Nadia Nightside's Best of 2015

by Nadia Nightside

  But she only smiled up at him. A wicked, devilish thing. “Do you promise?”

  She was no fallen angel. She was a succubus, brought up from the depths to torment him. It was the only explanation.

  Very well. If she was a demon, he would exorcise her from his mind and his body forever after.

  He powered his throbbing manhood into her mouth, fucking her brutally. Enjoying the pained, pleasured moans that she let out. Other men fucked her from behind, pushing her all the way to the ground. Her body contorted so that one man could enter her asshole while another fucking into her tight young pussy. Abigail loved all of it.

  Excited from so many watching him, from finally fucking this demoness who had tempted him for so long, he chose not to hold out long in his cumming. He wanted more. He wanted to fuck her body everywhere. He unleashed with a hot, quick series of spurts in her mouth, loading down her tongue and throat with much of his cum.

  But he wanted more, now.

  Exiting her mouth, another man entered it right after, and Abigail’s cum-soaked tongue slid around his cock in a torrent of fever-pitch fellatio. Moaning and cooing for more.

  After he came, he was still rock hard. Her body was too perfect. He wanted her again. He’d take her as many times as he wanted. He was the boss, wasn’t he? He was the leader of the Cauldron. He was the fucking king of this town. He shoved a soldier, Garner, back from her asshole, pushing him out roughly. Garner stumbled and rose back up, annoyed, but a harsh look from Brall kept him at bay. The smaller man satisfied himself with stroking his cock on the sidelines, looking on, grabbing her tits and rubbing her back as he edged himself to climax.

  Brall thrust back inside Abigail—into that tightest of spaces, her tiny little asshole. It had been spread open already by Garner—but Brall pumped deeper into it still. The cum and precum of the former fucker lubricated his entrance, and he pounded inside her.

  “Fuck you,” Brall grunted. “Fucking...fuck you...”

  Abigail moaned with ceaseless enthusiasm.

  That was good. All fine by Brall. He’d fucked girls into loving him in the past. Always, he had worn through them in days or weeks. Tiring them out or getting tired of them. All the better to do it to Abigail—to exhaust her possibilities for him. If she fell in love with him, all the better. He wanted to rip her heart out for making him do this to her. To Robin.

  His hands groped up and down her body, joining the hands of five or six other men as they felt up her tits, squeezed her luscious thighs and ass. Her entire body covered over with manly grips. She was made for this, made for abusing and fucking just like this.

  Brall couldn’t hold on. He didn’t want to.

  “Yeah,” he grunted. “Gonna...yeah...”

  He erupted inside her body in a long shuddering orgasm. This one more triumphant than the last—given after so much effort and care and thrusting. Beneath him, he felt Abigail quivering with her own orgasm as her body was overloaded with hot goo, a white flood of perfection that melted right through to her core. Brall, heaving and laughing slightly, slid out from her.

  But it wasn’t over. Abigail held her asshole high, even as it dripped with Brall’s cum.

  “More!” Abigail cried.

  It was beyond belief. Brall had given her everything he had. Shrugging, he waved on another two men. They would tire her out, soon enough, and she would be indoctrinated all the way.

  The Family would hear about this. What Brall had done to Abigail. It would mean war.

  He approached Carthage, smiling on the sidelines, a woman kneeling and sucking his cock. Miranda again.

  “Whenever she’s done,” Brall said to him, “you tell her she’s in.”

  Then, he began the walk back to Temple and his tent.

  Wars needed generals; generals needed plans.

  Other Books In This Series:

  Gang Up: Lust War

  Gang Up: The Big Gang Theory

  # # #

  Revenge On His Hot Assistants

  Warren loses his job, his wife, his sister, and his associates in one fell swoop...and then he finds the magic watch, and things start to turn around. Like any reasonable man, he quickly learns that the best thing to do with a watch capable of entrancing anyone is to use it to collect himself a harem of the most beautiful, fertile, snobby girls he knows—and make them all eagerly obedient to his every erotic wish. This saga continues in “Revenge On His Snobby Household” and “Revenge On His Unfaithful Wife,” in which Warren collects the crown jewels of his harem—his spectacularly endowed sister and his heartbreakingly beautiful, estranged, arrogant wife.

