Short sex stories

Erotic fiction and short sex stories




Succubus and Incubus

Krystyna stares at me in the pale light of the station café, irises made pure black by her contacts. She is starting to look preternaturally white; we've put off our feed too long this time.

"You're hungry, Krys."

"So are you, you look like a ghost." She stirs her coffee, licks her spoon, her full lips parting for the tip of her forked tongue. She is as exquisite as the day we met, 350 years ago, and I love her. I am also in the extraordinarily rare situation of knowing - with absolute certainty - that she loves me too.

"Him." I gesture to a handsome specimen sat at the bar. Burly, suited and lonely, the aura of his best intentions a golden halo. She shakes her head, sighs and nods to a nervous, pretty traveller woman collecting change.

"Her. I'll do a girl," she whispers.

I bang the table, spoons and cups rattle. "No Krys! I will not have you sacrificing your feed for my feelings."

Krys frowns and sighs. Her trembling has started, there is no time for this and she knows it. Her stomach will be cramping, her sex will be engorged. "Ok," she snaps, "But you're next."

With a slump of inevitability and dread, we approach the man.

#

In the summer of 1662 I was on my annual escape from London's broiling stench, hop-picking in the fields of Kent in exchange for a bunk in one of the sheds, built by the fields for itinerant workers. I was twenty-three, and with a group of bawdy lads who saw it as their duty to pluck hops while sowing seeds in as many of the creamy local girls as possible.

Krystyna, however wasn't local. She was polish, a visiting worker like myself. She blossomed like a fever in me. The feline grace of her features and the strength in her limbs. Her skirts tucked in the top of her underwear and long wheat-coloured curls knotted back off her face.

Soon I couldn't sleep for anticipating her presence. Every sight of her unhinged my knees, as if my body swore fealty of its own accord. I didn't know whether it was the delusion of my obsession or an actual truth - I didn't possess the wits then that I have now - but there in the cool water of her eyes I thought I found a glimmer of the same, for me.

Fate was soon bent to our will, with the supervisor dictating I should work alongside her. After stilted moments of awkward glee, we took up our positions and worked, silently and hard, throughout the day without a pause for any kind of sustenance other than water. This, glugged from a gourd, sharing the same mouthpiece without catching each other's eye. The vigour of our labour, to me, was the purest of all lovemaking. And when the sun was set, our friends had to cajole us off the fields.

That night, around the communal fire before we took to our bunks, Krystyna and I sat reflecting flames at each other as if the rumbustious celebrations around us didn't exist. Hypnotised beyond all awkwardness, I patted the ground by me and she immediately moved to my side, without even a change in her expression. I put my arm around her, pressed her hot body to mine, and our breath settled into step as easily as the dancing around us.

Soon revellers took to bunks, or the woods, and we were alone, watching the fire dim.

"You swim?" she said. This was the first thing the love of my life - of several lives - said to me.

Before retiring, Krys would always take the waters of the lake, to cool and clean off the day's hot toil. She led me, then, to her secret spot without even waiting for an answer. This was a place the locals avoided, and advised us to avoid as well. Krys thought superstitions were for children.

As we stood by the lake, a wicked scythe of a moon dancing over the inky surface, she turned and lifted her face. Her eyes swelled over me, I pressed my mouth to her lips as if diving onto the softest clouds. Our kiss was only broken by the need to remove each other's clothes, plunging into layer after layer and shedding, all but shredding, to our pink cores. Krystyna took my hand and led me into the water, not even the cold silver of moon could cool the vibrancy in the form of her. Strong and soft, slim and curved, my eyes swam over her nakedness well before we were in the water. If I could die, I would take the vision of her round globes, reflected in the rising plane of blackly silvered water, to my grave.

She lifted one side of her lips, in that enigmatic half-smile of hers, as she took in the swollen eagerness between my legs. Our toes squelched in the silky mud and cold water re-vitalised our hot, aching bodies. It stiffened our nipples and the chill made our tongues warm together, as they performed their own slippery embrace alongside our sighs of longing.

She wrapped her legs around my waist, growing hungry in her movements and lifting, rubbing herself on my stomach and chest. I took her rump in my hands and groaned e as I squeezed it, pulling her down onto my rigid staff, and causing her kiss to quake in mouth. She held my face, sucked at my kiss and at my thrust, enveloping me completely in her deep wet heat. The ebb and flow of the water carried her up and down on me inexorably as she peaked in my arms, her breath gasping at my neck, and stifling cries in pressed kisses there.

