A Succubus for Saint Patrick's Day and other tales

by M. E. Hydra

  “All ties must be severed for you to begin anew,” she said.

  She lowered her soft lips onto his for a long, sensual kiss. He caught her breath. It smelt like flowers at a funeral home.

  The crying stopped.

  Abruptly.

  Kate ended the kiss and the soft cushions of her lips moved along the line of his jaw before dipping down to nuzzle at his neck.

  He turned his head. Mia and the other girl’s eyes were half-closed as if savoring a delicious dish. Blood stained their mouths and chins. The red stood out against the porcelain-white paleness of their skin.

  Kate’s hands, soft but forceful, turned his head back to look at her. Her full lips formed a seductive pout. Her hips rose up and down with sinuous movements. He felt the soft walls of her sex clench around him and finally McCann was tipped over the threshold Mia’s skilled mouth had held him at for so long. He erupted in an orgasm so shattering all the intimate moments he’d spent with Sharon—even the early ones—were blasted away like pale wisps.

  It was all flowing away from him. He was emptying out, pouring himself out into her darkness, pouring out as he tried to fill a vast cold emptiness that could never be filled, pouring out until that emptiness stole inside him and took root inside his heart, his mind, and the remnants of his soul.

  The same darkness consumed his memories. He was cast out of a side door. He sat in the trash of the alley with his head in his hands—a wretch in a suit.

  There was a business card inserted between his fingers. He stared at it dumbly. They’d done something for him. Something he’d wanted.

  Then why did it feel like a vital part of him had been torn out?

  “You okay there, buddy?”

  McCann looked up. Finally his misfiring memory was able to give him a name and a face. It was his best bud, Jimmy, leaning over the front passenger seat of his car.

  “Get in.”

  McCann stood up and got into the car.

  “It’s the same for everyone,” Jimmy said, “always hurts at first. You’ll get over it.”

  McCann did. Jimmy helped. He took him to the bars, the casinos, all the best parties. Now McCann was the man about town with a different sexy chick on his arm every night. Well, not every night, but often enough for life to be good, and life was very good indeed. He was free. No chains, no dead high-school romances tying him down. Life was a well-lit strip rolling into the distance with a different pretty girl waiting for him in every doorway.

  And he lived happily ever after.

  The end.

  Only it never is...

  A Special Tube of Lube

  The knock on the door came at a little past three on an unexceptional Thursday afternoon. Larry Allen was lounging around upstairs in his underwear when he heard it. He threw on a T-shirt and pair of jeans and rushed downstairs to answer it. It could be anyone—Jehovah’s Witnesses, door-to-door salesmen, the stupid brat from next door asking if he could fetch his ball back. Larry couldn’t exactly answer the door in a dressing gown and manky grey boxers.

  Unless it was Jehovah’s Witnesses. Then it would probably be worth it for the shits and giggles.

  It wasn’t Jehovah’s Witnesses, not unless they’d taken to drawing their new recruits from the local Spearmint Rhino. Which wouldn’t be a bad strategy, come to think of it.

  There were two statuesque young women standing on Larry’s doorstep. One was blonde, the other brunette. They were dressed down in casual clothes, but both had the figures and faces of girls that turned heads. The brunette was carrying a folded-up massage table. The blonde had a bag under her arm that was too large to be a handbag and looked more like what you’d get if Louis Vuitton designed doctor’s bags.

  Larry didn’t seem surprised at their presence on his doorstep. That was because he was expecting them.

  He motioned them inside and lingered in the doorway for a moment while he glanced furtively around the street to see if anyone had noticed their arrival. Larry had a nice little house on a quiet cul-de-sac in suburban dullsville. At this time of day it was like a ghost town. To live in a nice area like this wasn’t cheap. It required both partners to be relatively affluent professionals and that meant navigating the clogged-up suburban rat races into town every morning and evening.

  Unless they were fortunate enough, like Larry, to have special arrangements.

  He saw a curtain twitch in the windows of number 16 across the road.

  Or have a fat pension pot from your husband embezzling the company he’d driven into the ground.

