The Widow and the Devil

This work is inspired by a folk song of the same name, and is going to be a series of interconnected vignettes- a fun, raunchy romp through paranormal, fantastical, mythological and fairy-tale characters old and new. I think it will ultimately be comprised of seven "novellas" that entwine the central story of a succubus innkeeper and her demonic paramour. Enjoy! <3

The Widow and the Devil

by

Philippa MaQuente

1746- Outside of Dublin, Ireland

There were a few travelers lodging in her boarding-house that evening, mostly older, sedate men who sat contentedly eating her thick mutton stew with pieces of crusty bread to dip. One or two of the guests were fair enough and young enough to catch her eye, and whenever she refreshed their ale, she flirted gaily, tossing her rich red curls and passing easy laughter.

The widowed woman, Dublin-born, Dublin-bred and Dublin-wed, had only her inn left to remember her late husband by. Like too many before him, he'd gone into death younger than he ought, from hard work and too little spread too thin. She had enough now, and lived comfortably, but without a husband, life as an innkeeper was lonely- and curse it- bloody

boring

. She was still a woman, with a woman's needs, and though it was certainly possible to attract a new husband, the fiery lady rather liked the independence of widowhood.

And

the... varied company she could keep amongst the travelers.

There was just one small problem.

Every night she could, the widow found herself a bonny bedmate and took him for a tumble. Some could give her a roll or two, others three or four good turns, but inevitably they all fell to snoring long before she'd had enough. So, often, she found herself sighing:

"I'd give

anything

in Heaven or Hell to find man who can last me the night through!"

As she served another helping of stew to a wandering tinker, the vibrant woman, only thirty-two, heard the bell-chime at the door. A new guest. She curtseyed to her patron and ran to the bar, setting her tray aside before the man could reach the main foyer of her inn. The widow greeted him cheerfully, then got her first good look at the man, and had to swallow a gasp.

Ethereally beautiful, in a sensuous, devious way, his jaw and chin were sharply angled, free of stubble. His hair was burnished dark gold, and his eyes glittered like stars in a deep void. Tall and reedy in build, the stranger wore black- head to toe, black. A long coat covered him, but it was neither dusty nor rumpled. His person was clean and fresh, not at all looking like he'd been on the road for any stretch of time. He carried an intoxicating scent as well; citrus and wood-smoke, laced with something the widow couldn't define but nevertheless caught.

Something a little forbidden.

As he approached, the stranger smiled, and the woman felt a thrill go down to her toes. This, undoubtedly, would be the man she took to her bed this eve, if he were amenable. And somehow, as she grew ensnared by his tempting look, she knew he would be. It was almost as though he had come for no other reason.

"Good eventide to ye, sir." The widow dropped a curtsy and smiled warmly. "Be ye here for supper and lodgings? I've a fine, hot repast and good wine, as should suit a refined man, as ye look."

The comely traveler curled his lip, and the woman saw mischief twinkle in his eyes. He gave a low laugh before turning the full, smoldering power of his gaze upon the woman before him.

"Aye, lass. Bring me a glass of your best and I'll dine." His voice was rich and playful, and the woman saw him cast his assessing glance up, then down. A tingle spread through her body, and she smiled.

"Right away," she bid him, and showed him to a seat. He shed his coat and waited for her to go.

After the wench had turned, the stranger watched her delectable, round arse shift as she walked, and grinned again. A glint of fang peeked from beneath his lip. His predatory stare followed her the entire length of the dining-room, until she had disappeared into the kitchen to fetch him meat and drink. The scintillating essence of her lust beckoned him even out of sight, and it was that aura that had called him forth from his dark, immortal realm. 'Twas his job, after all, and no mortal woman had ever resisted him before.

As an incubus, carnal conquest was his penchant. Her body would he first devour, and then her soul, to keep him company in the long eternity- all his heaviest lusts slaked by that red-haired vixen! What a titillating thought.

