Daphne.... Succulent Succubus free porn video

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

"What do you want, Rhonda?"

The woman seemed irritated by the intrusion.

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

The girl paced. Her delicate nostrils flared with anger.

"Gift?"

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

"Really? How old?"

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

"Oooh..."

* * * *

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

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

"Daphne?" he asked.

"Yes," the woman replied. "And you must be John. I was told to expect you."

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

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

"That's right," John said. "Miss Crowder sent me."

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

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

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

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

"Come inside," she said.

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

"Let me take your jacket," Daphne said as he crossed the threshold into a neat little hallway.

"Er, thanks," John said.

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

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

"Will you join me for a glass?" she asked.

"Sure," John replied. It was why he was here after all.

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

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

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

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

"I hope this isn't really expensive," he said.

"Why?" Daphne asked.

"It'd be wasted on me," he said. "I've got no palette to speak of at all when it comes to wine. It's all g**** juice gone off to me."

Daphne laughed.

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

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

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

"How do you know Rhonda?" She asked.

"Miss Crowder? I'm sort of her odd-job man," John answered. "I do a bit of gardening here, mend a few wires there. That kind of thing. I help her out with her psychiatry work sometimes."

"Really," Daphne said, leaning forwards. Her wine glass was in her hand, but she still hadn't touched a drop.

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

John looked at Daphne.

"I thought that's why Miss Crowder sent me here, but you don't exactly look..."

"Old," Daphne finished for him with a smile. "I'm not lonely either," she added.

Her smile held extra meaning.

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

"But do you ever get a chance to talk?" John asked.

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

"It's very noble," Daphne said, "giving up your time to talk to those lonely old dears."

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

Daphne looked at John with an impish smile. "I can give you some stories," she said. "Did Rhonda ever tell you what I do for a living?"

"Um no, I don't believe she did," John said. He wondered what was coming next.

"I'm a prostitute," Daphne said, absolutely straight-faced and without a hint of shame. "Men pay money to have sex with me."
Her directness completely threw John off.

"Well . . . um . . ."

"Does that bother you?" Daphne asked in a voice that sounded as if it had been dipped in honey.

"No . . . um . . . I mean if you're . . . um . . . happy . . . if it's what . . ."

He held out his palms.

"I'm not judging," he said.

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

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

John ran aground.

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

Dear oh dear. Keep on digging why don't you, John.

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

"It's fine," Daphne said. "I get paid well and I enjoy the work."

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

"Um . . . Miss Crowder, she didn't give you any money to . . ."

"To do what?" Daphne asked, affecting an air of deceitful innocence.

"Oh, nothing," John said.

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

"Nothing?" Daphne said. She raised a pencil-thin eyebrow.

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

"You're a virgin, aren't you," she stated.

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

"I thought as much," Daphne smiled. "I saw how uncomfortable you looked whenever I stood close to you. You're shy around women."

"Yes," John admitted. "Don't make a big thing about it, okay."

"I'm not judging," Daphne said, smiling as she held out her palms.

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

"Another glass?" Daphne asked.

"What?" John looked down. He'd managed to empty the glass without realising it. "Oh, yes please."

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

He noticed Daphne still hadn't touched her glass.

"You're not drinking?" he asked.

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

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

"How old?" Daphne asked.

John realised she'd gone back to the other topic. "Thirty-four," he answered with a grimace.

Daphne's supple red lips formed a perfect 'o'. She sat back in her chair.

"Really?" she said.

John nodded.

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

"I think it's sweet," Daphne said. "It's admirable to wait so long for that certain special person."

John's expression became pained.

Daphne raised an eyebrow. "You're not waiting for someone?" she said.

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

"Paying for it," Daphne interrupted.

"Paying for it," John repeated. "d**gging the poor lasses if they're desperate and ratbag enough. r****g them." John shook his head. "I'm not going down that route," he said. "I'd rather go without than resort to tricking or forcing the girl."

Daphne made circular motions with her finger on the table. "So you're not against the idea of casual sex, so long as the other participant is willing."

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

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

"Sorry," Daphne said, snapping out of her sudden trance. "Daydreaming."

Had her pale cheeks picked up a red tinge?

"Um, Miss Crowder, she didn't . . .?"

"No, Rhonda has not given me any money," Daphne said with a smile.

"That's a relief," John said. "She has some very strange ideas sometimes. About what she thinks people need."

Daphne leaned forward towards John.

"Does it disappoint you Rhonda hasn't given me any money to have sex with you?" she asked.

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

"No . . . um . . . I mean you're . . . um . . . really beautiful and I'm sure you're very . . . um . . . good at what you do . . ."

Good golly, could he dig himself any deeper?

John took a deep breath.

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

Daphne smiled at his tongue-tied stammering.

"It's fine. I understand perfectly," she said.

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

Daphne regarded him with an enigmatic little smile.

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

John blushed. "Sorry. Mustn't pry."

Daphne leaned right across the table. Conspiratorial.

"Would you like a little tour of my house of sin?" she whispered. "I'm sure you must be curious to see how a high-class escort plies her trade."

John was, actually.

"Why not," he smiled.

Daphne looked at her wine glass. It was still full.

"It would be a shame to let this go to waste. Here," she said, passing him the glass.

Well, it would be a shame, John thought. Before he knew it, he'd tipped the glass back and poured the whole contents down his throat.

"Heh, seems like you really like it," Daphne said. "Why don't you bring the bottle with you?"

Whoa, John thought as bubbles of light-headedness trickled up through his brain. He was probably going to regret this come tomorrow morning. Against his better judgment he picked up the bottle anyway. Damn stuff was so moreish.

