Story Originally Written: January 2024
The sporadic hoot of owls and the constant drone of crickets were the centrepiece of tonight’s song, accompanied by the serene trickle of water from a stream, above which fireflies danced. Only a few clouds dotted the night sky, and the stars could be seen as clear as day, and the moon clearer still. It was big and bright, illuminating the otherwise dark of night, lighting the way for travellers, or those indulging in revelry. Supplementing the night’s melody was the rhythmic click-clacking of a horse’s hooves trotting along a path, surrounded by unkempt grass and trees lining either side, transporting their rider through the night.
The individual was cloaked, their identity mostly concealed, as though they wished to keep it that way, and they carried in their hand a lantern while handling the reins of the horse with their other. While the moonlight prevented it from being pitch black, it was still wise to carry a light of one’s own, and the flickering flame lit up the trail just enough for both them and the horse to see where they were going. And where were they going, exactly? It was quite the dangerous time of day to travel, as these roads were often plagued by highwaymen, yet this rider did not fear anybody despite the lack of a sword hanging on their saddle.
As they rode along the road, they approached a narrower path less travelled veering off the left and through the trees. Through those trees was a small clearing and, within it, a lone cottage. A soft light glowed through the windows of the cottage, suggesting that not only was it occupied, but also the occupant (or occupants) was (or were) still awake at this hour. Pulling on the reins, the rider brought their steed to a stop and looked toward the homestead, then back along the more travelled road they were on, then back at the cottage. They contemplated their next move.
It was about another 15 miles to the next town, and they wouldn’t reach it until dawn at this pace, so would have to set up a makeshift camp somewhere along the trail if they continued on their journey. Furthermore, the later it got, the colder it got, and it wouldn’t be wise to spend the night outside in these temperatures. They were deep in thought, but then broke their silence, uttering to themselves “I don’t really feel like sleeping under the stars again…”
If this didn’t go well, then they would have to whether they liked it or not, as they couldn’t make their steed ride all through the night because horses needed rest too. Besides, they were feeling rather… hungry.
They twice clicked out of the side of their mouth in quick succession, lightly kicking their heels, and the horse resumed its trot while the rider directed it toward the cottage. The branches and leaves from the trees created a canopy overhead, blocking out what little light the moon provided, their lantern now doing even more of the heavy lifting as it lit the way. Horse and rider approached the cottage slowly, exiting the temporary canopy and entering the clearing and the rider surveyed both the cottage and the surrounding area, getting a good understanding of the lay of the land.
Stopping under a small but sufficient stable, the rider dismounted their steed and tied it to a hitching post, patting and acknowledging her by touching their head to their companion’s. “Good girl,” they said into the horse’s ear as they praised it, before turning their attention to why they’d come here. Blowing out their lantern, they hooked it upon the saddle, leaving it with their steed, and their shoes were saved from getting muddied by a cobblestone path leading from the stable up to the door of the house as the stranger strode toward it, the hunger growing exponentially. Reaching the wooden aperture, the traveller lifted the metal knocker and brought it back down against the metal plate, repeating the motion two more times, and the loud sound of the door knocker was unnerving in the near silence of night. Then, they waited.
Through the door they could make out the noise of wood creaking, then of footsteps upon floorboards, and then the clang of a metal lock being manipulated. Moments after the clamour had ceased, the door creaked open and the light from within flooded out and delivered them from the dark of night, and the homeowner filled the entryway.
“It’s a bit late to be travelling and knocking at people’s doors, stranger – dangerous folk tread around these parts at night,” a deep, male voice addressed the person at their door, “What is your business here?”
“I’m terribly sorry to bother you, good Sir, I am making my way to Brightwood from Harmstead but misjudged the distance, and I am looking for somewhere to rest my head for the night,” a female voice replied. It was soft and disarming.
“You’re not from around here, are you?” the man asked her, her accent unfamiliar to him.
“No, Sir.”
“And what are you travelling to Brightwood for? Work?” the man continued to interrogate her, perhaps fairly and certainly wisely.
“Yes, I ran out of work in Harmstead, so it didn’t pay me to stick around,” she answered.
“Are you a vagabond?” the man pried, trying to understand her intentions and her character.
“You could say that.”
The woman pulled her hood down and brushed her red hair out of her face, revealing herself fully to the man at the door, and his vigilant caution began to fade. “What is your name?” the homeowner prodded.
