by M. E. Hydra
Like an intravenous drip they flooded his tissues with life-giving liquids. The breasts slowly swelled and ebbed, squirting a warm liquid into Phil’s body that filled him with luxurious pleasure. His whole body was limp as he lay in the woman’s embrace.
Not a woman. A succubus. Nurse Honey. The daemoness with the face of an angel.
He was in Nurse Honey’s embrace.
Phil felt a shiver of fear. He knew she would restore him, but the eventual cost would be his soul. Was this the time she’d claim him? Panicking, he struggled to free himself from her cloying embrace.
“Shh,” Nurse Honey breathed softly in his ear. “Relax and let me pump life back into your body.”
Phil went limp again as her soft breasts squeezed more heavenly warmth into his cold tissues. Her soft lips met his for a tender kiss. His heart began to pump with greater vigour as the plush lips of her labia parted around his cock and he was drawn up into the honeyed well of her pussy. He lost the desire to fight as the soft walls of her vagina squeezed around his cock and rubbed her sticky fluids into his skin. Nurse Honey gently shifted position and her cunt pulsed as it flooded his engulfed cock with a bubble of thick, viscous honey. Warm fluids oozed out of her pussy and dribbled down his balls in thick dollops.
“Yes, let it out,” Nurse Honey whispered in his ear.
Phil’s muscles tensed and he felt blessed relief as he ejaculated into the liquid warmth of her vagina. Part of his essence spurted out with his seed and he felt it drift into Nurse Honey’s body. He didn’t experience the feeling of loss for long before Nurse Honey’s breasts pulsed again and her energy poured into him.
Phil was trapped in a constant cycle of bliss. Her body was hooked into his. He couldn’t escape the secretions she pumped into his body and didn’t want to. They were a drug he couldn’t bear to survive without. He was dependent on her totally, as helpless as a foetus still attached to its mother’s placenta.
Phil came again and sank deeper into the cycle. The pleasure completely swamped him.
Nurse Honey lightly kissed him on the forehead.
“You need to be careful now, fledgling,” she whispered in his ear. “You have run up too high a debt. The next time you call on me will be the last.”
Rocked by gentle ripples of pleasure, Phil sank into oblivion.
Phil flickered in and out of consciousness. He heard voices raised in anger.
“Do you always have to be so greedy?”
“I wanted to show him.”
“You nearly killed him!”
“He’s going to die anyway.”
“He might not.”
“They always die. You know that. They can’t help themselves.”
“How long”
“Not long. Nurse Honey said this was the last time. The next time she’ll take his soul.”
“And the conjunction is coming...”
“He won’t survive.”
“I know.”
“If we don’t, Mamǝḵā Bēyˁṯān will claim his soul anyway. What’s the greater kindness?”
“I know. I...”
“You are silly. I keep telling you not to get so attached to them. It always makes you so upset when you have to kill them.”
“I can’t help it. He’s our—”
Phil slipped back into unconsciousness.
111: ACCEPTANCE I
Phil woke up to see Cέrμləa standing at the foot of the bed. Light shone in through the window. If anything, the sky seemed even more pink than usual. Again it made him think about the soft flesh between a woman’s thighs. He knew it wasn’t him; it was the carnal influence of the succubi’s castle. It was growing stronger, like a charge was gradually building in the atmosphere.
Cέrμləa was in her young girl form. She looked like a girl of around nine or ten, a girl who also possessed horns, wings, tail and ruby-red eyes. Sometimes those red eyes hinted at experience measured in centuries. Other times, like now, they looked as innocent as the young girl she appeared to be. Currently she was carrying an old tome almost as big as she was.
“Would you like to come and study with me?” she asked shyly.
“Study? Is that all?” Phil asked.
“Yes.” She turned her eyes down to look at the floor. “Unless you want it to be more.”
“No no no,” Phil said hurriedly. “Studying is fine.”
Cέrμləa looked up and smiled, her eyes bright. She took Phil’s hand and skipped as she led him through the castle.
“I didn’t know daemons had to study magic,” Phil said as they walked along unfamiliar corridors.
“Well, we’re succubi, so we have certain innate magic abilities,” Cέrμləa said, “but we can also learn other magic as well. It’s really hard though. We’re always amazed at how fast some of you humans pick it up. Then I suppose your bodies and minds are so fragile it shouldn’t be such a surprise you’re always in a rush with everything.”
Phil didn’t exactly feel like he’d been picking up magic particularly quickly. If he’d learnt more then maybe he wouldn’t now be currently trapped in hell.
“Here’s our little library,” Cέrμləa said, pushing open a heavy wooden door.
It was a library, but it wasn’t little.
