The Succubus Collection
I am releasing my Succubus Collection on Substack. Many of the stories will only be available to paid subscribers but I will be offering free trials and releasing some of the stories, like this one, to free subscribers for a limited time.
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She is called Ciara, sometimes Gabrielle, sometimes she has no name. She has long forgotten her given name as might you if you had lived on this earth for over two hundred years.
She can take you to the heights of ecstasy, bring pleasure to your mind and body that you never knew existed or she can kill you, drain you dry, reduce you to a husk that blows away in the wind like autumn leaves.
Part human, part demon this is the beginning of the story of how she came into being.
Read The Girl From the Rain on Medium
The Girl From the Rain
The roof of my cottage creaked as the wind howled around it and rain hammered against the window, clattering on the glass as if the drops were pebbles. Through the glass, I could see the long summer grass on either side of the path leading to the cliff top swirling in waves. The sky above was almost black as solid, slate grey clouds scudded across it hiding the full moon. Where the clifftop grass met the night sky there was the merest hint of light suggesting that, far out to sea, the storm was weakening.
I wiped at the glass of the window with my fingers. Out there, on the clifftop, was a tree, where no tree had been before. The water streaming down the window parted and I could see it was not a tree but a person, arms outstretched, welcoming the onslaught of the wind and rain as if it was a summer’s day.
I grabbed my oilskin and boots and pulled them on. I peered through the window again, my breath misting the glass. She was still there, for I was sure it was a girl, long hair streaming out behind her as she swayed in the wind. Was she going to jump from the cliff as others had done? I had to go.
The rain was warm but it prickled on my face. The force of the wind swept my oilskin aside allowing the rain to soak my trousers and cotton shirt and penetrate through to my skin as I battled toward the cliff top.
I stopped, maybe six feet from the figure. She was a slim girl and standing so close to the edge of the cliff that I was afraid a swirling gust might sweep her over the edge. Her mahogany red hair streamed out behind her and she wore only a thin white dress that finished at her calves. Her outstretched arms were bare and her skin, almost as pale as the dress glistened in the rain.
“Hello,” I shouted, my words seemed whipped away by the wind.
She turned her head slowly toward me.
“Are you alright?” The wind almost blew me off my feet but she seemed fixed to the spot. Her dress was laden with water and clung to her thin thighs, flat stomach and small breasts like a translucent second skin.
I stepped forward and held out my arms. “Why don’t we get out of this gale and into the dry?”
She reached out and her fingertips rested on mine. I took her hand and led her toward my cottage.
I pushed the front door closed, shutting out the gale and muting the sound of the wind. The girl stood just inside and her eyes scanned my one-room home. She looked as if buckets of water had been poured over her, it dripped from her hair and the edge of her dress into a shiny puddle on the stone floor.
“What’s your name?” I stood in front of her, my oilskin mimicking her drips on the floor.
She looked at me with wide brown eyes. “Mikaela.”
“I am Francis. Now shall we get you out of those wet clothes?” I turned to pick up a throw from the armchair.
When I turned back she had unbuttoned the dress down the front and was peeling the sodden material from her alabaster skin. Removing the dress confirmed what I had been able to see through the translucent material; she was naked underneath.
She let the wet dress drop to the floor like a discarded skin and I draped the throw over her shoulders. She stayed surveying the room as I unbuttoned my oilskin and hung it on the hook by the door behind her. I realised that my shirt was almost as wet as her dress and underneath, my camisole was also damp and stuck to my breasts. I peeled them off along with my sodden trousers and walked past her to pick up a throw from the second chair.
“You are a woman,” there was almost a question in her voice.
I turned toward her, instinctively holding the throw against my breastbone although it hung between my large breasts rather than hiding them. “I am,” I laughed. “I know it might be a bit difficult to tell under the oilskin and I do find men’s trousers much easier to move around in rather than a long dress but underneath, yes, I am all woman.”
She smiled and shrugged. “No matter.”
It occurred to me that she had just peeled off all her clothing despite thinking that she was in the presence of a man. I put the thought out of my mind as some people have fewer inhibitions than others; myself included.
I picked up her dress and wrung it out over a bowl. Despite the warmth of the night I decided to light the fire. We would have to sweat a little whilst the clothes dried and besides, we were both nearly naked anyway.
“Would you like something to eat?”
She shook her head.
“Maybe some beef tea?”
She shook her head again.
“So what were you doing out there? I could resist asking no longer.
“Waiting? Waiting for what or who?”
“Thank you for inviting me into your home.”
“It’s a pleasure.” I felt tiredness sweep over me. “It has been a long day I am going to rest.” I pointed to my bed in the alcove at the back of the room. “I will turn the oil lamp down. You will be able to see by the light of the fire and there is more wood in the basket if you need it. Do you need anything?"
She shook her head.
“There’s a chamber pot under the bed if you don’t want to go outside,”
I climbed onto my bed and lay, naked, on the soft covers. The room was hot from the fire and lying on my back I could see the sweat running down between my breasts and glistening on my stomach. I felt drowsy as if I had taken a sleeping draft.