“Scarlett,” she replied, a subtle, friendly smile appearing on her unquestionably pretty face.
“You won’t get to Harmstead until sunrise, at the earliest,” he said, “And a pretty thing like you has no place being on her own on the road at night, Scarlett – you might not even make it to Brightwood at all.”
Scarlett elected to ignore the man’s well-meaning but condescending comment, keen to sweeten him and get into his good books and, hopefully, into his home. The man was caught in two minds. Inviting a stranger into his home was a risk – she could be anybody, and who knew what her intentions were, or whether she was even telling the truth? However, in his own words, it was unsafe for her to be outside at nighttime around here, not least with how biting it was getting outside, and it wouldn’t be right for him to condemn this woman to the dangers that lurked in the dark.
She was silent, looking at the man dead in the eye, looking at him with an innocent look on her face like that of a puppy. He let out a hearty sigh, then said “Come in.” Scarlett walked through the doorway as the man stepped aside, then he closed the door behind her and bolted it, shutting out the cold of night. “I have a spare room. It’s not much and is no guest room you’d find at an inn, but it has a bed and you’re welcome to stay in it for the night.”
“I hope I’m not imposing?” queried his guest, the man unable to fault her manners.
“Not at all,” he replied, “Nobody here but me – you’d be welcome company.”
Nobody here but him? What a pleasing thing for her to hear. “Thank you. I will leave at first light – you won’t even know I’m here,” Scarlett expressed.
“Are you hungry? I’ve got some leftover vegetable stew, you’re more than welcome to it,” remarked the man, “I’m Tom, by the way.”
“Oh, thank you, Tom – I’m starving, actually, however, I’ve got quite a specific diet. I appreciate the offer though.”
“Well, it’s there if you change your mind,” said Tom, disregarding what his unannounced “guest had just said, as though her diet could simply change its needs whenever it felt like it. Scarlett had thought the physicians she’d encountered were the only ones who had a habit of ignoring what she told them, and she wondered whether Tom was one too.
Tom took a seat and invited Scarlett to take one with him at his table, and the nomad gladly took up a chair and sat at the table with her host, but not before removing her cloak. “What do you do, Tom?” she asked him, curious whether he was or wasn’t a physician.
“I’m a fletcher,” the man answered, “I make bows and arrows for the fort near Brightwood mostly, but also for anyone that’ll buy them.”
Not a physician, then. Perhaps ignoring what a woman was telling you about their body was just a man thing after all.
“I’m not a bad archer myself, and I take part in the annual archery competition held at the fort every year – I’ve even won it a couple of times.”
“You must be very strong and have big arms to be that good with a bow,” Scarlett remarked, complimenting her host and massaging his ego. She entertained the man’s stories about his work and his prowess with a bow, but while he may be a fletcher and a decent part-time archer, he was no Cupid. Handsome as he was, and he certainly had a charm about him despite his apparent poor listening skills – which Scarlett put down to him perhaps just being nervous about inviting a stranger into his home – she had no room in her life for love, though all the time in the world for something very much associated with it.
“What work do you do?” Tom asked his guest, turning his attention away from himself, keen to learn more about the person who would be staying under his roof tonight.
“Oh, this and that, you know,” Scarlett said, avoiding answering the question directly.
“What were you doing in Harmstead?” he prodded.
“Surviving,” was Scarlett’s blunt answer, not really wishing to elaborate any further, the man not realising that digging into her past was unwise – it was a deep hole that would wolf him down.
“How rude of me,” Tom started, “Can I get you anything to drink? I have not long boiled a pot of coffee that’ll warm your bones, or I have a fresh pale of water.”
“Oh, thank you,” Scarlett thanked the man for his hospitality, “I would kill for a hot coffee” – the caffeine would help boost her energy for what she hoped she would expend it doing later. The man started to get up before his guest stopped him. “No no, you’ve been hospitable enough already, I can get it – where do you keep your cups?” the wanderer asked.
“On the top shelf, beside the stove,” he replied. Scarlett got up off her chair and waltzed over to the stove, and her hips swung from side to side as she strolled away from the table, her guest unable to keep his eyes from prying, Scarlett wholly aware of this fact.
