Authors: Folia Deux
Taken by the Incubus (The Complete Erotic Story, including One Night with an Incubus, Revenge of the Incubus, and Taken by the Incubus)
TAKEN BY THE INCUBUS
C
ontains:
ONE NIGHT WITH AN INCUBUS
REVENGE OF THE INCUBUS
TAKEN BY THE INCUBUS
By Folia Deux
Copyright © 2013 by Folia
Deux
All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, including photocopying, recording, or other electronic or mechanical methods, without the prior written permission of the publisher, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical reviews and certain other noncommercial uses permitted by copyright law. For permission requests, write to the publisher, addressed “Attention: Permissions Coordinator,” at the e-mail address below.
All characters appearing in this work are fictitious. Any resemblance to real persons, living or
dead, is purely coincidental.
Folia Deux Books:
[email protected]
Table of Contents
By Folia
Deux
This is my favorite night of the year. It’s the one night I can be myself, completely, freely,
visibly
, without drawing too much attention. Tonight, I blend in. I fucking love Halloween.
Bass thumps through the speakers, the rhythm vibrating low in my belly as I prowl through the crowd. With my platform heels, I’m taller than most of the women, even most of the men. I like this view—it lets me choose who I want, the type I like, the select group of males from which I will choose my victim. And in my leather mini and my corset top, which presents the swells of my breasts like an offering, it’s easy to make them choose me, too.
I haven’t been in this city very long, but I’m already wishing I could stay. There’s a freedom here, a zeal for life and for love and for fucking, and that is exactly what I need. I can smell the lust on the air, the want, the ache. I can hear the blood rushing through veins, pure liquid need. I can feel the sex in the air, like a living, throbbing thing. Somewhere in this club, someone is already getting fucked. I close my eyes and picture it, a girl on a couch in the private room at the back, her mask askew, her legs spread as a pirate thrusts his cock into her dripping cunt, his fake cutlass thumping against his thigh with every plunge of his hips.
I run my tongue over my bottom lip as I let the image go and return my attention to the dance floor. There’s a cute vampire grinding against a fairy to my left. His black hair is slicked back and his face is white with make-up. He’s pocketed his fake fangs so he can use his real teeth to nibble the female’s neck. But he’s a bit too young and clumsy for my tastes. I move slowly around the edge of the parquet floor, swaying my hips in time with the music, occasionally raising my arms and gyrating, drawing wanton gazes from every male I pass. A few of them ask me what I am, since my “costume” isn’t exactly specific. When I say, completely seriously, “I’m a succubus,” they nod vaguely and stare at my tits while their cocks strain against their flies. I could have any one of them. None of them are quite what I want, though. None of them give me that rush of desire, the tingling hunger deep in my pussy, the one that tells me he’s the one for me.
I’m headed for the exit when I spot him. He’s wearing a tuxedo of all things, so out of place among the wolf men and zombies and mummies. His short, dark hair gleams beneath the flashing lights. His clean-shaven jaw is angular, but when his lip curls, I see the tiniest dimple on his cheek. He’s taller than most, and his broad shoulders and narrow waist are accentuated by the impeccable fit of the vest and jacket. His lips are full but still unbearably masculine, as is the domineering sweep of his cheekbones to his brow.
My hands creep up to my breasts as my nipples harden for him.
You,
I think.
You are mine tonight.
I almost regret destroying such a beautiful creature, but that is what a succubus does. He will give me pleasure, and I will draw his soul right out of him. He will come inside me, and that will be the end of him. But oh, it’s going to feel incredible.
My victim is currently romancing a blond showgirl with huge tits and a meaty ass. Her headpiece is full of feathers and rhinestones, and her eyes glint with invitation as she looks up at him. His head is bowed over hers, and he gives her a devastatingly sexy smile before leading her to the shadowy back hallway. Ah. He’s a bit of a predator.
So much the better.
Slowly, never ceasing the motion of my hips and hands, I dance and mill among the costumed sheep, the mindless, wanton humans who have no idea what stalks in their midst. I feel like a lioness among gazelles, and there is nothing like this power. I find my dark-haired victim in the back hallway. He’s got the showgirl against the wall, his fingers curled under her knee, hiking her leg onto his thigh. His tongue is deep in her mouth, like I want it in my pussy. Her breath heaves from her, her desperation for his cock sending waves of craving over me. I lean against the wall, only ten feet away, and let my hand creep beneath my skirt, sliding it up my stockings, past my garters to my bare skin. My pussy is soaked already, and my fingers slip to my clit. My lips part as I stare at my victim, as I feel more than see his hard-on nudging the showgirl’s belly, showing her what he wants.