I believe this is how we called the creature.

Krystyna, joyous after her climax, impishly swooped off into the water, forcing me to chase her for my own release. I swam after her, laughter making me cough and splutter, while my priapism made do with the cooling flow around it in lieu of my lover's attention.

She knew these waters well and we soon came to a flat table of rock in the middle of the lake. She flipped up onto it with ease, lying like a siren while I struggled up too and sat beside her. Her body stretched out below me in the warm summer moonlight, glistening with droplets of water. The hair of her sex laid flat by our swim, it made her mound stand as pert as her breasts. She smiled again at my proud totem and sat up, taking it in her warm hand, unsheathing the head to curious, hungry eyes.

I slid my fingers along the inside of her thighs, parting them, Krystyna moving her knee aside and taking some delight in watching my eyes burrow into her dimly revealed folds. My thumb found no chilly lake water there, just silken warmth, the sensation making my own sex pulse with desire. Krystyna moved her hand slowly and I slid my thumb deep into her. The glorious simplicity of pleasuring whilst being pleasured laying us flat out on the warm rock beside each other, head to toe, making love to each other's eager fingers.

My crisis welled within me, Krystyna's warm hollow suckled at my thumb, our cries poised to overflow our lungs; a shooting star arced across the sky...

And smashed on top of us.

It looked like a woman, naked and sparking with the dust of stars, an angel with serpentine hair. A screech from its lungs like a striking cat. All this we took in from a glimpse, as with impossible strength and speed it pinned us flat, prostrate on us. It rammed a monstrous vulva to my mouth and pushed aside my hand to curl a flickering, serpentine tongue deep into my lover's sex.

Krys screamed. Fear, but also ecstasy, as terror combined with an insane climax to overwhelm her. Our tormenter's hips shoved at my face, liquids trickling down my throat, as she drank Krystyna's arousal. And fed it to me.

I became aware of a rising pulse against my lips. I grabbed at Krystyna's hand and felt the throb in that too. We moaned in step with it, our hearts entangled by the dark delirium of feeding. The creature, this succubus, whirled around above us, smothering poor Krystyna's cries with its sex. Its tongue coiled around my manhood, and pulled me into a blood hot mouth. Pain and pleasure fused, reacted, and exploded. It fed, then, from me. Krystyna syncopated whimpers and gasps as she drank too, and I am ashamed to say I screwed shut my eyes, and sighed. In bliss.

Then it was gone.

I leapt up, shuddering in panic, scanning Krystyna for harm but there were no visible wounds on her or me. Her eyes were closed and she was panting in alarming, animal breaths. I wanted to scream but could not. Then she burst as if from underwater, or being born, and opened her eyes.

"Your face!" she said, her own irises now diamond, glittering and crystalline. And it was daylight, or bright as, the moon illuminating more colours than any summer's day. Our skins rippled with light. The thump of our hearts a deep bassy foreground to the pulse and flutter of every creature around us. And Krystyna's scent, once subtle and beguiling, had now become my lifeline.

#

I wait outside the hotel room, but my senses are so heightened I may as well be standing over Krystyna and the handsome man. I may as well be watching his rapture as Krystyna hardens his naked penis ready to feed, like a junkie bringing up a vein. But it is the pleasure in her noises that eviscerates me. I know them so well, and she can't help it. The desire is in our nature, sex and feeding become one. She is purring, mewling. Excited.

For these few moments, she is in love with this man, and his pleasure is literally, hers. She has him please her with tongue and cock. Now she sucks him, he is muttering, "Oh, oh, oh."

Blocking my ears, shutting my eyes, will make no difference. Our connection is deeper than senses. I tremble. My cramps come. My cock hardens. I make fists until fingernails cut my palms. They must stop. I must feed.

She works him quickly, now, salivating for her meal but also sensing my pain. He roars and she squeals and I grunt as if stabbed. His climax is her climax. The terrible syncopated gasps as she feeds, followed by the headrush of laughter she can never contain.

I collapse to my knees and the door swings open. Krystyna runs out, shining. She presses wet lips to mine and I taste her lover and feel the echoes of his quickened heartbeat in her mouth. It gives me the energy to stand, at least.

"Come, my love," she blusters, squeezing my hand. Hers feverishly hot. "Let's find you a woman."