  Gorgeous women. Three of them. All kneeling in front of Warren, chanting his name in admiration. In worship.

  They wanted him. By god, they all wanted him.

  His body, tall and layered with dense muscle, felt electric. It wasn’t just lust. Of course there was that, as he was going to fuck each and every one of these beauties until they were overflowing with his unprotected seed. But it was more than that—it was power. Pride. Fulfillment. He deserved this. He had earned their adoration.

  Their beautiful bodies were encased in tiny lace lingerie. Supple, hot breasts showcased just for his enjoyment. No one else. No one else had earned this—it was just for him. Their eyes were frantic with lust, watching him slowly take off his pants.

  At the moment of the big reveal, the moment they saw his cock, each of them gasped in awe. They had seen it before, of course. But it still amazed them. The size. The thickness, the length, the way it hardened so quickly.

  And they thought all of this—they knew all of this to be absolutely true—because he had made them think it. All three of these perfectly gorgeous creatures were absolutely and totally under Warren’s control. He had reshaped their thoughts, reformed their minds, and re-wrapped their every atom until they were living, breathing totems of devotion to his Will. Their pussies would only ever cum for him for the rest of their days.

  His cock rose proudly, veins throbbing. Precum slid out, glistening over the head. Each loveslave before him moaned, licking her lips, hoping to be the honored vessel who took the first taste of the day of his cum.

  Warren was born to be a showman. He’d known it since he was very young.

  He was going to give these girls a show they’d never forget.

  * * * * *

  Just thirty-six hours before that messy, depraved scene, Warren arrived at his small workshop early in the morning on Monday. The weather outside was cool, and he wore a light jacket over his sweater, hoping it would be enough to keep him warm all through the day. A cold front was expected toward the afternoon, but he had forgotten all about it until he had driven halfway to work.

  His focus layered on the incumbent cold to take his mind off the mess of his professional life. He had a show this Saturday, and he was resting all his future on it.

  One big success. That’s all it will take. Just one good house and I can pay down the loan in good faith.

  Loans. Pay down the loans.

  God, but wasn’t that depressing. His life’s goal—the one thing that would relieve all the stress he felt right now—would to be able to begin to pay down his loans. Not to pay them down completely. Not to be rich, or have a nice house, or to run shows in Vegas and Los Angeles and New York—no, none of that.

  Just one big show to pay down the massiveness that was his debt.

  His workshop was a small place located at the corner of an industrial district deep in the inner-workings of Alder City. It was not an ideal place for a magician’s workshop, as the placement made commutes long and the trips he needed to make—trips for supplies to rehearse with or use in shows, or lunches with suppliers to lower prices down the line, or drinks with theater owners to maybe get a few points on the house take—were always made longer. And longer trips meant more time away from rehearsal and his ever-more-disagreeable assistants, Belle and Katie.

  But, the rent was cheap. The rent was affordable. Or it would be, if W
arren had anything closely resembling a living wage from his life’s work as a stage hypnotist and magician.

  All around the workshop, then, were factories and distribution warehouses. He regularly had to swerve out of the way of truck drivers as he arrived. The workshop was squat and gray, several cloudy windows dotting the parameter of its surface.

  Directly inside was a small office where nothing ever got done, no matter how he badgered Belle and Katie to work on inventory and dates for shows. At the rear of the first office were two doors. One led to his own office, where he lamented over his deplorable finances. The other led to the workshop area proper, where he and his assistants rehearsed shows in front of an audience of broken assembly-line machines that Warren couldn’t afford to have taken away.

  Surprisingly, Katie and Belle sat in the front office, waiting on him. Usually, they were late.