She won’t have him, though. He’s mine. I rub myself and will him to look. It takes a few seconds, but his eyes open as if he senses me brushing against his mind. The girl is lost to him, moaning and pressing her hips to his, but he gives me a sidelong glance as he continues to kiss her. His gaze remains fixed on my hand as I stroke my pussy, my fingertip circling my clit as I knead my breast with the other hand. His hand tightens on the girl’s ass, and she squeals into his mouth as he thrusts his hips against her. But his attention is on me, moving to my face. I know what he’s seeing. My silky raven hair falling in waves over my shoulders, my ice-blue eyes drawing him in, my blood-red bottom lip caught between my white teeth.
His pupils dilate, and his hand slides up the inside of the showgirl’s leg to stroke her through her panties.
She whimpers, her eyes squeezed shut. I can almost feel the movements of his skilled fingers, slipping underneath the silk to sink into her cunt, and I mimic those movements as I watch, letting pleasure unfurl, the thrill of seeing my victim finger-fuck this girl while he’s staring at me.
You’re mine,
I tell him with my eyes.
Mine.
Something behind
his own eyes glints with challenge. As if he’s saying
really? Come get me.
I smile, letting my head fall back as the orgasm clenches inside me, nothing earthshattering, just an appetizer to tide me over until the feast I’ll have later. I moan softly as my clit throbs and my pussy spasms. And then, while my victim watches, I bring my fingers to my lips and lick my juices from them. He freezes for a moment, locked in his tight embrace with the showgirl. I wonder if he can see his destiny in my gaze, if he has any hint of what’s to come. I stare at him for a moment more, and then I leave him there and return to the dance floor.
I’ve made my point.
An hour later, after I’ve let a few college boys run their hands over me and thrust their hips against me on the dance floor, never knowing that I’m drawing energy from their every heartbeat, I see my victim head for the exit. He walks in a confident, unhurried way, like the tuxedo is something he wears every day, like it’s not a costume at all.
He’s alone. And he never even came looking for me.
Interesting.
I follow, not worried that I’ll lose him. I know his heated scent now, something slightly citrusy with a deep, masculine undertone. He exudes sex, and it will be the death of him. He strolls down the sidewalk, and I follow. He won’t see me. No one sees me if I don’t want them to, and right now, I simply lift my heels from the sidewalk and float, letting my power drift beneath me. I’ve absorbed enough sexual energy tonight that this is easy, but I’m still hungry for the meal that will sustain me for days, maybe—judging by the strength of this one, the vitality—for months.
After several blocks, he strides into the Pierre hotel. He has good taste. I stand on the sidewalk and stretch out my senses, following his energy as he gets onto the elevator and rides it to the very top, a luxury suite.
Perfect. I wonder who will miss him when they find him tomorrow, naked and pale in his bed, dead long before his time. But I don’t wonder that hard, because I’m already hot and eager for him. Closing my eyes, I rise off the sidewalk, floating up
up up, the night air swirling against my bare pussy beneath my skirt, giving me delicious chills. I reach his window just as he opens the curtains and looks out. If he were aware of me, he’d see me right here, but I’m not ready to be seen yet.
Still, his eyes linger, almost
as if
he can see me. He shows no sign of fear or recognition, merely stares into the night, though his gaze happens to fall right at the level of my breasts, making my nipples pebble within my corset. His lip curls slightly just before he turns away from the window, like he’s remembering something sweet.
Oh, this is going to be delicious.
He strips off his shirt, revealing a lean, cut torso, muscles rippling on his abs and chest as he unbuttons his pants and strips them off. Even soft, his cock is gorgeous and thick, resting against heavy balls nestled between masculine thighs. He strides into the bathroom, and I hover as he showers. I want to touch myself as I imagine it, but I hold back, forcing myself to wait, aching for him, picturing the things I’ll do to that perfect body before I milk it dry.
