up with torrid little tingles? Yes, of course she did.

Nobody wanted to be the one to say, "I'm sorry," or, "I miss you," or... anything at all, really. Not because there was nothing to say. There was too much to say, so much that to start risked losing everything that held back the flood. So, they had the routine. Say nothing but don't pull away and don't give up how bad you feel. Then, there was the kiss. After the television was shut off for the night, they shared a single stiff and resentful kiss that tried to assure the other, tried to assure themselves, that everything was fine. 'Goodnight, I love you,' the kiss wanted to say, the kissers wanted to say, too. But they didn't. They simply pecked.

Sometimes, their hands searched and found each other, settling into a familiar but not comfortable grasp. Would there be more? Their grasping fingers longed to know. No. It was too much. After they kissed, both turned over and drifted to lonely sleep where fitful and frenzied dreams played out for each, visions of each other reaching and teasing and pleasing. Their desire was a beacon. It blazed. They were a lighthouse. Their light shone sultry scarlet red. Red and smoky. It sent an unmistakable signal of vulnerability into the aether, at least to those creatures with the right eyes.

A succubus watched them settle in. Haughty grey eyes witnessed their chilly routine as they had for weeks; the lips that didn't press too hard and the hands that didn't really feel. It made her shake her head. Every night was the same. Dry. Sterile. Tonight was just like the rest. Nearly like the rest, except that it was All Hallow's Eve. Tonight, she could do more than poke around their dreams.

Clark was out first. Long, slow huffs brought his body up and down in steady rhythm. Lily always took longer. The succubus looked at the alarm clock on the nightstand. 12 o'clock. Already she felt more present. More powerful. For an hour, she'd be able to touch them. Sort of. It wasn't much time, but if this woman would just go to sleep, it would be plenty. Lily was impossible; without some kind of touch there was no way to finish the scene. She'd tried. But it was her fortune to have found them in October.

A tiny shift on the bed marked the moment the succubus settled into the frigid canyon between them. They did not respond. Her arms snaked around Lily. A numb cold spread wherever she touched. One hand delicately stroked over the woman's hair. If she felt it, it was in passing, something like a chill or a blush. There and gone before she could think, the invisible fingers spread their paralyzing touch and smoothed away a million anxieties.

"For fuck's sake, woman," the succubus muttered. "Do you want some action or not? Just relax." A slightly deeper breath told her they were close. Lily's eyelids, at last, drew down. Another wordless hum from the demon and it was done. Her breasts rose and fell evenly.

Lily shimmied her ass backward a bit into the denser space of air around the succubus's subtle body. "Be a good girl for me tonight and we can both get what we need."

Dreams were a succubus' forte. Typically men's dreams, of course. Easy fare. Hell, most of the time they did almost all the work themselves. A succubus, or incubus for that matter, need only offer a desperate man a place to give himself. And keep giving, night after night, until he withered away. But women, they required a different touch. It wasn't enough to hose their sleeping minds with images of body parts and lewd acts. Not usually. No. Nuance was almost always a necessity. Most succubi would never know, of course. Why pursue a harder meal? That attitude kept them from knowing many things.

From somewhere else in the house a dog's nails clicked across the floor. Otherwise, there was only their breathing to stir the air. She waited for the right moment. Too soon and Lily would certainly reject the dream. So, as she waited, she idly fiddled with Clark's dreams. Why not? It took no effort, especially on All Hallow's Eve.

"Ooh, a lakeside blowjob," the succubus said as she rifled through a dozen memories of Lily at her most seductive. "And a movie theater fingerbang. Classic."

She spun these two memories around his mind and blurred them with others, like their first moment alone after their wedding. His hands twitched at the recollection of fondling her ass over the delicate fabric of her wedding dress. The art here was keeping him from getting too excited, the succubus knew, because if he woke up, he'd never act. He would turn and freeze himself out rather than be spurned. Or else go jack off. "Dummy," the succubus whispered.

When Lily was ready, the succubus began to weave. It was a relief to the succubus that she had so much material to use. Whatever it was between them. The gulf. The frigid valley, the one that she lay in now. It was temporary. Or, it could be. Their hearts glowed magenta when they thought of each other.

She caught herself. Those were their problems. Maybe they'd be able to fix them after tonight. Maybe they wouldn't. It wasn't her concern whether they did or not. What mattered was that these two had summoned her in their pain. Their need could feed hers. That was all. Right?

There was no shortage of tender moments she could marinate them in and a host of elaborate fantasies they both fostered. She supposed it was like collage. Familiar times and places rolled together with old passionate sensations of his tongue gliding around her nipples. A flicker of recollection at the sight of his young face smirking and kissing down, down, down under a palm tree.

Lily tumbled through this tapestry and fed into it herself, a fact that the succubus regarded with some pleasure. Not only did this serve her ends, it caressed her ego. Yes, she could have drained this woman's husband every night for as long as their bed remained cold. Yes, this was "normal". But she was an artist. It took no effort to milk a starved cock. It was almost a little insulting to consider satisfying herself with so little. No. She was an artist, not a mere sexual parasite. Even an incubus couldn't match the skill she'd developed in this realm. Could they taunt her with dark imagery of rough strangers imposing her own desires upon her? Yes, they could do that and they did it very, very well. But something like this was far, far too subtle for such brutish things.

Lily's hushed moan went almost unheard in the gloom of the bedroom. Almost. The succubus was waiting for a sign that the hook was set. She received the sounds with a smirk and soaked in the energy beginning to bubble from the sleeping woman.

Tonight would be the night. It must be. Too many hours had gone by watching these two. The succubus wouldn't let this most rare and delicious opportunity disappear.