Then she turns away, so we cannot see each other's tears.Krystyna stares at me in the pale light of the station café, irises made pure black by her contacts. She is starting to look preternaturally white; we've put off our feed too long this time.

"You're hungry, Krys."

"So are you, you look like a ghost." She stirs her coffee, licks her spoon, her full lips parting for the tip of her forked tongue. She is as exquisite as the day we met, 350 years ago, and I love her. I am also in the extraordinarily rare situation of knowing - with absolute certainty - that she loves me too.

"Him." I gesture to a handsome specimen sat at the bar. Burly, suited and lonely, the aura of his best intentions a golden halo. She shakes her head, sighs and nods to a nervous, pretty traveller woman collecting change.

"Her. I'll do a girl," she whispers.

I bang the table, spoons and cups rattle. "No Krys! I will not have you sacrificing your feed for my feelings."

Krys frowns and sighs. Her trembling has started, there is no time for this and she knows it. Her stomach will be cramping, her sex will be engorged. "Ok," she snaps, "But you're next."

With a slump of inevitability and dread, we approach the man.

#

In the summer of 1662 I was on my annual escape from London's broiling stench, hop-picking in the fields of Kent in exchange for a bunk in one of the sheds, built by the fields for itinerant workers. I was twenty-three, and with a group of bawdy lads who saw it as their duty to pluck hops while sowing seeds in as many of the creamy local girls as possible.

Krystyna, however wasn't local. She was polish, a visiting worker like myself. She blossomed like a fever in me. The feline grace of her features and the strength in her limbs. Her skirts tucked in the top of her underwear and long wheat-coloured curls knotted back off her face.

Soon I couldn't sleep for anticipating her presence. Every sight of her unhinged my knees, as if my body swore fealty of its own accord. I didn't know whether it was the delusion of my obsession or an actual truth - I didn't possess the wits then that I have now - but there in the cool water of her eyes I thought I found a glimmer of the same, for me.

Fate was soon bent to our will, with the supervisor dictating I should work alongside her. After stilted moments of awkward glee, we took up our positions and worked, silently and hard, throughout the day without a pause for any kind of sustenance other than water. This, glugged from a gourd, sharing the same mouthpiece without catching each other's eye. The vigour of our labour, to me, was the purest of all lovemaking. And when the sun was set, our friends had to cajole us off the fields.

That night, around the communal fire before we took to our bunks, Krystyna and I sat reflecting flames at each other as if the rumbustious celebrations around us didn't exist. Hypnotised beyond all awkwardness, I patted the ground by me and she immediately moved to my side, without even a change in her expression. I put my arm around her, pressed her hot body to mine, and our breath settled into step as easily as the dancing around us.

Soon revellers took to bunks, or the woods, and we were alone, watching the fire dim.

"You swim?" she said. This was the first thing the love of my life - of several lives - said to me.

Before retiring, Krys would always take the waters of the lake, to cool and clean off the day's hot toil. She led me, then, to her secret spot without even waiting for an answer. This was a place the locals avoided, and advised us to avoid as well. Krys thought superstitions were for children.

As we stood by the lake, a wicked scythe of a moon dancing over the inky surface, she turned and lifted her face. Her eyes swelled over me, I pressed my mouth to her lips as if diving onto the softest clouds. Our kiss was only broken by the need to remove each other's clothes, plunging into layer after layer and shedding, all but shredding, to our pink cores. Krystyna took my hand and led me into the water, not even the cold silver of moon could cool the vibrancy in the form of her. Strong and soft, slim and curved, my eyes swam over her nakedness well before we were in the water. If I could die, I would take the vision of her round globes, reflected in the rising plane of blackly silvered water, to my grave.

She lifted one side of her lips, in that enigmatic half-smile of hers, as she took in the swollen eagerness between my legs. Our toes squelched in the silky mud and cold water re-vitalised our hot, aching bodies. It stiffened our nipples and the chill made our tongues warm together, as they performed their own slippery embrace alongside our sighs of longing.

She wrapped her legs around my waist, growing hungry in her movements and lifting, rubbing herself on my stomach and chest. I took her rump in my hands and groaned e as I squeezed it, pulling her down onto my rigid staff, and causing her kiss to quake in mouth. She held my face, sucked at my kiss and at my thrust, enveloping me completely in her deep wet heat. The ebb and flow of the water carried her up and down on me inexorably as she peaked in my arms, her breath gasping at my neck, and stifling cries in pressed kisses there.