  Belle was a positively gorgeous young woman. Her thick dark hair was tied up in a loose ponytail that slipped down one side of her face. Her hair was dense and soft and shiny, made for gripping during desperate gasps for life in the deepest, hottest, most brutal ruts that a man could imagine. Her face, all cheekbones and bright blue eyes, dripped complete haughty distaste in a fashion that only the most beautiful of women can do. Her body was tight, toned by hours and hours of kickboxing and pilates (which of course, she dragged Katie to—she had a horrible fear of being alone), and her bust had been “enhanced” some years before when she thought it would help her acting career.

  It didn’t, but it certainly caught Warren’s attention. She possessed a whopping pair of 36E tits, enough to catch most men’s interest. He’d desperately tried to fuck her before settling with just having her work for him, and occasionally—shamelessly—hitting on her every day. Over the past five or six months, he’d stopped hitting on her, if only because his lack of good pay had fast eroded any good will Belle once felt for him.

  Katie was sort of the opposite of Belle. Friendly, down-to-earth. She looked like a surfer girl, with long dirty blond hair that shimmered as she moved in the early part of the day, but would tangle into thick knots and rope-like braids as the hours of rehearsal stretched on. Her smile was easy, her body sensationally slim, and with a much more modest bust than Belle’s at 34B. The two were dear, good friends, though from time to time Warren got the feeling that Katie would love it if Belle wanted more than that. But Belle was either too firmly heterosexual or—as Warren suspected—to firmly asexual to care.

  It was strange. He’d never encountered someone with so much pure physical beauty and so little sensuality as Belle. Sex was too light and frivolous an activity for her. She was all hard edges and discomfort.

  It was a real shame. He’d have fucked her rotten in an instant—the both of them, really—wife be damned.

  Warren would never admit it—to anyone, ever—but Belle was hired largely because of her similarity in appearance to his wife, Melinda, who in turn looked remarkably similar to his stepsister Joan. There was a whole nest of forbidden, hot taboo lust snakes curled around the roots of Warren’s heart. The thoughts were intimately his, and he would have been lying if he said that Joan’s face did not haunt him in his most private orgasmic thoughts.

  But they were his private orgasmic thoughts, and as no one had ever called him on his choice of wife or assistants—they were positively gorgeous, after all—he rather thought he was getting away with something.

  Besides, he thought often—Joan had dark green eyes. Melinda’s were more light green, and Belle’s were blue. They were all very different.

  He had no sooner set his bag on the front office desk than did Belle sit down at the small folding chair across from it, arms crossed. She adjusted her skirt only briefly, not seeming to care overmuch that Warren had started to leer at her tanned legs. Her sweater was unbuttoned by necessity, revealing much of her overflowing cleavage. Behind her, Katie stood like an attendant, wearing tight leather pants and a hoodie that highlighted her slender, fae-like form.

  “Katie and I have some concerns.”

  Uh oh. He knew what this meant. Namely, that Belle had some concerns.

  He smiled. “I’m always willing to listen to constructive criticism.”

  “See, that’s the thing. There’s not a lot to be constructive about. That implies that something can be built again. Salvaged. I don’t think it can. Our take—Katie and I's—from the house has gone down for the past six months.”

  “Of course, of course.” He began to drink from his water bottle. “This economy, you know. It’s not doing anyone any favors—”

  “And your take has remained steady. I looked at the books.”

  He coughed, water sputtering. For the first time since arriving, he noticed (with some embarrassment, a showman was supposed to be attentive, after all) that his office door was ajar.

  “I-I see. Well. You have to understand, my income is the business’s income. What you get paid is derived from a series of equations, and...”

  He trailed off. She wasn’t buying it.

  The truth was that the only reason his income had remained steady and theirs had decreased was because if he gave himself less money, then the rent on his apartment with Melinda and the rent for the workshop would have nowhere to come from. He was a magician, it was true, but he couldn’t just make money appear from nothing. Instead, he used the next best thing—loans from the bank. And a few other less reputable sources.

