A Succubus' Tale Ch. 01

Steve passed out.

Jillian allowed his now shriveled cock to fall from her as she slid off him to stand on the floor. She observed his deep, rasping breaths, the grey pallor of his skin and the almost emaciated appearance of his body. She was unconcerned. By morning he would look just as he did ten short minutes ago. Though she did not envy him the chore of attempting to explain to Tina why he left her alone at the club, why he was so tired and, much later, why he couldn't get it up to fuck her.

Jillian dressed, caught a cab, walked the final two or three blocks to her apartment where a hot shower and a good night's sleep awaited. She was almost giddy with euphoria the whole time.

***

Jillian was a succubus. There are many variations of succubi and Jillian was a 'Ruiner', so called because, essentially, she ruined sex for any man she took into her vagina.

Take Steve for example. No woman would ever be able to compare to the sexual bliss, the physical perfection he experienced with Jillian. He'd still be able to have sex with women (or men if he chose) but it would never be as good. In time, maybe a few months, he'd be able to come inside a pussy again. Up until that point only stroking himself would bring about ejaculation. His production was down, too. Oh, his testicles still produced active, viable sperm. He could still father children but the volume he spewed forth was considerably less than before his encounter with the succubus. He was afraid to measure but it seemed to him that his dick was not as large as it was before her, either. He was right.

Jillian drained a portion of his vitality, virility and life force from any man with whom she had intercourse. It was how she stayed alive. It was a mutation. Somewhere along the human evolution line, a part of female DNA code had replicated in a strange new version. The result was a woman who had additional senses accessed through touch and physical elements uncommon to the general female population. Some were extraordinarily beautiful. Others were beyond genius level in intelligence. Some were blessed with physical anatomical perfection. A few had components of one or more of these traits.

Succubi have been around since ancient times. They are referred to in stone carvings, scrolls and texts dating back several thousand years. Up and through the Middle Ages they were generally described and depicted as demons. Their form was described as hideous and grotesque, some with horns, wings, tails, claws and cloven hooves. History was written by men remember! In their vindictiveness those pathetic souls who survived a succubus painted a horrible picture.

All succubi had one thing in common. To live they needed the male essence. Like vampires need blood, the preponderance of succubi need cum. Their skillful extraction of this life source was a never ending pursuit. For some the need was close to daily, for others it might be once a year or so, for the majority it was about a monthly event. Some, like Jillian, only needed the seed from one or two ejaculations to restore their body. Others needed more, stealing the soul from the men they seduced or actually draining all life from them.

Generally, succubi achieved their goal via copulation, extracting what they needed to live via the genitalia. Some, could achieve their goal orally, a rare group could even suck what they needed by kissing. Rarest of all were those who could mentally and emotionally feed themselves without ever touching the male they preyed upon.

Jillian had accepted her peculiar situation early in her life. She operated like any human for 30 days, give or take a few, at a time. Then she needed to restore herself and her body. She found an appropriate male, seduced him, fucked him and extracted his semen.

She had never killed a man, though she came close once or twice. She did damage a few early on, leaving them disfigured or mentally unstable. As she learned her powers and her skills she succeeded in meeting her needs in various ways. Her multiple FWBs allowed her to feed repeatedly for days on end. Granted the quality, and often quantity, of the sperm from any one conjoining was insufficient to sustain her, however the frequency was like topping off the gas tank before it's even down to three quarters full.

Over time she developed the taste and preference for 'the good stuff'. Like a wine connoisseur enjoyed rare vintages or a meat eater preferred Kobe beef, Jillian became more and more selective in whom she chose as her source. Using her extra senses through touch she could determine testosterone levels, physical health, emotional mood, and even what kind of a person a man was. The number one criteria was testosterone but an angry guy with a high testosterone level was not as nourishing as a happy guy with a lower level. Assholes provided less sustenance than nice guys. Age was a quirky factor. From teen (after high school she never slept with any man under 18) to early 30s was pretty much the sweet spot but there were guys in the their 50s, even one in his 60s, that were among the best she ever consumed. Likewise, there were always some duds in their 20s.

One thing that was missing from Jillian's life was love. This lack had not particularly mattered to her for most of her life. Nevertheless, recently she noticed an emptiness that she could not put her finger on until one day it it hit her - she was alone.

Many succubi were, indeed succuBi, spending much of their time with others of their strain and enjoying the carnal pleasures two (or more) women can gift to each other. Some were truly lesbian, only using males to sustain themselves then returning to the arms of their lovers.

Jillian had kissed a girl or two in her time. She had been involved in some heavy petting in high school and college with other women (not just other succubi) but female physical relationships just didn't do it for her. She had had special relationships with some of her longer term male lovers which lasted from a few months to over a year but she had never been in love with a man.

Part of the reason for that lack of intimacy was due to the basic need that males met. They meant survival and so, in a way, they were no more than livestock. Part of the reason was that during her life she hadn't felt the strong need for love. She had friends to have fun with, she enjoyed her job, she liked her vacations she didn't feel there was anything missing.

