"This is Eisheth." Michael didn't even try to keep the contemptuous smile off of his face. There was no way in hell Jack was going to be looking at anyone — or anything — other than Eisheth.
Even at the merely physical level, Eisheth's charms were considerable. Luxuriant pitch-black hair framed an olive-complexioned face with eyes that could seem almost cartoonishly large when she wanted to play the innocent, or could narrow into the bedroom eyes of a seductress, as they were now. Her skin was flawless, but always seemed to be flushed with inner heat. She liked to keep her mouth closed when she was alone with Michael, but even he could scarcely look at her full red lips and not imagine them wrapped around his cock, sucking him in. Her body seemed to hold no straight lines — looking at her, Michael's eye could never decide where to settle — on the athletic back and neck that always held perfect posture unless she wanted to lower a shoulder or cock her head to better draw you in — on full, deceptively youthful breasts that always seemed damp with a sheen of arousal that you knew, just knew, was caused by you — on the incurve to her waist and stomach that dared you to see if your thumbs could touch at her navel while your fingers still met at her spine — on the round perfection of her hips and ass, that seemed to be swaying slowly in orbit around the the juncture of thighs you longed to part — on the svelte, sculpted legs that you couldn't see without imagining wrapped around your face or your hips. Michael's eyes would roam constantly over her form, trying to take her all in, and always failing. He was in a perpetual state of erection from the moment she would manifest, and his cock was at its hardest when she plied her trade, as she did now.
Jack didn't have Michael's protection of her sigil, and was thus affected by her full, seductive power. Michael had been careful to never experience that power firsthand, but he liked to have Eisheth's victims describe it to him before she took them. They could not look at her without her starring in a ceaseless festival showing every one of their sexual fantasies, including some they didn't know they had. They knew, with absolute, utter certainty that she shared those fantasies, and that her fantasies contained them, and only them.
Her victims
knew
this, and they were right, at least to a point.
"Jack, you aren't speaking," Michael prodded. "What do you think of her? She is a good friend of mine, and she owes me a favor or two. I wanted us to bury the hatchet, so to speak, and she is my way of making amends. I will give you two as long as you need in my guest bedroom, but you have to tell me what you think of her."
Jack said nothing, which he had seen once before. That meant... yes. Michael looked at Eisheth and could tell she had already seen it. Of course she had. She couldn't fulfill their fantasies without knowing even the ones they didn't dare speak.
Eisheth drew herself up to her full height, and somehow, when Michael wasn't looking, her clothing had changed. She had begun the evening, as she always was when they were alone, dressed for Michael, wearing Courtney's wedding dress, or the t-shirt and sweatpants Courtney had been wearing the first time they had sex, or in Courtney's fire-engine-red merry widow, which is what she had been wearing when Jack rang the doorbell. But now, Eisheth's target had changed. She was no longer trying to seduce Michael, but her sights were set on Jack, and she was wearing skin-tight pants, a corset, high heels, and long gloves, all made of black leather. A riding crop had found its way into her hand, and she snapped it against her other palm with practiced precision. She had also grown three inches beyond the heels, and her breasts had gained a cup size.
Her eyes narrowed, and her lips parted in a cruel sneer. "Don't you see, Michael? This snivelling little worm is a submissive. He won't dare speak in my presence unless I give him permission. Isn't that right, Jack?"
Jack didn't respond.
"You are too weak and cowardly to deserve the name you were born with, staring at your mistress like you are a squirrel. That is what I shall call you. Speak to me Squirrel, admitting your name and your nature."
Jack was beet-red with humiliation. His head was tilted down in deference, but he still could look nowhere else but at her. "You are correct, of course, Mistress."
Michael released his contempt. "Of course you are, Jack. All that macho, a-man-must-take-what-he-wants bullshit you fed to me when I was a trainee at Lehman and you were my mentor — it was all cover for a weak little submissive, wasn't it?"
Jack ignored Michael, but Michael didn't take offense. He knew that for Jack, right now, Eisheth was the living, breathing, walking, fucking embodiment of sex, and nothing else existed unless it would help or impede his access to her.
Eisheth held up a collar and leash. "Remove your clothes, Squirrel. The only garb you wear tonight is this."
Jack shed his clothes too quickly, causing him to make mistakes. With each fumble of a zipper, or failure to undo a button, Eisheth's crop would snap and a new welt would appear somewhere on Jack's body. By the time Jack was naked, the only remarkable features about him were a dozen red welts and a raging erection.
Eisheth made Jack place the collar and leash on himself, and then lead him to the guest bedroom.
Michael rummaged through Jack's clothes, finding his wallet and a smartphone. Shit. He would have to walk the smartphone around town for a couple days before throwing it in the East River. Michael couldn't have his own apartment be the last place the phone appeared on the network, but it was annoying to lay down a false trail. Michael hated inconvenience almost as much as he hated Jack.
Jack was supposed to have been his mentor. He was supposed to have protected him when the shit went down, but no. Jack had enabled a golden parachute for himself when Lehman went under, and Michael took most of the fall.
Michael emptied the contents of Jack's wallet. He could use the credit cards to buy some items that were pawnable for cash. Eisheth knew to get the pin number for the ATM card before she was finished. And there were several thousand dollars in cash. Excellent. That should pay the mortgage on the condo through November, although if everything went right on Halloween, he might not need it.
Cries of orgasmic pain emanated from the bedroom as Michael set his loot on the bar.
Eisheth had left the door open as she worked her charms on Jack, who was Number Eleven. She always left the door open so Michael could watch.
And Michael always watched.
---
"You have a what?" Michael thought he must have misheard.
"A succubus." Taylor had always looked up to Michael as a hero, and he seemed to want a pat on the head. "I will summon her, but first you have to hold one of these." Taylor offered him a slip of parchment. It was a five pointed star with some weird characters written inside it.
"What's this for?"
"Protection. For God's sake, don't let it out of your possession when she is in the room."
Michael was bemused. Taylor had been one of the first to be let go during the collapse. He was seeking Michael's help to land on his feet, not knowing that Michael had just been fired earlier that same day. Taylor knew that Michael would want something in return, so he had offered him the assistance of a netherworld creature he claimed to control.
He had, of course, waited until Michael showed up before making such a preposterous claim, or Michael never would have bothered.
"Eisheth, I summon thee!"
Michael raised an eyebrow at the odd phrasing, and wasn't sure what would appear. He guessed either a hooker wearing a devil-horn costume would come out of the bedroom, or nothing at all.
He wasn't expecting Eisheth.
And she didn't come out of the bedroom. Instead, she appeared out of the corner of his eye, as if she had entered the room when he wasn't looking, even though there was no door over in that corner of the room. She was standing with her back to the window, and she made sure she was backlit. All he saw was a silhouette, but he was instantly hard. He could tell she was clothed, but it still seemed as if every outline of her nude form was visible, tracing around the most voluptuous, desirable body he could imagine.
Eisheth walked toward him, and he could see her face better now — a sly smile and dancing eyes — a flick of the tongue across her lips just like Courtney used to do.