When she got to the stove and the shelves beside it, she tip-toed to reach the top shelf, her top garment lifting with her arms, her shapely bottoms now more exposed than before, and she purposefully took her time grabbing a cup. With every second that she took, Tom’s eyes were upon her. Her fingers clasped one of the containers lining the shelf, and she retreated onto her soles and picked up the still-steaming pot. Lifting it by the highly arched handle, Scarlett poured the contents into her cup, the collision between liquid and solid breaking the silence that had fallen between the two.
With her cup full of her favourite beverage, Scarlett rejoined the man at his table. “Your horse – what’s his name?” Tom asked, changing the topic of their conversation away from her occupation, picking up on his guest’s prior hints, his hearing perhaps not as poor as first thought.
“Her,” Scarlett replied, taking a sip of her drink.
“I’m sorry?” he said, perplexed, thinking that was a strange name, before it occurred to him. “Oh, sorry – what’s her name?”
“Aphrodite,” she answered.
“After the Goddess?” the man inquired.
“Exactly,” Scarlett nodded with an approving smile and a raised eyebrow, impressed by his knowledge of Greek deities.
“Why that name?” Tom questioned, his curiosity piqued by a somewhat unusual name for a horse, though certainly less so than ‘Her’ would have been.
Scarlett slowly uncrossed and then crossed her legs, noticing Tom’s eyes fall toward them momentarily, the man unable to help but admire her, and she artfully strutted out her bust while his gaze was averted, giving him something more to admire when it returned to her upper body. “I’ve got a close bond with my horse, almost as though she’s an extension of myself, and I felt like that name captured my spirit quite well.”
Scarlett took another sip of her coffee, looking Tom in the eye while she did so with an electrifying gaze.
That was an interesting explanation, given the nature of what Aphrodite was the Goddess of, and Tom raised a curious eyebrow at what this might imply, and his attention turned back to that of her occupation. It stood to reason that she was a you-know-what, being as beautiful as she was – he was sure that she would have no trouble at all getting work. And perhaps that explained why she was so coy about what she did for work, because she didn’t want to talk about it or reveal her occupation to him?
That said, if she was indeed a lady of the night, then she would have a business opportunity right in front of her – with him living alone and stating she was welcome company – and he doubted that she’d pass the opportunity up if that was the case, so it didn’t make sense for her to be coy about it. Something didn’t quite add up. After finishing the rest of his own drink, Tom revisited his previous line of enquiry. “You said you did ‘this and that’ for work back in Harmstead, but that work dried up – what kind of work did you do that eventually ceased to require your labour?”
Her true nature was a secret and had to be kept so, so she couldn’t answer him truthfully. However, her host seemed intent on finding out what she did, so she couldn’t skirt around the question any longer, but she had to be careful about how she worded it. After finishing her coffee in one go, Scarlett addressed his inquisitiveness. “I kept people entertained and satisfied,” she explained, putting the now empty cup on the table, only fuelling his original theory.
“So, you’re a lady of the night?” he quizzed her, now suspicious that he was right in the first place.
“No,” Scarlett clarified, “More like a socialite.”
“And those you entertained and satisfied suddenly no longer found you entertaining or satisfying?”
“They moved onto pastures new,” Scarlett elaborated, “And it forced my hand.”
‘Moved onto pastures new’ – that was one way to put it. Scarlett indeed entertained and satisfied people, specifically men, but more so she entertained and satisfied herself, and she had done so much too much. This vagabond was no ordinary woman, and no lady of the night – certainly not in the traditional sense – and it could be argued that she wasn’t even really a woman at all – not by the definition folk around here would use. Scarlett, you see, was a succubus.
By her very nature, she needed sex and – more specifically – semen to survive. She had gotten plenty of both back in Harmstead, however, even though succubi aren’t supposed to harm their victims or milk them dry to not leave themselves without sustenance, Scarlett – being her infinitely, inexplicably horny self – accidentally did just that, milking every Harmstead man dry and bringing their lives to an untimely but most assuredly pleasurable end, and so had exhausted her options back in that now distant town. So, she had moved on in search of more prey. Being who and what she was, she would do whatever it took to suckseed, such was the specificity of her diet.
Naturally, this wasn’t the kind of thing you tell a stranger, or almost anyone for that matter, not least when that person could be fed upon. Chancing her arm coming here rather than continuing along the main road and onto Brightwood was precisely with this possibility in mind – of there being someone she could suck and fuck. It would seem that she made the right choice, finding Tom here on his lonesome without another soul for miles and miles – all she needed to do now was seduce him, and that would be no problem given her nature and her beauty making the seduction of men her speciality.
