**CHAPTER 3: FIRST SHIFT**
Tim Jones is a freelance writer most comfortable with covering war zones and conflict. After a mysterious publication owner promised him a large payday and an all-expenses paid trip, he found himself traveling to Bayeux, Normandy, France to meet a mysterious art collector, an impossibly beautiful woman named Keres. She strikes up a new contract with him, with a life-changing payout at the end. But did he bite off more than he could chew...?
The succubus named Keres let the scalding hot shower steam over her voluptuous body as she stood, eyes closed and arms braced against the walls, lost in thought. Was she making the right decision by bringing this human... this freelance reporter into the fold? She hadn't told him everything about her people's circumstances. That there were other... demihumans out there, as a long-lost friend had described them. A pantheon of myth on the precipice of revelation. Not every race wanted the exposure. And she wasn't sure this man would be able or willing to do the exposing.
But gods, was she tired. Keres felt the weight of the centuries bearing down on her. Hundreds of years of hiding from the world, the scars of untold attempted murders peppered over her body. She was not some divine nightmare cast down from Heaven to wreak havoc on the earth! Evolution had simply worked differently on her and her people. We predated the myths. Were worshiped as priests and oracles. Sacrifices made in our name lived long lives full of the most exquisite pleasures we could offer them. Other demis lived similarly. Fear warped humanity. Fear drove us into hiding. We no longer have to live in fear. This is what she told herself as she walked headlong towards this ultimate betrayal.
She felt the familiar pang in her abdomen, that infernal pit sitting at the intersection of hunger and lust alighting once more, and she sighed with frustration. Two hours, she thought. It had been just two hours since Tim Jones had passed out beside her from herculean exertion. Two hours since she had tasted another's pleasure. And already, her body craved more like it was starved. She let her hand run down her body, over her titanic breasts and across her rippling abs, to the place where her thighs met. In the wet heat of the shower it was harder than usual to tell, but she knew: her pussy was positively gushing with need. She knew masturbation was futile, that it would simply drive her wild with desire until her cravings could be truly satisfied, but she also knew that she'd indulge in it anyway.
She closed her eyes and imagined her nervous system aflame. Her fingers found that brightest spot right above her labia and began to rub in little rhythmic circles. Fireworks went off across her darkened vision and her breath hitched as she felt the first spikes of bliss plant themselves in her flesh like so many delicious daggers. She moaned softly. She leaned forward closer to the wall, and let her massive, pillowy tits mash themselves into it and each other, holding her up like an anchor. Her hypersensitive nipples - every inch of her was primed for sex, in truth - sent rapid and increasingly powerful tingles up her spine as they made contact with the wall and generated friction upon it.
She really shouldn't--but it was too late to stop. The pleasure was already building to a climax from her simple ministrations, which was of course another eternally frustrating aspect of her demihuman neurology. Cumming was the easy part. Cumming was trivial. She could cum without moving, and had - many times - before. Orgasm was not the goal. Her fingers pushed in between her moist folds and began to thrust to a silent rhythm. A moan escaped her lips as the pleasure ratcheted up another notch. She was careful to be quiet, lest she accidentally wake Tim in the other room; he needed all the rest he could get for the weeks to come, to say nothing of the jet lag he must undoubtedly feel. Her free hand wandered to her trembling left breast, and briefly turned up the brightness behind her eyes with a sharp tweak of her erect nipple. The pain was mostly overshadowed by more immense, compounding pleasure, but it was just present enough to bring her back to reality for a moment.
Right. The matter at hand.
She turned the shower off and stepped out. Wrapped a towel around her unreal curves. Wrapped her hair in a second towel. The washroom was overly humid - she knew it would wreak havoc on her curls if she stayed in here a moment more. She walked out and towards the bedroom where Tim slept - and paused. She couldn't return to his side tonight. She would just wake him up, body demanding more sex as it was, which he almost certainly wouldn't be able to provide, which would only sour her mood. There was another bedroom with a balcony down the hall. She walked quietly to it.
Keres, naked except for the towel, looked out over the moonlit French countryside, deep in thought. This wasn't the right way to go about things, she thought. She had been desperate - in more ways than one, tragically - before tonight. Post-coital clarity had introduced - or reacquainted her with - anxiety about what the future held. The last time an official Council of "Demihumans" had been convened, she remembered, a cadre of Spanish Fascist soldiers had busted into the old bombed-out church that had been their meeting-place and proceeded to commit a veritable massacre. Keres had barely made it out alive, only to discover the whole bloody, horrific affair had been essentially an accident; apparently the Francoists thought a gathering of the CNT-FAI was taking place there, and they wanted to stamp out some anarchists for fun.
That was nearly 90 years ago; there had never again been a full council meeting. Pockets of leaders had occasionally met up to discuss survival and adaptation strategy, but there was no formal unity anymore. The different "types" of demis had all decided from then on to fend for themselves. By revealing the succubi and incubi, she'd be revealing other types as well, it would be an unavoidable knock-on effect. And with no way to know what other groups wanted, what they themselves might be planning... well, it could all go wrong. There had never been a war between different groups of demihumans before. If anything could agitate them to war, it might be this.
She needed the necklace. With it, she might be able to convince everyone that this was the right course of action. Without it, not a chance in hell. Tim might be able to help her find it. She at least had two weeks to confirm - at least with herself - that this was a good or bad idea. And in the meantime, she'd at least be able to enjoy a regular meal.
***
Tim Jones woke up to sunlight streaming in from the open window. The early-morning air was brisk, but already the sun promised heat. Birds chirped from nearby trees. He confirmed that he was in a French chateau, sleeping in beds whose linens cost more than a decade's worth of his salary at any job he'd ever had. Next to him, the bed was empty, but the aches that ran across his body confirmed that last night he'd slept with the most beautiful woman he'd ever come in contact with, and she'd almost killed him, and he was supposed to do that again and again for the next two weeks. He groaned and sat up. Checked his watch. 10:30 AM local time. Keres had let him sleep in, apparently. At least she wasn't a cruel mistress.
Well yeah, you idiot, he thought. She's also looking for good publicity. Keres had described in detail how she wanted him to write up her kind's whole coming-out party. He didn't think she'd been lying about anything, but he'd absolutely dealt with people like her before. He was useful to Keres. The moment that changed... well, he had to make sure it didn't.
Tim got out of bed and made to get dressed, picking out an outfit similar to yesterday's. A chance to be less disheveled than when he'd arrived straight off the 12-hour plane trip. As he was pulling on his pants, he happened to catch a whiff of himself and almost gagged. The pungent aroma of sheer adrenaline rolled off him in waves. He could almost see his own stink cloud; better take a quick shower.