I believe this is how we called the creature.

Krystyna, joyous after her climax, impishly swooped off into the water, forcing me to chase her for my own release. I swam after her, laughter making me cough and splutter, while my priapism made do with the cooling flow around it in lieu of my lover's attention.

She knew these waters well and we soon came to a flat table of rock in the middle of the lake. She flipped up onto it with ease, lying like a siren while I struggled up too and sat beside her. Her body stretched out below me in the warm summer moonlight, glistening with droplets of water. The hair of her sex laid flat by our swim, it made her mound stand as pert as her breasts. She smiled again at my proud totem and sat up, taking it in her warm hand, unsheathing the head to curious, hungry eyes.

I slid my fingers along the inside of her thighs, parting them, Krystyna moving her knee aside and taking some delight in watching my eyes burrow into her dimly revealed folds. My thumb found no chilly lake water there, just silken warmth, the sensation making my own sex pulse with desire. Krystyna moved her hand slowly and I slid my thumb deep into her. The glorious simplicity of pleasuring whilst being pleasured laying us flat out on the warm rock beside each other, head to toe, making love to each other's eager fingers.

My crisis welled within me, Krystyna's warm hollow suckled at my thumb, our cries poised to overflow our lungs; a shooting star arced across the sky...

And smashed on top of us.

It looked like a woman, naked and sparking with the dust of stars, an angel with serpentine hair. A screech from its lungs like a striking cat. All this we took in from a glimpse, as with impossible strength and speed it pinned us flat, prostrate on us. It rammed a monstrous vulva to my mouth and pushed aside my hand to curl a flickering, serpentine tongue deep into my lover's sex.

Krys screamed. Fear, but also ecstasy, as terror combined with an insane climax to overwhelm her. Our tormenter's hips shoved at my face, liquids trickling down my throat, as she drank Krystyna's arousal. And fed it to me.

I became aware of a rising pulse against my lips. I grabbed at Krystyna's hand and felt the throb in that too. We moaned in step with it, our hearts entangled by the dark delirium of feeding. The creature, this succubus, whirled around above us, smothering poor Krystyna's cries with its sex. Its tongue coiled around my manhood, and pulled me into a blood hot mouth. Pain and pleasure fused, reacted, and exploded. It fed, then, from me. Krystyna syncopated whimpers and gasps as she drank too, and I am ashamed to say I screwed shut my eyes, and sighed. In bliss.

Then it was gone.

I leapt up, shuddering in panic, scanning Krystyna for harm but there were no visible wounds on her or me. Her eyes were closed and she was panting in alarming, animal breaths. I wanted to scream but could not. Then she burst as if from underwater, or being born, and opened her eyes.

"Your face!" she said, her own irises now diamond, glittering and crystalline. And it was daylight, or bright as, the moon illuminating more colours than any summer's day. Our skins rippled with light. The thump of our hearts a deep bassy foreground to the pulse and flutter of every creature around us. And Krystyna's scent, once subtle and beguiling, had now become my lifeline.

#

I wait outside the hotel room, but my senses are so heightened I may as well be standing over Krystyna and the handsome man. I may as well be watching his rapture as Krystyna hardens his naked penis ready to feed, like a junkie bringing up a vein. But it is the pleasure in her noises that eviscerates me. I know them so well, and she can't help it. The desire is in our nature, sex and feeding become one. She is purring, mewling. Excited.

For these few moments, she is in love with this man, and his pleasure is literally, hers. She has him please her with tongue and cock. Now she sucks him, he is muttering, "Oh, oh, oh."

Blocking my ears, shutting my eyes, will make no difference. Our connection is deeper than senses. I tremble. My cramps come. My cock hardens. I make fists until fingernails cut my palms. They must stop. I must feed.

She works him quickly, now, salivating for her meal but also sensing my pain. He roars and she squeals and I grunt as if stabbed. His climax is her climax. The terrible syncopated gasps as she feeds, followed by the headrush of laughter she can never contain.

I collapse to my knees and the door swings open. Krystyna runs out, shining. She presses wet lips to mine and I taste her lover and feel the echoes of his quickened heartbeat in her mouth. It gives me the energy to stand, at least.

"Come, my love," she blusters, squeezing my hand. Hers feverishly hot. "Let's find you a woman."

Then she turns away, so we cannot see each other's tears.

and   incubus   succubus  

Jun 15, 2018 in blowjob

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