Though those were not the only two things she had going for her, as her silver tongue and provocative vocabulary were impressive in their own right. He was a tall man, and well-built – archers requiring strong upper body strength to be proficient at their task – but she could overpower him if she needed to should her seduction fail, as her supernatural powers weren’t limited to being deathly sexy. But it was so much more fun and enjoyable when her prey was willing and fucked of their own volition – it felt good and was ego-boosting when a man wanted to fuck you, after all.
Tom would do well to take heed of her cryptic answers and perhaps listen to what his gut told him when he first opened the door to a stranger in the dead of night, because when does that ever end well? Still, his conscience got the better of him, not having the heart to leave this poor, defenceless woman prey to the highwaymen, inadvertently becoming prey himself in the process.
“Well,” her prey spoke, “I hope you find more work in Brightwood. It’s late – shall I show you to your room?” Tom stood up, not waiting for his guest to answer his question, intending it to be rhetorical. Scarlett played along.
“Please – and thank you again for your hospitality, I cannot thank you enough.” Tom picked up a lit candle from off the table and carried it in front of him to help light the way, and Scarlett interjected. “Is it up the stairs?” she asked, stepping in front of him to make sure she could climb them first.
“Err, yes,” he fumbled, slightly startled by Scarlett’s sudden and swift movement.
“Then let’s head up, shall we?” Tom’s guest said cheerily, and then started making her way up the darkened staircase. Tom followed behind, climbing the first step, then the second, and the flame in his hand danced and illuminated the immediate vicinity, and he couldn’t help but notice that it illuminated Scarlett’s arse more so than anywhere else.
Scarlett took her steps slowly and purposefully, swaying her hips from side to side more than was natural, the succubus knowing exactly what she was doing, Tom’s eyes now exactly where she wanted them. Her trousers were as complimentary as a pair could be, and Tom could see one of the many reasons why her work involved entertaining people, and as he climbed the stairs behind Scarlett – watching her rather than his step – he caught his foot on one of them and stumbled, catching himself on the handrail with his spare hand, just about managing to not drop the candle in his other.
“Goodness, are you okay?” the woman asked him.
“Yes, thank you,” he replied, regaining his footing and placing on the stairs, “Just embarrassed is all.”
Scarlett knew why he had stumbled, and she smiled – it happened almost every time. “Don’t be embarrassed, it happens to everyone, I can assure you,” Scarlett comforted him, referencing all the times that men had stumbled over her beauty over the years. “Left, or right?” she queried when she reached the top, looking around at the several doors scattered on the landing.
“Right,” he answered, and Scarlett turned to the right.
There was only one door to the right of the stairs, the rest of them residing to the left, and that suggested that what was behind it was the makeshift room Scarlett would be staying in. She pushed open the door and stepped inside. “This will do perfectly, thank you,” she again extended her thanks to her considerate host, looking around the small but adequate room.
“If you need anything, just let me know – my room is right across the landing,” said Tom, gesturing toward the door behind which was his bedroom.
“Good to know,” Scarlett smiled, knowing something he didn’t.
“Well then, I’ll leave you be,” said the homeowner, “Goodnight.”
“Goodnight, Tom,” returned Scarlett, with a hint of a certain something both in her eye and her voice. Tom closed the door as he took his leave, leaving Scarlett to settle in for the night while he went off and did the same. Scarlett, with no intention of settling in, got ready to make her move. She began to undress, first taking off her boots and stepping onto the blessedly placed rug, before removing her bust-supporting blouse. Out her arms came from the garment, and then her beauteous bust itself, far from the first time and far from the last.
The next port of call would be her bottoms, but before she could get to them, the door swung open. “I almost forgot,” said Tom, casually waltzing back into his guest’s room without knocking, “If you’re up…”
His sentence came to an abrupt end when he saw his guest standing there, half-naked. His eyes fell to her bare bosom, the same which he had glanced at earlier when they were covered by her blouse, and they looked wondrous enough then. But now, bare, exposed, and on full display, their beauty was like no other, and it appeared to hinder his ability to speak.
Scarlett looked at him, unfazed, waiting for him to finish what he was about to say. “You were saying?” she probed, as though there was nothing untoward about the situation. And, to her, there wasn’t.
