Dear reader, have you ever felt the sensation of unbearable arousal without any means of relief, inducing a bizarre, erotic dream? Did you wake up drained and lifeless? Then this story will certainly remind you of something.
Long, long ago, before the joy of science and the comfort of modernity, our story takes place.
Surrounded by the smell of blood and insanity lived a man. He had a sacred mission conferred by self-proclaimed recipients of God’s will. He had to kill witches.
So, the man killed.
He killed mothers begging for mercy. He killed girls who didn’t even reach puberty. He killed babies and grandmothers.
He continued to kill, each time he saw the blood flowing and life disappearing in the eyes of his victims, a feeling slowly built up in his lower body. A feeling he didn’t have the right to taste. A feeling tearing his insides, driving him madder each day.
When the head of his 100th victims fell on the floor, this feeling reached an uncontrollable degree. He barely managed to go back to his room and then fell asleep.
His body felt heavy. He couldn’t even move a finger, just opening his eyes.
Suddenly, he saw her. The most beautiful woman he ever saw. He admired the cascade of hair highlighting the curves of a magnificent body.
She was so perfect, too perfect.
Then he finally noticed them. Behind her, two fabulous wings as dark as the night contrasted with the pale skin of this eerie being.
She was sitting on top of him, barely leaving him any space to breathe.
He couldn’t look away, her eyes, like onyx jewels, mesmerizing him. Her crimson lips slowly come closer and closer to his face. He felt all his blood rushing to his crotch, not able to control himself anymore.
She stopped a few seconds before her lips could touch his. He was feeling her warm breath on his face. If only she could move just a little bit closer.
Instead, she opened her mouth, as to talk, but what he heard was an overwhelming scream of despair. The plaints of all of his victims imploring mercy and cursing him.
He finally understood.
Here she was, the succubus, called by his victims to drain the source of his life.
The atrocities he committed created this voracious desire, calling death itself. Embodied by this beautiful, yet terrifying woman, eating him in his dreams.
This is the nature of a succubus.
However, dear readers don’t be fooled by this revengeful succubus.
They are neither right nor wrong. Neither just nor unfair. Their actions can’t be apprehended by human logic.
They are the demoness feasting on man juice, leaving them at the door of death, or even beyond.
Be careful of your dreams, you might never wake up again.