The stranger viewed the guests still eating, and waved his hand. Appetites were suddenly sated, and eyes grew heavy. The weary mortal men yawned, downing the last of their spirits, bidding each other good-night. They gave the same as their hostess returned, bearing stew and wine for her newest arrival. She returned their sentiment, a trifle surprised at the departures, but nevertheless attended to the remaining man. He sat back in his chair, quite handsome and so clearly receptive. With the knees of his long, sinuous legs wide to her, the stranger greeted the widow and thanked her for the meal. She set it down gently and fussed with the placement before she attempted to leave him to sup.

"Wait," he called, stilling her footsteps. "Everyone has gone, and I find it too quiet. Won't you keep me company as I dine?"

The woman felt herself heat at his salacious purr, and she cocked her hip.

"If it please ye, sir." Smiling bawdily, the lovely innkeeper drew a chair to the table and began to sit. Again, he stopped her with a word.

"Nay, lass." He patted his knee. "Sit."

"So forward, sir!" she chortled, swaying her hips as she dared to take a step. The stranger took her arm and pulled

just

so- bringing the warm, curved figure of the woman into his lap. She gave a small cry at his insistence, but the thrill of it heated her blood. "Where is it ye come from, such a bold man? Ye hardly look like any traveler I've ever seen!"

"I came here from a place quite removed from these shores," he replied mischievously, enjoying her soft flesh upon his leg. "I intend to spend the rest of the night in a good bed once I'm done eating." The stranger still hadn't touched his meal, but instead, dipped his fingers in the wine before him, drawing her down as he lifted the clinging drops of rich ruby liquid to her throat. He daubed the potent fluid on her skin and licked it up with a long, lithe tongue- one that was forked at the tip.

The widow shivered, and felt something strange. Pleasure and desire magnified in her loins, urging her to spread herself wide and lift her skirts immediately to the man, but the sensation of his affection at her neck was not... usual. She felt intoxicated, yet feeble. As if he drew on her response- as if

something

in her was taken.

"I have good beds," she returned, wary. Guarded. "And clearly ye don't mean to find them comfortable alone." Bolstering herself, the widow drew upon her endless energy, her beguiling cheer, her sharp wit, and most of all, her indefatigable appetites. No man had yet been too much- or even

enough

- for Mrs. Meghan Murphy, widow to Patrick. No man yet born might ever be.

This one would not get the best of her, either.

"I do not, and neither did you, the moment you spied me." The incubus reveled in sheer delight as the bawdy little bit grew aroused for him, and he eagerly drank her lust. The energy of sexual craving fed him and sustained him, and when she was satisfied beyond thought and strength, she would be his. Beneath her rustic dress, her breasts tightened and her nipples peaked. The fragrance of her moist valley pierced the barrier of clothing and teased his nose; a finer bouquet than that of her wine. As a creature who fed on mortal desires, he was attuned to the scent of female arousal. Without waiting, without discussion, the devil lifted her skirts and found the weeping fount for himself.

"This is my feast," he declared, cupping her mound and finding her silky depths with his fingers. "We both know why I am here, Meghan Murphy. I have come for

you

." A gasp rose in her throat, but she captured it, and sent it back down.

"Who are ye?" She questioned sternly. Clearly this was no normal man- no wanderer merely seeking respite. "'Tis true, I intended to ask ye to bed this night. But how could ye know? How do ye know my

name

?"

"I know a great many things," the virile, sensual lust-demon told her, smug. "I know how you burn for the bodies of men, and cradle them inside your thighs. I know the scent and taste of your passion. I know what it sounds like when you scream in climax, and I know your greatest sin, Meghan. I know of your

lust

." With that, the devil plunged his fingers into her soaking channel and enjoyed the rush of energy she exuded as the gasp at last escaped. "I have come, Meghan, for your

soul

."

Her words came back to her, a misguided prayer.

"So what are the terms, then?" The widow rasped, not allowing sensation to render her brainless. "Appears Heaven has not answered my foolhardy cry," she told him dryly. "If ye've come to claim my soul, then ye plan to win it with a wager?"