“I’m so sorry,” he apologised for his intrusion, “D–don’t you wish to cover up?” Tom asked, averting his eyes, suggesting that her exposed nature was a distraction for them both.
“It’s okay, you can look,” Scarlett answered contently.
“Err… okay…” said Tom with some trepidation, himself not sure that he was comfortable talking to a half-naked stranger – who was a beautiful woman, no less – in his home. There was nothing dangerous about it, he wrongly thought, just that his natural instincts made it difficult to think straight when such a sight was before him.
Scarlett raised her eyebrows to prompt him, and Tom took his cue to continue. “What I was going to say was: if you’re up before me in the morning, please help yourself to coffee and some food from the pantry before you leave.”
“Thank you, Tom,” Scarlett appreciated, “That’s very kind.”
However, the source of sustenance that she was after resided not within Tom’s pantry. Tom looked at her with a dazzled expression, his eyes still occasionally darting to her breasts and away again, the man unable to help himself. “Err, goodnight,” he again stumbled, taking his leave for the second time this evening, this time with something more vivid to accompany him in and influence his dreams.
“Goodnight,” she replied, this time with more than just a certain something in both her eyes and her voice, then Tom closed the door behind him and headed back to his bedroom once more, and got himself ready and into bed, unsure of whether he was going to be able to sleep. Scarlett, meanwhile, was going to do everything in her power to ensure he didn’t.
Turning her attention back to the task at hand, Scarlett peeled down her bottoms, revealing the wonder beneath them of which Tom’s eye had spied the shape of earlier when she was retrieving a cup for her coffee, leaving her standing in this stranger’s house completely naked. Then, she waited. Tom was tucked up nice and warm in his bed, the candle he brought upstairs with him beside it lighting up the room, the vision of his beautiful, bare-breasted guest imprinted on his now restless mind. Still, he closed his eyes and tried to sleep.
A few minutes passed by, and then Scarlett decided it was time to strike. Opening her door, she strode across the landing, the floorboards creaking beneath her feet, and knocked gently on the door Tom had said was his. Tom’s eyes opened and looked toward the door, and then he uttered “Come in.”
Scarlett pushed the door open and slowly stepped inside, out of the darkness of the landing into the light of Tom’s room, and into his line of sight. This time, rather than simply having her top half exposed, her whole body was exposed.
Tom looked her up and down, quite unable to believe what he was seeing – this gorgeous woman, completely naked, with her breasts and other unspeakably private and naughty things out, all on display to him. “It’s a bit cold in my room,” Scarlett said, pretending to shiver, “Would you mind if I slept in your bed, so we can share our body heat?”
Tom’s eyes widened with disbelief at what she was suggesting, and at the prospect of sharing a bed with not just Scarlett, but a naked Scarlett. But he looked at her, shivering, and once again hadn’t the heart to refuse.
“Okay…” he said, with a most unsure tone in his voice, but despite his tone, Scarlett took his word for what it meant – ‘Yes’.
“Thank you,” she said, skirting around the length and width of the bed to get to the other side, ensuring Tom got a look at her backside again, this time without it being covered by fabric. She lifted the blanket and scooted into bed, making no effort to protect her modesty or obstruct Tom’s view of all her intimacies, and got into bed with him, shimmying her naked body up to him.
She again trembled from the cold, though the man’s home was sufficiently warm despite the temperature outside, keen to play up just how cold she was. The fletcher was silent, feeling the exposed skin of her leg on the back of his hand, and he felt nervous. Despite his nature wanting him to bed beautiful women, now that he found himself in bed with one, and a naked one at that, he hadn’t gotten into bed with her with the intention of bedding her, so he knew not what to do. The best course of action, he decided, was to do nothing.
Scarlett turned onto her side and shuffled up closer to him, her breasts now resting against his arm, his hand now no longer touching her leg but finding itself dangerously close to something else. “You are so warm,” Scarlett commented and complimented him, practically cuddling up to him now, her leg almost lying upon his own, and Tom – despite his warmth – was frozen. A few moments later, her hand found itself on his chest, her fingers lightly stroking him, but it didn’t stay there for long. Tom did nothing, unsure what he could do, finding his desires conflicted.
That same hand travelled south, down his torso, and her fingers entered his thicket. Tom held his breath, now sure what this woman wanted from him, yet he had no idea. Scarlett’s fingers found their way through his bush and out the other side, where they were greeted by something that had prepared to meet them. Tom had little control over what his body was doing in response to the sight of Scarlett’s naked figure and her touch, if any control whatsoever, and his cock had done what one might expect a cock to do when its owner was treated to the sight of a bare, gorgeous woman who was touching them in a way that suggested his want was mutual.
