Funhouse

by Aurelia T. Evans

  She slammed her hands against the sides of the door, but not to stop him. She ground back against the front of his trousers. God, she could feel his cock, larger than average but nowhere near as large as she knew it could become.

  He snaked one hand down from her breast to her thighs, drawing the hem of her dress up as he ground right back. Mikhail cupped her through her underwear, rocking the heel of his palm against her clit but fingering her slit through her panties, dampened even more with fresh arousal. Bell had to have woven magic into her clothes as well, because the way she fought lust all day long, she should soak through anything she wore.

  “Not here,” he groaned into her ear. “Inside. I take trespassers out in the open, and you’re not one of them. When we’re finished, you will be glad this was more private.”

  He turned her around then lifted her up. She wrapped her arms around him, her head falling to his shoulder with a whimper as though she were in pain. He climbed into the trailer, slamming the door behind him.

  The strongman was too big for the space she’d been provided. Really, the only place he’d fit was the bedroom. He had to move sideways through the aisle, lifting her, shifting her, and she adjusted her legs or arms as needed as she tasted the tattoos and salt on his shoulder, biting the flesh to reassure herself that he was real, solid, that he wasn’t just a man-suit over statue, the way he felt. Her teeth dented the skin.

  They couldn’t make it to the bedroom. He hitched her up to bend her legs over his shoulders then fell to his knees, his feet in her bathroom and her back against the wall that made up her wardrobe.

  “Now that you’ve invited me, we have all night, little girl. This will help.” He left the same dents in her soft inner thigh that she’d left on his shoulder.

  He wasted no time pushing her dress up her hips then tearing her panties away. The elastic snapped against her skin like a switch.

  Neve’s wails filled the small space as he closed his mouth over her clit. She rocked her hips, practically climbing the wall as she arched and pushed her clit against the tight, velvet heat. He wrapped his arms around her thighs so she couldn’t wriggle away, his dark, tanned skin seeming even more so against her blue-veined paleness. She held her forehead with one hand as though to keep herself upright. With her other hand, she threaded her fingers through his hair, locks of it tickling over her legs when he moved.

  She groaned as he lifted his head from her clit with a wicked smile to stare up at her.

  Neve struck his shoulder blade with her heel. “Don’t stop. You were begging me a minute ago.”

  “You were saying no a minute ago,” he said. “Now I know I shall be satisfied. When first we met, I promised you that I could make love to you all night. Shall I show you?”

  “If you make me wait all night before you let me come, I’m going to kill you with my bare hands. My nails aren’t as sharp as Lady Sasha’s, but I’m a desperate woman, and your eyes are right there.”

  He smiled, the darkness of his sockets glowing again, but the tendons of his neck and shoulders were so much more relaxed than before. “Would you claw these pretty garnets just because I didn’t give you what you wanted immediately? I think someone needs to learn patience. Four weeks is nothing, Neve. You’ll have years of this. I’ve had a hundred and twenty-seven.”

  “Fuck.” She didn’t think she’d ever said the word just as an expletive, but it felt good in her mouth, though not as good as him.

  He dipped down to run his tongue between her folds, flicked the tip at her clit to make her twitch.

  “When you swear, it doesn’t sound natural to you. I like it. Say ‘fuck’ again, and I’ll let you come, little girl.”

  She banged the back of her head on the wall in frustration, screwing her face tightly against the nagging warning that she should tell him to leave and he’d have to go, invitation be damned. She could end this, fill herself with the tentacle toy until she bit through her pillow, go to sleep unsatisfied like she had the last four weeks, her still valid wedding ring digging a groove into her cheek.

  But she’d asked him in, and although she should make him stop, she just didn’t want to anymore, not with every last sexual knot, like pebbles under her skin, loosening under his touch.

  How many other people had come into the circus like this, knowing what they should and shouldn’t do, but giving in to it anyway when they realized there was no point in fighting? How long had it taken them? She didn’t think she got extra points for each week she’d resisted, given that she’d tied herself to the incubus before she’d even been brought in.