  That would be Andrea Blonigan. Larry didn’t care much for her. Nancy hated that batty old cow even more than he did. The chances of his fiancée learning—and believing—what he got up to this afternoon from Mrs Blonigan were about the same as the Earth falling victim to a catastrophic meteor strike.

  Satisfied there was no-one around to witness his guests’ arrival, Larry closed the front door.

  “You found it okay, then?” he asked.

  “Yes, your directions were most helpful,” the blonde girl replied.

  Larry assumed Erica was Swedish even though he’d never asked. She didn’t have a recognisable accent as such, but she spoke in the precise manner of someone fluent in a language that wasn’t their mother tongue. And there was also that whole thing of being blonde, six foot plus and having a rack you could rest a pint on. The pink cashmere sweater she was wearing was baggy enough to downplay rather than accentuate her natural curves. It was probably deliberate. Dressed in something racier Erica wouldn’t just turn heads, she’d twist them off like bottle tops.

  Her friend could have been a carbon copy, except with chestnut-brown hair rather than blonde.

  “This is Eunice, the friend I was telling you about,” Erica introduced.

  “Lovely to meet you,” Larry said. “I’m Larry.”

  The pair of them glanced at the rooms leading off from the hall.

  “Is the living room fine?” Erica asked.

  “Yeah, should be.”

  “Good, plenty of room.”

  She strode over to the window and whisked the curtains across.

  “Wouldn’t do to have any prying eyes looking in,” she smiled at Larry.

  Tough luck, Mrs Blonigan, Larry thought. The old bat was probably going crazy with curiosity. Let the bitter old hag invent whatever story she liked. No-one ever paid her any attention.

  “Ah, the secrets of what goes on behind closed curtains in cosy suburbia,” Larry said.

  “You’d be surprised,” Eunice said as she set up the massage table in the centre of the room.

  Larry hoped so. Erica had dropped her bag onto one of the armchairs before going across to close the curtains. It had fallen half open and he’d glimpsed the metallic foil glint of a strip of condoms. A thrill of excitement coursed through his body.

  “So how often do you... practise?” he asked.

  “Often,” Erica replied. Her blue eyes glittered mischievously.

  “You can never have too much ’practise’,” Eunice added.

  Larry’s Adam’s apple moved up and down. He couldn’t quite play it completely cool. He looked up at the clock.

  “We’ve got plenty of time,” he said. “Nancy won’t be back from work until at least six-thirty.”

  “Aw, that’s a shame,” Eunice said. “She might have wanted to join in.”

  Knowing Nancy, most definitely not, Larry thought. He loved her a lot, but she paid way too much attention to all that modernist, feminazi bullshit. It didn’t help that her friends were all humourless harpies either.

  “Yeah... right, after tearing my knob and balls off,” Larry said.

  Both Erica and Eunice laughed.

  “Modern women are so possessive,” Erica said.

  “And bloody paranoid,” Larry added. “Always reading too much into every situation.”

  “Exactly,” Erica said. “Now take your clothes off.” She patted the white surface of the massage table.

&nb
sp; Larry pulled down the trousers he’d only put on a few minutes ago. His T-shirt followed. He paused at his boxer shorts.

  Erica and Eunice took off their woollen jumpers and stepped out of their casual jeans. Holy fuck, would you look at those bodies, Larry thought. There was a pair of lingerie models standing in their underwear in his living room. He’d suspected they’d been dressing down to mask their figures, but he hadn’t expected both to be so jaw-droppingly gorgeous. They were all legs and soft, smooth, inviting curves. Had a page from a Victoria’s Secret catalogue come to life in his living room? They wouldn’t have looked out of place there. Hell, they’d have probably shown up most of the other girls. They posed for him, showing off the fantastic curves of their chests and the equally smooth canvasses of their asses. Erica was wearing skimpy pink underwear with lacy trim. Eunice had the same, but in devilish flame red. Both looked hot enough to set the carpet and curtains on fire.

