Encounter

A good night's work and a delicious meal for a succubus are one and the same thing.

 

Encounter
     by Paul Haynie

 
Isabelle was hungry. Isabelle was ALWAYS hungry. If you were
a succubus who made the mistake of developing a conscience, hunger
was simply part of being alive.

The problem wasn’t that food was hard to come by, but rather that the
portions were small, and the quality was
miserable. Most men just
didn’t have the energy to spare to make her a really decent meal. That
meant she had to either take just enough to barely survive,
or take so much that her source would never fully recover.

Sometimes she tried to find people who deserved to be crippled or
killed, but that was
not a good choice, either. Such meals satisfied
her hunger, but the energy
always felt tainted, and the sex involved
in such a feeding always made her
feel unclean.

The dream, of course, was to find someone with so much
natural energy that she could sate herself without doing permanent harm to
her donor. She had heard of powerful wizards who could keep a string of
succubi well fed, but had never met such a creature…

///

Isabelle looked up from her drink and double
checked her glamour in
the mirror behind the bar. She looked perfectly human,
and her wings
were invisible; all was as it should be. As she watched, a
waitress brushed against one of her wings, took a half step backwards,
and shook her head as if a momentary thought had flickered and
vanished.  Isabelle smiled slightly at the proof that that spell was working
as well.

There was a small commotion at the door, and Isabelle saw a
man in a khaki uniform and a baseball cap walking toward the bar, to
the accompaniment of calls of, “Hey, Sheriff” from various patrons.
The man was young, and big, and moderately good looking, but he
also fairly crackled with energy. Isabelle tossed down her drink and
tried not to look too predatory. The Sheriff held a brief conversation
with the bartender, accepted and drank a glass of water.

“Hello, Sheriff,” Isabelle said, launching her best seduction charm as
she spoke.  “Would you care to take me somewhere private and question
me?”

The Sheriff looked at her, ran his eyes quickly but thoroughly from
head to toe and back again, and smiled. “Sounds good to me,” he said.

The Sheriff’s
house was only a few blocks from the bar; they made
their way to the bedroom
exchanging kisses and haphazardly removing
clothing. Isabelle maintained just
enough control of things to make
sure she stayed on top; her wings made a
singularly painful mattress.
And then he was inside of her and she was
kissing him deeply and she
finally was able to open herself psychically and
begin to feed.

She was careful at first; even though the man seemed unnaturally
strong, she didn’t want to draw energy too quickly and risk going
too far. When it seemed that she was not weakening him at all, she took
a chance on letting the flow increase. Again, it didn’t seem to
weaken him; if anything, he seemed to be getting stronger the more energy
she took. She opened herself still further, and found she was getting
lostin the sensation; a part of her mind realized that a normal man
would be reduced to a dying husk in minutes at this rate, but she was
too besotted to stop.

The man pulled his feet back beside his hips,
rose to a sitting
position, and then again onto his knees; energy was pouring
out of him, pulsing with their movements, and she was trying and failing
to draw it all it. She felt as if she would burst into fire at any
moment, and she was terrified, and yet it felt SO wonderful…

The man was
changing; his hips and shoulders were getting wider, and
the hands that
cupped her buttocks seemed to be as large as dinner
plates. The energy flow
was impossibly great; Isabelle was certain
that if she dared to open her eyes
she would see her skin glowing
white hot, and she felt that she was only
seconds away from being
shredded to her component atoms.

And then it
was over, and the two of them were panting against each
other in what felt
like a boneless heap, still somehow impossibly
upright; their bodies were
swaying slightly in an echo of recently
concluded rhythms. Isabelle suspected
that she HAD been blasted into
her component atoms, and that the universe had
reassembled her out of
gratitude at its amusement. She was sated beyond
anything she had ever
dreamed of, overflowing, flooded. She realized that her
glamours had been completely blown away by recent events, and that it would
be some time before she regained enough control to recast them. She
hoped it wouldn’t matter.

She realized that the skin pressed against
her cheek, breasts, and
belly was smooth and oddly slick, but the skin
against her forearms
and hands was extremly rough and… Ridged? What in
seven hells? She
opened her eyes to find her cheek was pressed against an
elongated throat covered in yellow green scales. She pulled back her head
and blinked in bewilderment. Her partner lifted his head and craned
it back on an impossibly long neck to look her in the face; Isabelle
found herself staring into enormous yellow eyes in a crocodillian
head, complete
with a long toothed mouth that could have engulfed her
entire head with ease.
She also realized that thier upright position
was made both possible and
necessary by the fact that her partner had
sprouted a tail larger than one of
her legs.

“That,” rumbled a voice so deep that Isabelle felt it in her
belly as much as heard it with her ears, “Was unexpected.”

Isabelle blinked again. “You’ve never shifted shape before?”

The creature
chuckled, and Isabelle’s whole body trembled at the
sepuchural rumble. “Never
during sex.”

“Oh,” Isabelle answered. There didn’t seem to be much else
to say.

The creature continued to look into her eyes. Its face wasn’t
built for human expression, but that deep voice made up for it.
Isabelle could HEAR the grin in his voice when he asked, “Wanna do it again?”

End

_________________________________________________________________________

Thank you, Paul, for the momentary fantasy.  Even for creatures of the night, a good man is hard to find–and a hard man, even if he is a were-lizard of some sort–is good to find.

The photo at the top of this story is a publicity photo of European actress Isabelle Huppert.  She makes a very fine succubus.

Remember that this page is always looking for flash fiction of any sort.  If you have a story you want to see published, and it’s any good at all, send it to Atrrroll@gmail.com.

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