  How had each of them eventually justified themselves? Maybe they’d decided that as long as they were in the company of bad men, bad demons, bad demigods, they should just embrace being bad themselves.

  She felt sick. She’d been an analytical believer all her life, but she couldn’t remember the last time she’d encountered an ethical or moral dilemma quite this intense, and she’d voted in several election years. She wasn’t used to having no clear choice before her, wasn’t used to knowing that she wouldn’t be able to do what she thought was right, wasn’t used to wondering whether she’d ever been right at all.

  But her body adhered to simpler principles on the hierarchy of needs. It wouldn’t let her say no, and she was inextricable from the meat sack in which she’d been born. She couldn’t tell her body that to cling to the incubus was to succumb to a fallen state rather than fight it. Fight it for what? For her soul, already caged in Arcanium and made to sing a song of pleasure rather than praise?

  What was forgiveness when there was no sin? Sin was as much part of the design as salvation. To believe anything less was to ignore the beginning of creation.

  Neve closed her eyes and shook her head, but her hips lifted as though to plead for Mikhail’s mouth once more. “Fuck. Don’t stop. Whatever I do, don’t stop.”

  “I usually only take orders from Bell and Sasha. But that, love, is an order I like.”

  He moaned as he closed his lips around her clit and the folds that cradled it, his tongue pressing, sucking, the vibrations and sensations combining into a devastating force that narrowed all her thoughts away from theology and morality to the nexus of her legs.

  Everything became about the ever-tightening coil from her clit up her spine to her mind, where she could only keep shaking her head to keep it from exploding. She had no such luck where he sucked her pleasure from her. She pulled his hair, arched away from the wall until she was balanced on his shoulders while he kept a firm hold on her thighs. He didn’t let up, didn’t let her fall—except in her mind, where she fell like water over a cliff. Sweat dripped down her back, leaving cold, wet places on her dress. He kept the orgasm rolling, rapids over sharp rocks, as she rode his tongue.

  Finally, Mikhail stood and tossed her onto her bed in the same motion. He stretched out an unnaturally long tongue to clean off anything she’d left on his trimmed moustache and beard.

  “Take off the dress, little girl. You don’t need it anymore tonight.”

  She pushed it over her hips rather than try to bring it over her head.

  The lights were on in her bedroom, which meant that, quite unlike their first night, he could see all of her, and she could see almost all of him.

  He could see how she wasn’t perfect like a succubus, her breasts larger because she was soft everywhere, her thighs and ass big and strong from softball games and strength training. Her family’s buried Irish heritage had returned full-throttle in her, which meant bright blue veins, pale freckles over her shoulders, nose and forearms. She had flesh folds, ivory stretch marks, bulges, colors to her translucent skin that women like Maya and Valorie never had to deal with. Kitty’s skin was golden underneath the chestnut, and the Spider’s own paleness was like matte porcelain, broken only by the ink of her tattoos and the occasional mole. Neve couldn’t even point to her hair as some bastion of ginger pride, given the mess it was at the moment. She couldn’t imagine any of it being anyw
here near as sexy as the man who stood before her—sex personified, which was kind of the point.

  Yet the strongman pulled his hair back, staring over her in the light as though he could eat her up from toes to hair roots. He stroked over the front of his leather trousers with a strangled groan.

  “That didn’t almost kill me,” she said, sitting up on the comforter. “I couldn’t move the first time, could barely talk. You thought I was dead.”

  “My mouth will flay, but it doesn’t have to kill. You came, but if I were to leave, you would discover yourself unsatisfied. You will not be truly satisfied until I come inside you. And if you were any other woman, that would kill you, no matter what I did to hold back.”

  “That’s awfully penis-centric.”

  The strongman actually laughed. “It’s simply how incubi feed from women.”

