In this free story on Peacockblue
A Succubus, Chytt Xoth of the 8000 Pleasures, visits a sleeping woman at midnight

I arrived promptly at the first stroke of midnight. Three women, all in their twenties, shared the townhouse that I had entered. One was out of the two-story rental on a date with a man of money and little style. Another was down in the living room watching television--MTV's *Loveline* if such details matter--as she drank Diet Coke and ate Double-Stuff Oreo Cookies. The third, the one I had come to visit, was sound asleep in her bed. If she had *not* been sleeping, I could not have entered her bed chambers.

Those are the rules.

As I stood at the end of the bed, leaning against the brass footboard, I gazed at the sleeping female. It was difficult to access her appearance. She had the sheets pulled up over her chin and the remainder of her face was buried in the pillow. At least she wasn't snoring. That was a promising sign.

I raised my hand and the temperature inside the room began to increase. Soon she was stirring then, as I knew she would, still asleep, she kicked the covers off.

I stared, stunned, at the nude female.

Deirdre Bowan was incredible. Her first name came from an ancient Irish tale about a maid whose beauty ignited a war among the clans of Ulster. She did her namesake proud. I would not have placed her in the same sphere as Cleopatra and Delilah. But, most definitely, she would rate among the ranks of Helen of Troy and Queen Guinevere.

She was about three inches over five foot in height and a pound shy of one hundred. Her skin was smooth and flawless. She had a Monroe face complete with thick, silky blonde hair that curled down a sleek, bitable neck that would have enthralled Dracula at first sight to ivory shoulders. Her breasts were magnificent; round and titanic rivaling those of Loren, Mansfield, and Welch. The aureoles were a virgin rose-pink and perfectly circular, and I suspected that the nipples would stand out a full inch when she was aroused. I had to resist, for the moment only, burying my face against these treasures and tasting their riches. Her waist was slim, her stomach flat, and her hips just wide enough. Golden highlights sparkled across her expertly-trimmed, blonde pubic mound and the spread lips of her vulva glistened red and juicy. I inhaled deeply. She'd had her period recently and a musky, enticing aroma filled my lungs. On her smooth, toned legs and feet I found her only flaw. A temporary one. A shaving nick marred the sweet flesh beside her left knee.

I smiled. Tonight's assignment, given to me by the Master himself, would be a delight. Where two of my colleagues had failed, I would succeed.

Yes, by dawn's first light, Deirdre Bowan would willingly join the Master's kingdom. Pardon me, I haven't properly introduced myself. I am Chytt Xoth of the 8000 Pleasures, called simply Chytt by my colleagues, and I have resided at the Master's flaming palace on the River Styx since the beginning of time. I am neither male nor female but I can be either as the task requires. On a few occasions, I have been both at the same time. My colleagues and I cruise the earth between midnight and dawn. Scholars refer to us as succubus and incubus. We visit during sleep. It is the only time we may call. And, during sleep, we work our carnal charms. When a male has a wet dream or wakes with a morning erection, we have been there. When a female has an erotic dream or orgasms during sleep, we have been there. We can take any form we wish. We can be any fantasy or desire. I personally prefer taking the male form. While as male I cannot achieve the multiple orgasms that I can as female, the single male orgasm is more intense for me.

Most visits are ultimately harmless except for stains--mortal and ours--on the bedding.

But a battle is also being waged during the visits. At the moment of climax, if my partner screams, or even whispers, my name then they are mine. They will spend the rest of their mortal life, forsaking all else, in a vain attempt to relive the carnal pleasure they'd had with me.

I moved around to the bed. Deirdre Bowan slept peacefully. That wouldn't be for much longer. Two others had come to tempt her. Both had failed. Neither had returned to the palace on the Styx. Ashamed at their failure I suspected. It had occurred before. Hunters would be sent out to retrieve them. The Master had ordered me personally to seduce this woman and assure her future place in the palace stable. I had not failed the Master in the past, I would not now.

I reviewed her carnal history. Deirdre'd had four lovers during her life thus far. How did they say it? Oh, yes. She'd *lost her cherry* to her computer-geek boyfriend in the backseat of a Chevy Nova during her senior year of high school. Her next sexual partner had been her married English Lit college professor. This was interesting. In the midst of the two-year affair with the professor, she had another lover. Number three on the mattress parade. That relationship had lasted exactly one month. Her third lover had been the professor's wife. The two women still exchanged birthday cards. HmmmÉ Number four had been her lover until a few weeks ago. He was a construction contractor whose daredevil macho hobbies, like skydiving and cliff-climbing, caused her to sever the relationship.

Not enough.

I gazed at the gentle rise and fall of her chest as I dipped into her fantasies. Who did Deirdre think of when she masturbated? Glimpses of stars rushed past. Gibson, Cage, Washington. *Gwyneth Paltrow*? She imagined herself on a warm island beach and by a redwood forest creek. She liked hammocks and kitchen tables and the flatbeds of pickup trucks. She pictured herself chained naked to a castle wall and a masked, long-haired stranger paddling her butt until it glowed scarlet-red. Then the stranger took his foot-long tongue and licked her with determined, relentless zeal.