Since her move to Boston she found herself wishing there was someone to greet her when she returned to her apartment, especially after a long day of work. She noticed times where she was seeing something or experiencing something and she wanted to turn to someone and share it with them.

Her bed felt big and cold more frequently now and she didn't look forward to her mornings as strongly. Some days seemed to drag on with a dullness that previously had not existed. Having been independent the majority of her life and not really having a close friend, even among other succubi, Jillian did not know how to deal with these feelings.

Though she did not know it, a solution would present itself soon.

***

Only when she was out to feed did Jillian dress provocatively. The majority of the time, at work or not, she dressed in a manner she described as 'calmly'. She wore skirts, pants, blouses, suits, dresses and sweaters to work. Out of work she was primarily a jeans type of girl or shorts in the summer time. She did have one set of clothes that were different from the rest of her wardrobe.

She lived in Kansas City, of all places, for about eight or nine months. With both work and quality food sources scarcer than she expected she spent some time as a Dominatrix. Using Craigslist and similar personals websites she provided a range of services to males who paid handsomely for the privilege. The scheme also allowed her access to a semen supply with no other need to cover her tracks.

As a part of her short lived career as a Domme she had amassed a noteworthy collection of leather wear. Coats, jackets, vests, tops, skirts, pants, leggings, gloves, corsets, bras, panties, garters, heels and boots were included in the collection. Many of the items were acquired by clients and presented as gifts in addition to cash payments. She had sold off her collection of BDSM equipment, including cuffs, shackles, collars, whips, crops, paddles, and butt plugs but not her leather.

It still provided her with a quiet thrill when she wore a pair of heels or boots from this collection out in public. The heels she wore the night she ruined Steve were from her Dominatrix days. She had several pairs of spike heel leather boots that she wore to work from time to time, including a pair of Michael Kors black platform knee boots.

She could still remember the guy who bought those boots for her. He bought them so she could wear them while he jacked off as she read a 'honey do' list from his wife. Once he ejaculated on the boots he would eagerly lick them clean to please his 'wife'. The entire role play / fetish scenario never took longer than 15 minutes from start to finish and usually concluded in five to seven minutes for which she received the sum of $850 every time. He paid her almost $100,000 during her tenure, visiting as often as four times a week. She later learned he was the CEO of a major meat packing company in the city.

***

She was enjoying her secret chuckle over the origin of the Michael Kors boots as she wore them now with a wool skirt standing in line at a Dunkin' Donuts on Boylston Street one morning on her way to work.

Unintentionally, as she reached for her coffee, her hand brushed the hand of a man who was also reaching for his breakfast sandwich. Her senses tingled on all levels. The feel of his skin on hers felt warm and wonderful. His testosterone level was off the charts and he was in the peak of health.

"I'm sorry," he said pleasantly turning to look at Jillian.

Jillian looked up at him and took in his brown hair, hazel eyes with small laugh lines, soft lips and nice smile. For the first time in she couldn't remember how long she was flustered.

"Um, uh..., yeah..., hi," she stammered. Something deep inside her fluttered.

They stared at one another until a cabdriver behind them yelled "Get a room" rather harshly and they sheepishly moved from the counter. Jillian put her head down to hide the flush she felt rising to her cheeks as she made a bee line for the door.

"Stop, please." She heard from behind.

"Please, can I talk with you for just a moment? My name's Bill and I would just like to talk you for a minute or two. Please."

He wasn't begging or pleading, he was just seemed very polite. She felt his voice was level and honest.

Still uncertain, maybe a little off guard she hesitated, "Well, I..., work," she babbled in a low voice.

"Yes," he smiled, "Me too. But I don't mind being late for you. Here, just have a seat for a moment, then I'll let you get on your way, I promise." He pulled out a tall chair from the counter that ran along the inside of the front window.

Almost reflexively she sat.

"Honestly, I don't normally do this, heck, I've never done this, but I'd really like to meet you somewhere for coffee or a drink or something to eat. I can't explain it but I feel like it's fate or something that we met."

Jillian looked at him skeptically.

"OK, I can see you think I'm the kind of guy who tries to pick up women everywhere and that my intentions aren't entirely honorable."

'...intentions aren't entirely honorable..' who speaks like that these days she thought.

"Here's what I'm going to do," he explained reaching into his pocket. "I'm going to give you my business card and I'm going to write my private cell number on the back. Now it's all in your hands. You can text, call or blow me off, whatever you choose."

He handed her the small card with the handwritten number showing. She stood and turned to leave.

"Wait, please, just one thing," this time there was a slight plaintive note in his voice, "Please, what's your name?"

"Jillian with a J." And then she was out the door.

Sitting on the Redline train as it crossed the Charles River she finally looked at the business card that had remained between her middle and ring fingers as she held her coffee on the T. It read:

Dr. William A. Greer

Department of Thoracic Surgery

Massachusetts General Hospital

Flipping it over to look at the back she saw the phone number and underneath 'Don't pay any attention to the crap on the front. I'm just Bill. Please call.'

'Just Bill' she thought holding the card to her lip. She was so caught in her own musings that she almost missed her stop at Kendall Square.