Daphne led him through the back of her house. It seemed a lot larger than it had looked from the outside. And deeper. She led him down some steps and into a maze-like basement area. The first door Daphne opened led to a very odd room. It looked like a cross between a medieval dungeon and a fitness suite. There were stocks and full-sized crosses covered in black padding. A cage big enough to hold a man if he was on his hands and knees stood in the far corner. A variety of whips and floggers were mounted on the walls.

"Is this your . . .?" John asked.

"Yes, it's my dungeon," Daphne answered. "I bring naughty boys here and teach them some discipline."

She looked at John and smiled. The bright red colour of her lips contrasted with her pale complexion.

"Have you been a naughty boy?" she asked.

"No no no!" John said, backing away with his hands up. He was thankful Daphne was still wearing her large shades. He suspected he'd be quite unnerved by the look she was giving him right now.

Daphne doubled up with laughter.

"That room was scary," John said once they were back in the corridor. "Do people really pay you to tie them up and beat them?"

Daphne nodded. "People in power often have their day-to-day lives filled with hard choices. I think sometimes they enjoy ceding that power to someone else."

John looked at her as if she was speaking Swahili. He shook his head.

"Diff'rent strokes for diff'rent folks," he said.

They continued on through Daphne's lower floor. She skipped the next door, but opened the one after it. Now this room was more like how John expected a tart's boudoir to be. The lighting was low and soft. The walls were hung with heavy black velvet d****s. A huge circular bed took up most of the centre of the room. It was covered in glossy black silk sheets and plush black pillows. An apothecary's dream of bottles and vials stood on the back shelves.

"This is my relaxation room," Daphne said.

"Is that a waterbed?" John asked.

"Yes," Daphne answered.

He pushed down on the edge of the bed and watched the surface sway with wet sloshing sounds.

"Can I?" he asked.

"Be my guest," Daphne smiled.

"I've always wanted to find out what one of these felt like," John said.

He put the wine bottle down, took off his shoes and dived backwards onto the bed. The bed rocked and swayed beneath him, waves lifting his body up and down. He grinned as he stared up at his reflection in the mirror on the ceiling.

"Yes, I think this is the right room," Daphne said, looking about her.

John lifted his head up, puzzled.

Daphne took off her coat and hung it on a peg next to the door. Her body was even more gorgeous than John had imagined. She was curvaceous around her chest and ass, but there wasn't an ounce of spare fat anywhere else. John knew this because he was seeing a lot more of Daphne's body than he was entirely comfortable with. Beneath her coat she wore a skimpy black bra, panties, thigh-length fishnet stockings, and that was about it.

Her skin was the biggest surprise. She was covered from head to toe in black tattoos. It was an unusual design; John hadn't seen anything like it before. It looked as if a mad scientist had scribbled all over her body in black pen, covering every inch of her exposed flesh in bizarre symbols and pictograms.

Daphne hadn't finished disrobing. The bra went next. The mad designs continued across the ample swell of her breasts. Her left breast was decorated with a complex whorl that spiralled all the way down to the pink disc of her areole. John thought she didn't really need additional help to draw the gaze to the perfect curves of her bosom.

His mouth gaped open. She was topless. Why was she topless?

"Uh . . . I thought you said Miss Crowder hadn't given you any money."

Daphne looked at John and smiled. "She hasn't."

Her skin wasn't the biggest surprise.

She finally took off her shades and shook out her hair. A chill ran through John. What was that at her temples? Horns? And her eyes—god, her eyes—where were they? He saw now why she always wore those dark glasses. There were two empty black wells where her eyes should be. Daphne stretched her shoulders and a pair of black bat wings erupted from her back. A black tail—slender as a whip and ending with a spade-like point—unfurled down the back of her legs.

"Ah, much better," she said.

She smiled at John. It was the same elegantly angled face; the same full, kissable lips; the same gorgeous contours of her body. Her features should have been perfect, but they also came with horns, wings, tail and those unsettling empty black eyes. It turned her beauty into something horribly wrong. Sexy into perverse.

"W-w-what are you?" John asked.

"I'm a succubus. I guess Rhonda neglected to tell you that," Daphne said. "And you appear . . ." She turned a key in the door, locking it with a click. She hung the key around her neck like a pendant and dropped it down into her cleavage. She turned back to John. A predatory smile was on her blood-red lips. ". . . to be locked in with me."

John flailed out with his arms and legs. His attempts to get away were hampered by the rocking motions of the bed beneath him.

"I love this bed," Daphne said. "Aside from being extremely comfortable, it's also quite difficult to get out of." She smiled, showing off two long fangs. "Perfect for my more surprised guests."

She crouched and jumped. A downward thrust of her bat wings boosted it into a graceful leap that took her right onto the bed and astride John's body. The bed rocked and swayed with the force of her landing. John lashed out with his arms and legs and tried to buck her off him.

"So lively," Daphne said. "You should save that energy for later. You'll need it."

She whispered words so alien they slipped from John's ears before his brain could register them. She leaned over John's struggling form, pursed full lips and exhaled a breath. It took form—a giant peach-coloured heart—and expanded to cover John's face and upper body. He gasped as it sank into his body. Pleasant energy flowed into him in a wave. It felt like he'd been dipped in warm honey. His legs stopped kicking. His arms fell back against his sides. He felt relaxed. Languid.

"That's better," Daphne said. She settled down astride his stomach.

She noticed John's gaze hovering in the vicinity of her exposed chest.

"Like what you see?" she said. She folded her arms beneath her breasts, pushing them up and accentuating her cleavage.

John hadn't seen anything like them, at least not in the flesh. They were gorgeous—big, round, soft. They were better even than the perfectly sculpted examples he'd seen while surfing for porn on the internet. They didn't need the elaborate tattoos to be eye-catching.

He couldn't look away. He didn't know why. He felt strange—clouded, horny.