Now, The succubus thought, we are going to make everything right. She nuzzled against the nape of Lily's neck and focused on making the pressure just perfect, just enough to...

Lily twitched her ass backward with a writhing that seemed to search. It was enough to stir her husband. A thick hand searched out for hers. They grasped together in the air around the succubus. Something passed between them. An energy. A force. The succubus saw it as a brilliant magenta light.

"Yes!" She soaked it in and continued to paw at Lily's body with an airy touch that seemed to draw out more heat from her skin.

"Enough hand holding now," she said, glancing at the clock. She had half an hour. "Clark, if you don't make a move I swear I will stalk you every night after your divorce and drain you to a little husk."

To her surprise, their hands soon began to twist and writhe together sensually. No longer locked together but tracing little love lines up and down each other's palms. "Perfect." The demon licked her lips and moved to the foot of the bed. Clark turned over and grasped his wife for the first time in weeks. Not the maintenance hugs they had every day. Those didn't count. Lily backed her body into his and allowed him to envelope her with his arms and twist his legs through hers.

Clark rubbed affectionate little circles on his wife's shoulder and breathed in her ear. Nostalgia lit up his fingertips and drew him automatically farther down to the soft swell of her breast. He growled a little and nibbled at her neck. Lily murmured. Her tongue peeked out a touch between her lips. "Yes," she mumbled to the soft pressure of his hand squeezing at her chest. Both were asleep. Yet, they were stirring.

The man's fingers found one rapidly stiffening nipple beneath her dress and grazed over it. Lily moaned. Not a little, either. She panted. A little friction and a little pressure went a long way. She reached out and found his stomach, found the "marbling" over his strong core and continued down. He sighed and shuffled his body closer until the tip of his cock grazed against the curve of her ass. "Very good," the succubus said from her perch on the foot of the bed. Lily's slender fingers met his cock and circled it lovingly.

Like wind-up toys, their bodies continued apace. Yes, it was on the path she had set them down. Yet, it was also the path that both of them longed to set down. The succubus had seen it night after night. Needing to reach out but too afraid of being pushed away. Not that either of them would have rejected the other. She saw that, too.

The succubus watched Lily stroke her husband's cock slowly to an old beat. It was almost as familiar to her as her own heartbeat, it was a beat that she had played at prom and homecoming, and at her sister's wedding reception, and...

Clark grunted a little in satisfaction and anticipation. His fingers toured her flesh sleepily and clumsily. But by the time he reached her hips, they were clumsy no more. He sketched daring lines down to her thighs. Sparks raced across her body when his fingers found her lips and slipped just a touch beyond them. Burning wet heat waited for him. Her pressure tightened almost painfully at the pressure of his fingertips on her clit. She squeezed until he bit at her neck for her to stop, and then she clutched and squeezed and pulled roughly until his cock slicked up with precum.

By degrees, they slowly rose from their sleep and became aware of each other. She turned her head. Their eyes met in the dark, almost unseen glimmering spheres of desire.

"Fuck me." Two words desperately whimpered. Begging. A deep breath filled up his chest and then he was upon her. A girlish giggle escaped her throat as a flurry of kisses peppered her; first passionately meeting her lips, and then spreading to her cheeks and her chin. Stubble grazed her neck. Her love cactus. Yes, that was what she had always called him when he did this to her.

He bit and licked and slowly crept up over her body until she was beneath him. She raked her fingernails softly over his chest and toyed with his nipples to bid him onward. Velvet legs clutched at his hips as he moved into position. At the first pressure of his cock against the smooth folds of her cunt she shivered and wiggled in invitation.

There was no hesitation. For the first time in months they met and now it was like physics. It must happen. Her pussy yielded to him; a little painfully, at first, but he was easy. Ginger. A gentleman. And she was so slick, so ready, that he really didn't need to be. Their hips pressed into each other and he slid in. It seemed like forever, that first moment. He filled her and she enveloped him.

"I love you." Neither said it first; their mutual confession overlapped. And repeated. A mantra.

Clark groaned and backed out for the next plunge. She snatched at him, grasped her fingers painfully deep into his shoulder and insistently pulled him back. Her legs pumped him into her and her hips pushed him back again. They couldn't sustain this. Neither had anything left to hold back. They clashed harder. Faster.

"Don't stop."

The headboard pounded against the wall like an irate neighbor. Animal breaths tore through them both. Lily's nails drew scarlet lines on his body. He snatched her hips tight and pulled her to his every ravenous thrust. Her feet locked together around the small of his back and squeezed him into her. Each wailed in relief as their passion crested and they released themselves together.

Stillness returned to the gloom but this time it was a warm and full silence that draped over the room.

The succubus moaned. All around her she saw magenta. It was the color of their energy; the color of love. Just as their frustration had blazed that lonely red beacon that attracted her, their love shone as a beacon, too. She lapped. She swallowed. There was no flavor, she only tasted the desire, the passion, and the love. It was her secret, her own private discovery; the power and the flavor of these encounters when love broke through distance. It would never occur to the rest. She'd never share it, either. Let those other she-devils jack off their he-prey. Let them satisfy themselves with empty mediocrity.

Invigoration spread through her so much that she was almost present like them. Almost physical. The ground where she stepped even depressed a little to show her cute footprints.

The clock showed 1:00. A photo finish. She tarried for a moment in her victory. Her art. And, even if she didn't want to admit it, something like affection kept her there, too. Their petty-headed bickering and stupid, silly silences might come back. She wouldn't know. Whether they stayed together, whether they found themselves in other beds, it would be a mystery to her. Strangers again. Phantoms. She looked back at them and studied their sleeping faces. If she'd had a heart, it'd have dropped. Instead, she straightened herself and prided herself on a job well done.

Love, she thought, was the best food of all.