Bliss

Bliss' dreams were formless and empty, until she heard her mother calling her name. No, that wasn't right. Penitent was saying her name, but not to her. It still wasn't right. Penitent was THINKING Bliss' name. And she wasn't dreaming it. Bliss didn't know it yet, but Penitent's use of her innate telepathy had awoken the ability in her. Except stronger. When Penitent thought of her, she heard it, even when her mother didn't intend to transmit her thoughts.

She saw images of herself, being raped by a massive, ebon-skinned male figure, and felt her mother's mingled fear and erotic titillation at the prospect. Her mother had told her of the Dark Seducer, the Master of Pleasure and Pain, though she said that she couldn't speak his name safely. Demon princes were nearly god-like in their power, and combined a deity's wisdom with an animal's cunning. He would hear her thoughts or words if his name was invoked, and Penitent, as a succubus, would be immediately summoned to him and her mind stripped of all her hidden knowledge.

All of this was conveyed to Bliss in an instant. It chilled her that she could glean such knowledge so quickly, and that the Black Prince would be able to do it with the alacrity of millennia of experience. Another conduit of power had opened within her, this mental ability that would make her all the more formidable, yet it brought fear instead of confidence. She had had no experience with the art of telepathy before that day, and she had already learned so much, and the greatest threats to her existence had this same ability, except on a level that dwarfed hers. In fact, every being except Penitent would probably raise a hand against her, unless they had designs on her body. In a matter of minutes, Bliss had grown up by a significant amount, and it was not a good experience.

With concentration, Bliss found she could pinpoint Penitent's location, then saw through her eyes, and then began to share the vision that Mischief was imparting to her. Through this link, she found herself in Mischief's mind, sharing the images even more closely than Penitent.

Penitent felt a slight tickling in her mind as Bliss began to purposefully rummage through her thoughts, but it was hardly noticeable and soon ignored in favor of the more erotic fare that her sister succubus was supplying.

Bliss was disoriented for a second as she found herself in Mischief's body, and Wychar's study. Her lips, or rather Mischief's, seemed to form words of their own volition, then she quit fighting the memory and watched it unfold.

"It is as you feared, master. Your brother immediately embraced me in your wife's guise."

Wychar's blindfolded face twitched once more, this time in anger. His mouth bit around words, angry words, possibly those of magical power, but he did not give voice to any of them.

"I took some of his life-essence, master. He is helpless at this moment."

Wychar finally found his voice.

"You lie!"

"No, master, open your eyes. You bound me to your wife's form, and I cannot lie to you."

Wychar forgot the reasoning behind the blindfold and swept it from his face. He looked at the luscious succubus in all of her Infernal glory. Perfect breasts, skin somewhere between pearl and pink, rounded hips and flat belly, all surrounded by the accoutrements of Hell. Her horns, and small fangs, her hooves and wings and tail, somehow they couldn't take away from the appeal of that perfect body. Coral-colored nipples that would later tempt Penitent seemed to beg to be kissed and suckled. Wychar was literally starting to drool, barely catching himself at it.

"Master, you must be careful if you want to rut with me. It isn't safe."

The warning was delivered with a tone and expression that sent an opposite message. Her eyes, formerly glowing green, faded to normal greenish-hazel. Her blood-red lips pursed to hide her small, neat fangs, and she curled her bat-like wings behind her. There seemed to be only promise of endless pleasure in her, no menace at all.

"How can I safely bed you?" the wizard asked, his tongue seeming to work around a mouthful of cotton.

"You have only to order me not to steal your soul, master."

"Then I'll be safe?"

"As long as the order stands..."

Mischief's answer was full of her namesake, and finished by a dazzlingly sweet smile.

"Then I command it, succubus. Pleasure me, but do not steal my soul."

Mischief's smile was again dazzlingly sweet as she sauntered across the room to Wychar. Her hips swayed to a rhythm that spoke of sex, her tongue bathed her lips in a fashion that spoke of hunger. Lush, rounded breasts bounced perfectly, their firmness obvious.

The wizard's robes could not hide his arousal. In a near mystical fashion, Mischief disrobed him with a few deft motions of her hands. She knelt in front of his engorged member, staring pointedly into his eyes as she opened perfect lips to engulf it. She may have been on her knees, but it was obvious who the real slave was to any who might have observed them.

Wychar groaned with pleasure, nearly spewing his seed at her first suckling kiss. Her pointed teeth just barely brushed his veined shaft, holding it in place as her tongue energetically washed over it.

"A perfect seduction."

Penitent's voice once again broke the spell formed by Mischief's reminiscence. A giggled agreement was her sister's reply. To the succubi, Mischief had played their game perfectly, ensnaring a mortal who knew her nature from the very beginning, using her own natural form to entice him.

"Oh, it gets better..." Mischief began, and then both fell into her reverie once more.

Mischief sucked the semen from Wychar's member in what would have been record time for the most practiced backstreet prostitute, but it was simply routine for one with eons of experience in harlotry. She gulped this first spurt greedily, relishing it as it flowed down her throat and began to turn to energy and warmth.

"My pussy now, master? Oh, how I'd love to take you there," Mischief said, and nearly giggled at the pretense that the mortal wizard was still in control. Wychar was nearly delirious with pleasure, but he responded with a vague affirmative.

The succubus guided Wychar to his back, and straddled him. She held her fleshy lips poised at the tip of his manhood, pausing a moment to savor it. The wizard recovered enough to begin thrusting upward, and Mischief let the tip tickle her entrance for a moment, then plunged down to the hilt, gyrating her hips at the farthest point of the downstroke, then raising up until just the tip was inside to repeat it again.

The clenching muscles of her sopping sex could probably have given Wychar release by themselves, but she needed to do more than that. It would take a little more pleasure for him to forget that to fuck her too long would mean his death. So she clenched, thrust downward again, ground her hips against him before raising up again, and built a compelling rhythm out of the process. She combined centuries of experience with a profound joy at what she did, and for the hapless Wychar, it created unbelievable ecstasy. He came again, and she didn't even slow down. His hardness faded for a moment or two, then resurged as the supernaturally appealing succubus kept up her game. After a third orgasm with no pause, Mischief stayed down, continuing her hip's movements, and whispering urgently in the wizard's ear.

"May I please come, master? It won't take long! Oh, please!"

She may have been in control of his living or dying, but he could still deny her an orgasm.

"Yes," croaked the weary mortal.

Mischief began grinding her hips against him once more, rubbing her clitoris against his pelvis, flapping her wings for more downward force, just as she would later do with Penitent. In a few moments, Mischief was orgasming, shrieking loudly. Her whole body shook, those marvelous muscles milking another load of semen out of Wychar's fading manhood. As she came down from her sexual high, she monitored the feel of the seed and member within her. He had reached the last point he could with her without any loss to his soul.

"Master, I can go on, but you will lose a small portion of your soul."

Wychar made an exasperated gesture.

"I can take perhaps three more orgasms from you without danger, though it will leave you weakened."

His hips' movement seemed answer enough.

"Oh, thank you, master! I will stop before you are in danger..."

The she-demon hopped off and returned her mouth to Wychar's rod. She licked it clean of their mingled juices, relishing the taste and the jerks and twitches as it came back to life under her expert touch.

'Of course I'll stop to ask your permission again,' she thought to herself. 'I love it when mortals go to Hell with both eyes open. Just like your brother will when I'm done with you.'

Wychar lay back and relaxed as Mischief prepared him for the fucking of his life- and death.