I Succubus

In the next two weeks a remarkable series of events occurred in that kingdom.

Surprising accidents befell two of the demon-prince's most trusted counselors, men so loyal to him that they'd never dream of betraying him. One was discovered stabbed to death behind a most-disreputable brothel, causing a scandal whispered about by friend and foe alike. The other was found slumped over in his study, dead of an apparent heart attack, and if this seemed peculiar to anyone given his youth they found it prudent to not remark upon it.

Meantime, Genevieve moved with skill and haste, reaching out and recruiting members of a conspiracy, though she was careful not to call it that, careful to assure all she spoke with that she was merely working out contingencies, and if these contingencies hinged upon something terribly unfortunate happening to the demon-prince, well, accidents do happen. Just look at what had recently befallen the two counselors.

Some she charmed and some she threatened and some she bribed and two she seduced, and in the end she had her plans in place.

And all the while the whispers about me grew.

None knew of my meetings with the consort. None knew of one or two other bits of assistance I rendered. None knew that I'd ever returned to the kingdom after my initial summoning.

But they did know that I'd come, and slain one of the demon-prince's chief sorcerors, and departed, and that his court magicians had been unable to find me since, no matter how they tried and scryed and delved.

This was weakness, weakness where there should have been strength, and weakness in a court is blood in open waters, attracting predators even where none had been before.

If he had been able to produce me, humble me, destroy me, he would have secured his position admirably, but he could not, and every day he went without doing so was a day where he stood upon a shrinking ledge with a long, long drop beneath him.

If I had simply stayed away he might well have fallen on his own, or he might have survived with some difficulty, but such did not suit my plans, nor my master's.

For my master, the incubus who had bound me, watched what I did and what I did not do, and though I knew not whether he approved or disapproved I felt the weight of his presence, and the call of his soul.

I hungered for that soul.

Twice in that time he called me to him, and both times I went willingly, even eagerly.

Once he tried to punish me for the rebellion he sensed beneath the surface, and I accepted the punishment with relish and glee, taking each blow of the whip, each cruel torment, as a reminder that he saw me as a threat, sensed me as a danger. That feeling, that knowledge, that deep-rooted sensation was a balm to my mind even as my body was cruelly tortured, for the more dangerous he thought me the more eager I became to prove him correct.

The second time he called me he took me back to the arena where we had first met, where he had first bound me, and we watched the contests. Some fought and some fucked and some left the arena in chains and some did not leave that place at all, and we roared with the crowd, both of us remembering our own contest upon those sands, and at the end of the night he took me down to that altar and we gave ourselves to lust upon it.

He was in no danger from me, his binding was too secure, but I permitted myself to forget that and let my body struggle to suck his soul free, to claim him, to conquer him, to consume him, and if it was all futile it nonetheless gave my body permission to turn pleasure into passion into raw, erotic glory, and in the end he forced me to climax repeatedly, to surrender to pleasure as the crowd looked on.

Whether he thought it reward or punishment I cannot say, but it only whetted my appetite for him, only fanned the flames of my rebellion. The crowd thought it a demonstration of his power, and it was, but it was more than that, if only to the two of us.

Then came the day of the demon-prince's return.

He returned angry, and frustrated, for his journey had been a fruitless search for a sorceror who could find me, but he had found none but mountebanks and charlatans and weaklings. Only one had made an effort I'd even felt, and it was as insubstantial as a butterfly's wing and as easy to ignore.

The demon-prince called for his concubine to be brought to his chambers, as she'd known he would do. He always returned with a need for her, no matter how many whores he'd had on his travels, and her late enthusiasm in the bedchamber had only made him more eager for her.

She waited for him in the antechamber before his bedroom, which was unusual. Normally he preferred to find her naked in his bed, but this time she had plans. He looked down upon her with wrath and suspicion, and she smiled up at him with seductive delight.

"My lord husband," she whispered, "I've prepared a surprise for you. One I think you'll find particularly appetizing."

