They usually assign me the more mature succubi, those in the 200 to 300 year old range because of my ratings and experience. Of course I have been well trained from an early age in
fulfilling
succubi. A curious occupation; it wasn't as though there weren't plenty of humans to feed these beautiful monsters. Hell, some men and even women would
pay
to take a chance on leaving this earthly life that way. But my clients often had a personal reason for seeing a particular succubus taken out. She had fed on a cherished loved one, or, like a rogue elephant, she was destroying too many human men in a region and making a particular police department look bad. Sometimes, on the down low, I had been hired by other succubi, those going hungry because one talented member of their club was getting too well fed.
In any case, I never know who put out the hit. The Organization takes care of all of that. Give me my target and let me work. I enjoy my job. Oh, it has its risks, but I get to hang out with beautiful ladies in fancy places, or seedy places, wherever men go to pick up easy women. There's also a bit of detective work involved since succubi are so good at shape shifting and disguising their personas; and staying ravishing for a few hundred years. So it may take a bit of work to track my target. And no one seems to mind if I take out an extra one or two in doing my research. But the Organization doesn't want me wasting too many of my "resources" on the hunt, or spooking my quarry.
Most succubi will not work in brothels, or even walk the streets much, unless they are starving. I mean, sooner or later the human hookers would notice that the clientele were disappearing. Oh, there were some of the
suckers
, as we sometimes call them, who could nurse a client along for quite a while before going for the ultimate fulfillment. But it was the stuff in that last filling that really lit them up.
My trainers had approached me quite young, kind of like they do with Tibetan monks, and told me what it would take to do the job. It meant I had to disguise myself as a human. That required keeping my horns shaved down to nubs, removing most body hair, and getting face and hoof surgery. That was the most painful and humiliating part. It was a little easier for me since I was born half satyr. Tailored my lips to make them a bit more human and less goat. The feet were tough. Shaping the hooves. Wearing prostheses so I look like a regular guy. My parents wouldn't let them mess with my legs. So I just wear baggy pants. I don't bob my tail, either. Just shave it to leave a fuzzy tuft at the tip. It's like having a twisting cock on my backside. I wear my hair in heavy dreads and that disguises my horns just fine.
So I look like a large dark athlete; and I cultivate that story.
The other part of the training is more fun. Controlling my cock size, so I can present at first like a modest human ... Saving up semen so I can release when and how much I want. Toughening the tongue and fingers so they won't be vulnerable. Developing some resistance to succubus milk. Learning all the secrets. Practicing on humans and other volunteers.
This time I have a hard challenge, a particularly talented and venerable practitioner of male draining who has gone by a hundred names. But I think I have tracked her to her lair, a classy men's club on the east end of Ventura in Harbor Village. Pretty positive it's her because she likes the seaside places. A sailor snack. A lonely tourist.
My usual routine is to come to the place on an irregular, regular basis, often in the company of a couple of beautiful women; my practice volunteers. I might play some pool or just watch a game and knock back a couple of boilermakers. I've got so alcohol in normal amounts has almost no effect on me. But I've gotten good at
acting
as though I am pretty smashed.
Meanwhile, I'm very subtly seeking out my quarry.
You see, a succubus cases the crowd a bit differently from human women. It's all in the eyes. They may try to disguise it, but there is this
hunger,
like a tiger that has spotted its prey. Once the eyes have locked onto their quarry you can see the whole body go into gear. It's usually kind of subtle, but you can kind of see her shoulders shift, like she is getting ready to take hold of something. Her neckline and breasts, if they are exposed at all, start to gleam and swell a bit; and you can see her breathing get faster and deeper. Her lips will begin to move, just a little and you might see her show just a bit of pointed tongue as she moistens her lips.
(Incidentally, new guys on the job can confuse a succubus with a vampire, a dangerous mistake, since the vampire is like an evangelist. She wants to kill you fast and convert you into one of her own. But vampires almost always get this stoned look when they have chosen their quarry. And no matter how good their makeup, they always look pale, even the Black members of that crew. In fact, they are hard to miss.)
Now a succubus looks a little different depending on whether or not she has fed recently. Those who are recently or regularly nourished have a glow, kind of like a gal who is newly pregnant. The more they feed, the more they glow, until .... Well, that's my job, to help them really enjoy that last meal. Of course, it can be a contest. She may hate to lose a fine 'feeding station,' but the sisterhood will want her to take me out, and I don't mean a polite date.
So here we are at the Windward Club, kind of a combo of a fish restaurant with the big stuffed fish on the walls and then some spookier touches, like sharks and barracuda hanging from the dark ceiling and pirate paraphernalia, skulls and chests full of fake gold, and bones or wrecked ships on the walls. All the gals who work here dress as pirates, with Mexican scooped-neck blouses and fake leather skirts slit up to the thigh. Some of 'em dance, some sing, some are just waiters and at least a couple are ...succubi.
I spot my quarry. She's this dark redhead in a green bandana, kind of has the feel of vintage actress Jane Russell. Dark flashing Spanish eyes. Dancer's legs. Tits that keep
almost
toppling out of her blouse. And a really dirty mouth. In many ways. She'll give some Joe a tongue kiss right on the dance floor. Call out 'her' girls as a buncha bitches. Call the management cocksuckers. In other words, your regular girl next door.
So I have to ignore her for a while; act like
every
other woman is hotter than she is. Pretend I don't notice when she starts to notice me not noticing her. Still, I do notice that she has the water-gals filling my drink a little too full and
not
cheating on the alcohol content. She wants me drowsy. She wants me
asleep.
Now, as you may know, a succubus does her best work when a guy (or sometimes a gal) is out cold. Because then she doesn't have to careful. She can let her eyes change and her horns sprout. She doesn't have to play games about how much or how little she will take, and from where.
But there is a risk in getting a dude drunk. Cause booze can make a guy wilt, and even though she might milk a little out of me she won't get the full feed.
Of course, they have their tricks. They can slip a pecker pumping pill into your drink and they don't mind at all if that stiffie doesn't go down for four hours or more. They'll take all of it and leave you a husk. Fortunately, we're trained to sniff out the chemicals and skip the drink. But it doesn't make a big diff to me; just a better chance to string them along and fill 'em up.
So I was looking forward to this challenge. But it might take a few days. A green Sucker I might blow up in an evening. But a vet like this would probably take a few days. And I would have to bamboozle her about my work, and/or make her overconfident and sure she could suck me dry before I filled her. Cat and mouse and we are both big felines. So here goes nothing.
It takes a while before she makes her move. Sends other gals my way to see what I got. At least one is a sister, pretty green. One even hints that she would do me under the table in a dark corner. Hmm, looks like they got it set up for that. Long tablecloth. Wonder how many dudes have been taken out, starting at that table?
Their slang for us? Well, not for me, but for all the rest?
Cocktails
. 'Cause their victims are intoxicating mixed drinks. What do they call stalkers like me?
Bellows
