Author Note: Hey everyone, been a while since I submitted anything. This was in the works for a while and I hope you enjoy it. I like to think I'm improving my craft, so any ratings and comments—even anonymous—are more than welcome. Thank you for reading this. I love you.
Content Warning: incest-adjacent moments, noncon-adjacent moments. No actual incest or noncon. Unfortunately, some sex essentialism, hopefully outweighed by the story's overarching plot and gender politics. Also, there's some cheating, and a LOT of ambiguously ethical nonmonogamy. Cheers!
#
I rang up the customer while Bethica started the blender.
"Alright, so for the cookie that'll be two-fifty plus tax makes it two-seventy-three, and the medium peach raspberry will be one load."
I felt the heat radiate off of the man as his cheeks flushed. This was his first time at Juice For Juice. I could tell without looking, of course—my sexual memory is perfect—but there's a certain flustered pattern that first-timers have, the doubt in the eyes, the shaky hand rummaging for seventy-three cents. I smiled at him reassuringly, and let his hand linger in mine as I collected the change.
Through the skin-to-skin contact, I caught a flurry of glimpses into his predilections. None of it was too useful. My powers are limited by my muddled heritage, and it was really just a series of incomprehensible flashes. But even without acquiring meaningful insights, the transfer had a purpose: it proved to the customer that this was real. I was not pranking him. The evidence of my monstrosity calmed him, and he made eye contact with me for the first time since walking into the store.
The blender roared on in the background.
"So—"
"You're good right there," I said.
I dropped to my knees and crawled under the counter. The man smelled good, which is to say nutritious. The day was young, and I was hungry. Without any ado, I unzipped his fly, fished his cock out, and guided it into my mouth. He stifled a groan as his cock grew between my lips. I played with it a little, teasing the tip with my tongue, enjoying the sensation of it swelling. I put one hand around the base and gripped the customer's hips with the other. I rocked him in and out of my mouth, fucking my face with him. As he probed the back of my mouth, I felt my own arousal surge, and remembered where I was.
This was work.
It was always easier as the day went on to maintain professionalism, but the first few blowjobs of each shift were a test for me. It was hard to shrug off the ancient conflation of feeding, lust, and love. But shrug it off I did.
I wrapped my tongue around the customer's shaft and milked him. He gasped as I wrung him dry, collecting spurt after spurt of semen in my mouth. I drew back, swallowed, and put his cock back in his pants. Bethica handed him his smoothie as I backed up on my knees. Not a minute later I was standing behind the counter again, prim and proper.
"Sir," I said, smiling warmly, "would you like a loyalty card?"
He had a dazed look on his face. First-timers often got that. He nodded. I put the first stamp on a fresh card and handed it to him with two hands.
"On your tenth visit, you'll receive any small or medium smoothie for free."
He looked at me like I was crazy. "Why would I want that?" he asked.
I understood. He'd just had what was probably the best oral sex of his life, and he was looking forward to more. But life isn't just about male ejaculation.
"Perhaps you'd like to treat a lady friend, or an underaged acquaintance," I suggested. "Or anyone else who can't pay the normal price. Also, you never know. Maybe someday you'll want a smoothie and you won't feel like feeding us."
He blinked and squinted like he was trying to imagine a future in which he didn't want to put his cock in my mouth.
"Well, thanks," he said.
I waved as he turned and left. "You have a wonderful day."
The man's semen settled into my core, my second load of the day, hopefully of many.
#
As a half-succubus, I didn't need jizz the same way full demons did—specifically, I wouldn't die without it—but I needed way more than a full demon would to maintain what powers I had. My mom could drain my dad and be good for the day, but I needed a more constant stream of sustenance or my magic would fade. My childhood friend Bethica was in the same boat.
Life would go on if we "normalized," as Mom calls it. Lots of half-demon kids do this, apparently. They lose touch with the source of their powers and become normal people. And that wouldn't have been the end of the world for us: Bethica's main passion in life was smoothie concoction, and mine was reading detective novels. We didn't have to be endlessly horny sex demons to pursue those passions.
But the summer we were fifteen, when Bethica's parents and mine took a joint vacation to the lake and we snuck off one day to fuck for the first time, we agreed that we wanted to do whatever it took to maintain our powers. The next summer, we began scheming.