“Goodness, that is warm…” she said, running her fingers and then her whole hand along Tom’s length, then taking it into her grip. It seemed that most of Tom’s body heat was emanating from his cock, given that was where most of his blood was flooding to, and it warmed Scarlett’s hand nicely, the hand which was discerning what she had to work with and what was going to give her life. Which was to say, plenty. “It feels as though you’re rather happy I stumbled upon your quaint little cottage this evening, Thomas…” she said, her hand slowly working its way from top to bottom, her eyes looking into his.
Tom looked at her, his mouth agape, his guest’s dominant hand dominating his wonderfully hard cock, when she spoke to him again. “What say we get really warm to stave off the cold…”
Tom nodded silently, approving of his guest’s wise suggestion, his capacity for speech still yet to return. Lifting the blanket both off herself and her prey, Scarlett exposed herself again, but this time she also exposed her host, and her eyes met what her hand already had and what would soon be feeding her. Her eyes lit up and a greedy, lustful grin emerged on her face.
Adjusting her position, Scarlett did a one-eighty, turning her body around, so she was again on her side, but with her legs and feet up by the pillows and her head down by Tom’s cock. Raising her leg while the other remained on the bed, she granted Tom with a view right between them and at the warmest, nay, the hottest thing to come. Tom looked at it, looked into it, as Scarlett’s swollen lips, the glory that they were, and the glory between them clearly hungered for something he had, and Tom would be lying if he told himself he didn’t want to give it to her. Just look at it…
While his attention was distracted by the most overtly debauched beauty of Scarlett’s pussy, the succubus wrapped her lips around his cock, her breath enveloping it before her mouth did, warming his already warm appendage further. As soon as she did that, Tom’s attention turned away from her pussy and to what she was doing with and to his dick, and as he looked down his body, he could not even see most of his cock because it had disappeared into her mouth. “Oh my God…” he muttered to himself, though loud enough for Scarlett’s keen ears to perceive.
Scarlett moaned gratifyingly before she emptied her mouth. “Does that feel good, Tom?” she asked him, not needing him to answer. Her tongue explored his length, from top to bottom and back up again, and it rolled around his tip when it got back up to the top before she took it back inside her mouth again. Tom didn’t know where to look. One part of him wanted to observe what Scarlett was doing to him and his cock, while another part of him wanted to look back between her legs at what was very visibly getting wetter and wetter.
His eyes jumped back and forth between the two, and it did not escape Scarlett’s notice. Using her spare hand, Scarlett moved it between her legs, then using her index and middle fingers, she spread her lips, granting Tom with a view of just how pink, just how wet, and just how beautiful her pussy was, both inside and out. “Do you like what you see, Thomas?” she asked him, again vacating her mouth so she could speak, her hand still working his dick all the while. “Do you like my pussy?”
Like the question she had asked him about her sucking his cock feeling good for him, asking Tom whether he liked her pussy was again rhetorical. Tom didn’t simply like it, he was head over heels completely and utterly in lust with it.
With her hand and fingers already there, Scarlett slipped the two she had used to spread her pussy lips, into her pussy, all the way to the knuckle, and when they came back out, they were coated in one of nature’s most venereal substances. Tom gawked at her pussy when she did that, dumbfounded by how easily her fingers slipped inside, awestruck by how wet she was, and his cock throbbed with longing when her fingers slipped back inside a second time and swirled around. He wanted to be her fingers in this very moment.
Tom finally mustered the wherewithal to move, even if only slightly, placing his hand upon the inside of Scarlett’s flat leg, and she gave him an approving look. Her skin was smoother than even the most luxurious silk, and the inside of her thigh was invitingly warm as he caressed it, his fingers tantalisingly close to where Scarlett’s had gone. She slipped her fingers out of herself, using the sodden digits to spread her even more sodden pussy open again, with her mouth still full of cock, looking at Tom and assessing what he was looking at. That was, to say – of course – her pussy.
“It’s rude to stare,” she joked, causing Tom’s gaze to move away from the beauty between her legs, and instead into the beauty of her eyes. Scarlett smiled naughtily, knowing Tom wanted her, and knowing that he would do anything she said – she had him right where she wanted him. “You want it, don’t you?” she asked him.
