I was reforged. Remade. Reborn. Beneath his guidance I became stronger, mightier, deadlier by an order of magnitude. There were lessons I'd learned as a human, lessons I'd forgotten or cast aside when I was changed, and those lessons were brought back to me and I learned them anew.
I learned patience, and flexibility, and control. These things had been my constant companions as a human, as I'd been a soldier and then a leader, a warrior and then a warlord, but becoming a succubus and escaping from the sorceror who turned me had made me brazen and foolish and I'd cast them aside, thinking raw power all I needed.
Foolishness. Power undirected is not strength but weakness waiting to be unmasked.
The Incubus, my master, my prey who conquered me, taught me these lessons afresh, sometimes with pain and sometimes with pleasure and often with both, and I was an eager pupil. I had been beaten. I had been conquered. Worse, I had been weak.
In the days after he claimed me he tested me. Punished me. Pleasured me. All in the service of teaching me, and I was an apt student. From him I learned what I could have been, should have been, might yet become. I strove to embrace these lessons, to claim the strength from them, to grow in his service and my power.
Weeks passed, and then months, months in which my limits were tested and then stretched and then broken, my mind sharpened as if it was a sword on a whetstone, until I became a weapon so perfect that I cried out for use.
Then he used me.
I remember the day he revealed his plans to me, revealed the least part of his grand design, for it was a day of glorious pleasure and profound frustration. I knew he had been preparing me for something, for men always have their grand plans and deep designs and his mind was full of ambition, and strategy, and lust.
He summoned me to his chambers, which was unprecedented, and I went, went wearing nothing but my slave's raiment. It billowed and flowed around me and I attracted no few stares from his other servants, stares I accepted as my due without acknowledging them. What care had I for their attentions when I had his?
He was waiting for me when I entered. I strode inside and stood at attention, my gaze fixed upon him, and my mind and body hungered. I could feel his soul calling out to me, feel my craving for it, and his control over me, and the bonds he had placed upon my mind. His strength and my subservience, my hunger and his soul, his command and my obedience, it was a heady mixture and I was drunk upon it.
The chamber was large and well-appointed, hewn from stone with a sturdy bed and furniture, but I spared it but a glance. My gaze fastened on him, and his upon me, and the air fairly crackled with what passed between us. Incubi and succubi are an explosive combination, and the feeling of imminent devastation never entirely receded.
He wore nothing, his muscular blue physique on full display, his broad chest and round shoulders and strong arms that looked capable of tearing the stone he stood on asunder. Physical strength is not the only sort of strength, and not the only sort he had, but he had it in abundance and had no objection to demonstrating it, and such demonstrations sharpened the hunger within me and made it cry out, yearning to be fed.
"Stand bound," he said, and I did, my body stiffening as if held in place by invisible bonds, and I was, for his command was my law and my obedience his right. He could have ordered me to stand before an oncoming lava flow and I would have been helpless to disobey.
Feeling that strength, that power, feeling myself overcome by it spoke to deeper needs within me as well, making my mind and body shiver with delight even as I yearned for freedom and victory. My mind struggled with itself, struggled to no resolution, and as always he saw within me.
"You hunger," he said, standing, striding over to me. He let one finger slide up beneath my chin, tilting my head up to meet his gaze, and from close range the air fairly crackled between us.
"Yes," I said, for I did. I hadn't fed from another since my capture, and though I can survive for much longer without doing so, the longer I go between such meals the more my hunger grows. And to be denied for so long with such a delicious meal so close at all times...well. Hungry isn't sufficient. Ravenous. Consumed by lust. Eager to the point of desperation, desperate to the point of raw, aching need.
But he hadn't meant generally. He had meant it very specifically.
"For me," he said, and he spoke true.
"Yes," I repeated, and I did not attempt to remove the lust that infused the word.
"Good," he chuckled, and I had not expected that. "That need will drive you. That desire will fuel you. Your hunger would be lost if I tamed you completely, and your worth diminished."
Few words, but they taught me much. I was a danger to him if ever I broke free, but a more useful servant for being only half-bound. It was strength or it was arrogance to hold a danger close in order to empower himself. Which of the two it was we would find out in time, but in that moment it was both and it was neither.
He strode close, close enough to feel his body heat, close enough for his blue skin to nearly touch mine, close enough for the call of his essence and his soul to be piercing, making my lust roar in my mind, my hands quiver, my nipples harden, my sex moisten. I wanted him. I needed him. He knew it. I knew it.
His hands came to my shoulders, brushed aside my slave's raiment, letting it fall to the floor, leaving me naked before him, naked and eager. My presence was having more than a little effect on him, too, and his cock stood out proudly, his lust clearly in evidence.
"You can't conquer me," he said, drawing one finger beneath my chin, tilting it up to look at him. "Bound as you are, you cannot harm me. But if you wish to try..."
He let the sentence trail off, meeting my gaze, looking deep into my mind and I looked back, at first in defiance and then in recognition.
"Try," he said, and it was invitation, and it was challenge, and it was foreplay with a razor's edge, a thrust meant to be met headlong, and I met it.
I roared, feeling myself free to move, and I used that freedom. I leapt at him, overbalancing him, throwing him onto his back, and with a single motion I brought my hips down and drove his cock deep into my eager, quivering sex, letting my cunt clench down around him hard, a pleasurable assault on his mind and body.
He was startled by the ferocity of my attack and I rode him fiercely, driving my hips down onto him in frenzied descents, letting my lust loose upon him.
The pleasure I inflicted was not the point, though it was pleasure that would have destroyed a human's mind long before I preyed upon that human's fortunate soul. He wanted to test my strength, and so I rose to his challenge, but within that rise were hidden the seeds of my rebellion. I could have showed him subtlety, or magic, or patience. I could have built him up slowly, drawn out the foreplay, teased him, tormented him until he took me and punished me and pleasured himself with me.
Instead I gave him raw, savage lust. I rode him in a berserk, feral haze, driving him towards his climax with every thrust, my fangs bared, my nipples stiff and eager and glistening with venom. I sank down upon him and let my sweet sex suck hard at his cock, inflicting inhuman pleasure upon him, pleasure that would have drawn out a shattering orgasm from nearly anything I cared to try to fuck, to drain, to consume.
It made him chuckle.
He brought his hands up, meaning to settle them on my hips, and I snarled, catching his wrists and pinning them to the ground over his head. He could have brushed my insolence aside with a thought, could have ordered me to be still, or to submit, or to do anything he wanted, but he permitted me this indulgence, let me pin him beneath me, and I gave vent to all my pent-up frustration and let my lust run free.
My sex pulsed around him, clenching around his cock, massaging it, my aphrodisiac venom soaking into his manhood as I battered him with need. I could feel it having an effect, feel his body aching to climax, and I spurred it on as best I could, moaning and gasping, my hips rising and falling, my breasts bobbing, my hands clenching around his wrists.
I was meeting his challenge, and inflaming his lust, and satisfying my own, but I was doing more. I was testing his defenses, seeking out his weaknesses, showing him only the strength he'd demanded, and he knew it, and I knew that he knew it. Challenge met calculation. Strength met cunning. And above all, fiery lust met fiery lust and became an inferno.