  Belle and Katie’s salary had become token as a matter of course. Warren made exactly zero dollars of actual profit. At least the two of them could get by on what he squeezed from their “revenue” from the loans. If he had his druthers—and what druthers he had—he’d pay the two girls top dollar. They did, he would openly admit, absolutely deserve the very best in pay. Thus far, he’d been lucky to keep them around. Their patience and dedication to his skill humbled him quite a bit.

  Or, it had, anyway. Up until a few months ago. Then Belle started getting really nasty.

  “We have a proposition for you, Warren,” said Katie, smiling. “We really think it’s best for everyone.”

  “I’m listening.”

  Belle squeezed her partner’s arm. Katie looked at her with quick flashes of lust, remembering to correct herself only after a moment.

  “Katie has become something of an expert in card tricks,” said Belle.

  “I’ve noticed. She’s tremendous. A great asset to our venture.”

  “And my illusions are strong enough to carry a show all on their own.”

  The standard set-up of their shows was that Katie would do a card trick or two to warm up the crowd. Belle would get them going with a few illusions, usually with Katie as her assistant, and then Warren would come out at the end and wow everyone with his own illusions and then really send it all home with a little hypnotism. Shows were just over an hour.

  “Ladies,” he shook his head. “If you think that you can carry this show on yourself, then by all means, feel free to try.”

  “That’s exactly what we’re proposing, Warren. We’re done with you.”

  He coughed once again. That bluff had worked in the past. He supposed that was the problem with bluffs, though. Short shelf life.

  “No matter the problems between us,” he tried again, “I’m sure we can come to some form of restitution. I know that business is on a downturn, but that’s only to be expected. If you’ll just stick with me for a few more shows, I know—”

  Belle rapped her knuckles sharply. “We don’t want to work for you anymore, got it?”

  “W-what?”

  “We don’t like it. We never did. We don’t like the way you leer at our bodies. We don’t like how you make us wear those ridiculous outfits. All those idiotic feathers and sequins. We don’t like how your shows don’t draw. And frankly, Warren, we just don’t care for you.”

  Warren had nothing to say in response, and even Belle looked rather surprised at her own vitriol.

  He gathered his dignity.
/>   “There's nothing keeping you here. And no one. You want to go? You can go.”

  And so she got up and left, snapping for Katie to follow.

  Katie simpered out an apologetic smile. “She was a bit meaner than I would have liked, but we really do apprec—”

  From outside, Belle shouted in. “Katie!”

  Her car was starting up. Katie's face squirmed.

  “Coming!”

  The hot, goofy blonde stood up and ran out to catch up with her worse half. Warren was left alone, in the workshop, hands on his forehead, trying to work out what to do next.

  * * * * *

  After some time sitting in the silence of his workshop, Warren decided finally to go home. Maybe Melinda would have an idea of what to do. Maybe she would even volunteer to work for him again. God, that would be something. He’d been a fan of many women in his time, but on a good day (which was most days for his wife), Melinda put them all to shame.

  Excepting, maybe, Joan.

  There was a race he'd pay to see.

  He pushed those thoughts aside as he got back in his car and began his long drive home. The traffic was light enough, being the middle of the day.

  Despite all evidence to the contrary—all the money he owed, all the women he lusted after—Warren thought himself a rather simple man with a simple enough dream.

  Being a stage hypnotist, a performer, was his dream.

  Clean, straightforward. That was it. To do that and make money off of it.

  But the crowds—they wanted something else, always. Something more. He made compromises.

  Learn a little magic, he told himself. Just to ease them into the hypnotist act. And he did. Hire a few assistants. Let them do some nice sideshows for a while. Draw them in with a little flagrant tits and ass, and then he could do what he did best.

  Do the show in a smaller venue. Work your way up.

  Do the show less often. Make them really wait, really anticipate for the show.

  All of these compromises were borne from his situation—he ran a show that apparently no one wanted to see—and none of them preceded more success. His patience wore thin. So did his wife’s.