"A what?" I said, confused. I looked at Sly while I mentally ran through the possibilities.
"Suckabus, suckabus," he repeated. "Din't you hear me? Don't ya know what a suckabus is?"
I thought for a moment about how to reply. Sly's always been conscious of the difference between his background and mine. He likes to lord it over me any time he feels his street smarts have given him an advantage. On the other hand, though, for a big, cynical, street-tough guy he is pretty thin-skinned when something rubs his nose in the difference between my education and his lack of a formal one. Fortunately, the sting is largely out of it by now. We've been a partnership for quite some time, and we have learned to respect each other as individuals, not just for what we bring to our relationship: sex, on my part; finding clients for me on his. We are both good at what we do.
"Could you mean 'succubus'?"
"Yeah, yeah. Succubus. That what I said, ain't it? So, Princess, let's hear that expensive upstate college degree pay off. What's a succubus?"
He had sprung this on me while I was getting dressed after a satisfying session with a very athletic client on the couch in Sly's apartment. I was a bit tired after that workout and was looking forward to getting home and getting some sleep. I do have a day job, you know. But Sly wanted to talk business.
"Well, in Judeo-Christian mythology and folklore," I said, trying not to lecture, "a succubus is a female demon who appears to men in their sleep and has sex with them to steal their sperm."
"No shit. Why's she want to do that?" Sly asked in wonderment.
"Some folk tales say she needs it to survive. Others say that's where demons get sperm to impregnate other women to make more demons."
"Jesus, Princess. That is really fucked up. Who believes that kind of shit?"
"Well," I said, suppose you're a holy man who's supposed to be godly and celibate, and had always been taught that pleasure, especially sexual pleasure, was a sin in the eyes of God."
We both smiled at the picture of tough, profane Sly in that role.
"Anyway, you wake up in the middle of the night from a wet dream. You figure God's going to be pissed at you for having had such awful thoughts. But wait! It really wasn't your fault. She must have been a succubus. Everybody knows you can't refuse a succubus. So, it's okay."
"Hunh. Pretty convenient."
"Yeah, isn't it, though. Anyway, why'd you bring this up? It's late. Does this have something to do with us? Or to be more specific, with me?"
"Yeah, Princess, it does. I got a guy that's always wanted to meet a succubus. He's into witches and fantasy. Dungeons and Dragons kind of stuff."
"Oh."
"Yeah, you got it, Princess. How'd you like to be a real-life succubus?"
"Hmm. Could be fun, I guess. A little like Elvira, maybe. But Sly, the guy's not some religious fanatic, is he? Going to blame me afterwards for debauching him? You remember the time I nearly got killed by one."
"No, Babe, he ain't. I checked him out. Just a nerd lookin' ta get laid. With a story."
"Okay, if you say so. Alright, I'll do it. Set it up."
"Good girl. I always know I can count on you."
"Yeah."
I checked out the web to get an idea what guys figure a succubus should look like. Wow! Lots of cleavage, long legs, very brief outfits. That part I could handle and would be fun. Like most women, I like looking sexy. Trouble is, most images showed them with horns and big bat wings. I figured I could deal okay with the horns, but the wings would present a challenge. They look great in pictures but might be impractical for what the client had in mind.
Some time ago, in connection with a job there, I'd made the acquaintance of Ruth, a costumer who works at the Metropolitan Opera. We'd had coffee a few times. She's in her late fifties. She's amused by and I think a little envious of my second profession. She enjoys hearing about some of my jobs. Living vicariously, I suppose. Anyway, it seemed a good idea to consult with her: succubusses seemed to me to be more in the line of operas.
She loved the idea, and dove into it with a will (and an impressive amount of talent!). It took some serious research, but we put together an outfit that seemed to work. It had soft thigh-length black stiletto-heeled boots, and a black leather top like a one-piece bathing suit made of a shiny leather-like material that was soft enough to cling to all my curves. In the front it was split down the middle, beginning a few inches south of my navel, growing wider as it rose, spreading to reveal much of my breasts, just barely inboard of my areolas. From the bottom of the slit to just below my breasts it was bridged by laces. The laces were a nice touch: they revealed a lot of bare flesh and strongly hinted at how easy it would be to tug them free.
The costume had similar laced slits on the sides and over the swelling of my hips. The lateral slits joined the front one in points just over my nipples. A thin spaghetti strap that went from these points behind my neck held them tight to me as well as pulling my breasts toward each other to give me a really interesting cleavage. We added elbow-length black wristlets and a black beaded necklace with a pendant that rested just inside valley between my breasts, emphasizing their swelling even more. Ruth cobbled together a wicked-looking, curved pair of horns that miraculously held up without disturbing my long dark hair. The outfit even had a pair of batwings that rose up and out from the back and, when properly deployed, framed my body nicely. The finishing touches included heavy mascara and black lipstick and nail polish, pretty much in the mode of Elvira or Morticia Addams.