"How about I give you a closer look," Daphne said, her voice low and dirty.

She folded her body over John's until he felt the soft pillows of her breasts against either side of his face. Daphne twisted her body, playfully buffeting him with the heavy, soft flesh of her boobs. John couldn't think straight. Too fogged up. A strange desire came over him for Daphne to press down harder, to bury him in the soft valley of her cleavage, to smother him completely in her tits.

Daphne sat up. One arm was folded beneath her breasts. Her other hand rested on her chin.

"Hmm, I wonder," she said.

She bent down again. This time she wrapped her arms around the back of his head and squashed his face tight up against her chest. The warm flesh of her boobs pressed tightly against his face. It felt good until John realised he couldn't breathe. His nose and mouth were completely smothered by her flesh. He tried to squirm out. Daphne wrapped her arms more tightly around his head, keeping his face wedged up in the soft valley of her cleavage.

It should have been easy to throw her off. She was smaller, lighter than him.

He couldn't. It wasn't because she possessed excessive strength or anything like that, but rather his had deserted him. He didn't have the energy to break her grip.

Daphne shifted position, relaxing her grip long enough to allow him a shallow breath, one filled with the spicy perfume of her body. Then she pressed back down again, smothering him in the warm space between her breasts while the waterbed rocked and undulated beneath them. She played the game for a while, each time seeming to take longer and longer between allowing John breaths, until he thought he must pass out for sure.

She stopped and sat upright. John opened his mouth and gasped in the air his lungs craved. Daphne straddled him, a contemplative expression on her face. She reached behind her and stroked a hand along the noticeable bulge in John's trousers.

He was hard? Why was he hard?

"I thought so," Daphne said. "I had a feeling I wasn't too far off with the first room."

The first room—that dungeon? What did she mean?

"Mmm, this is going to be fun," Daphne said. "I really enjoy playing the wicked seductress. It's been a while since I could really cut loose with all of my talents."

"What do you want with me?" John asked.

Daphne gave him a predatory smile. "I'm a sex demon. Take a good guess."

She bent over and ran the moist tip of her tongue up John's cheek.

"Mmm, a truly delicious virgin and a well-matured one at that," she said.

"What does my virginity have to do with anything?" John asked.

"Claiming a man's virginity is a succubus's greatest prize," Daphne said. "The older the virgin, the greater the pleasure. At your age, you're quite the hot commodity in the succubus world. I'm going to savour this."

Daphne ran a long black fingernail down John's chest. Her other hand gave his balls a teasing squeeze.

"Then I'm sorry to disappoint you," John said. "I only run that line to make the ladies think better of me. Do you honestly believe a man can get to thirty-four—in this day and age—without ever having sex?"

Daphne chuckled. She leant over him until his eyes were staring up into hers. Their emptiness was a hole that threatened to tug out his soul and reel it up into limitless black depths.

"Cute bluff," she said. "Not very effective when I can see it clearly for myself."

"How?" John said. "It's not like I have a hymen or anything. What's the difference between spunking my load into a woman's vagina or the palm of my hand?"

"We know," Daphne said.

She dipped her head and sniffed John's chest. Her cheeks reddened and she sighed in pleasure.

"Here." She took his hand and pressed the palm against her crotch. "Do you think this happens around every man?"

John's eyes widened. The fabric of her panties was completely sodden. He felt the cleft of her sex beneath. He drew his hand back in alarm as he felt her vulva move independently against his hand. Like a mouth.

Unabashed hunger shone in Daphne's eyes.

"I want so much to shove your hard cock in my pussy and suck and suck and suck," she said, her supple lips coming together in a luscious pout.

As much as the prospect thrilled John, he knew it would be too much for him. She'd be too much for him. Her passion would incinerate him like a moth in a candle flame. He had to get away.

Daphne started to undress him, first peeling off his jumper and vest from his unresisting body. As she moved down to his trousers John felt flickers of life return to his limbs. The paralysis, or strange state of blissful enervation, was wearing off. He rolled over and kicked out blindly as Daphne tugged at his trousers and underwear. The bed rocked and swayed with violent motion as he struggled beneath her.

His trousers came away and with them Daphne. Naked now, John crawled across the wildly pitching surface of the bed. He reached out with a hand, found the hard rim of the bed, started to pull himself towards it.

A warm weight settled on his back. Daphne lay on top of him, her soft breasts squashed against his back. John stopped squirming.

"It's really not possible for a man to fight a succubus from this position," she whispered in his ear. "Not when he's naked and she's on top of him. Not when her naked flesh is pressed against his."

John's mouth gaped open and he released a little sigh. Her skin felt so good against him—warm and smooth like silk. He felt a pleasant buzz wherever she came into contact with him, a luxurious tingle which left the rest of his skin hungering to experience the same pleasure.

"It takes the fight right out of them." Daphne dripped honeyed sin into his ear. "It's pushed aside as all those illicit little desires come bubbling to the surface."

John gave another soft little groan. His thoughts were submerged beneath a deluge of pornographic images. Full pouting red lips; eyes gleaming with lust; ripe, round breasts with perky erect nipples; glistening pink pussies—all calling out to him, hungry for him. John struggled to hold on as the torrent threatened to wash his mind away.

Daphne came closer. Her soft lips brushed against his ear. "I can satisfy all of them, every last filthy one of them," she whispered in his ear.

John shivered beneath her.

She ran a claw lightly over the skin of his shoulder. "What? Doesn't that appeal to you?"

It did, but his terror of the consequences more than outweighed the stirrings he felt in his balls. It was so unfair.

"Being a virgin at thirty-four is bad enough," John said. "Now I get to be savoured as a delicacy by a devil because of it. Whatever happened to punishing the deserving sinners?"

Daphne's finger tickled down between his ass cheeks.

