Never in the hundreds of years I’d known Gloria, had I ever seen the vampire shocked. She was cool and level in the best and worst of circumstances, but in that moment, she lost her shit. She clambered atop the back of her chair and perched on it like a bristling cat, staring with mouth agape and wide eyes at the garden that was once her room. A massive pumpkin had sprouted in the very center, corn stalks were starting to shoot up by the windows, and the bastard spawn of a squirrel and a racoon limped away and died in the corner. Finally, Brandon calmed down, and curled up in a ball next to his new pumpkin, hugging the massive fruit for comfort.
“What….” Gloria whispered, her eyes trembling, her mouth opening and closing. She swallowed her shock, and cautiously climbed down from the top of her chair. “Tera…” she said, her red, almond-shaped eyes now bulging ovals, “the…” she swallowed again, and then pointed a shaking hand at Brandon’s curled-up form, “…the Life Giver?”
“Yup!” I laughed, walked over to her, took a bottle from the vine-covered bar and refilled her glass. “And you just told him he has to fuck his sister. Cheers.”
JUSTINA
Well, that does it then, I thought to Angela, sighing to myself at the bar of The Moaning Maiden, we’ve rejected every man in here. Well, you have, anyway.
I have a thing called ‘taste,’ Justina, Angela huffed in my mind. I require that our man at least have all his teeth.
We’re not going to find Prince Charming in a whore-house, I mentally grumbled as I paid our tab, and got off the stool, and some of those men were quite handsome.
You think every man’s handsome, Angela shot back as we stepped onto the street. You were ready to have a roll with the fat ogre before I stopped you.
It’s the disposition of my species, I replied, walking down the brothel district, jealously eyeing whores taking customers into private rooms. I’m attracted to every humanoid race, no matter their supposed defects. I honestly can’t distinguish between what you think is attractive and what you think is ugly, and I’m starting to think your ‘ugly’ column is a little too large.
Losing our virginity—
My virginity. I corrected, you’re just along for the ride.
Losing our virginity… Angela insisted indignantly, …is supposed to be a special, romantic occasion. Now, I was willing to compromise on the outfit, so you should be willing to compromise on the man!
I glanced down at the outfit we’d agreed on. I wanted a skimpy slave outfit, running with the theme of ‘captured succubus virgin willing to do anything to free herself,’ but Angela wanted an extravagant gown of pure white satin. Eventually, we compromised on ‘virgin schoolgirl lost and afraid in the big city.’ I had on a blouse that exposed most of my petite cleavage and my entire bronze midriff, and a plaid skirt that ended halfway down my ass, the cloth draping lasciviously from my thin tail. I wore long black gloves, as all succubi were required to do by law to avoid accidental enslavement.
I’m a whore, Angela, I said frankly to the prudish girl in my head, now professionally, but always spiritually. Succubi can fall in love, sure, but we distinguish between sex and romance. Also, you’re not going to find love in the brothel district.
I’m not looking for love! Angela insisted. I just want a smooth-skinned, lean-muscled, flowing-haired, sweet-smiled man! That shouldn’t be a tall order!
I think you might be a lesbian, I replied, rounding the corner, you basically described a woman.
I want a boy our own age! Angela growled. Is that too much to ask for?!
I stopped at a brothel called The Screeching Siren. Judging by the sounds blasting from the windows, the place was aptly named. It was absolutely packed, and the patrons were spilling out onto the streets.
Chances are pretty good we’ll find what you’re looking for in there, I said to Angela. Teenagers are drawn to crowds, and this place is filled to capacity.
Is someone fucking dying in there? Angela exclaimed. Holy shit, that woman’s a screamer!
Let’s find out, I said, pushing through the crowd, carefully avoiding skin contact. If all else fails, at least we get to see a good show.
The crowd only got thicker the further I pushed into the bar, and I had to jostle my way through every type of race and species. There were a few boys our age that I caught a glimpse of, and I gave them a promising smile before making my way further in. Through the maze of tightly-packed people, I found myself at the bar. The bar itself was much taller than normal, and I suspected that meant this place was frequented by orcs, ogres, or maybe even trolls. I had to climb the stool like a ladder to get to the seat, but once I perched my pretty little ass on it, I got a great view of the action at the center of the brothel. My jaw almost hit the floor when I saw what was happening.
Holy fuck! Angela exclaimed in my mind. Is that a fucking valkyrie?! I thought they were myths!
They live on the Gratoran Wall, I said, mentally showing Angela all the histories I’d read of them. On Mount Iona, Mount Ofan, and Mount Breyta; these peaks were part of the mountain chain that Gratora used as the basis for her wall. The valkyire traditions are older than every nation on Balamora. They’re supposed to be the greatest warriors in the world, bound to a strict, unbreakable code of ethics. How this one became a whore I’ll never know, but whoever owns her must make a fortune off her.