And seven years later, we finally opened our little shop in East Fortune, just an hour up the coast from Angels.
#
We made our smoothies in-house. Bethica came up with most of the menu, hermit-like in her dedication. She would hole up in the kitchen over the weekend with a blender and a few crates of fruit, and the following Tuesday she'd have a new menu item. And it was always good. She had a rare talent with flavors and textures. I like to think our little venture would have done well even without the unusual pricing.
Of course, we needed money, too, to pay rent and keep the utilities going, so we sold cookies and pretzels and so on, all with a ridiculous markup. Our customers never complained, though. Depending on how you looked at it, they were paying a couple bucks for a cookie, a smoothie, and a blowjob—a steal, by most measures, that actually got us in trouble with other sex workers.
#
"Welcome!" Bethica said cheerfully as the woman walked into the store. Things were quiet and I was on break, flipping through Instagram stories on my phone. I looked up, intrigued by the new arrival. Unaccompanied women customers were rare.
"Hi," she said cordially. "Listen, I don't mean this in a karen way, but can I talk to whoever's in charge here?"
Bethica looked over at me, uncomfortable. I sensed her unease, and shared it.
Was this a jilted partner, upset that we'd fed on her man?
Neither of us moved for a second, unsure how to proceed.
"Look," said the woman, "I'm not here for a fight. I get that you have needs and it's cool that you've got a system that works for you. I just want to chat a bit to see if we can reach an understanding."
She introduced herself as Jenn Green, vice president of the Amalgamated Sex Workers. I talked to her in the back room while Bethica rang up and fed on the next customer.
"We try to ensure no one's taken advantage of in our trade," Jenn explained. "At least locally, you know. So there're standardized price ranges for different services, and you're really undercutting us on oral."
"It's not like it's a service we offer for a price," I objected.
"I get that," Jenn insisted. "But I'm looking for common ground, here. You suck cock for a living, and so do my union comrades. Fuck, you should join the union."
I frowned at that, but Jenn pushed on. "Hell, you could charge our feeding rates."
"Feeding rates?"
"It's a niche fetish, but there are clients who pay to hand-feed our workers. It actually pays better than just blowjobs."
If material wealth had meant more to me, if it had meant more to Bethica, we'd have already been in the ASW, fucking for cash and sustenance. But ultimately we wanted to sell top-shelf smoothies, and we wanted to do it together, in our own way. The union was awesome—I'd been affiliated with them briefly during college, and had a lot of great encounters under their protection—but it also imposed a bunch of regulations that just didn't make sense for a smoothie shop.
"I'm not saying we're not sex workers," I said, trying to choose my words carefully, "because it's an honorable industry and one that I may still return to in my lifetime. But right now we're in the smoothie business, and let's be honest, we wouldn't have the customer base that we have now if we charged your service rates per smoothie. I'm sure we'd have enough business to stay afloat, but at the end of the day Bethica wants to serve her smoothies to as many people as possible."
Jenn took out a pad and pen and began jotting down outlines of different business plans. We could affiliate with the ASW, suck cock all we want as sex workers, and then just give out free smoothies. I stopped her with a hand over hers.
"This shop is her dream," I said.
Rather than doing a garbled reading of Jenn's desires through our touch, I did my best to show her mine. Fucking my best friend in the shallows at fifteen, chasing a nostalgic closeness by entwining our fates in a shared venture, subsuming my dreams for hers, remaining together forever even though Bethica never returned my feelings. I became sad as I realized what I was showing Jenn, and she squeezed my hand.
"It's okay," she said. "I'll go back to the membership and ask for direction on how to handle this. I don't want to hurt you, and I still think we can reach some kind of compromise."
Her reassurance was mechanical. She didn't care about me, and I sensed the impending picket against our store.
"We can delineate our services further," I said.
Jenn raised an eyebrow.
"We really don't serve a blowjob the way your workers do," I explained. "We really don't. It's cock out, thanks for the meal, enjoy your smoothie. Sure, it's enjoyable—it would be stupid not to make it fun—but it's not about the customer's needs, which is really the opposite of your business."