Two of his guards stood within the chamber, waiting for their dismissal. Normally they'd search the room before he entered it, but she had planned for this as well. She wore the same long, high-necked robe she'd worn when she called to me, and with nothing beneath it. She smiled sweetly up at him, raised her hands to the collar, parted it, lowered her hands slowly, drawing it apart, letting him see the blissful expanse of golden-tanned skin that lay beneath.

"Leave us," he snarled to his guards, for he had little on his mind but lust and anger.

The guards looked at one another, then at him.

"My lord-" one began, and that was as far as he got.

"Leave. Us," the demon-prince growled, and there was anger and finality in his words.

The guards shrugged and left, taking up their posts outside the chambers. As they walked out Genevieve let the robe fall, standing naked before the demon-prince, making him open his inhuman eyes wide in lechery. One of the guards glanced back, nearly stumbled as he caught sight, and it was well he did not for if the demon-prince had caught him it would have gone hard for him.

Instead the door shut behind them and Genevieve reached out to take the demon-prince's hand. She led him into the chamber where he saw his surprise.

I was his surprise. Naked and bound to the wall, arms and legs spread wide, wrists and ankles fastened to the wall with chains, within a circle of protection that rendered me utterly powerless, helpless and unable to feed.

Perhaps I should explain.

We had discussed this night, Genevieve and I, lying in bed together. The demon-prince, for all his faults and flaws, was not so careless as to permit himself to be caught unawares, nor expose himself unnecessarily. His guards always checked rooms before he entered them, and he would have been able to sense my presence if the circle had not rendered me harmless. He was no sorcerer, but he had skill and strength enough for that, and concealing such power would itself call attention in...other ways.

So to lure him into a room he would have to be distracted, and the room would have to be devoid of threat, and the only way to render a room in it devoid of threat was to make myself powerless and helpless.

Sometimes guile paves the path of strength, and few victories worth claiming are gained without peril.

Genevieve had not liked the plan. She considered that permitting the demon-prince to fall to whatever cabal arose to claim him was preferable, but to do so was to throw herself onto the pyre of fate and hope not to be burned, and that pyre burns as it will. Better by far to claim the flame as your own, and make yourself its master.

She had considered, and she had agreed, though not without reservation.

Then, on the day of the demon-prince's arrival, she had chalked the runes herself at my direction, empowering them with her own magic, for she was a diligent sorceress, not terribly strong but intelligent and capable of making careful use of what she had. She had advised me to put in weaknesses, but he would have felt them even if he hadn't seen them.

The trap needed to be most-carefully laid. To strike a false note would be to endanger Genevieve and my own plans at once.

I had watched her at work from within the circle, and pronounced myself satisfied with the result.

And then it was time to bind me.

No magic here, these were well-made manacles, installed at her request by the castle armorer, and if he wondered what use would be made of them he was wise enough to keep his wonder to himself. They were far too small to encircle the demon-prince's wrists but would have fit nicely around hers, and a few blushes and glances aside served to convey far more than enough to satisfy questions left unasked.

I stood with arms and legs spread and she flushed as she knelt, flushed even more as I teased her with my tail, the tip stroking tenderly over her neck, sliding along the skin where my fangs had penetrated. She smiled softly, but did not object, nor try to brush my tail away. She had grown comfortable letting her mask drop around me, though not so comfortable that she did not sometimes draw back out of reflex.

She bound one of my ankles, then the other, securing me firmly in place, then stood. I pressed my wrists back against the wall, forcing her to stand on tiptoes and lean against me in order to bind them, and now her blush was positively glowing on her cheeks. The mere presence of a succubus is enough to excite lust, regardless of magic or aphrodisiac effect. We radiate it, call to it, enhance it, and to be this close to me, particularly when I was naked, was to bathe in desire.

"I could leave them unfastened," she said, repeating a conversation we'd had several times. "And merely close them."

"No," I said. "He must know me to be bound. He must be able to test it. He will certainly check, and if he senses a trap he will destroy us both."

She sighed, knowing it to be true, and fastened the manacles around one of my wrists, and then the other.

"And how do you know," she asked, "that I will not betray you? Deliver you to him to enhance my own standing at your expense?"

