And since I don't have any requests right now, that means I can do what I want.
There wasn't much response to the last bit I posted. Maybe I'll get back to The Testimony at some point. But I have another idea, something I wrote a long time ago, that keeps coming back to the surface. It helps that I've been watching Lost Girl, which is about a succubus. But that show gets a lot of the mythology wrong. Mythology that my earlier work got right. So I thought, why not start over? Why not tell my own tale? This isn't inspired by Lost Girl; the show just made me think about it again.
Right before I died
I found out that I wasn't human during
a car accident. I wasn't driving. In fact, I couldn't even see the
road. I was a bit busy, my head in his lap, his dick in my mouth.
Road head was a bit new to me, but based on the noises he was making,
it was pretty clear that I was a natural. His hand was on my head,
just barely touching my hair, trying so hard not to use my hair like
a handle. He knew that wasn't okay, knew I'd stop if he tried. But he
wanted to, so badly.
I was too good at it. My tongue wound
around his cock, my mouth vibrating as I hummed onto it, my lips
sliding up and down. He groaned, and he wasn't paying enough
attention. He was breathing hard, and maybe he closed his eyes when
he started to cum. Maybe his vision blurred; I'm told I can have that
effect on people.
I tasted his cum, hot and salty, right
before I heard the tires screech. Right before the crunch of metal.
Right before the steering wheel wrapped around my neck. My jaw
clenched, I tasted blood, and then I felt my neck break.
For most people, that would be it. The
last moment of my life. I should have died with a dick in my mouth,
with my neck broken and, I'm sure, a bunch of other broken and
pulverized bones. I should have been scraped off the road, and they
would have pried open my jaw to get the remains of his dick out of
it, just so we each could have been buried with only our own body
parts.
That's what should have happened. And,
I bet, part of it did. I don't know.
The next time I regained
consciousness, I was laying on a cold slab inside a meat locker. Not
a real meat locker; the kind you find in the basement of a hospital.
I was in a morgue.
As you can imagine, it was a weird way
to wake up.
There are things they don't tell you
about morgues. They don't mention that those little coffins are
really cold, almost air tight. They also don't mention that there's
no way to open them up from the inside. It makes sense; why bother
putting a handle on the inside? Normally, the people on the inside
are dead. Certainly, they're supposed to be.
I should have been dead. Maybe I was.
But I opened my eyes and tried to sit up, that great gasp that we
make when coming out of a nightmare. I hit hard, and spent the next
few seconds holding my head and feeling like an idiot.
I kicked out at the door in
frustration. I didn't really expect it to happen. Didn't expect the
door to open, or to fly off its hinges. I certainly didn't expect it
to impact into the wall.
I crawled out of the locker and found
another surprise. One that, in some ways, topped all the others. I
set my feet down on the ground, looked around the room, and stretched
out my wings.
I didn't have wings before. I think
that's the kind of thing I'd remember.
I checked my reflection just to be
sure. Wings. Two of them. A matching set, wings like a bat.
I flapped them a few times. I can't
explain how I knew how to control them any more than I can explain
how I knew how to clap my hands. I was clumsy at first, like anyone
would be. And it was tiring as hell. But I was a couple of feet off
the ground when the crashing sound drew my attention.
I don't know what the attendant was
expecting when he came down stairs. I'm willing to bet he wasn't expecting to find one of the lockers broken open and a naked girl who
used to be a corpse flapping wings and floating above the ground.
I almost laughed. It seemed he was
somehow more shocked than I was.
I landed hard, felt my knee twist
underneath me. I fell to the floor. He backed against the wall. I
looked up and noticed something.
An erection. He had an erection.
I had him against the wall faster than
either of us realized. His mouth was open, mine was seeking. I was as
horny as I'd ever been, but I didn't want sex. I wanted something
else.
Long story short, I put him in the
locker where I was supposed to be and did my best to put the door
back on. His clothes didn't quite fit, but it was better than nudity.
I wrapped my wings around my torso and buttoned up his shirt over it.
I wish I hadn't been barefoot, but there was no way I could fit in
his shoes.
Oh, and my knee felt fine.
Socks get wet so fast. By the time I
was half way home, my feet were sloshing with each step. The noise
bothered me, and I kept thinking how badly I wanted to get home, to
go back to the way things were before--
And that's when it hit me.
You know that phrase, “you can never
go home again”? Well, it takes on special meaning when you die in a
car accident. Whether I was in that locker for an hour or a week,
there's no way my parents didn't find out. No way I could walk into
my old life and just pick up where I left off. Aside from the whole
dead boyfriend thing, wings aren't normal. Nothing about me was
normal, not anymore.
But if not home, then where? I had no
ID, no money, and nowhere to go. All I had were some oversized
clothes, an empty wallet belonging to some morgue attendant, and wet
socks.
Oh, and wings.
So I walked. Wandered around town,
having absolutely no idea where I was going or what I was going to
do. The rain had passed, but it wasn't warm out. I figured I must
look like some kind of heroine addict, someone who barely has any
idea what's going on. It wasn't far from the truth, not really.
Whatever I looked like, I apparently
smelled like an easy meal to someone. Someone maybe twice my size,
someone who should have been strong enough to take whatever he wanted
from me.
He grabbed me by the arm and dragged
me into an alleyway, pushed me hard against a wall. He thought I was
barely conscious, thought I had no idea what I was doing.
He unbuckled his belt and pulled out
his cock. I could smell him. I can't describe what I mean. I just
smelled him. His excitement, his desire. It smelled good. Delicious.
I licked my lips. He pulled down my
pants and pressed me against the wall.
I was still a virgin, technically. And
as he stuck his cock inside me, I realized this wasn't how I wanted
to change that. No one ever wants to be raped, no matter what some
idiots want people to believe.
When I realized what was happening, I
fought back. I struggled. He put his forearm across my throat and
said something stupid about not panicking. He slapped my hands away
when I reached for his arm.
He pressed into my windpipe, thinking
to choke me out. He must have figured that my grip on his elbow was
just wasted struggle.
Then I pulled him off my throat. I
pushed him off my throat and out from between my legs. I slammed him
against the wall hard enough to hear something crack. He groaned in
pain. I held him there, curious at my own strength, and watched him
whimper. I watched the erection start to fade, leaving him limp.
I knew I could have killed him. Could
have choked him the way he was intending to choke me. Could have
kicked him hard enough to change his gender. But I was still so
confused. I had no idea what I was, what I was doing. So I dropped
him to the ground. I dropped him into a heap of pain, I took a wad of
cash from his pocket, the expensive watch from his wrist, and I left
him there. Curled up in agony, pants around his ankles, back already
bruising.
I didn't know what was going on. I
didn't know how I did any of what I did.
I do now. I know what I am. I'm a
succubus.
Of course, I didn't find that out for
sure until after I stopped being one.
Maybe that would be a better place to
start my story.
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