A bruised and brooding morning sky hung heavily over Hellsong farm in the plains east of The Shroud, the great canyon that divided eastern Tierra Muerta from the rest of the continent. The red brick and whitewashed wood farmstead, surrounded by a few acres of land kept fertile against the odds, stood out as the only man-made structure for a league in any direction in the flat, desolate landscape, far from The Shroud in the west and the Peaks of Ecstasy to the east.
At the kitchen table, Rudolf sat with his head in his hands. He was exhausted from the restless night before. The dream - at least, he thought as he sat upright, sighed, and lifted the tin cup of thick black coffee to his lips, he hoped beyond hope it had been only been a dream - still weighed heavily on his brod shoulders. The secrets he and his wife had kept from Vanity all her life had been for her protection. It would spell doom for them, for her, if Andras had discovered her. He grimaced at the recollection of the Incubus king's laughter in his dream, and closed his eyes, pinching the bridge of his nose. It must have been just a dream, surely. He kept that thought at the forefront of his mind, just a dream, just a dream, as he sipped his coffee again.
The impending sense of foreboding he felt paled next to the crushing guilt he felt about fucking Vanity in the dream. She was his daughter, for all intents and purposes. He may not have been her birth father, but she was his daughter in every other conceivable way. This wasn't the first time, of course, he had dreamt of fucking her. On the contrary, ever since she had blossomed to womanhood, he had dreamt on occasion of taking her, tasting her cunt on his tongue, ravishing her lithe, curved, impossibly beautiful body. He had, on more than one occasion, teased his prick, masturbating to the thought of her, but it had always been a fantasy driven by an inability to punish his wife for something he knew, deep down, was not her fault. But the dream last night had been different. It felt as real as life. Vanity's wet, needful mouth on his stiff cock, the unearthly pleasure of her smooth, tight, wet cunt as he slid into her; the taste of her tongue, of her tits, the sweet salt of her skin. It had been the best sex of his life, and it had all felt too fucking real.
Rudolf was a hero to his people. A slayer of evil, a saviour. Nobody knew the lust he felt for his daughter, nor the crushing weight of guilt he felt every time he looked at her, felt her in his muscles arms. No, he shook his head. Vanity wasn't his daughter, not really. He had raised her; he wanted her. She was Charity's daughter, not his.
She was Andras's daughter.
Twenty-two years earlier, Andras the Incubus King had designs on the township of Haven. Haven, nestled between the peaks of the Tentico Cleft Mountain range in the Whispering Eye Valley, was a place of pure bliss, hidden from the world; a hedonistic commune dedicated to Pan, where nakedness was the norm and sex was given and received freely. It was pure, sensuous, blissful and consensual, and Andras, from his dark throne of passion and deceit, coveted it. He had sent infiltrators there, incubi and succubi, to corrupt the pure essence of Haven and turn it to a place of dark and lustful desperation. It was to be Andras's greatest claim of territory in humanity's frontier, one which would send a clear message to the other dark lords that Andras was not to be trifled with; and Rudolf had stopped him. Taking comfort there in Haven, in the midst of a crusade, Rudolf had been an unexpected and quite lethal flaw in Andras's plans for domination. Three succubi and three incubi, all servants of the Incubus king, had died to his sword and shotgun, and Andras had not taken this kindly.
As Rudolf had basked in the rewards of Haven for his service to the town, lost in the erotic lustful bliss of mouths, pussies, breasts and cocks, being wilfully and energetically unfaithful to Charity as he fucked innumerable residents of Haven in an orgy of gratitude, Andras had projected himself forth to Hellsong farm and charmed and seduced Rudolf's wife. For six days and nights, Andras had fucked Charity in their wedding bed, driving her to heights of passion and pleasure she had never known; begging him to fuck her again and again in positions and places Rudolf had never, exhausting her. As Rudolf returned home and opened the door to his farmstead, he found his wife naked on the floor, half asleep in a sweat-and-cum drenched blissful post-coital haze in a room steeped in the scent and taste of sex, her breathing heavy and slow, her cunt swollen and throbbing in a way Rudolf had never left her.
Andras's revenge was to make Charity remember and confess everything, and as soon as Rudolf stepped into the room her eyes had sprung open, tears already forming in her eyes. Rudolf had dashed upstairs to their six-year-old daughter Chastity's bedroom to find her unharmed, untouched, unscathed, eating a bowl of creamed cabbage and delighted to see her father back. Andras hadn't touched her; had spared her the sights and sounds of his sexual domination of her mother. Charity, however, was distraught.
It had taken Rudolf a long time to forgive her, even though he knew she stood no chance to deny the Incubus King's charms. He felt a grim, simmering, misplaced anger for some time, but he knew he could not and would not punish Charity for bedding the Incubus king. That anger had stayed resolutely buried within him until Charity had realised she was pregnant.
Against Rudolf's wishes, Charity had elected to keep the child. And so, Vanity was born; despite Rudolf's fears, she was not a demon, but a perfect baby girl, and his simmering resentment towards his wife, a resentment he knew was wrong to feel, died, and was replaced by a love for the child he would call his own. They had hoped she would not inherit any of her father's traits. They were wrong.
Once it became clear she had inherited the preternatural aspects of a succubus from her true father, Rudolf's resentment reared its ugly head once more. He tried to swallow it down, to love her unconditionally, but in Vanity he saw a demon. Worse, he felt her allure. Thoughts of fucking her consumed his mind when he least expected it. When she demanded to be taught the ways of the hunter, he had intended to deny her, but he could not. And when she learned with terrifying speed, moved with a strength and agility beyond human means, he knew for sure what she was. He had to protect her, for her sake, for Charity's.
If the previous night's dream had been more than that, he had failed.
He sighed heavily, head in hands as the smell of toasted bread and buttered bacon filled the kitchen. Charity placed the plate on the table and wrapped her arms around his broad chest from behind, kissing his neck. She was younger than Rudolf, not yet in her fiftieth year, still full and ripe of figure, with hair the colour of wheat and eyes as vivid blue as sapphires. The feel of her lips on his neck made Rudolf start, as one hand slid between his legs to feel his thick, stiffening cock barely contained in his thin cloth breeches.
"Mmm, somebody woke up excited," Charity mumbled into his neck. "Why don't you finish breakfast and then let me take care of that for you?" Her hands caressed and squeezed his thick erection. Rudolf pushed her hand away from his cock, ashamed that thinking about Vanity had aroused him again.
"I'd rather not," Rudolf mumbled into his coffee, unable to face her. Charity stepped around his chair and sat on the table in front of him, slipping off her blouse to reveal her large, heavy tits, still soft, round and perky, her thick nipples eager to be caressed.
"But Rudy, don't you want to slide that big hard prick of yours between my titties?" Charity scolded jokingly, one hand caressing the underside of her breasts. She spread her thighs and pulled up her skirts, showing off her well-trimmed pussy. "I want to feel you, Rudy."