The fire burnt down to an ember glow and I heard the girl stir. I turned my head toward her and, through half-open eyes, saw a shape, silhouetted against the firelight, beside the bed.
“Can I lie beside you?” Her voice purred.
I nodded and felt her light weight dip the bed as she climbed across and lay between me and the wall. She rolled onto her side and her skin pressed against mine, her head rested on my shoulder and I felt the soft weight of her arm across my stomach.
“Thank you,” she whispered, “For coming to rescue me, even though I was in no danger.”
“I thought you might…” I murmured.
“Can I offer you something in return?”
“There’s no need.”
“I’d like to.”
I felt a finger brush my nipple, no not a finger, a tongue, but her head had not moved. I stirred drowsily. Now it felt like two tongues, circling the bud sparking it into life as if I was wide awake but my eyelids seemed leaden and refused to open.
The tongue snaked across to my other nipple causing that to swell and harden. It seemed to wrap around the swelling flesh as if it were a finger and thumb and my back arched as my body responded to the tingling sensations coursing through me. I gasped, my mouth open but my eyes still firmly closed.
I felt her shift her weight on the bed, now she was kneeling between my parted legs. Her tongue, fingers, whatever it was, worked its way slowly, lusciously, down my body. I had just the merest sense of it wisping against my inner thighs before it sought out the parting folds between my legs.
I felt such sensations of pleasure as it parted the lips and began to push inside. Then I cried out as one of the fingers circled my bud sending sparks through my body that seemed to invigorate me and release me from the drowsiness. My eyes snapped open.
“What are you?” I said pushing up onto my elbows.
“I mean you no harm.” As she spoke she withdrew her long forked tongue that resembled that of a snake’s but was thicker and fleshier so that it almost resembled a hand shorn of all but two fingers. As soon as it slid from me I felt a sense of loss and of lust to feel it again.
I recoiled back up the bed and felt the hard wood of the bed head pressing into my back. The girl rose up onto her knees but she was no longer a girl. Confusion whirled through my mind. I tried to concentrate, to look harder at her.
She still resembled her but her face now seemed longer, her chin more pointed. Her eyes were still wide but the pupils now seemed to be vertical black ovals surrounded by fierce yellow, like a cat’s. Her ears seemed to have sharpened, become more elfin and her mane of dark red hair now sprouted from the centre of her head like a cocks combe. The most striking change was her skin which seemed to be almost the green of woodland moss.
Despite her magical appearance, she was still lithe and strangely beautiful.
“I will not harm you,” she smiled. “I needed to assume this form to bring you pleasure.” The tongue flicked from her mouth like a snake tasting the air.
“Stay back,” I pushed harder against the wooden bedhead as if hoping that it would part and allow the stone wall behind to enfold me. “You are an incubus.”
“No,” she shook her head and then tipped it slightly to one side as if thinking. “Maybe, men would call me a succubus but then, only when they are my prey, which you are not.”
I relaxed a little and she leant toward me and held out her hand. I noticed her fingernails were long and sharp.
“You are kind, a generous soul. You invited me into your home on a dark night. I will not abuse that.”
“Unless I had been a man.”
“A kind man, I would have taken what little I need and he would recover.”
“And an evil one?”
She looked away.
“How do I know that you are not bewitching me and seducing me with false words?”
“I have shown you my true form, released you from the power of my essence.”
I suddenly felt drowsy again, my eyelids became heavy and, as my vision blurred, I saw her reform into the girl. Then I was awake, my eyes refocused, and the beautiful creature was in front of me again.
Her tongue extended and brushed the inside of my calf. I felt the tingling again as if tiny sparks were landing on the skin all over my body. I slid down the bed a little, meeting the tongue as it worked sensuously across the skin of my inner thigh. There was a pause and then I felt it brush open the lips of my sex and slide inside.
I moaned, my back arched and stars flashed across my eyes as if I was outside gazing up at the inky black heavens but these stars were swirling around as if caught by the wind. Slowly, like the breaking dawn, the room refocused around me.
The girl was sitting at the opposite end of the bed. Her head turned to one side, her mouth open. The fingers of one hand pinched at the pert nipple, of her breast, her legs splayed wide, bent at the knees, her fingers working into the soft, warm gash between her legs.
“Become yourself,” I whispered as I moved toward her.
My tongue swept over the green flesh and joined her fingers in the molten folds between her legs. She tasted sweet, almost honeyed, and once again I felt the sensations of an inner ecstasy flowing through me.
My tongue sort out the bud at the apex of her sex and as I pressed against it her fingers withdrew. She bucked against my face, her behind raising from the bed as she wailed a long moaning sound that seemed to shake the very walls of the cottage.
Later as we lay, our bodies pressed together so we looked like a symbiotic being made up of dusky and green limbs, I asked “So what would you do to evil men?”
“I need to feed.” She stirred next to me. “If I took my fill, I would drain them dry and cast away the husk.
I thought for a moment, “I know several in the next village who wouldn’t be missed. In fact, their disappearance would be considered a blessing by some.”
“What are you thinking?” My new lover sat up and looked at me. Her yellow eyes sparkling like gold in the dawn light.
Part 2 The Succubus’ Revenge follows next Wednesday