He emerges in a cloud of steam, ruffling his dark brown hair with a towel, which he then tosses over a chair. He flops carelessly onto the bed and turns off the light.
Such a good boy. He doesn’t even get himself off … and that means he’ll be more wound up and ready for
me
. I listen to his heart beat steady in the darkness, and when I sense that he’s asleep, I drift right through the window, manifesting on the other side, in the warm air of his room. I inhale deeply, breathing in his heady scent, and listen to the whoosh of air from his lungs as he dreams.
I stand at the foot of his bed, gazing at his sleeping body covered only in a sheet. Keeping my eyes on him, I unhook my corset and let it fall, then slide my stockings from my legs and kick off my shoes. My skirt hits the floor next, and I step out of it. Entirely naked, my ivory skin glowing softly in the night, I edge onto the bed, pulling away the sheet as I do.
He stirs, perhaps sensing the interruption in the flow of oxygen through his body, the beginning of my energy, tugging at his. I stroke my fingertips over his bared thighs, and my mouth waters as his cock twitches, waking before the rest of him. My breasts brush his skin as I lean down and blow warm air over it. I delight in the smooth way it fills, coming to life beneath me. He moans quietly, a distant sort of sound, lost in his dream for the moment. I wonder if he’s dreaming of the showgirl, that boring little thing that was panting for him earlier … or if he’s imagining me.
Not that he has to. I’m going to give him the real thing, the last thing he’ll ever experience. I’m going to give him so much pleasure that he’ll give up his soul easily. Like so many I’ve taken before, it will gather within his muscles, in his balls as they tingle with frenzied desire. His entire
self will hesitate on the brink, sensing the call of oblivion, but I won’t relent. My body will be too much for him, and the ecstasy I offer will be too great to resist. He’ll make the decision without knowing it. He’ll choose the release and let himself go. He’ll jet inside me, and I will take everything from him.
I want this to last, though. He’s too beautiful to devour quickly. I skim by hands over his stomach and chest, running my tongue along his cock and tasting its salty tip before following the narrow path of hair up to his belly button. His hands find me, sliding up my arms to my shoulders. He’s sensing it now, the rush within his veins, the ache. He’s swimming in sleep, but starting to surface.
This is my favorite part.
I creep up his body, my breasts following the path of my hands, my nipples teasing at his skin while sending delicious waves of heat through me. His hands skim my neck,
then cup my face, pulling it up to his. Those perfect lips are parted as his minty breath fans over my skin.
His eyelids flutter open. “Are you really here?”
I smile, looking into his sleep-hazed green eyes. “Yes and no.” I spread my legs over him and slide my wet pussy along the length of his cock. “I’m real enough to fuck, though.”
He lets out a bemused chuckle and pulls my mouth to his. His lips and tongue shock me. Never have I tasted anything so purely delicious, so tantalizing. He tastes like want, like need. His tongue slips along mine and plunges into my mouth, slow thrusts that draw my hands to his hair and make my cunt throb. His cock bobs between us, rock hard and powerful, magnificent and huge and tempting. After a moment, he pulls back. “What’s your name?”
“Does it matter?”
“It does to me,” he says, his expression serious as his eyes lock on to mine.
They pull it right out of me. “Mala.”
“How did you get in here?”
I nibble at his bottom lip. “Magic.”
He smiles against my mouth. “I thought so.”
Our kiss turns hungry, my breast pressed against his firm chest as his arms snake around me and his hands move to my ass, spreading my cheeks and squeezing hard. I gasp at his commanding touch, at the powerful coil of his muscled body, suddenly wanting to beg him to take me. That’s not usually how this goes, but perhaps I’ll make an exception—
What? No, no I won’t. I control this. My victim never does.
He lets out a huff of amusement as I squirm against the thick head of his cock. “Don’t you want to know
my
name?”
“Yes,” I say before I can think better of it, but a rush of puzzlement immediately follows after. I never ask my victims for their names. It barely matters, something as insignificant as a name.
But this one …
“
Soren,” he says, bowing his head and nuzzling my neck. “My name is Soren, Mala.”
“
Soren,” I whisper as his mouth closes over the tender skin of my throat. The name is vaguely familiar, like something remembered from a distant dream, but its familiarity drifts out of my grasp as his fingers stroke along the slickness between my legs. “
Soren
.”