"We wouldn't be considered evil if we only targeted the bad people," Daphne said. "Do you consider this to be punishment?"

She lightly kissed the back of his shoulder. Her hand cupped his balls and gently pumped. A warm burst of pleasure washed over John's body.

"Oh, but you do," Daphne said. "You tremble like prey. You smell of fear like prey. If I fuck you like this I'll surely eat you all up like prey."

She straddled the small of his back and sat up. Out of the corner of his eye John saw her tail loop around the handle of one of the exotic bottles sitting on a bedside shelf. Her tail lifted it up and brought it back to her.

"I think we'll wear away all those fears with a sexy little massage," Daphne said.

John heard her work the pump handle of the bottle. He felt a cool liquid splash across his back. It didn't remain cool for long as her skilful hands started to rub and knead it into his flesh. She pushed her hands up either side of his spine and then across his shoulders, spreading a pleasant little buzz in her wake. They moved up to his neck and she used her long fingers to work out the knots in his muscles. The fragrant aroma of the massage oil tickled his nostrils.

"My, so much tension," she said. "Have you ever been massaged before?"

"No," John replied.

Daphne squirted more oil onto his back and danced along his spine with her thumbs. She pressed down with her palms and slid them out to John's sides, smoothing out the flesh beneath them. A nice feeling of warmth permeated through the muscles of his back.

"You were never tempted to pay a visit to one of those naughty little massage parlours?" Daphne asked.

Her hands glided up to the back of his neck and rubbed behind his ears with soothing circular movements.

"I was always curious about what went on in those places," John replied. "Miss Crowder suggested I go in and find out. We had a little joke about it."

He paused.

"I thought about it," he admitted, "a little, but it was never going to happen. You never know where the girls are from, whether they're on d**gs, crazy, under duress. Not worth the risk. Even if it went fine, I'd still feel like I cheated."

John didn't know why he was so forthcoming all of a sudden. He felt odd again. Fogged up. The scented oil smelt extremely pleasant and Daphne's hands were supremely skilled at working out the kinks and knots in his muscles.

"Miss Crowder did book a masseuse for me one time," he said. "Not this type," he added hastily, "a sports masseuse."

"Sports masseuse?" Daphne queried.

"Yeah. I hurt my knee and Miss Crowder sent a girl round to look at it. A pretty young oriental woman. Really pretty, actually. She had me strip down to nothing but a towel and I was really embarrassed she'd see I had an erection."

Daphne paused. She chuckled at a joke only she understood.

"Of course she'd try Arisa first," Daphne murmured. "The weaver and the serpent aren't reliable enough and she definitely couldn't send you to the Scottish village."

"Arisa, yes, that was her name," John said, surprised Daphne knew it also. "Lovely girl. Had a really nice smile. We never went through with the massage in the end. Something cropped up at the last minute and she had to leave in a hurry. Some kind of family emergency. At least that's what she said. I think she took one look at my hairy back and legged it."

Daphne laughed at another private joke.

"I think you have a very nice back," she said, straightening her arms and rubbing her hands over his shoulder blades. Her sultry voice drifted over him like a warm quilt.

"We never did get round to making another appointment," John said wistfully.

"A shame," Daphne said. "I hear Arisa gives a very pleasant body-to-body massage. Truly enveloping."

Her fingers kneaded the muscles of John's neck and shoulders.

"And lucky," Daphne added. "I hear she's also quite the maneater."

She bent down low, sniffed the back of John's neck and murmured contently. John felt the wetness of her sex where it rubbed against the small of his back.

"I'm not without my own talents," Daphne whispered in his ear.

She lay down on top of him. Her arms went around him, her thighs squeezed against his sides and she squashed her soft breasts against his back. The pleasant tingle of skin-to-skin contact was all around him. Ripples of pleasure ran out across his skin from where her nipples pressed against his flesh. Her heat—and lust—enfolded him. He soaked in it, drew it in through his skin in a form of osmosis. Daphne murmured. She held him tighter. The flow of pleasure increased. John felt trailers of fire race through his blood vessels. He moaned as he felt the heat settle in his balls. They felt bloated—overripe—and the desire to plunge his cock into a soft, snug orifice and relieve the pressure grew overwhelming, shouldering aside other thoughts.

"Relax. There's no escape now," Daphne whispered in his ear. "Mmm, I like to let my victims melt with pleasure. Then I slurp them all up like delicious ice cream."

John remembered why he should be afraid.
"Relax. There's no escape now," Daphne whispered in his ear. "Mmm, I like to let my victims melt with pleasure. Then I slurp them all up like delicious ice cream."

John remembered why he should be afraid.

"Still frightened?" Daphne asked. "My my, you are a troublesome client."

She slid an arm underneath his body, grabbed his arm and pulled, spinning John around until he lay on his back with Daphne on top of him. The waterbed sagged beneath him, comfortable but also a prison.

He saw again her horns and those empty black eyes.

Still frightened? You betcha.

"People will notice if I go missing," he said. "They know I'm here."

Daphne put an elegant hand to her mouth and laughed.

"I hope you don't play cards for money," she said. "You don't bluff well."

She pulled off her panties.

"Of course Miss Crowder knows you're here," Daphne said. "She did send you to me after all."

John's eyes widened. Why would Miss Crowder do that?

"Now shut up and soak in my pheromones for a while," Daphne said.

She shifted position until she was crouched above his face and facing his feet. John got an extreme close-up view of the shaven lips of her pussy. John might not have had sex, but he'd still seen his share of porn films. Daphne's labia seemed plusher and somehow more comfortable looking than the girls he'd seen in those films. They tugged at him with a primal urge and his cock twitched to life as the image of slipping it between those cushioned lips entered his thoughts.

"That's more like it," Daphne said as she bent down to caress his erection with her hand.