Her day at the office began normally, with a thousand things left over to do from yesterday and two hundred new things already today. About ten o'clock she realized that she had accomplished little so far because her mind kept wandering off to thoughts of Bill.

She picked up her office phone and dialed his cell phone. It rang through to his voice mail. "Hi, it's Bill. Please leave a message. I'll return your call as soon as I can."

She hung up.

Ten minutes later she picked up her cell and typed *Hello just Bill. It's Jillian. I have no idea why I am doing this. Do you have time for a drink somewhere after work tonight or tomorrow? BTW, the missed call on your cell from 10 minutes ago was me from my office phone.*

Several hours went by but at least she got some work done during the first two. Her productivity decreased during the third hour as she fretted over why he hadn't returned her text.

A little after one her phone trilled indicating a new text message. *Hi Jillian with a J. (smiley face) Sorry I didn't return your text sooner, work stuff. I should be free about 6:30 or so tonight. Anyplace you'd like to meet? (two smiley faces)*

'OK, so he's surgeon and a dork' she giggled looking at the text over and over.

*The choice is yours.* Since when did she cede control of something like a meeting place with a stranger? That wasn't like her..

*How about the bar at the Copley Plaza at 6:30?*

*Pretty swank! OK*

And with a few thumb touches and a press on the send button she took a jump into the unknown.

***

Many men who have made a date to meet a women they find attractive like to arrive early to watch said woman enter the bar, restaurant, coffee shop, bowling alley, ceramic studio or wherever. Or, more precisely, to watch the other men in the bar, restaurant, coffee shop, bowling alley or ceramic studio react to the woman entering. Bill had a seat at the bar at the far end from the door. He was not disappointed.

Jillian entered with her usual confidence. She surprised herself as she employed her catwalk stride to walk the length of the room to where she saw Bill seated. As she commonly did, she tuned out those around her.

Bill delighted in watching heads swivel to regard Jillian as she made her entrance. Men outright ogled her as her height and bearing initially caught their attention but her face and body held it fast.

Bill stood and held out his hand to escort her to his seat. "Thank you for coming, Jillian. May I give you a quick kiss on the cheek to say hi?"

Before she could catch herself she agreed and felt his warm lips graze her cheek. His lips felt very nice on her skin and she blushed. "Why did you want to kiss my cheek?"

"So that every man who couldn't take his eyes off you as you walked in will know that you are with me. For now, at least," he hastily added.

Jillian blushed even more and looked down at the floor. "You are a charmer. I'll bet you're a snake oil salesman in real life."

"Not really. This is way out of character for me. I'm usually rather shy but there's something about you that wouldn't allow me to let you just walk out of my life this morning." He ordered a white wine for her and a draft beer for himself.

"Bill, this isn't me either. I don't date a lot and I certainly don't just end up in a bar with someone I met this morning in a coffee shop."

"Here's to new beginnings, then," he toasted, raising his glass.

They talked for over an hour. Jillian laughed and relaxed. Bill listened and questioned her about her work.

She'd only had two glasses of wine so she felt she was still in control of herself. Jillian took a chance. "Bill, this is something definitely out of my comfort zone. Would you like to have dinner at my apartment? I'm only a few blocks from here off Tremont Street." Her voice sounded nervous and breathy to her.

"This is going to sound like an excuse but believe me it's not because I'd like nothing more than spending more time with you. I have to be up really early tomorrow morning for a long day. But tomorrow night is Friday and I don't have work on Saturday. Would you like to go out to dinner with me?"

"Yes," she replied with relief in her voice.

"Yes!" He did a little fist pump right in front of her and she giggled. "Let me make some plans and I'll text you tomorrow. Is that alright with you?"

"Absolutely."

Bill escorted her out the door with has hand resting lightly in the small of her back. As they walked he leaned into her and said "I screwed up. I was so nervous when you arrived I forgot to compliment you on how nice you look, and those boots are beautiful."

She looked up at him and shyly said, "You haven't screwed anything up. You've been a gentleman and a pleasure to be with the whole time."

On the sidewalk outside the bar they prepared to go their separate ways. "Til tomorrow night," Bill smiled, doffing an imaginary cap.

"Til tomorrow night," Jillian smiled in return with a small bow at the waist. She turned and took a step.

"Jillian!" Bill cried out. "May I give you another kiss goodnight?"

"Certainly," she said as she turned her cheek toward him. But Bill had other ideas. He returned his hand to the small of her back and drew her in to him. He kissed her on the lips, his lingering on hers for a few seconds before retreating. Jillian's eyes closed and she let the kiss flow through her.

As Bill released her she quietly called his name, "Bill?"

When he stepped back to her she slipped her hand behind his head, weaving her fingers into his hair and moving his face to hers. She kissed him on the lips, more firmly than he kissed her. He returned the kiss with equal fervor, his hands resting on her upper arms.

She drew her head back, smiled shyly and repeated, "Til tomorrow night."

"It can't come fast enough for me."

She thought about Bill all the way home, as she ate her dinner, when she undressed for bed and as she lay in the dark. Somehow, just knowing he was out there made her apartment feel less empty that night. She fell asleep with a smile on her face.