Phil’s jaw dropped. Row upon row of musty old books marched into the distance. Light shone down through narrow slits in the left hand wall. Dust motes glinted in the shafts of daylight as they were stirred up into frenetic dance.
“It’s large,” Phil said. He didn’t think the main library at Wargsnouts was this big.
“Really?” Cέrμləa said. “I think I might have read all of these at one point. Then I forgot them. So now I read them all over again.”
She skipped over to a shelf and put her book back. She skipped across to another shelf and pulled another book off it. The book was thick and looked like it had been rescued from a burning house. It looked singed.
“Basic fire magic,” Cέrμləa said.
She carried the book and put it down in the centre of one of the beams of light. She opened it out and her lips moved soundlessly as she read the words on the page.
“Flambastinaa!” she cried.
She smiled as yellow flames flickered up and down her hand. Abruptly they turned blue and then flickered out with a poof.
“Oh wuzzlenuts,” Cέrμləa said. “My fire magic never works properly.” She looked up at Phil and smiled sweetly. “Can you help me?”
“I’d like to,” Phil replied, “but I’m not sure I can. I was only a first year student at Wargsnouts. We weren’t allowed to practise any offensive magic.”
“Really?” Cέrμləa said. All of a sudden her red eyes flashed and Phil was staring into the gaze of someone very old and very cunning. “So exactly who was it that burnt that huge smouldering crater in Verdé’s garden?”
“Well...um...” Phil stammered. He still didn’t really know how that had happened.
“Come and read with me,” Cέrμləa said, her eyes once again young and innocent.
Phil followed her finger as she ran it under the text. He didn’t even need to speak the words aloud. As he read them something seemed to click in his mind, like a door opening deep within the folds of his brain. He read and the next thing he knew he smelt burning and heard crackling. He looked down and saw his hand was on fire.
His hand was on fire!
Phil jumped back in panic and shook his hand frantically in an attempt to put the fire out. Cέrμləa watched on and shook her head in exasperation. Phil kept shaking his hand and while the flames grew smaller in size, they didn’t go out. Then he paused. He didn’t feel any pain. The flames weren’t actually burning him.
Phil stopped his frantic movements. He felt a little foolish.
The flames grew again and flickered over his hand and wrist. Phil watched them in wonder. Instead of consuming his flesh the flames were feeding off something else, something inside him. His psyche maybe, or possibly his soul.
“
That’s it,” Cέrμləa said. “Now concentrate it into a ball you can throw.”
The flames flickered and coalesced into a small ball in Phil’s hand. It had mass. He could toss it up and down and catch it.
“Perfect,” Cέrμləa said. “Soon we’ll be able to set that mean old Rosa’s tail on fire.”
That didn’t strike Phil as a particularly good idea. He’d already seen the size of the fireballs Rosa liked to toss around.
And thinking of bad ideas, Phil suddenly realised he was casually tossing up and down a ball of fire in a room filled with very old and very dry books.
“Um, don’t you think it’s a little dangerous to be practising fire magic in here?” Phil said, looking at all the books.
“If a book can’t protect itself, it’s not worth having,” Cέrμləa said.
Phil didn’t want to put that theory to the test so he let the flames slowly dissipate. It was like turning off a valve in his mind.
Cέrμləa suddenly paused, her attentions elsewhere as her ears pricked up.
Phil sensed it too. A subtle distortion in the air of the castle.
He might have felt a little pleased with himself for sensing it, but the booming voice that rang out afterwards rendered it all moot in any case.
“Ladies! Show yourselves, for your Romeo has arrived!”
The voice was male.
Another warlock, Phil thought, excitement surging through him. And this one sounded experienced. He sounded like he’d been here before and had survived to come back.
Which meant he knew how to get home.
Cέrμləa pulled a face and stuck out her tongue. She obviously didn’t share Phil’s enthusiasm for their visitor.
They both crept out of the library and into one of the main halls. The warlock stood at the far end. He was short, portly and very hairy. Long bristles protruded from his nostrils and ears. His face had the ruddy complexion of someone who was a little too fond of the finer things in life. He wore elaborate black robes lined with luxurious black fur.
As the warlock walked towards them, Cέrμləa reached up and lightly tapped Phil on the head. He suddenly felt a little giddy and light-headed but, other than a lingering feeling of oddness, the moment soon passed. He stepped out of the shadows to approach the warlock.
Help, I’m trapped here. Can you send me back to Earth?
No sounds emerged from Phil’s mouth.
The warlock looked over him and Cέrμləa and licked a moist tongue over rubbery lips.
Phil tried again.
The succubi are going to kill me. Get me out of here!
Again no sounds emerged.