Her labia twitched, gaping hungrily to reveal a glistening red tunnel. John shivered. The girls in the films he'd watched had never been able to do that. No human was able to do that.

Daphne laughed at his fear. "Just wait, in a moment this lovely rock-hard cock is going to be inside there. Then my sweet little cunt will suck all that fear right out of you. As well as everything else," she added with a wicked laugh.

John didn't get a chance to protest. Daphne sat down, smothering his face in the soft flesh of her ass. The bed rocked and swayed beneath him as she ground her body against him. He felt the moist folds of her sex rub against his nose and mouth. Something slender and whip-like wound around his throat.

He couldn't breathe. Her ass covered his face like a pillow, blocking off his airways. Her warm juices dribbled onto and between his lips. Each drip set off firecrackers of sensation across his nerve-endings. The opposite of a numbing agent, her fluids heightened the sensitivity of whatever skin they came into contact with. John's lips and tongue fizzed with pleasure. Daphne laughed wickedly and wiggled her body on top of his face.

John still couldn't breathe. Her tail tightened around his neck like a noose. His mouth and nose were smothered between her ass cheeks. He started to feel light-headed.

Daphne waited until he was on the verge of passing out—John had no idea how she knew; she just knew—and lifted up her ass. Grateful, John took a deep breath—

—and nearly choked on an overpowering, musky scent. It surrounded his head in a cloying cloud and—with his lungs starved for air—John was helpless as he drew the heady perfume into his body. His first instinct was to cough out the corrupted air, but he had no chance to do that as Daphne was already sitting back down on him, smothering him back between the luscious curves of her ass.

The scent was like a fine liqueur—the first taste abrasive, but after that becoming smooth, warm, pleasant; something to crave. Tendrils of perfume twined up his nostrils and wrapped his brain up in soft cotton wool. He felt like he was floating up in the clouds. The bed, so soft and comfortable beneath him, felt like a big fluffy cloud.

The next time Daphne raised her ass John was eager to inhale more of her sweet-smelling musk. He felt it rush down through his body like a head of steam. The pressure built up beneath his manhood and it swelled up even harder until it was throbbing with need.

"Mmm yes," Daphne purred. "Drown in my lust."

She folded her body down on him until her breasts were resting on his midriff. Long, skilful fingers touched, prodded and flicked his erection. They crawled down between his legs and tickled through the hairs on his testicles. John's sigh of pleasure was cut off—smothered—in the descending folds of Daphne's sex.

A soft hand wrapped around the base of John's cock. Soft, full lips kissed the tip. Just a light peck for the first, second and third touch. For the fourth, the lips remained there, pressed against the swollen mushroom head of his dick. They slowly sucked, drawing the tip into her mouth like a strand of spaghetti. A quicksilver tongue lapped up the pre-cum drooling from the opening to his urethra.

John groaned into her smothering pussy. His body twitched.

"A-ha," Daphne released his cock and scolded. "Not yet."

She pursed her lips and blew on the tip of John's cock. Something—it felt like a smoke ring or bubble of energy, yet tangible—rolled down the outside of John's shaft. It settled at the root and cinched tight, choking off John's premature orgasm before it even started. Dammed, the pleasure backed up and cascaded through John's writhing body.

"You don't come until I say you can come," Daphne said, her voice as soft and as authoritative as an old-fashioned schoolmistress.

Her warm lips enclosed the head of his cock and gave another teasing suck.

"And I'm not letting you come until you're buried deep inside my hungry vagina," she released his cock to say.

Her warm breath flowed over and teased the throbbing head of his cock with maddening swirls. Daphne dipped her head forward and took another teasing suck, going deeper this time, letting the head of John's cock rest on her moist, fleshy tongue. One hand pumped the base of his cock while the fingers of the other fondled and toyed with his balls.

John writhed and squirmed beneath her, battered by waves of sensation crashing through his body. He was helpless as she used her fingers and mouth to play him like a virtuoso musician. Unused to the touch of a woman, he felt the desire to come rise in him again and again, only to crash into and be repelled by the choke around the root of his penis.

Daphne shifted position, climbing off his face. John was finally able to take a breath untainted with the odour of her sex.

"My pussy is hungry," Daphne said, letting her soft hand caress up the underside of John's cock. "I think it's time to let her feed."
"My pussy is hungry," Daphne said, letting her soft hand caress up the underside of John's cock. "I think it's time to let her feed."

John would have been more concerned by her words had his brain not been suspended in a thick fog of pleasure. Daphne looked at his empty, blissed-out state and tutted.

"First we should clear your head a little."

She rested a palm on John's forehead. He felt a sudden hot flash and the clouds obscuring his mind were blown aside.

"Wha-ha?" John said. He felt like he'd just woken up from a pleasant dream.

"Too much pheromone," Daphne said.

She lay next to John and lazily pumped a hand up and down his twitching cock.

"For some of my clients it's a kindness to have them spend their last moments submerged in a fog of purest bliss," Daphne said. "I didn't think that was fair on you. A man should fully experience the moment he loses his virginity."

"Thanks. How thoughtful," John said sourly.

Daphne slid on top of him and straddled his midriff. She pinned his arms to the gently rocking bed. She looked down at him and smiled.

"What's the matter," she said. "You did say you weren't against the idea of casual sex, providing the other participant was willing."

Her tail coiled around his cock and started to pump up and down, keeping him at full hardness.

"And I'm extremely willing," Daphne beamed.

No, John wasn't against the idea of casual sex. But this, spread-eagled and straddled by a demon from the pits of hell, wasn't exactly how he'd pictured losing his virginity.

"Don't look at me like that," Daphne said. "I know you're secretly enjoying this."

She lay down on him. Her soft breasts rested on his chest. Her arms went around him in an embrace. Her pleasant perfume filled his nostrils.