I let my tail wrap around her waist in answer, holding her close. My tail is strong, but not so strong that she could not pull away if she wished, and yet she made no effort to do so, leaning against me, looking up at me.

"Your desire is not," I said, "to be a higher-status slave. You want to be a queen. A queen, and then an empress."

She smiled at that, but did not respond further. We heard the sound of horns at the gates and knew the time was drawing near.

"Power the wards," I said. "He must not sense me until it's time."

She nodded, leaned up, and kissed me softly, tenderly. It was a bold move on her part, inviting my venom, baiting me teasingly, bold and brave at once, and I rewarded it with a response, a warm and passionate kiss that melded with her lips for a moment that stood still, a tiny eternity in a day that would decide our fates.

Then she broke the kiss and stepped back, careful to lift her feet clear of the wards. She reached down, pressed her hands to the ground, and poured her magic into them, powering them up, and I felt myself being made helpless and powerless and fragile.

It was a feeling I despised, however necessary. Sometimes victory comes at the price of temporary weakness, but that lesson is a lesson I've never found to be anything but bitter on my tongue.

She glanced up at me, looking for approval, and I nodded fractionally, then let my head droop, my body sink against the shackles. She frowned, then turned and made for the antechamber to await the arrival of the demon-prince.

Then he arrived, and found me as she'd left me.

There was a moment when he first beheld me where it could have gone either way. He could have turned and bolted, called in his guards, and depending on whether Genevieve had the presence of mind to free me quickly I could have escaped or been cut down there and then.

He almost did.

And then he didn't.

He'd just been on an expedition seeking to find a way to me, and here I was, naked and chained, near-enough gift-wrapped for him and so he did not run, and that act of lust-laced avarice sealed his fate.

He reached out with his mind, probing the circle, testing the spells that bound me, and found them secure. This took no great sorcerous skill, and he had little, but little enough to sense strength and power, and more than enough to see that I was as powerless as I appeared, as helpless as a newborn lamb.

"How?" He asked, turning to his concubine. "How did you accomplish this?"

"I have some small skill," she said, inclining her head upwards as he towered over her, "and she left traces, traces enough to lead me back to her with enough time and attention. After that, well, she was far too confident, and fell into my trap."

"I see," he said, looking at her with new approval, his wide-set eyes flicking over her naked body, her wide, innocent eyes. "You have done well."

She visibly flushed at the compliment, nibbling at her lower lip, almost a parody of a pleased servant. He brought one massive grey-fingered hand up to stroke her cheek tenderly, then turned to me.

He stepped over the circle's edge, careful not to touch the runes that held it intact, and reached out to grasp my neck in his hand, squeezing roughly, making me choke and gasp for breath before he loosed his hold just enough to let me breathe.

"You," he snarled, "have caused me no end of problems."

"Have I?" I asked, my tone carefully calculated to needle him without driving him into a murderous rage.

"Because of you," he growled, "I've had to spend a month stamping out plots that never should have been. Chasing shadows. Listening to charlatans."

"Whatever for?" I asked. "Nobody's ever caught a shadow."

He snarled at that, flexing his arm, tightening his hand about my throat, cutting off my air. He sought to break me, to demonstrate his power, to see fear rise in my eyes, but I have been to the deepest parts of my soul and fear has no place there. As to power, well, I've felt power too, and he only felt the need to exert his when I was powerless and the strength one displays under those circumstances is no route to victory but often a signpost on the way to defeat.

"You destroyed my sorceror," he said, holding his hand tight around my throat, then loosening it so that I could respond.

I took care with this, drawing breath in a measured inhalation, not choking and spluttering as he wished me to do. Control such as he sought to display is undermined by such things, and so I breathed in carefully even as my lungs screamed for air, even as my body ached to breathe in deeply.

"Your sorceror," I whispered, "destroyed himself when he sought to command strength with weakness."

"And now?" He asked, his eyes narrowing, lips parting. "Do you call yourself strong, powerless and chained?"

"Would you like to find out?" I asked, tilting my head just slightly, putting a seductive spin on the words.

