I am a succubus. My sisters and I were born from the first perfect passion in the first kiss of man and woman.
I live mostly in my human form; a woman with the usual stereotype D-cup breasts, long black hair and a small waist. What can I say? That's what the men want, and after all it's all about the men.
Men are where I get my power. Every man I sleep with gives me more power, and the more powerful the man the more power I take from my encounter. It's not that I steal their power, more that I clone it. Every man I have ever slept with has left a memory inside of me, a little piece of him with me all the time. It's sort of a points system; so that is why I go after the Witches, the vampires, the Werepeople, basically any supernatural person or being is a major plus for me.
Sure, I go for the mortal men too, but that's mostly for the look on their faces. There's nothing quite like appearing in front of the average man in his greatest fantasy situation, looking better than something out of their wildest dreams. See, my face changes.
I appear to everyone as his or her vision of facial perfection. Guess that's a good thing seeing as some men don't like the full lips and emerald eyes. The thing is that nobody else can see what somebody else sees, but I know. I see it all in my mind because that's my job, two people can be looking at me and if you asked them to describe me they would probably be totally different because it's their perceptions that shape what they see.
I mentioned before that I stay in my human form, that's because my natural daemon form would scare the shit out of most people, and that's definitely not the idea. The wings would be scary enough for most mortals, all leathery and mostly bruise purple with those oh-so-stereotypical bony fingers.
That reminds me of how my hands get too. Claws would be probably more appropriate than hands, but not in an animal way, they're definitely like nothing born of the Earth. I get to retain the freedom of movement of those eternally useful opposable thumbs of a human, but my nails grow thick and even longer than I have them in human form and I get just a hint of scaliness for flavour.
The majority of my scales are around my thighs and up to my waist. A great step in my, well I would say evolution; but I just happened into being as I am now, that preserves my modesty. Well it would, if being naked in front of anybody actually bothered me. I guess that's a kind of prerequisite when you do what I do.
Work your way down my legs and you'd really want to run. It's the total inherent inhumanity of the typical goat-like daemon structure of the majority of my leg ending with feet somewhere between eagle's talons and a tiger's claws that are the key to scaring the pants off people. I mean, add those on top of everything else attached to a human torso and you have one scary beast. And oh, did I mention my horns? Barely visible through my hair, once you come across them, they're the cutest damn little things you ever saw.
So, I guess you're here to hear some of my tales, that's what most people are here for lately. There's just too much free and easy sex for people to approach me for anything these days. Though I don't mind going after men, it lets me have the pick of the crop, and the chase usually gives me a hunger enough to last a couple of hours when I finally get a hold of him.
Hmm, so what's a good story to start you off with? You think you can handle some of the best stuff, because I wouldn't want anything to happen to you that might embarrass you, would I? Ha ha, sure? Okay then, are we all sitting comfortably? Then I'll begin.
It was early on in the nineteenth century; I had been on a tour, so to say, of Europe for a good twenty years or so at the time, sampling all I could get from such a variety of cultures. The flavours were magnificent, I can tell you, but there was one particular tasty treat that I remember in particular.
Settled in the corner of a coffee house in gay Paris, I was content for a while to sit and watch the humans' lives tick slowly by from my seat against a wall, and drink what must have been my tenth cup of coffee by then. The waves of desire had covered me like a warm blanket, any strong desire is pleasurable for me to be around, be it for chocolate, to be heard or good old sexual tension.
As I raised the cup yet again to my scarlet-stained lips, something had shone through the haze of background desire like the sun burning away the clouds. My eyes flicked up to the frosted glass door just as a tall figure came smoothly through it. There was a glow surrounding him that I had only seen with a select few other men and at once, I knew that he was something special, something more powerful than the average man.
Right then and there, I knew that I just had to have him. Not that it would be hard, there are only a handful of men that could possibly ever resist my charms, and most of those didn't want to. He turned to look at me, his chiselled features were lit by this light that I saw all around him and he was wonderful to behold. He'd be good, I knew that too.
I called upon my powers there and then, pulling his aura towards me, and him with it, drinking his power into me and feeling it like a cool breeze through the warmth. He walked with a smooth grace, despite his square shoulders, making his long overcoat sway behind him. Knee high boots accentuated his height and tight britches showed off thigh muscles that told me he'd been in the military for some time. A quick look further up and I was proven right, he was wearing a regimental frock coat that looked so perfectly fitted it was almost untrue.
"Excuse moi, Madame. Ce siège est-il occupé?" he asked, his voice not quite deep enough to fall into, but with a richness stronger than my coffee.
I answered in English. "No, be my guest." And added a smile for good measure.
"Ah, you speak English, but you do not sound like an Englishwoman." His accent remained thick, though his grasp of the language seemed excellent. He slipped his overcoat off before sitting down with an air of power that only came through gaining rank and notoriety rightfully.
"I am not English, by birth, but I have spent quite a lot of time there over the years."
"Oh, forgive me Madame, I forget my manners. Pray, allow me to introduce myself, Captain Henri St. Juste, at your service." He nodded his head politely, a lock of his chestnut brown hair falling to the side of his face. I nodded similarly.
"Persephone Moreaux, a pleasure to meet you Captain," I have had many names over the years, this one I had taken up only recently, inspired by the erotic writings about gods and men that one could acquire in the underworld, if you only knew how.
"Non, Madame, the pleasure is entirely mine." I could sense something more in his words that would be masked to any mortal. It was that pure sexual desire that was so strong in this part of the city, among a society that saw anything sexual as improper for public viewing. Nevertheless, it was there, and I could feel it, like swimming in a hot bath of silky pleasures.