“Want what?” he said, puzzled – his cluelessness had a charm about it.
“My pussy,” Scarlett explained, “Don’t pretend you don’t.” His face flushed red, though he could not deny it was the truth. “I’m glad. And what if I told you that my pussy wants you?” Scarlett said, releasing his cock from both her mouth and her grip, and her pussy from her fingers, then she got onto her knees. With her on her knees and Tom on his back, Scarlett loomed over him like a demonic presence, which maybe wouldn’t be totally inaccurate. She lifted one leg over the dormant Tom, leaving her other where it was as she straddled the man, looking down at him, the pussy that wanted him hovering over that which she wanted to fill it.
“I’m going to fuck you now,” said the succubus in a commanding yet sultry voice, and again had Tom known her true nature then he might have heeded that as a warning, but she had feigned to share this crucial piece of information with him. Reaching her dominant hand between her legs, Scarlett took control of the kind homeowner’s cock then, holding it in place, moved her hips and ground herself along its lovely, satisfying length. She bit her bottom lip and moaned eagerly, and after a few more motions, she guided the head of Tom’s cock to her hungry opening, then let her pussy and gravity do the rest. “Ohhhh,” she sighed heavily, “Fuck yes…”
This was what she needed. Squeezing and groping her own breasts with a roughness befitting a lustful, dominant man, Scarlett began to grind on Tom, thrusting her hips forward and back, first slowly, and then not so much. She worked herself up into a healthy rhythm, one that worked for her, and Tom thought to himself that any rhythm worked for him, and Scarlett could do as she pleased. She was going to do just that, whether he liked it or not. The fiend looked at him, smiling deviously, a look of sexual corruption etched clearly upon her pretty face. Oh, what a thrill it was to sin.
The succubus giggled while she rode him – she was in the business of sex due to her nature, and right now, business was good. Lowering herself farther onto his cock, Scarlett began to grind her clit against his pubic bone while his cock ground her insides, and she quickly worked herself into a frenzy, fuelled both by her wanton lust and the caffeine in her system. Tom was powerless to stop her, though that’s the last thing he wanted to do, the man unable to remember the last time he had sex, let alone with such a beautiful, lustful woman. He wasn’t about to kick her out of his house or his bed.
Scarlett loved her horse and loved riding it, but riding a man was beyond comparison. It was upon this steed she galloped, not to Brightwood, but to bliss, taking Tom there with her rapidly. “Oh, Scarlett…” the fletcher groaned, knowing what was about to happen, his strong hands now holding tightly onto her rocking hips. His grip of her hips tightened, his eyes widened, and his jaw dropped as his rider brought him to his destination, releasing what was within him and depositing it within Scarlett. His body quivered as he came, and Scarlett could feel it, could feel him cumming and feel his cum itself, and she immediately felt invigorated as she arrived at her own destination.
“Yes, Tom!” the succubus grunted, practically growling with lechery, “Fuck yes!!”
Scarlett couldn’t help but reach down between her legs and furiously rub her clit to help amplify her already delightful orgasm, her hips still thrusting and grinding away as best they could while the orgasm naturally limited her ability to move how she wanted. She doubled up over Tom, her teeth gritted together with wanton determination as she fucked the man boisterously. Tom had stopped cumming by this point, and soon after, Scarlett’s orgasm was also no more.
However, despite this, Scarlett did not stop. Positioning herself back upright, the swaying of her hips and gyrating of her crotch upon Tom’s did not halt, and barely did they even falter. Tom’s cock – now covered in Scarlett’s cum – was warmer than ever, and Scarlett’s pussy – filled with Tom’s cum – was also warmer than it had been since it was last full of cum back in Harmstead. She lifted herself up and down Tom’s length, and there was a clear marker and distinction right at the base between cum and flesh that denoted just how deep she had taken it inside her. Which was to say, balls deep.
She laughed a devious laugh, one of gluttonous lust, and continued to ride her latest man. Tom was dumbstruck before when this all started happening, but he was even more dumbstruck now. He had had his orgasm, and Scarlett had had hers, yet she seemed to be far from finished. While he would’ve happily called it a night there and then, Tom didn’t mind going again, not least as his cock appeared to be up to the task, still standing, still filling and stretching his guest’s pussy sumptuously, and he quickly learned why Scarlett had such an affinity for the name ‘Aphrodite’.