It was a challenge few men could have withstood. I was chained, I was helpless, but for all that I was still beautiful, still infinitely desirable, and he had been without his consort's touch for a month and such pleasures as he could find on a month of hard riding and investigation would undoubtedly have been unsatisfying. I could feel his lust within him, feel it even bound as I was, and I could see it in evidence in his body. The tension. The heavy breathing. Where his eyes lingered.

Still, though, he was cautious, cautious enough to check my bindings, reaching up to the manacles around my wrists and tugging hard, and it was well that Genevieve had heeded my command to secure them well, for if they had fallen free he would have broken my neck before she could have intervened. He dropped down, performed the same examination on my ankles, and I took the opportunity to tease him with my tail, stroking the tip along his bicep, smirking down at him when he let out a small sound of exasperation.

"Satisfied?" I asked, when he stood again.

"Not yet," he growled, unfastening his trousers, stepping out of them, making sure to toss them well clear of the circle to avoid smudging the wards.

His cock was revealed, huge and achingly hard, plainly desperate for relief and release, but he held himself back for a moment more to reach out with his mind and ensure that the circle held, and it did. I was truly unable to drain him, unable to use magic, unable to do anything beyond the physical, and my physical form was chained.

Chained and eager for the contest to begin.

I could feel its imminence, feel his lust, feel my own in turn, for even a helpless succubus is a creature of primal lust, lust that we feel every bit as strongly as we inspire. I was wet. My nipples were hard. My skin tingled. My mouth watered. My fangs were eager to sink into yielding flesh.

I was hungry.

He glanced back at Genevieve, who had taken position on the bed, lying on her stomach, naked and attentive. She smiled at him and licked her lips, giving every evidence of an eager voyeur. One of her hands stole beneath her and she let her fingers seek out her sex and rub it softly and she let out a lovely little moan of anticipation, and it was perhaps that sound as much as anything that sealed our triumph and his downfall.

He turned, stepped forwards, drew his cock to my eager, quivering sex, and thrust in hard.

There was no artistry to this, no subtlety, no attempts to pleasure me. He wanted to take me, to claim me, to make me know I was being fucked as much as to fuck me. He was hard and he was rough and he wanted to show his dominion and domination, and I responded eagerly, for sex is my weapon and my pleasure and my sustenance and I cried out happily as he drove into me again and again, knowing full well that my pleasure would only serve to antagonize him, that his pleasure would only serve to drive him.

And my tail slid down and went to work unfastening the manacles around my right ankle, and then around my left.

It's a clever little thing, my tail, long and prehensile and capable of much more than you would think to look at it. I can use it to tease and use it to arouse, and simply reminding some of my otherworldly nature is enough to do both and the tail serves in that respect as well.

But it can also do things like steal into a keyhole and flick the tumblers this way and that until the lock pops free.

My wrists were still bound, but my legs were not, and though I held them as if they still were so encumbered, held them as if I was still chained, I was now much, much more dangerous and my prey did not yet realize it.

Unaware prey is vulnerable prey, and vulnerable prey is as good as slaughtered.

He drove in again and again, and my cunt clenched down around him and squeezed, rippling wickedly, urging him on even as he struggled to break me, to make me cry out in pain, to beg for mercy, mercy he could deny.

It was folly. I've been broken, and once made to beg, but those circumstances were not these. This was weakness trying to imitate strength, and I met it with strength without pretense of weakness, crying out in sexual bliss, enjoying the attentions he sought to inflict, letting my eagerness show plainly as he drove me into the wall again and again and again. I felt his manhood deep within me, felt the hard, pulsing length eager to erupt, and I struggled to keep his pleasure from roaring forth too soon.

I could not compel him, I had only the arts of my body and my mind to work with, but they were enough. The sight of my pleasure increased his wrath, but made him want to exert control over his own and so he struggled to refrain from his climax, and my body did the rest, delivering him pleasure without offering too much.

His breath was coming in ragged gasps, sweat soaking his frame, and he was getting close, so very close, and soon he would erupt no matter his own attempts at restraint or mine.