"Yes," he hissed, using his free hand to tear the cloth across her breasts- rending it with blade-like precision, somehow leaving her flesh unmarked. "I

will

last the night, bonny lass, and when the dawn breaks and you are sated, your soul belongs to me." Suckling upon her nipple, rubbing and thrusting at her heated slit, the incubus already knew what stroke would best please her; what depth would call forth her come-cry. And yet, cheekily, Meghan answered him:

"Ye best last the night then, shouldn't ye?" Her hand slid to his breeches and undid them deftly, which even he was not expecting. An erection to be envied by kings and

gods

sprang forth, and the widow wrapped her hand around it. "If that boast proves true, I'll go with ye gladly! The lake of fire and eternity as a demon's plaything could scarce be worse than the hell of loneliness and lack of bed-mates here. Now eat supper so it won't go to waste, and ye can try to keep up with me."

The devil laughed, never dreaming she'd show him up.

The stew went down easily and well, though to one of his kind, it was unnecessary. He 'fed' from sexual energy and lust as he stirred them from the depths of his victims. When the bowl was clean, the incubus turned his full attention to the luscious woman, making her straddle his lap and ride his hand. She cried deliciously, passions rising and infusing him with the very essence of her soul. The energy filled him, and she proved to be a most delectable source on which to sup. With his fingers delved deep inside her hot cavern and her hand fisting his unflagging prick, he made her writhe in his lap until climax took her o'er, and he first sheathed himself in her body right there upon the table.

"My seed binds you to me, Meghan Murphy," the demon intoned as he rode the woman with fury. It was a ritual that had never failed him before. "With this mark, I claim your spirit forevermore! When the dawn breaks and you lie satisfied, filled with my fluid, you are mine."

The lascivious innkeeper cried her pleasure as the demon spent himself inside her rippling quim. A whorl of energy erupted between them- the essences of both, entwined. Meghan watched, panting, as the vibrant red of her own being drifted like smoke from her body and wrapped itself in the stunning blue-black of the devil's. In an instant, her body bowed, wracked by climax that burned with the force of a thousand peaks and left her boneless, the strange man still buried to the hilt inside her. His body loomed over her and he was grinning, eager to claim the scorching heat of the flesh he possessed with his own. No mortal woman ever had recovered her wits after one of those orgasms yet.

Meghan sat up, wrapping her calves around her demonic lover, starry-eyed.

"Bloody

Hell

!" She giggled, thrusting back against his still-rigid prick. "Ye do not brag idly, do ye, devil?" The handsome stranger started, his arrogant expression falling to disbelief. "Again, again!" Bouncing her pelvis against him, she moaned her mad delight at the hardness of his male flesh, and urged him deeper.

"I suppose 'tis better if you do not fall to my power so easily," the incubus sniffed. "I can ride this tight quim of yours all night."

"That's the wager then, isn't it?" She retorted, arching an eyebrow at him. The smoke of their mingled energies had dissipated, merged once again into their bodily forms- now inextricably bonded. He could feel her as much as she could feel him.

"Indeed," he growled. "That is the wager."

Without dismounting, the incubus scooped up his intended victim and carried her off to the bedchamber he now knew was her own, and along the way he did not stop ramming her full of his thick member. Meghan squealed and clawed at his arms, thrusting back against him eagerly. By the time he kicked her door open and slammed her onto her bed, he was full of her lust and ready to debauch her again.

For several hours, he took her heatedly. He took her quim, he took her arse, he had her mouth; he licked her slit and suckled her breasts, he claimed her in every known direction (and a few they invented), and he gave so many shots of jism he lost count of how much had been poured into her slickness. Meghan proved endlessly carnal and terribly enthusiastic, and as time flew in extravagant bed-sport, he began to grow worried.

"More!" She cried, after another of his earth-shattering climaxes. "Again!" She wailed, once he'd spent yet another load of seed. Bent over the edge of her bed, her desire demanded another rise of his prick. Exasperated, the incubus began again.

"You know, I think I understand why your husband died," he groused. The woman riding his prick laughed, her inhumanly tousled curls tossed behind her as she worked her hips. A sheen of sweat marked her flushed skin, and he had to admit- she was spectacular.