  He crawled onto her bed, his gaze like heat on her breasts as their weight brought them down, still defying most gravity at this point but showing signs she wouldn’t be so lucky for much longer—except time seemed suspended here, with Kitty looking young even though she was supposed to have been in Arcanium for over twenty years.

  Under Lord Mikhail’s devoted attention, Neve gathered her breasts in hands too small to contain them. Flesh plumped between her fingers, pressed together for cleavage that drove straight men crazy. Then she held them up by her nipples, rolling them between her fingers. They hadn’t needed help to become the hard buds they’d pretty much been from the moment the incubus had entered her bedroom four weeks ago, but there was an undeniable nerve connection between her nipples and her cunt that seemed to ache with pain as much as with pleasure.

  It was strange to do all the things she’d done with Joseph—things she’d done because they were expected of her and because she’d thought he’d like them—and have them actually mean something for her. To understand that some of the things women did for their husbands were for themselves.

  “Is it the same between incubi and other men?” she asked, curiosity returning with the brief respite provided by his mouth.

  “I nearly killed a man from a hand job alone.”

  He batted her fingers away from her breasts, humming with pleasure as they yielded to their weight again. He replaced her hands with his, massaging the hard, bright pink flesh, the areolae wrinkled from tightening. He pressed the tip of his tongue to one of his canines, dog-tooth sharper than the rest, as she automatically parted her legs to alleviate the sudden tension he brought there.

  “Gay and bisexual men are more at risk with an incubus than women, because any contact with my cock or theirs makes them susceptible to my feed. Bisexual men and women are in the most danger from sex demons in general—far too many ways for both succubi and incubi to feed from them.”

  “Who’s safest?”

  “Lesbians. They won’t respond to an incubus, and there are really only two ways for succubi to kill them, and plenty of ways for them not to. There are succubi in relationships with women who have no idea what they are. The demons just refuse certain kinds of sex. It’s nothing to do with a moral or preferential hierarchy. A feed simply requires specific genital contact for it to satisfy the sex demon.”

  “So as long as you keep your pants on, I’m safe.”

  “You’re one of the few who is completely safe from my cock, love, and that makes you invaluable to me.”

  For some reason, talk of killing her wasn’t as problematic as it had started out, perhaps because it truly seemed out of his hands and because she still wanted him so intensely that she felt hollowed out. But being called invaluable rankled in a way she couldn’t quite pin down with all of her blood pinking her nipples, flushing her cheeks and dilating as many blood vessels as it could in her cunt, her folds, her clit.

  She covered his mouth with her hand, but she bit her lip as he nipped at her fingertips and crawled over her to make her lay back. If he just wouldn’t talk, she’d be able to get through this. She’d be able to sleep satisfied tonight, kick him out afterward, tear away everything that smelled of him, wash herself of his scent, slip between cold sheets and curl up with her legs against her belly to hold in the inevitable sickness of guilt, the cold of the platinum ring on her finger the coldest of all.

  Mikhail made the built-in headboard groan when he closed his hand over it, leaning his hips forward to bring his leather placket against her breasts. The leather was so tight that he couldn’t exactly fuck them, but she gathered them in anyway, shivering. Even through the leather, the path of his cock tingled over her bare skin, as though each individual hair follicle could sense how close he was and reached for him.

  “Open the leather.” That deep purr had returned, too tender to be a growl, too dark to be gentle. “Take out my cock, little girl. You invited me in, but if you need my cock, you must open the last door. I won’t have you pretending that the wicked demon took you against your will.”

  Neve hated him a little as she brought her fingers to the front of his trousers, undoing the laces that held him in, unthreading them until the placket folded to the sides and she could reach in. Free him.

  A whimper whined past her lips as he swelled to fill her hand with each stroke, his pre-cum alone enough to smooth the way. He pulled the trousers down his thighs. They peeled off the rest of the way seemingly on their own.

  He surged when she raised herself up to take the head of his cock in her mouth, the glistening flesh impossible to resist, the musky scent and taste of him better than anything she’d ever had. When he pushed in, his cock slid over her tongue, hit the back of her mouth then slipped into her throat without any obstruction.