She was the most majestic creature I’d ever seen; tall, subtly-tanned, features of cold Norse beauty, and a body of athletic musculature framing feminine perfection. Her blonde hair was braided intricately about her crown, her wings stretched angelically from her back, and her asshole was stuffed with two thick cocks. She had her arms slung over the necks of an orc and a dark elf, supporting her in the air between them as she writhed and screamed, her legs spread to expose her defilement, and to allow for the dwarf to eat her leaking pussy. Even in her compromising state, she was the most stunning thing I’d ever seen.
“Hey,” a male voice said to my left, “how much for a good time, Sweetie?”
I looked down, and saw a man of maybe thirty years. His crown was thinning, but he was youthful enough (I hoped) for Angela.
You hoped wrong, Justina, Angela replied. What part of ‘flowing hair’ was hard for you to understand?
Holy fuck, Angela, if you don’t like it, you can get out of my head! I growled.
If I hadn’t gotten in your head in the first place, you’d still be at Mommy’s house, feeding yourself from her poop-chute, Angela retorted. You owe me, Justina; now tell baldy to scram!
“Sorry Babe,” I said to the man in my most sultry voice, “but I’m afraid I’m off work. Give me your hotel number though,” I smiled with a wink, “and I’ll make it up to you later.”
“Fucking whores,” the man grumbled, and walked away.
I fucking hate you, Angela, I seethed, clenching and unclenching my fists as my feminine hunger screamed its emptiness from my nethers. Can you not feel what I’m feeling right now?!
Oh, I feel it, Angela retorted, I just have this little thing called self-control.
“Did I just fucking see that?” a girlish voice laughed beside me. “A succubus rejecting a man because she’s ‘off work?!’ Now I’ve seen everything.”
I glanced over to the side, and saw a nymph-girl about my age. She had white hair that blended with her ivory horns, a caramel complexion, a developed, but slender body, and pine-green eyes surrounded by black sclera. She was bare-chested, and though her eye color was interesting, what really caught my attention was the bulge in her pants. Hermaphrodites weren’t as rare as valkyries, but they were quite the delicacy for a succubus.
Hey Angela, I mentally sniggered, long flowing hair, a nice smile, smooth skin, late-teens, and on top of it all, it’s a woman! Now we can both pretend you’re not a lesbian, and finally get this over with.
I… am intrigued, Angela replied cautiously. You may proceed to the flirtation phase.
Ha! You really are a dyke, aren’t you?
I don’t know what I am! Angela shot back. Not having any actual body parts makes it difficult to know for certain. All I know is that I enjoyed our physical time together, and this… woman, feels like a perfect stepping stone from lesbianism to hetero.
“Just because I’m a succubus doesn’t mean I don’t have standards,” I smiled to the girl, extending a gloved hand. “I’m Justina, by the way.”
“Night Eyes,” the girl said, grasping my hand firmly and watching me with an expectant gaze.
“What?” I asked with a confused smile, twirling a lock of black hair with a lascivious finger.
“You haven’t heard of me?” Night Eyes asked. “You must be new here.”
“Should I have heard of you?” I asked with a raised eyebrow, subtly leaning forward to allow my cleavage some exposure, “Are you a big deal??” I teased playfully.
“You really are new here,” the girl smiled, lighting a cigarette between her lips, “or you’re just really fucking stupid.”
Ah, nice fucking job, Justina, Angela scowled in my brain. What a master of seduction you are.
“The former, actually,” I said, not breaking my sultry smile for a moment, holding out two fingers to the nymph, “can I bum a smoke?”
Lung cancer is a real panty-dropper.
You don’t seem to mind her doing it, I replied as Night Eyes handed me a square.
Because it looks sexy and mysterious on her, Angela replied as I placed the square between my lush lips, and leaned forward for Night Eyes to light it, and you don’t have the cachet to pull it off.
Just watch, I smirked. I took a deep inhale of the cigarette smoke, and just as planned, I violently coughed it from my virgin lungs.
Real, fucking, smooth… Angela groaned.
We’re inexperienced virgins left on our own in the big city, I thought back to her as I hacked up a lung, that’s our allure, Angela; innocence.
“Was that your first cigarette?” Night Eyes laughed, her eyes traveling curiously down my body. “Did you just get here yesterday or something?”
“This morning, actually,” I said through fits of coughing. “I lived in Towerhead with my mother my whole life. You’ve found my darkest secret, Night Eyes; I’m an ignorant country girl.”
Leave a Reply