Дэвид Уоллес - Island of Fog and Death

Owain cried out again, and she felt him spasming beneath her. “I’m the succubus,” she breathed. “I’m the apex predator, and you’re the prey.” She stretched her arms out, brushed his hair aside, and pressed her fingers into his temples, directing the surging energy of his orgasm into herself. She synchronised her brain with his, bringing him totally in thrall to her, and drew out and consumed his life.

“Goodbye, Owain,” she whispered. She closed her eyes, and luxuriated in the sensations of the moment. Finally she stood, and went out naked and smiling into the night to join Maxwell.

Tori had entered the VW camper, gloriously naked, on a gust of aphrodisiacal pheromones that had instantly aroused Maxwell.

At first, their love-making had followed the usual path – Maxwell was gentle, caring and considerate, doing all he could to give Tori pleasure even as she gave enjoyment back. Things changed. Tori gradually ramped up her mental influence, pushing ideas into Maxwell’s head and damping down his own willpower. He was not sure how it had happened, but it dawned on him that Tori was in control, that she had drawn him into more energetic – almost violent – copulation, and that he could not stop himself. He found himself gripping her hair and ramming his member into her face in time with her grunts and slaps against his backside, and then howling aloud as he spurted copiously into her throat while her laughter set up vibrations that coursed through his soul. As he pulled himself out, he realised that he had just orgasmed for the fourth – or was it the fifth? – time. And as soon as she breathed her spicy scent onto him, his cock instantly lost its temporary flaccidity, jutting, rock hard and ready. He wondered, briefly, how this could be, before Tori’s searching fingers probed into him from behind and his rationality was blown away by animalistic lust.

He had scarcely noticed when Tori took him across the fuzzy boundary that separated pleasure from pain. She bit his chest, his nipples, his earlobes; he bit her neck, her fingers, her breasts. She smacked the head of his cock and he spanked her backside. She ravished the puckered opening behind him with all her fingers while Maxwell’s teeth drew blood from her hard nipples. He was lost in a fog of lust, with just a vague notion at the back of his head telling him that this, surely, could not be natural. But he was Tori’s thrall; he was incapable of sustaining rational thought

And, of course, it was not natural.

It had been a long time since Tori had last thrown caution to the wind and let her succubus nature fully indulge itself. She rarely had both the time and suitable prey to let her spend a whole night – and more – stoking the flames of lust with her scent and her mind control, consuming the wonderfully delicious energy released by her victim in the throes of orgasm, again and again. The human body was normally incapable of more than an hour or so of sustained passion before shutting down, but the scents and secretions of the succubus sent the male physiology into sexual overdrive. The body cannibalized its own tissues to produce hormones, fluids and energy that sustained its sex drive, that generated lust, that was siphoned off and consumed by the succubus, that stimulated her prey to continue the process, and continue it would, over and over, until the victim had been drained. For too long Tori had been forced to get by on the equivalent of snacks and fast food; but tonight she was taking her time, without fear of interruption, and enjoying a sumptuous banquet that was sending her into ecstasy.

She was not, however, so lost in pleasure that she took her feeding to the obvious conclusion: death. She wanted Maxwell alive. Dawn had already broken when she judged that Maxwell’s metabolism was incapable of being drained further, and she let him rest. She lay beside him, replete and very, very satisfied.

Some time later, she felt Maxwell stir. She propped herself on one elbow and studied him carefully. She smiled to herself as she observed how awful he looked. It was not that she felt any malice towards him; far from it, in fact. She liked him well enough, as well as any predator could like her food supply, which when you think about it is quite a lot. No, she was smiling because she had judged things well. He had lost a good deal of muscle tissue, enough that he would pose no threat, but was still alive enough for her purposes.

“Ungh.” Maxwell was trying to talk. “Ungh, ah, …Tori.”

“Maxwell, love, good morning,” she said brightly.

“Ungh.”

“If you were wondering, it’s mid-morning. I made sure Owain and Gilda wouldn’t disturb us, and we’ve treated ourselves to a long lie. Isn’t that nice?”

“Weak,” Maxwell managed to say. “Wr… Wrong.”

“You’re feeling a bit weak this morning?” she asked. “Well, really, I can’t say I’m too surprised, darling. You were quite the stud last night! I’m very flattered by the number of times you got it up, I have to say!”

“Wrong… Feel wrong.”

“A little bit poorly, are you? Oh, dear, well that can happen. Never mind.”

Memories were surfacing in Maxwell’s mind. “What… What did you do… To me?… Why?”

She looked at him, considering what to say. Then she smiled, and said, “Let me tell you a little story, Maxwell. It’s about a man, an old but very rich man, who decided he wanted to go hunting in Africa. So he went off to some nature park or other, where there were lions, and he found himself a guide. For a price, he was told, this guide could guarantee that he could hunt himself a lion. So the old man was delighted, and he agreed a price, and then he met the guide who would get him his lion. The guide was an old man, too, just not quite as old as the rich man. And the rich man, well, he noticed that the guide was checking out his legs. The guide was looking at the rich man’s legs that is. He was carefully looking at him, in his khaki safari shorts, and nodding his head in satisfaction. So the rich man said, ‘I see you’re checking out my legs. What’s that about?’ And the guide answered, ‘Well you see, sir, it’s just that lions, they’re not too fond of being shot. They might not be kind enough to stand still for it.’ And the rich man said, ‘I see. You’re looking at my legs to make sure I can outrun a lion if one of them attacks. And you look satisfied.’ The guide, he replied, ‘Oh no sir, that’s not it at all. You see, I’m just checking to make sure you can’t outrun me. And you’re right, I am satisfied.’” She gave a little laugh. “See if you can work it out.”

She stood and stretched. “Now, if you feel up to it, we could fuck again.” She saw the look on his face and laughed. “You don’t feel like fucking? Thought not. Ah well, your loss, Maxwell. In that case, I’d better put some clothes on, and get to work.” She looked at him, considering. “I think I’ll have to dress you, won’t I? Okay, no problem. Come on then, we’ve got a dragon to find.”

A black Jaguar stopped outside the Arwensmouth Inn, and Peri Carlton stepped out. She gazed, curious, up and down the narrow village street while her driver unloaded her suitcase. It was eight in the morning.

Her original plan had been to simply get to Arwensmouth as quickly as possible so she could get some badly-needed sleep. As they set off from Heathrow, though, the driver had reminded her of the time, and pointed out that it would be well after midnight before they reached the Welsh coast. She phoned ahead to grab a room in a hotel at motorway services on the M6 motorway, and spent a frustrating night fitfully tossing and turning as her skewed body clock protested and kept her from sleep. She had been pleasantly surprised to see that Janice had packed Captain Buzz – thoughtfulness that deserved to be rewarded – but she knew she was too edgy, her nerves too taut, for the good Captain to work his magic, so he stayed in the bag.