  Erica looked at his boxers and motioned for him to take them off. Larry obliged with a smile. He hadn’t been totally sure what their visit would entail—how far they’d go—and he’d been too afraid to ask directly, but this, and the strip of condoms he’d seen in Erica’s bag, made him a lot more confident the service he thought they might be offering was the same service he hoped they were offering.

  “You joining in?” he asked. Erica and Eunice had made no move to remove their bras and panties.

  “Later,” Erica said.

  “It’s better to draw these things out,” Eunice added. Her words felt like a moist tongue slowly running down his shaft. Already erect, Larry’s dick twitched in eager anticipation.

  Erica patted the surface of the massage table and Larry climbed up and lay on his front. The surface was surprisingly well-padded and soft. Comfy.

  He felt firm hands on the back of his neck. Erica gave the meat of his shoulders some experimental squeezes.

  “You’re very tense. Up here is all knotted up,” Erica said.

  “Stresses of work,” Larry lied.

  Shitty posture while playing too much Call of Duty on his Xbox more like.

  “Are you okay with us using massage oil?” Erica asked.

  “Sure.”

  “Why don’t we use the special cream?” Eunice said.

  “What a splendid idea,” Erica said. “As long as that’s fine with you,” she leaned down to whisper in Larry’s ear.

  “Fine with me,” Larry said. “What’s so special about it?”

  “It has aphrodisiac properties,” Erica whispered close enough for her warm breath to tickle against his earlobe. “Or so they say.”

  “We save it for our... special... clients,” Eunice said. Her hand slid down and lingered against his inner thigh.

  “So I’m ‘special’ now then,” Larry grinned.

  “You’re young and your belly doesn’t hang over the side of the table. Trust me, that’s a vast improvement over our usual clientele,” Erica said.

  Larry laughed. “For now,” he said. “I shouldn’t laugh too much. That’ll probably be me in twenty years time.”

  Working remotely on software while dressed in only a dressing gown and slippers; Xbox; military shooters; playing military shooters under the guise of working remotely on software while dressed in only a dressing gown and slippers—ah, the perils of modern living.

  “So this ‘special’ treatment...” Time to stop pussy-footing about and pop the question. “Just how far does it go?”

  Now Erica was close enough for her soft lips to brush against his ear. “As far as you want it.”

  That sounded like an affirmative.

  He jolted as Eunice tickled the underside of his scrotal sac with a long fingernail.

  Felt like an affirmative as well.

  Both girls giggled. Through the corner of his eye Larry saw Erica walk away and pull something out of her bag. He heard a rude sound. He assumed Erica was squeezing some kind of thick substance out of a tube, but there must be some air caught inside as it came out with a series of burbling squelches that reminded Larry of the lewd sounds of sex organs coming together in the filthier porn flicks. It was oddly arousing. Naughty cream for a naughty massage, he thought with a smile.

  “This might feel a little cool at first,” Erica warned.

  It didn’t. It felt incredibly pleasant—warm and smooth against his skin. Lubricated with a foam of moist cream, Erica’s deft hands glided over his back. His nose caught an aromatic odour. He couldn’t identify it exactly—wildflowers with the hint of something else that caused the hairs on his testicles to pleasantly prickle. The aroma was stronger than he was expecting. That must be the aphrodisiac. He’d have to take a long shower after this to eradicate all traces of the scent. It wouldn’t do to arouse Nancy’s suspicions.

  Eunice joined in and Larry murmured in pleasure as he felt her hands knead the back of his thighs and calves. Erica and Eunice worked in concert—Erica kneading and smoothing out the muscles in his back and neck while Eunice manipulated the muscles of his leg.

  “This is the Four Hands Massage,” Erica said.

  “Ah yes,” Larry said. “The Four Hands Massage you told me you wanted to practise.”

  That was how it all started. A pretty girl in a bar, easy conversation and then a suggestive proposition offered under harmless pretences.

  It was all chance.