"I'll let you into a little secret," she whispered in his ear.

Her tail continued to masturbate John's cock. He felt his body respond as his hips started to move up and down in time with her moments.

"I don't feel pleasure," she said. "Not in the conventional sense. I only feel the pleasure I give to my sexual partners."

She leant closer. Her soft lips brushed against the lobes of John's ear. He felt her warm breath tickle his skin.

"And I'm very adept at giving them pleasure," she whispered.

Her tail squeezed his cock. The flat arrow-point tip wrapped over John's glans like a tight hood. John gasped as it squeezed him. His body shuddered uncontrollably, sending waves flowing outwards across the bed, as the coils of her tail bunched up and stroked up and down his shaft. As much as his throbbing balls wanted to disgorge their contents, the seal around the base of his cock held.

Daphne sat up and laughed.

"Mmm, nice," she said.

She released the head of his cock. John gasped as he felt the tip of her tail hook and tease the opening to his urethra as it slid off him. Shivers of pleasure ran through his body.

"I'm just a plaything for your pleasures," he accused.

Daphne sat up. She cocked her head to the side. Her tail continued to give stimulation to his cock.

"Yes, I suppose you are," she said. The corner of her mouth turned up in a wicked smile. "You're my little toy and I'm going to play with you all night."

She reached behind her to fondle his balls.

"How is this different to ****?" John asked.

Daphne put a hand to her mouth and laughed even louder than before. She pinned John's arms back to the bed and leant down until her nose was brushing his and her empty black eyes were staring right into him.

"Silly boy," she said. "A succubus never ****s her victims. **** is sex without consent and a succubus's victim always gives consent . . . in the end. They even expire with a smile on their face."

That wasn't much comfort to John.

"Don't worry," Daphne said. "I'll push the corners of your mouth down so you look all serious for the undertakers."

John's eyes widened.

Daphne ducked down closer. "That was a joke," she whispered in his ear.

John's brow furrowed. What did she mean?

Daphne sat back up. She lifted her body up and moved backwards until she was directly above John's crotch and his bobbing, swollen erection.

"Enough foreplay," Daphne said. "It's time my pussy was fed."

She lowered her body and used her tail to steer John's erection to the naked cleft of her sex. A mixture of excitement and trepidation flooded through him and he tensed as he felt her weight press lightly against the swollen head of his cock. Her labia, those thick fleshy lips, parted around his swollen glans and he felt the wet folds of her inner sex against the head of his cock.

"It's still ****," John said.

His hips twitched. Another orgasm was sent back by the seal Daphne had placed around the root of his cock.

Daphne laughed. "I think your body would beg to differ," she said.

John's hips had seceded from the rest of his body. They jerked and flexed of their own accord. Part of him had been waiting—longing—for this moment for a very long time. The little matter of the girl on top of him being a demon wasn't going to dissuade his body from pushing his manhood up into her juicy, taunting snatch.

Daphne laughed, low and sultry. She had all the control. She rode his clumsy upward thrusts with languid ease. She kept the head of his cock pressed against her moist folds, but didn't permit him to go any deeper. She wiggled on top of him, teasing him as she ran his swollen glans along the dripping groove of her sex. The tip of her tail curved between his legs and tickled the underside of his scrotum.

"So eager," she chided. "You should draw out the moment for your first time. Savour it."

John was more concerned it might also be his last time. His body, of course, didn't care.

She stopped pinning his arms to the bed and leant backwards, bracing her hands on his thighs. She pressed her hips downwards. John watched her plump labia swell out and engulf the head of his cock. He was inside her, just the tip, but inside her nonetheless. He let out a soft groan as he felt the muscular walls of her vagina contract around the tip of his cock.

Daphne closed her eyes. Her pale white cheeks were tinged with red.

"Mmm," she purred. "Just a taste to start with. A tiny little suck."

The lips of her vulva started to move against him. They were sucking on the tip of his cock. Her sex was sucking on the tip of his cock. Like a mouth. John's head fell back and another involuntary groan of pleasure escaped him.

He felt her juices. Warm and wet, they bathed the helmet of his cock and dribbled down his shaft. Just as with his tongue and lips from when she'd sat on his face, her juices magnified the sensitivity of his skin. His glans felt swollen, enormous; increasing in size until it encompassed his whole world. The warm folds of her sex swept across that world, sucking him and coating his skin in more of her body's sinful secretions.

"Still feel like ****?" Daphne asked. "You can say no."

John lay back and stared up into the mirror on the ceiling. Daphne was astride him, in total control. Her black wings were tightly folded up against her back. It felt like a mouth was down there, sucking on the tip of his cock. Such control.

He said nothing.

Daphne looked up and met his gaze in the mirror. Her black eyes gleamed. She smiled.

"Thought not," she said.

She started to sink down on him, slowly taking him inside her, millimetre by exquisite millimetre. The inside of her vagina was silk. Silk impregnated with perfumed oil. It slid smoothly over his head and hugged the length of his shaft. Daphne sank all the way down on him until she was kissing the base of his cock.

Daphne's eyes gleamed with triumph as she stared down at him. The succubus had him. He was in her. He was hers.

"Would you have stopped," John asked, "if I'd said no?"

Daphne cocked her head to one side, thoughtful as she considered his question.

"No," she answered.

Her vagina convulsed. The walls undulated up and down John's erection. Inside her, his cock was deluged in thick, warm fluids that sank into his skin and sent his nerve endings wild with pleasure.

John's head crashed back down on the mattress and he thrashed it from side to side as ecstasy washed through him in a wave.

"But I might have felt a little guilty about it," Daphne said.