“Aww, an ickle succubus and incubus,” the warlock said. “How cute. How delectable.”
Cέrμləa smiled politely and curtsied.
Phil tried to speak again and failed.
Incubus? No, I’m human. Take me back with you.
“Slake, why waste your time on such unripe fruit when you could be experiencing the buxom charms of my full, womanly figure?”
Phil looked up and saw Nurse Honey descending a flight of stairs behind them. She was wearing long flowing white robes with fur trim and looked absolutely radiant. She walked down the stairs with the class of an old movie star, her long blonde hair shimmering in the light.
“Ah Honey,” the warlock, Slake, said. “Delectable Nurse Honey, gorgeous Nurse Honey, irresistible Nurse Honey, exactly the succubus I was looking for.”
Spittle flecked Slake’s lips as he ogled Nurse Honey.
“What pleasures would you like today?” she asked in a voice as soft as silk.
“Ah, well, you see,” Slake started. “Through no fault of my own I appear to have become embroiled in a little spat with a colleague of mine, a most odious and disagreeable little fellow. When you reach such a distinguished age as I, these little arguments can become so draining.”
“So you’d like another one of my special revitalising massages,” Nurse Honey said.
“Absolutely, my dear,” Slake replied. “One of your exquisite sticky massages is just what I need to recharge the cells so I can show this bounder what for.”
“Mmm, and I’m just in the mood to get really really sticky with someone,” Nurse Honey purred.
“Don’t go away you pair,” Slake said, turning to Phil and Cέrμləa. “You both look absolutely scrumptious. After Nurse Honey’s got me all perked up again I think I might come down and gobble you both up.” He grabbed his crotch and gave it a good pull.
Phil suddenly felt quite queasy.
Slake ruffled Phil’s hair and horns and then walked by to where Nurse Honey waited at the foot of the stairs. He slipped an arm around her waist and together they walked up the stairs. About halfway up Nurse Honey looked back and shared a glance with Cέrμləa.
Horns?
Phil reached up. There were two little hard bumps sticking out of his forehead. He withdrew his hand in shock. A bigger shock awaited him when he tried to walk and looked down to realise his feet had been replaced with cloven hooves. His legs were covered in fine, downy hair. He looked up at Cέrμləa, his eyes wide open.
“You look very fetching as a lesser incubus,” Cέrμləa said, her red eyes twinkling. She snapped her fingers and suddenly Phil could speak again.
“What have you done to me?” he said.
“You were going to ask the warlock to take you back to Earth with him.”
“Yes,” Phil admitted. “I’m going to die if I stay here.”
“Slake might have done it,” Cέrμləa said, “but then you would have been in his debt. Slake is not a person you would want to be in debt to.”
“But at least I’d be alive,” Phil said.
That ancient wisdom suddenly flashed in Cέrμləa’s eyes again.
“It wouldn’t be a life you’d want,” she said.
No, it probably wouldn’t, Phil thought, remembering the look of naked hunger in the warlock’s eyes. There was a man who saw the world as his own private playroom. Switching life as a plaything of the succubi for life as a plaything of a different master wasn’t any escape at all.
“Oh hurry!” Cέrμləa said, a child again. “I’m supposed to take you up to Nurse Honey’s quarters so you can see.”
She grabbed his hand and pulled him down another corridor. Phil struggled to keep up. He wasn’t used to running on hooves.
Cέrμləa noticed.
“Oops,” she said, before lightly tapping him on the head.
Again Phil experienced a temporary moment of light-headedness. When it passed he was restored to his old self. No horns or hooves.
“Come on,” Cέrμləa said, grabbing his hand as they resumed their dash through the back corridors of the castle.
Phil had no idea where they were or where they were going. Cέrμləa took him down a maze of narrow corridors and crawlspaces. Finally they reached their destination. Cέrμləa pushed aside a painting to reveal a hidden space behind. She crawled up inside and Phil followed. He found himself in a small dark room. Once the picture swung back, the only light came from a long horizontal crack in the far wall.
“Wh—” Phil started.
Cέrμləa put a finger on his lips to shush him. She gestured and sparkling lights appeared on all the walls. The radiance was only there for a short time before it sank beneath the old stonework.
“There, they won’t be able to hear us now.” she said.
“They?”
“Look.” Cέrμləa said.
Phil crawled up to the far wall and peered through the crack. The room beyond was lit with soft white light. Strips of white material were stretched across the walls like bandages of latex. It suited the room, which looked clean, sanitary and maybe a little too sterile. A large massage table, the only furniture, stood in the centre of the room. There was a hole for the head to rest and the white surface looked far plusher than tables Phil had previously seen, admittedly only in infomercials on TV, back on Earth.
