The Cult of the Lamia

The wind was loud this night, as it whistled around the on campus living. It was late, and most of the students had gone to bed. Which was odd; mostly there was constantly something going on, a late night drinkathon, or a party across one hallway or the other. This university was even more lax than most, but everyone could feel the difference this night. It was cold, but that was normal for this time of year. It was in the air, though; a sense of something else. Lecturers gave their seminars to empty rooms; students who would normally be out socialising were alone, inside. It was unconscious. And that was only during the day.

The night was chaos incarnate, wind and leaves and individual sheets of rain and sleet falling together. Benches were overturned, and the streets of the township were empty. The police bunkered down in their station, knowing that, at least for this night, the crime outside was beyond their ability to control. There was no moon, and no stars. Nothing.

Tonight was not a Friday, nor was it the thirteenth of the month. It was the 1st of November, the Nameless day. Samhaihn.

Cassie shuddered. She had felt the wind whistling around her since she had left the library, pushing her towards away from shelter. It was odd; the wind was freezing, but she wasn't cold at all. It seemed to be curving around her, lifting the folds of her skirt, whistling through her sleaves, and down her shirt. It stroked her skin, and she felt almost as though fingers were on the wind, caressing her, running across the skin beneath her breasts, stroking her inner thigh. She smiled.

Casssie, the wind whispered, Casssssie. She felt the wind surge around her, lifting her forwards, almost off her feet. She stumbled, and felt a pair of arms come out, and catch her softly. She started, and rose.

Mark smiled down at her.

It was not her room that he led her to, even though he led her through her door, in her corridor. It was a master suite worthy of an Arabic princess; a full teak set of furniture, all in an oriental style, complementing the floor of marble. The double door outside was open, and the curtains in a dark purple were flowing backwards; Cassie noted that they were far too long for normal use, flowing from the bar at the top like water from a waterfall.

The four-poster bed was opulent, bigger than even a king size. The drapes from the top started out as the same purple as the curtains, but softened into a lighter colour before turning white. These too flowed out from the bed, drenching it in sheets of pale mauve.

Cassie turned in his arms, and looked at him questioningly. She had always felt more than comfortable around him, had felt that she could keep up with him, be beside him like no other- that gothic chick he hung out with was pretty, but nothing when compared to her.

"What's the occasion?"

Mark smile again, this time fairly self consciously. "I have a proposition to put to you, but..." He trailed away.

"But what?"

"Full of questions much tonight?" he said, as she sat down on the bed. He kept his distance, standing against the wall, as far away from her as he could. Best make sure her choice was strictly hers- she might not survive it he made it for her.

"What have you... thought, about the night we had; you, Cristina, Amanda and me?"

She coloured, her pale face beyond red. "I have considered all sorts of things."

"Like what?"

"Like... mutant spiders and kryptonite."

He laughed out loud. "See, no fangs!"

She smiled. "No, really. Then I looked on the internet, mainly Wikipedia, and read up, about mythological creatures. What I- we- experienced that night... it's more than what most women get their whole lives. Therefore, I thought you might be... well..."

"Well what?"

"An incubus; a demon who feeds of female sexual energy. Maybe you can turn into a woman, and fuck men for their semen, so you can create little demon children!" She said that last with a half smile on her face, but she couldn't hide the quaver in her voice.

He walked over to her, and sat down, next to her. He made sure to keep away, so that they didn't touch.

"I am all of this. I can read your mind, and even to some measure control it. I can flood your body with pleasure, and make you want only me until your dying day. I could fuck you and fuck you until you are dead from the sheer momentum, but why would I do that when I could suck out your soul and love every taste, every smell? More than that; your death would be an aphrodisiac for me."

She drew away slightly, her face no longer smiling. "Why are you telling me this?"

He gestured around. "This room. It shows you both sides of my nature. I am as beautiful and as desirable as the richest of silks; I am as treacherous as icy water, and I will drown you in my embrace.