Calm and perfectly poised, she started to move her hips up and down. Her full breasts bobbed with her movements, but the rest of her body was still and composed. The bed rocked and swayed beneath them and Daphne incorporated the undulations into her movements, timing each downward thrust to match the rising crest of each wave.

"Poor little virgin," she teased. Her pale face was beautiful, radiant, terrible. "Defiled by the evil succubus. You're my little toy now. Drown in my lusts."

John was sinking. He still lay on top of the pitching surface of the waterbed, but he was drowning nonetheless. All his thoughts were being crowded out. The only thing left was the sinuous motion of her hips as she smoothly engulfed his cock within her silken sheath again and again.

"Drown little virgin," Daphne whispered. "Give yourself up to my lusts."

John writhed beneath her. His own body was betraying him. His hips began to push up and meet her thrusts, driving his manhood deep inside her warm vagina.

There was something at the end of the tunnel of her sex, he realised dimly—a pad of flesh that was hot and lusciously soft. As Daphne's thrusts grew longer and deeper, the head of his cock nudged up against it. It felt . . . pleasant. The tip of John's cock came away with nice tingling sensation and a desire to bury it deeper into that thick soft cushion.

Daphne came down hard, pushing John's erection all the way up inside her vagina. His cock pressed against that soft obstruction and suddenly it came alive. Soft, hot, moist flesh ballooned around the fleshy helmet of John's cock and engulfed it—absorbing it almost—in a tight muscular grip.

Daphne gave a sharp intake of breath. She paused. Her vagina contracted—hard—around John's shaft, trapping him in a tight, fleshy vice. Her eyes widened.

"Oh crap," she said.

Puzzled, John looked up.

Daphne sat astride him, motionless aside from the up and down movements of the waterbed beneath them. Her sex had contracted snugly all around his cock, holding him firmly inside her. It was very tight, but not uncomfortably so. In fact, it felt very pleasant. Her vagina was warm, almost hot, and his dick felt like it was stewing in pleasure.

What was happening?

Daphne's eyes were shut and her face was expressionless, perfect like a porcelain doll. Her vagina slowly started to peel back from the root of John's cock.

Her sex convulsed.

John's whole body tensed up. An involuntary gasp burst from his mouth.

The soft walls of her pussy squished around his cock like warm putty and then squeezed. He felt powerful suction roll all the way up his shaft.

And beyond.

He felt it in his trunk, in the blood vessels running throughout his body. The pad of soft fleshy tissue enveloping the head of his penis expanded like bellows and he felt the pull right through his balls and down to his curling toes.

Aaaah. Another involuntary gasp shot from his lips.

Daphne's head dropped forwards. Her lovely supple lips pouted in a cute little 'o' as a short sigh of pleasure slipped from her mouth. Her pale cheeks blushed deep red.

Her vagina pulsed again and a whiplash of breath-taking pleasure thrummed through John. His spine arched backwards, pressing his shoulders back against the mattress.

Daphne lifted her head up and gave a strange alien cry, like some kind of exotic bird or b**st. She looked down at John and he was unnerved by what he saw. It was Daphne's beautiful face, but it looked like a host of emotions were churning away beneath the surface. Something was coming through, something demonic and full of lascivious hunger.

John knew then he was in trouble.

"Mmm," Daphne murmured.

She relaxed and sank down on John, letting his trapped erection be drawn up deeper into the smothering flesh of her vagina. The muscular walls undulated and sucked, sending another blast of ecstasy rushing through John's body.

He didn't know if this had been Daphne's intention from the start or whether something had gone wrong, but instinctively he knew he was in mortal danger. He tried to lift his shoulders up from the swaying bed.

Daphne looked at him with eyes as cold as distant galaxies. She sang words in an alien tongue. They sounded like the sweetest, purest notes, but with dissonant harmonies like metal coming together in a car crash. She made strange motions with her hands, as if she was dragging her claws through soil or clay even though there was nothing before her but empty air.

Glistening threads, like angel hair or the finest spider silk, drifted down onto John's chest and shoulders. Where they touched him, they sapped his strength and left behind a state of pleasant enervation. His shoulders fell back on the bed and stayed there.

"You think you can escape," Daphne mocked. "You're inside me."

Her sex pulsed again and John trembled. The muscular walls bunched up around his shaft and rolled to the head in a kind of lascivious peristalsis.

Daphne whispered more words so alien they slipped past his ears like shimmering silver fish. John felt the strange constriction around the base of his cock relax. A few moments ago he would have given anything for it to be gone. Now, he would have given twice as much to put it back.

He was naked, completely exposed. The liquid interior of Daphne's vagina slithered and tugged at him. She had full control. John felt she could make him come at any time, but instead her motions were slow and practised. She teased him with silken tugs that left him always just short of a threshold that kept rising a little each time. John squirmed and writhed beneath her like a fish caught on a line. The pleasure kept building and building until the denial of release became a kind of torture in itself.

Daphne shifted position on top of him. She sat up straighter and tilted her head up to the ceiling. She held out her hands with the palms facing upwards. Her wings extended behind her. If they'd been feathered rather than membranous like a bat's she might have looked like an angel in prayer. She even whispered words that sounded like prayer. John thought he saw a nimbus of purple flickering light around her form, but that could have been his imagination.

It was hard to think of anything. Pure sensation overwhelmed him. Daphne might have looked still and composed—with her only motions short, controlled thrusts of her hips—but the interior of her vagina was alive. John heard liquid sounds as the thick, soft walls of her sex crawled over his erection. Her lust had engulfed him whole. It felt like an alien heart had invaded his system and his blood was now dancing to the beat of the intruder organ.

"Now," Daphne commanded in a soft voice.

The soft meat of her vagina wrapped tightly around his penis and pulsed.

John gasped through gritted teeth. His hips bucked upwards.

Fuck.