  Larry didn’t even go out drinking all that much nowadays. It was a phase of his life he’d left behind. Life had phases and each had their boundary points—leaving home for university, graduating and getting that first job, the first house and the anchor of a mortgage, and a whole bunch of other stuff Larry was trying to put off for as long as possible. Friends became couples, settled down, had kids and became that whole two-point-four-children-and-a-dog cliché. People he used to regularly go drinking with became pictures on a Facebook profile.

  He’d only gone out because of a stupid row with Nancy. She’d asked him to go and pick up a last minute present for one of her harpy friends and he’d forgotten. His fault, but he had too much pride to own up to that and instead berated her for taking advantage of his working conditions. Sure, he got to work remotely from home, but he still had to be at his desk between the hours of nine and six.

  In theory. In reality he’d finished the bug fix assigned to him in the morning, enjoyed a leisurely lunch of greasy bacon sandwiches and then had spent the rest of the day playing Call of Duty.

  He and Nancy had had their stupid row and then he’d hit one of the wine bars in the town centre. David Cohen, an old university friend, was supposed to join him, but he’d texted to say the baby was playing up and he couldn’t make it, leaving Larry sitting alone in the bar like a regular Johnny No-Mates.

  He couldn’t even remember how the conversation with Erica had started. The university fresher model of Larry would have been far too intimidated to approach a woman as stunning as Erica. He supposed it was far easier to chat someone up when you weren’t really thinking about chatting them up. More natural.

  She was a student at the local university. Students got a shitty deal with finances nowadays. To help pay her tuition fees she worked on the side as a masseuse.

  Larry couldn’t remember if he’d twigged right away what she’d meant by ‘masseuse’, or whether that came later.

  Erica had mentioned she had a friend equally as attractive as her and that they were looking for a volunteer to practise a special ‘Four Hands’ massage on. Would he be interested?

  Larry had taken her card and told her he’d think about it.

  A couple of days later he’d given her a ring.

  And now he was lying on a massage table in his own living room while two bombshell amazons dressed in nothing but their underwear rubbed their hands all over his body. Life was so hard.

  Erica and Eunice were lying when they said they needed practise. Larry felt their hands all over his body and they knew exactly what they were doing.

  Erica started down his left arm while
Eunice lightly flexed the joints of his right foot. His foot came into contact with something soft and he realised Eunice was pressing it against the ample swell of one of her breasts. Larry cheekily tried to tickle his toes against her. Eunice one-upped him by lifting his foot higher and sucking on his toes.

  Their description of themselves as ‘masseuses’ definitely needed inverted commas.

  Eunice moved onto his other foot while Erica moved down his arm and gently manipulated the bones in his hand. After moving around the table to do the same to his other hand she returned her attentions to his back. With the flat of her hand she pressed down and outwards along Larry’s sides. It wasn’t all force. She leant over him close enough for him to feel the soft bulges of her breasts against his back as her hands danced up his spine on deft fingers. Eunice did the same along his inner thighs. Larry was amazed at how synchronised they were. They worked in tandem—squeezing at the same time, kneading at the same time, tickling their fingers over his skin at the same time. It felt like he was being massaged by one person with four hands rather than two people. It was a fantastic experience. Sure, he’d received sport’s massages in the past, but that was like comparing crude agricultural machinery with a Lamborghini. He was surrounded by the familiar comfortable glow of having his muscles loosened and unknotted, but he also felt a strange kind of static electricity—an erotic charge—crackling above his skin.

  “Turn over,” Erica said. She gave him a playful slap on his buttock.

  Larry did as he was told. Eunice placed a cylindrical cushion under his neck to support his head. They stood on either side of the table and level with his waist. Normal masseuses would have covered his crotch with a towel, but he’d already worked out they were ‘masseuses’ in the adult euphemism of the word.

  Erica and Eunice shared a smile.

  “What do you think, Eunice, should we unveil the goodies?”

  “I think that would be an excellent idea,” Eunice replied.

  Larry thought so too.

  Their hands went behind their back and unhooked their flimsy bras. They took their time, slowly peeling the fabric away to reveal boobs that were every bit as perfect as Larry imagined them to be. He stared at firm pink globes topped with dainty pink nipples with a grin as wide as a kid given the keys to a sweet shop.