Over the next couple of minutes, Scarlett again worked herself up from a walk, to a trot, to a canter, all the way back to a gallop, again thrusting her hips back and forth, getting that rocking motion that worked so well for her and seldom, if ever, didn’t work for the man she was riding. With their bodies more sensitive than before following their prior orgasm, it didn’t take them long to reach their second, and this time Scarlett just about pipped Tom to the finish line. She wailed with pleasure, her pussy falling into a heavenly spasm, her muscles contracting around Tom’s cock and milking it, bringing him over the finish line just slightly behind her.
Her strength grew with every spurt of jizz that Tom shot into her, the succubus feeling more and more revitalised and energised with each passing second that she fucked and milked this man, and she neither had the heart nor the desire to stop. The feeling itself was addicting, and on top of the already addicting feeling of dick inside one’s pussy, Scarlett once again found herself losing control of herself and losing sight of her best interests. As she had after their first orgasm, the slut once again did not halt her exhilarating escapade, and she continued to fuck Tom, her appetite seemingly unquenchable.
Soon enough, Tom came once again, and he wasn’t sure he could go for much longer. “Scarlett…” he groaned, the feeling he felt within him and within his cock no longer that of just pleasure, but also of wild sensitivity, discomfort, and exhaustion, “…Shall we take a minute?”
Scarlett did not hear him over her loud, wild moans of decadent pleasure, and the slut bounced and gyrated on him harder than ever, bringing herself to a third orgasm, yet not even this hat-trick of climaxes was enough for her.
In one regard her libido and energy were admirable, men often finding themselves fantasising about bedding a nymphomaniac, however, as Tom was finding out, the reality wasn’t necessarily quite as grand as the fantasy was, because her libido and energy were starting to frighten him. Alas, it was much too late for fear now. “Sc–Scarlett…” the man whimpered under his breath, “…St–stop…”
Tom hadn’t the energy to breathe let alone communicate in an effective manner with someone whose attention was solely on their own sexual gratification, and Scarlett carried on as she was, her inhuman sex drive now in complete control, with Tom at its mercy. Unfortunately for him, it was merciless, and his ability to hit a target with an arrow from considerable distances wouldn’t help him here. He came again, though didn’t react.
Scarlett rubbed her clit with one hand while squeezing a breast with the other, riding Tom toward yet another orgasm when she felt something that she didn’t like. Her pussy didn’t feel as deeply filled or as stretched as it had, the stimulation she was getting from riding Tom not what it had been, and she slowed her advance all the way to a stop to investigate. Moving her hand away from her clit and that bit farther between her legs, she grabbed onto Tom’s dick and discovered that it was getting limp.
“Tom?” she said, bemused, looking up at him, motionless. “Tom??” Scarlett puzzled, shaking the man beneath her. He didn’t respond and was rigid. “Tom, wake up.”
There was nothing. She hopped off the man and looked between his legs to discover that his balls were shrivelled and empty, his seed well and truly sucked – the telltale sign that she’d overdone it again. Rigour mortis didn’t affect penises, apparently. “Again?!” Scarlett exasperated, rolling her eyes, “Fuck’s sake… I was just about to cum again too…”
The succubus sighed, having overworked her prey once again, finding that once she had gotten going, her pussy and her libido had minds of their own, and she couldn’t stop.
Her supernatural libido was once more too much for a mere mortal man to handle, and she had fucked and sucked the life out of him. It was a shame for he was a handsome enough man, and he did have a lovely cock which she would have liked to feed on for a while. However, it occurred to her that the situation at hand presented her with an opportunity. With the owner of this cottage now finding himself as the former owner, she could take up that mantle and set herself up here nicely and could travel to and from Brightwood to feed without having to stick around in the town and risk arousing suspicion, especially with the fort nearby. Every cloud and all that.
For Tom, it was an unfortunately premature end, but if there was any way to go out, then being fucked to death by the fieriest, most lustful, incomparably sexy woman was a way that most – if not all – men would choose. Some might say that Tom was unlucky, given his demise and all, while others might say that he was lucky to have gone out in such a way at the hands and the pussy of such a supernaturally hot woman. We’d never know how Tom felt about it, though that was of no concern to Scarlett. In the morning, she would dispose of him, make this house her own, and get to work finding more prey.
Tom the Writer 
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