Beating, binding, and pleasing

The next part of the succubus story is right here. I don't have a title for it, and I'm not sure how much longer I'm going to keep working on it.

Do any of you like it?

Succubus again

My new place wasn't all that impressive, but it had four walls and a roof. And a bathtub with a shower. It wasn't furnished beyond a matress on the floor and a curtain around the tub, but it was enough. And I could get more, so long as I did more jobs for Kevin.

Jobs that led me to an important discovery about other supernatural creatures. Like the one I learned about trolls.

Let me stop you right there. Before you start imagining some big wart covered monster with leathery skin and horrific teeth, that's not what trolls look like. Or, at least, it's not what all trolls look like. When I went and met with Peter, knowing he was a troll, I was expecting the same sort of thing that the word inspired. But Peter wasn't bad looking. He was a little out of shape, just barely on the plausible side of a combover, and was a bit near sighted. But he was good looking. His skin was clear and clean, and his smile was honest.

The job was to get some jewelry from Peter. Beg, buy, steal; the how didn't matter. But he had a sapphire the size of a walnut, and Kevin wanted it. I was planning to go with steal until I met him. But he was a sweet guy.

I met him at a club. I was wearing a satin shirt over my wing-corset and jeans tucked into my same freshly licked boots. He was wearing a suit that only barely fit him, a tie that showed no real imagination, and shoes that were scuffed from him shuffling his feet.

I watched him watch me, saw how long his eyes lingered on my boots, saw his eyes darting back down after he smiled at me.

I sat and crossed my legs, pointing the sole of my boot right at him, so he could see the treads. And I watched as he traced them with his eyes.

Finally, he looked back at my face. He blushed a little, then smiled. “You want the gem,” he said.

“Excuse me?”

“No other reason such a beautiful creature as you would want to talk to me,” he said. “So someone sent you to get something from me. I don't have anything else of real value.”

I smiled. “So then what does that mean?”

He grinned at me. “I don't want to give it up, and you don't look like you can afford to change my mind.”

“It's not about money,” I said. “I'm willing to bet there's something you want that isn't money.”

His eyes traced down my frame, and I smelled his arousal. “What did you have in mind?”

“I'm betting you have a fantasy,” I said. “Something that, for whatever reason, you've never gotten a chance to fulfill.”

“How did you know?”

I smiled at him. Everyone has a fantasy they never got a chance to fulfill. It's a safe bet. But I didn't want to say anything to kill the mood. The longer I talked to him, the less objectionable his appearance was. He didn't look frumpy anymore; he just looked like someone who didn't realize how attractive he could be.

“What is it you want?” I asked him. “Do you like my boots?”

He blushed, but there was something more to it. He wasn't looking at the leather. He was looking at the treads.

I smiled. “You heal fast, don't you?”

He blushed again, and grinned so wide I was afraid his lips would tear. “Why do you ask?”

We went back to his place. On the way, he assured me that trolls were all but unkillable. As long as there was no fire involved, and all his parts remained attached, there was nothing that could do permanent damage.

He also told me that his safe word was 'silver.'

Once we were in his apartment, I handcuffed his wrists behind his back. I squeezed the cuffs tighter than I should, knowing that the pain would remain a dull throb as his nerves were crushed. A human would probably lose some feeling and mobility in his hands for the rest of his life. He grimaced, then smiled.

I slugged him in the stomach, as hard as I could. It had been a long time since I'd hit someone as hard as I could. The air rushed out of him, and I heard his ribs break. He coughed and collapsed onto the floor. I kicked him in the face, feeling his nose splatter and flatten against my boot.

For a human, that would be it. He'd probably be hospitalized, need some reconstructive surgery, and probably a respirator. I might be able to smell his bowels evacuating.

But that wasn't what I smelled. I smelled arousal. Lots of it. It got stronger as I pressed the treads of my boot against his face, stronger still as I ground his head into the floor.

He moaned as I pressed down. I lifted my other foot, putting all my weight on the side of his head. I wondered briefly if his skull would crack, and if that would matter when it did.

I balanced on his head and kicked him in the side, right where his ribs were supposed to be broken. They cracked again.

I whipped the belt out from around his waist, slid it around his neck, and pulled it as tight as I could. He gagged, and I flipped him onto his stomach. I tied the belt to his cuffs, pulling him at an awkward and, I'm sure, very painful angle.

“This is fun,” I said, flicking his still broken nose. His wince, and the smell of how much he was enjoying it, made me smile. “I wonder how far I could go. Do you have a baseball bat?”

“What?”

I stood up and took a running start, kicking him in the face as hard as I could. His jaw broke, and I'm pretty sure something else did too. I had a brief moment of fear, worried about what kind of damage this would do to a real person. But he still didn't smell scared. He just smelled turned on.

“I didn't tell you to talk,” I said. “If I had a baseball bat, I could take the time and see what would happen when I shattered your kneecaps, broke your shoulders, and pounded on you until either my arms got tired or the bat broke.”

I moved like I was going to search his apartment, but the idea of me leaving the room seemed to bother him. I suppose I can understand. If I was going to rob him, this would be the perfect time, with him beaten, bloody, and bound.

But that wasn't the point. So instead of leaving the room, I knelt down on his back. “I'm guessing you prefer your pain to be delivered directly,” I said. I took the tie from around his neck and tied his ankles together. “Predicament bondage probably isn't your thing.” I laced the tie around the cuffs and then the belt around his neck. I pulled tight, completing the hog tie.

“Do your muscles still get cramps?” I asked, kicking him hard in the thigh. He winced. I kicked him again, and again. He winced. I let the steel toes clip his face, breaking his cheek bone. He whimpered.

I laced my fingers in his hair, lifted his head back, and slammed it down against the floor.

“That's an awful lot of blood,” I said. “Are you sure you can survive all this?”

He didn't say anything. I laughed. “Okay,” I said. “You can talk.”

There was a loud crack as his jaw snapped back into place. “I'll be hungry after,” he said. “But it'll heal.”

“I think I'd like to take a strap on to you,” I said.

He laughed. “There's one in the other room,” he said. “In the closet on the left, a box on the top shelf.”

“And you'd let me fuck you with a strap on?”

“Am I allowed to answer that?”

“Yes.”

“I'd let you do whatever you want.”

“And the sapphire?”

I pulled his head up again. He groaned, then smiled. “All yours,” he said.

That made me smile, and I let him go. “And where was that strap on, again?”

“Closet,” he said. “Next to the baseball bat.”