His cock spewed an enormous load of semen into the succubus's pussy. The fleshy pad at the end of her vagina absorbed it all and then sucked on the head of his cock for more.

Oh god.

He obliged. He had no choice. His cock throbbed again and again, each time depositing another hot, sticky load into the succubus's smothering grip. On and on—

How much—

—more and more—

—could she take?

—as John writhed and thrashed in the throes of pure a****l orgiastic release.

The ejaculation kept going, way past the point it should have ended as John pumped jets, streams, rivers of cum into her greedy sex. She absorbed it all and exhorted him for more, more, more!

He couldn't. His body . . . there wasn't . . .

Daphne leant over him. She caressed the side of his face with clawed fingers. Her face was feral and strangely all the more beautiful for it, like seeing the model in the flesh rather than her sculpture. Fires raged in the depths of her abyssal black eyes and yet John saw something which glistened in the corner of one of them—a tear maybe, but blacker than the deepest sin.

His body convulsed. He was still coming. What, he had no idea; his balls must have emptied already. Her sex continued to throb around his cock like the beats of a great fleshy heart, pumping the goodness and vitality from his body.

John's movements quietened down. A cold numbness was spreading throughout his abdomen.

And still his body sang with pleasure, as if he wanted this to continue forever and ever and damn the consequences. Forget the future, enjoy the now!

Daphne lay on top of him. Her full breasts rested on his chest. John's eyes, holdouts from the revolution she'd instilled in his flesh, pleaded with her to stop. Daphne crushed her soft lips against his and stole the breath from his lungs.

Her skin felt so hot against his. A raging furnace.

John was coming apart inside. His pieces were dismantling, becoming firewood to fuel her flames.

The tide of pleasure rose up and claimed the last of John's thoughts.

It was wonderful, the most natural thing in the world. He felt only the contentment of absolute release as the deep deep darkness rose up to envelop him.

* * * *

John jerked awake with a gasp.

What? Where?

The bed. He lay in a shallow, comfortable depression in the centre of Daphne's waterbed. And Daphne . . .

The demon was still on top of him. She looked down at him. The stark, perfect beauty of her features contrasted with her horns and empty black eyes. She placed the neck of a bottle against John's lips.

"Drink," she ordered.

She upended the bottle and a trickle of sweet liquid passed between John's lips. He recognised the taste as that moreish wine he'd drunk earlier, only now it seemed even more delicious. He gulped it down like a parched man finding water in a desert.

Daphne took the bottle away, much to John's disappointment. He lifted his head up and saw Daphne was still sitting on his crotch. The lips of her labia were splayed and pressed against his body. He couldn't see his penis. It was still inside her. Inside the succubus.

"Did you think I was done with you?" she said.

John had thought she was done with him, to the point of doing him in. His relief at finding himself alive and still breathing was tempered by his fear of the demon sitting astride him. She still had his penis.

"And don't think the usual male weakness will save you," Daphne said.

Her vagina pulsed. A warm, thick fluid poured into her fleshy cavity and submerged John's trapped cock. Daphne closed her eyes and murmured. Her vaginal walls slowly undulated, stirring the fluid around his erection and massaging it into his flesh.

John gasped. His hips twitched. His cock surged back to full hardness and strained, eager to burrow deeper inside her. The sudden rush of blood made him feel woozy.

"I can keep you hard for weeks," Daphne purred.

She wriggled her hips, rubbing more of her juices into John's throbbing penis. He couldn't move. The slightest motion and his over-aroused cock would rub up against her vaginal walls, incapacitating him with a burst of intense pleasure. She had him completely helpless and she knew it.

He noticed something odd with the tattoos on Daphne's side, just below the curve of her right breast. The black lines didn't seem as clearly delineated as before. It was like the black ink was running. Or—and this must be a trick of the subdued light—Daphne was bleeding as the sharp lines of her tattoos dug into her flesh like razor wire.

"What happened . . . earlier?" John asked. He feared the answer.

"You passed out," Daphne said. "Anyone would think you'd never had sex before."

Her lips turned up in a mischievous smile.

"Sorry," she said. "Couldn't resist."

She tweaked his nipples.

"No one will be able to tease you about your virginity in the future," she said. "It's gone. The wicked succubus sucked it right out of you."

"Was that all you took?" John asked. "It felt like . . ."

His recollections were hazy. He remembered both terror and incredible pleasure, a feeling of coming apart and being drawn up into Daphne's body as she lay on top of him.

". . . you were sucking out my soul."

It was strange to use the word. John didn't really believe in souls and that kind of thing—

He hadn't believed in the existence of devils either . . .

—but it seemed like the only explanation which made sense.

Daphne laughed. "Don't be silly. You wouldn't be talking to me now. Taking out a person's soul is like removing the batteries from a toy soldier. They cease to function."

A chill ran up John's spine. She was speaking from experience.

Daphne leant over him until her abyssal eyes were staring right into his.

"You had sex with a succubus, a being with complete mastery of the carnal arts. For your first time. It was too intense. You passed out."

It sounded like it made sense, John thought. But what about—

No, best not to go there. Let those memories stay buried in the dark, forgotten corners of his mind. A man could go mad if he thought about it too much. He could throw his life away in a crazy, self-destructive quest to recapture those sensations.

There were smudges on Daphne's cheeks—black like oil but very faint, as if she'd already wiped most of it away, leaving behind only these barely perceptible traces.

Her claws tickled the skin around his navel.

"Mmm, what to do now," Daphne mused.

"You could let me go," John suggested, more in hope than actual expectation.

Daphne sat up, tilted her head to the side, smiled.

"Your libido really is low, isn't it," she said. "I see now why it took so long. Most men are usually begging me for more sex by now . . . even though they know they shouldn't," she added, a wicked gleam in her