"He

wishes

," she chuckled. Her form atop him was remarkable, and he'd swear the woman could ride a horse expertly-

bareback

, at that. And no side-saddle for this wanton.

The widow milked him of another dose of his potent brew, and when she writhed in her own ecstasy, he gritted his teeth. The risen sun was anathema to his ilk, and in his bones, he knew it was coming. To win the wager, he would have to exhaust her with yet another tumble, and the incubus seized her as she dismounted, panting. He drew on her energy to force himself to another cock-stand, but discovered with horror that his body would not cooperate. He'd taken so much of her essence he could not

hold

nor

use

any more, and there were limits to even his impressive stamina.

The woman lay most wonderfully drunk on pleasure, admiring the sheen on her lover's body as he posed above her, between her seed-slicked thighs. The air was humid in her room, and the scents of lovemaking lay thick. Smirking, the lovely widow gyrated against his loins and squeezed his softening shaft with her inner muscles.

"'Tis not yet dawn, my fair devil. I've not had enough of ye! Just one more, darling, don't ye have one more?" Eager to bring him back to full mast, Meghan pushed her breasts together and fondled herself, yet the handsome stranger remained frozen in place, his manhood going to rest.

"Curse the sun; it rises and I do not," he muttered, his mouth turned down in a miserable scowl. Surprised, the widow stirred as he broke their embrace, and sat up, clutching the disarrayed sheets to her breast. He remained on his hands and knees, body replete, the bright fingers of dawn beginning to creep over the horizon.

"But I'm not satisfied," she uttered, shocked.

"I am as stunned as you," he replied tightly. "Though we are bound, I have lost the wager." Rearing back at last, the incubus retreated into the shadows, and in a blink, reverted himself to his original state. The woman stared.

"What now?" She breathed, still uncertain how she'd managed to best a

devil

at his own game!

"I was supposed to claim your soul!" He half-shouted, angrily. Then, calmer: "Now you've claimed a boon, Meghan Murphy." Without thinking, she answered.

"Can't ye tup me just once more?" Standing aghast, the incubus flinched.

"Damn you, woman!" he roared. "It's enough I've failed; do you have to mock me?" Through clenched teeth, he hissed his message again. "I am bound to fulfill my oath. You must claim your prize from me, and you best choose quickly- and wisely. Else I'll be forced to leave and you get nothing."

"Fine then," she replied icily. "Since ye cannot grant me what ye promised, then I want the power to enjoy sex forevermore!"

The devil's eyebrows raised.

"So shall it be, Meghan Murphy."

The smoke emerged again- the visible essence of their souls, inexorably locked. Meghan's body bowed backward beyond human capacity as the energies shifted within her, and the devil used his magicks to change the nature of her being. Blinding heat seared every nerve in her body, but she found it far from painful. The woman's mortality burned away in a white-hot rapture that left her changed when it faded.

After it all stopped, Meghan knew she was different, and she had also been branded with the name of her maker.

"Ignatius the Ravenous," she spat, revitalized and yet expended by their passion, "What have ye done to me?"

"I've given you what you wished," he answered with a sardonic little bow. "You are now devil-kin- a female of my own make. Meghan Murphy, you are now

succubus

, and you will feed on the lust of mortal men. Until such a time as I may win your soul and drag you with me to the pit, you will live immortal and tempt men to their ruin!"

Somewhere distantly, the rooster crowed. Meghan lay anxious and yet unfulfilled, her body keening for more pleasure. Ignatius leered, and somewhere within him, he felt... more for her than any woman before. They were still soul-bound, and now that he'd given her power, they would dance this step for centuries to come.

Before he vanished into the ether from which he'd come, the exhausted and flabbergasted incubus left his parting words.

"Of all the suffering and torment I've witnessed in Hell, I never knew true pain until I passed your threshold!"

With that, he was gone, and the woman cursed. Now demon-blessed, all she could do to soothe her ache before she took her rest was to find her own height of pleasure alone. Full of her lover's seed, she at last slept, and woke to face her new life when darkness again dimmed the sky.