He stopped for a moment. "I am here to offer you a choice; I will walk away tonight, and you will have an utterly normal life. You will have a home, and a husband. You will have children. You will grow old, and you will definitely die. Or...

"Or you could have me, have this, forever. I found in you something both precious and powerful; not an emotion, or even a strong feeling. It was an intuition, a realisation, that you could be as I am. I am offering you the chance to be a succubus, my opposite, my equal. You would prey on men as I did on you, but more. You would enjoy it far, far more than I ever can. I can only finish when I drain a woman completely, and only when I turn a human into one of us."

"So I ask you, will you have a normal life, and live it out being content, and die as a mortal, or will you take this, and run with it until the end of days? Will you join me, and become the Bride of...Whatever?"

She was silent, her face as chalk. "Holy shit, Mark!"

He nodded. "I know, right? It's mind blowing. I wasn't given a choice, though. I was already dead when I was made."

She turned, looking and leaning towards him.

"How was it for you, when you were made? Did it hurt?"

He told her the story, but his mind was elsewhere. He was watching her hard, her posture, her heat. He could see the slight sweat on her collarbone, running down between her breasts. He watched as her legs crossed and uncrossed, her hands holding her dress down between her legs as she shifted. Her mind wasn't letting on; he was listening for something, anything that would tell him which way she was leaning.

She sat back.

"The moment of truth, Cassie." He said, forcing himself off her.

"How do I know you aren't interfering with my mind?"

"You don't. All I can tell you is that if it was me, you wouldn't survive this."

She sighed, then leaned in at him.

"I choose this life, to be one of the damned, to be a whore, a slut, a Bride for the Devil, or whatever. Now would you hurry up and Fuck Me?!" She demanded. He smiled as he moved his lips towards her.

She was gorgeous naked. Even though he had seen her before, the distractions had decreased her beauty, but now she was all there was. She was everything there was. She had the best ass he had ever seen on a white girl, and he grabbed it hard as he kissed her, his tongue running across hers, sparks wherever contact was made. He ran his hands over her hips, following the not too subtle curves all the way up to her back, where he unsnapped her bra with one hand.

He stroked her shoulderblades, his nails slightly digging in. He knew that she wanted rough later, but now she wanted gentle; she was still a bit scared. He then gave her jaw and her neck more attention, kissing and biting in variables, making her moan. He didn't enter her mind.

His left hand caressed her breasts, kneading them as he knew she liked. They were roughly a C cup, and she had the most gorgeous nipples he had ever seen; tiny, little buds, a dark brown, almost chocolate colour. They became tiny when she was aroused, and aroused she was now. He lowered his mouth, and sucked on her left nipple, tasting her body. She cried out, arching her back, driving her body closer, begging for more, as he ran his right hand against her other nipple, and his left between her legs. She was wet, so much more than wet. He ran his forefinger lightly over her clit, toying with it, moving it backwards and forwards. She came hard, and for the first time, he sipped her pleasure without restraint.

She gasped, her hips thrusting hard against his hand, forcing his finger painfully into her clit, but it made her orgasm more intense. She came harder than ever before, her body tense. She knew she needed this, needed to let go of her nerves for him, for the sex that would define her life.

She opened her eyes, staring at him. He let himself flood with desire, and she gasped; he had never used his full strength before, never even tested it on anyone.

She shivered from the sheer force of it. It was as though he had become fire, and the air shifted around him, vibrating at a higher pitch than before. She could hear a dim noise, a faint ringing in her ears, and as it vibrated through her being she felt herself flooding. It started on her skin, rubbing and caressing each folicle, each single goosebump. She breathed it in, down her throat, then down, down, ever down. She felt it slip ever lower, so slowly, the vibration becoming so intense as to be almost painful. It felt as though someone was fucking her from the inside, and she screamed as she overflowed, every wave sheer pleasure, every single breath ecstasy.

