“I’m a succubus,” she said simply, her body continuing to writhe slowly against his groin
even as her arms held him fast, seeming to need affection as much as sex at this point.
“I need to have sex. I need it the way you need food.”
“What do you mean?” he asked. He squeezed her a little tighter, giving in to an impulse
of... affection? She moaned softly, her body pausing in its undulations and the flow from
her eyes increasing, though her shoulders stilled their shaking. He looked at her
closely.
You need more than sex, don’t you? The thought came to him suddenly. Even if you can’t
admit it...
“I feed off sexual energy,” she explained. Her eyes grew distant. “Back in ancient
times, my kind would seduce people while they slept. There was so much... sexual
repression.” She paused, as if savoring the phrase, seeming to find the thought of denied
sexual release as delightful as a beaver would find the damning up of a stream to form a
formidable lake. “It was easy to find a young knight or a maiden to seduce.” She sighed,
lost in pleasant nostalgia. “Make them come... make them cry... then make them come
again. I remember one boy, freshly knighted, so sweet... so innocent...” She shivered,
gave a little shake, and her gaze grew clearer, less distant, as she pulled herself back
to the unhappy present.
“Ever since the sexual revolution, though,” she continued, bitterly, “people stopped
associating sex with guilt. Fewer innocents, and they were either more trouble than they
were worth or they corrupted too easily... just waiting for the chance to join their peers
in carnal oblivion...” Her words trailed off, her tears stopped, though judging by the
death grip she had on his arms, she obviously wanted - needed - Andrew to keep holding her
tight.
“Why can’t you simply sell yourself on the street?” he asked. At her sudden tensing, he
added hastily, “or be a really expensive call girl?”
She sighed again. “It has to be an innocent. I have to seduce my victims, or it’s no
good. I need a Mahatma Ghandi, not a Joe Stalin.”
He mulled this over. “Do I need to be corrupted for you to be fed?” he asked.
She shook her head, smiling a little. “No. You just have to be pure of heart. The
purer, the better.”
“Would I still have been able to feed you, once I was damned to hell?” Andrew grilled
her, struck by the new information even as he continued to hold her tightly. She twisted
around in his arms, wrapping herself around him, kissing his neck. He moaned quietly, and
allowed her to continue her words and seduction, though his arms remained as strong and
comforting as ever.
Her lips brushed his ear in a feathery soft caress. “Let you in on a little secret.”
Andrew moaned louder, an incoherent noise of encouragement, urging her to share the
secret.
No one goes to hell without a contract,” she said, then licked his lobe. Andrew made
another noise, half ecstatic, half befuddled.
“Hell is for demons, not mortals. You mortals don’t go to hell unless you actually sign
a contract. After that,” she said breathlessly, in between kisses and licks, “no further
work is needed. You go to hell as stipulated in the contract, not because he sends you
there.”
“So...” Andrew was finding it hard to think, the blood once more being stolen by the
usurper. “Once I signed the contract, you’d have stopped corrupting me?”
She moaned in acknowledgement, undulating against him, her arms and legs suddenly
wrapping tightly around him in imitation of his own embrace, less sexual than intimate.
“But you just agreed to stop corrupting me,” he pointed out.
“Because I’m going to make you want to come to hell with me, now.” She groaned, just
before her lips fastened onto his throat and introduced him to the delights of the hickey.
He cried out at the intense suction, as paralyzed by the gesture as if she had been a
vampire with teeth sinking in. She lifted her head. “I’ll make you choose to stay with
me for all eternity, rather than resume the cycle of death and rebirth.” She wriggled,
adding for the sake of clarity, “or eventual ascent to heaven. Though that’s not as
common as you Christians think. More of a Buddhist rate of occurrence.”
She looked up into his eyes, her face streaked with tears, yet because her perfection was
magical rather than cosmetic, she still looked as beautiful as ever, no mascara running
down her face. “Kiss me,” she said. Not demanding, not begging. A simple request...
simply fulfilled. He kissed her.
And then, he kissed her again. Rolling on top of her, he pinned her down. No doubt she
allowed him to pin her down, as she lay there looking submissive and helpless. She moaned
as his lips moved down to her throat, and then she gasped, holding his head fast.
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