Very good. That was enough.

My form solidified into a tall, muscular male. Long, dark hair hung down to my broad shoulders and a thick cock rose throbbing and fully erect at my groin. I was dressed only in a black-velvet cape and a mask.

Deirdre moaned, but did not wake, as I leaned over her. A small smile etched her soft lips.

She would call my name before the night was done.

I eased onto the bed but the box springs remained silent. I whispered into her ear. "You are mine, Deirdre Bowan. You will submit to me without hesitation, without qualm. If you comply, ecstasy will be your reward. Do you understand this?"

Deirdre's eyes remained closed but the tip of her pink tongue slipped between her white teeth and moistened her lips.

She understood. Good.

I nibbled the lobe of her ear then traced my tongue slowly along her neck to her collar bone. She groaned, whining softly, when I stopped. I smiled. She was the most sensual mortal I had ever encountered. The nipples of her breasts were already growing erect and her vulva moist. I had never asked the Master to allow me to keep one of my mortal conquests as a pet. I had not asked after I coupled with Caligula or Mata Hari. This time I would consider humbling myself and asking.

Deirdre Bowan would be mine.

I brushed the palms of my hands over her nipples and watched them grow darker, more erect. Pressing my mouth to the enticing flesh of her left breast, I traced the circumference of the aureole with my tongue then slipped the firm, inch-long nipple between my teeth. She moaned, delighted. I sucked and sucked. For hours it seemed as I savored the sweet, delicious flavor of her. Finally, I switched to her right treasure. I sucked even harder this time, greedily taking as much of the breast as I could into my mouth until I could feel the nipple brushing against my tonsils. My cock throbbed and ached as if the organ was a ticking bomb. I could not remember a time when a mortal had affected me this way, this much. I relished the sensation.

I kissed the valley between Deirdre's breasts then ran my tongue down her sternum to her belly button. The flesh quivered beneath my mouth. I could wait no longer. I buried my face between her thighs and against her vulva. And I drank. She was intoxicating. I wanted more. So did she. Deirdre, still asleep, spread her legs wider for me and I dived in. I caressed each tender labia fold with my tongue. I lapped at her honeyed delta as if I had been lost in the desert for a week without water. Her hands rose to my head and she gripped my hair in her fists. I stabbed my tongue deeper and deeper into her. Her back arched and her thigh muscles tightened.

She was at the edge of climaxing.

I stopped.

It took every fiber of my will but I stopped. Deirdre tugged on my head to continue. I did not. Her hands finally released my hair and dropped to her sides. I raised up.

"Please," she whispered in her sleep, her body trembling.

A thin coat of sweat cloaked her from head to toe. Her breathing was short and ragged. She had her lower lip gripped between her teeth. A single tear trickled down her flushed cheek.

She was nearly mine.

I was trembling, too. This had never happened to me. Every carnal sensation within me was in flames. I, Chytt Xoth of the 8000 Pleasures, simply called Chytt by my colleagues, who had seduced and discarded countless mortals since the beginning of time, needed--no, *had*--to cum. There was no compromise or alternate solution to this fact. If I did not cum, *and soon*, I would collapse into a whimpering, useless mass.

Easing up and forward, I touched the head of my pulsating cock to Deirdre's vulva. A thunderbolt arced through my body and I gasped. Yes! Yes-yes-yes! Without further hesitation, without further pause, I plunged inside her. Immediately I felt her hot, silky uterus seal itself around my cock. We began to rock in perfect rhythm, in pure union, with one another. We rocked faster and faster, harder and harder. The world and beyond ceased to exist. There was only us.

Her. Me. Us.

Suddenly, my body tensed. My cock shuddered. Then I came, exploding like a powder-keg. A blinding, furious orgasm webbed through me in wave after magnificent wave. I screamed in sheer ecstasy.

"*DEIRDRE*!"

I froze. No, I didn't. With the orgasm still gloriously lingering within me, I shook my head denying what I had done. No. No-no-no.

Deirdre opened her green eyes and smiled. "Gotcha, motherfucker."

I had forgotten, among other things, that in Gaelic Deirdre means sorrow. She keeps me in a jar on her closet shelf. My prison is beside my two colleagues. We talk and plan escapes. But there is none. We had all called her name as we climaxed and now we belonged to her. That was the rule. No other midnight lovers have come to visit so far. The Master did come one night. He gazed unhappily at the three of us in our jars, then gave us the finger and departed. I don't think that anyone else from the palace on the River Styx will visit here. Deirdre Bowan is too mighty a foe. Only one thing keeps me from melting into complete miserable despair. Once in a while, after midnight, Deirdre will take me down from the shelf. I do as she commands. I always climax screaming her name in ecstasy.

Always.