  They groaned in tandem, and Mikhail grabbed Neve by her hair to push her down to take his whole giant cock. Her throat miraculously expanded to take him all the way. She could still breathe without effort, but when she touched her neck, she knew just where the head of his cock had reached. She’d cough, heave, struggle to breathe even though she could anyway, if it didn’t feel so freaking good to have him deep in her throat, almost as good as in her pussy.

  She shouldn’t have been able to open her mouth wide enough, and her lips should have hurt to stretch. She should have bitten him. Instead, he growled like a beast at the way she licked, swallowed, rubbed her throat to caress the head through the flesh of her neck. He pulled his hips back to bring the head to her tongue before sliding himself down her throat again. With her free hand, she furiously stroked around her clit, more turned on by him fucking her mouth than she’d thought it was possible to be. The pleasure was like pain. It was impossible to conceive of it until it was experienced.

  “No. No time. I want in your pussy, little girl. We have years for me to possess your mouth. I’ll entice it in other ways, I promise.” He withdrew completely, and now she gasped, now she coughed, her diaphragm heaving as though her body had only just realized what he’d been doing to it.

  Mikhail laughed as he crawled back. He hooked his arms under her knees to spread her legs farther, testing the limits of her flexibility.

  “God, I’ve wanted back in you for a month,” he groaned. “Your dreams stole into mine, your desires like a fog in my head, with nothing to show for it.”

  His cock was at its full thickness and girth now, the head broad at her entrance, but he angled his mouth over hers to take it more gently, without the same distorting magic of his cock. It felt more like just a kiss in comparison, something that was made better from an incubus’ touch but not within the realm of the impossible. She much preferred the kiss, opened her mouth for him of her own volition, wrapped an arm around him to scratch over his hard muscles as he pushed his cock in.

  She wallowed, grasped, reveled, stroked her clit and wrapped her legs around his. Nothing felt more right than when he stopped talking and she stopped thinking, when their bodies were flush together and he was inside her, when she surrounded him.

  He didn’t make her wait. He didn’t make himself wait. He clutched the headboard with one hand and pulle
d himself in—tireless, relentless—his cock entering her over and over, pushing again and again into impossible places that nevertheless yielded to him. He kept going until she cried out, her back curving to bring her hips up against his, her cunt clutching as though milking him. He broke from their kiss, and his cock seemed to pulse and grow even bigger…as though it needed to, as though she could possibly take any more. But she did, digging her nails into his shoulder and keeping the pace on her clit to drive her orgasm through the heat that filled her where it shouldn’t have.

  There it was again—the sense that something in her head stopped, that everything stopped, for a second or two, perhaps ten. She didn’t lose time so much as skip it entirely. He was still above her, still inside her, when she came back. She had no way to know for certain whether she’d been out and for how long—just a knowledge, a certainty, that something had been lost.

  Neve panted, relinquishing the oversensitive pleasure of her clit to wrap her other arm around him. She fancied his tattoos had a texture, though everything about him was smooth over the inhuman hardness underneath.

  And speaking of hardness…

  Lord Mikhail stayed hard in her, opened his red-tinged black eyes to peer down at her with an indeterminable expression. He watched her until she blinked. Then he ran a crooked finger along her cheekbone, an impossibly gentle gesture for such a large, strong man.

  “Hello, Neve. It’s good to see you again.”

  He drew her up to meet him as he dipped down to kiss her again. She was still sluggish, emerging from whatever his feed had done. No longer a starving man consuming his first meal in weeks, he kissed her with slow, sweet deliciousness that warmed her all the way down to her toes. She twitched as though waking up when he moved inside her again, shallow thrusts that caressed her inside, caressed her outside with his skin a whisper against hers.

  He slowly eased them over, with him on his back and her resting against his chest, straddling his hips. She felt like this had been a yoga pose at least once, her knees this close to her chest, but she was too comfortable on top of him to adjust to a more typical position.