She watched as though tied to his spot, as she breathed in his need, his want. He saw her body change temperature, and felt her desire grow, in testament to his own. He held back, as her breathing changed, each breath going deeper, deeper. He felt it penetrate her, delving deeply, each thrust making her burn more. He saw her build up, then have the single most powerful orgasm he had ever seen.

As she recovered, he stripped himself of clothes. When she recovered, she saw him, erect and hard. Quivering with need for her. He needed to be inside her, and she knew it.

She crept up to him, on her hands and knees, her face still flushed, her breathing irregular. She looked him dead in the eyes, as she took him deeply in her mouth. His head rolled backwards; no-one, not even the succubus who made him, could have taken him so deeply, so quickly. And he was even bigger than he was when he was turned. All thought vanished when she took him as deeply again, even faster. Her eyes never left him, as she increased her speed, her head bobbing up and down, her tongue running along the underside of his cock, sometimes tickling the head of his cock, sometimes whirling around the base as she held it down her throat.

For her it was as though she was deepthroating her own orgasm; as his pleasure built up, so did hers, and when she took him down her throat she almost came. She took him again, and she tried not to show him her own pleasure; sometimes, it's best to keep things like that secret, she thought.

He felt it coming, and didn't want it to end so quickly. He drew back, and felt her release him. It was the last straw. He erupted, his come pouring out of his cock hard.

Her mouth was still open, and his come surged into her mouth, faster and harder than anyone had previously. She didn't normally like the taste of semen, but his tasted different. It was her concept of sex, perfectly defined in taste form.

She felt herself come from the sheer force of his taste in her mouth. It was small, nothing compared to the excesses she had experienced from him in the past. She spat it out, her mind flicked to the night where her and her friends had all had him. It was singularly the most erotic night of her whole life. She was beyond tired after, but she could remember everything that had happened. It was unreal, and she had really suspected him of drugging them. Until she had seen the page on the internet, and had found the word, incubus. Then she had known. She had wanted him, wanted more, wanted everything he could give her. Wanted the life, the sex, he could give her.

He tore at her panties, beneath the skirt she wore. It was a cheerleading skirt, or a netball skirt, so it was short, the lowest part just above her knees. Her panties were cotton, so it didn't take much for him to push them to one side, so he could slam straight into her, his cock straight to her pussy, his pubic hair hard up against her ass. She came explosively the second he entered; his cock was fire, pleasure incarnate. He wasn't human; it was the first time she truly understood.

He rammed into her, doggystyle. His cock left her body completely before he slammed into her again, her pussy vibrating, pulsing with each thrust.

She was alive, more alive than anyone he had fucked before; her energy was sweet, like bread to the hungry. He felt deprived, as though he had been going through a bare patch himself. He needed this; needed to come, to full her up, and make her his.

She felt his cock tense up within her, which was odd; most guys only tensed up exactly when they came, like, when they filled her mouth. She felt her own orgasm begin as his did; she had already worked out that her own condition was relative to his. His cock kept growing, and she felt it fill her deeper and deeper with every thrust. And he moved faster and faster, well past the hardest fuck she had ever had. Her nails ground into his thighs, as she moaned, her voice mouthing no words, her pleasure beyond them.

He screamed as her pussy closed around him; it was too much, far too much. He stiffened again within her; she came around him, her pussy closing around him like a vice. He felt it begin, the greatest orgasm of his life. It took him away from his body, filling him with fire, as he felt every liquid surge, magma from him to her. He felt everything that she was; every memory, every feeling, that she owned, his to hold for eternity.

She burned, far more than he ever could have thought possible. It was an orgasm, but wasn't. It was as though her body was his, completely and totally. She knew that he could see her mind, but so too she could see his, feel his memories. She felt his come change her, hit her deep, and modify her irrevocably.

The orgasm did not fade, and Mark kept thrusting until well into the morning.