Incubus Ch. 02

Damian paused. The head of his cock lay a vivid purple against a blossom of pink, splitting the undulant flesh of her inner labia, framed by the smoothness of the outer. Her yielding softness tentatively embraced his implacable rigidity.

Britt opened her legs wider and thrust her pelvis forward. A universal invitation. Permission granted.

"Do it," she whispered.

He paused, his entire being tense.

"Take me," she pleaded.

A pained look crossed his face.

"Please."

How often had he heard these words? Yet here, their tenor was different. The promise of giving as well as receiving. The promise of pleasure shared.

He entered her with agonizing deliberateness, spreading her lips, luxuriating in their taut embrace. He disappeared in increments, as though daring her to stop him. In response, she ran her legs up his muscular thighs and wrapped them around his waist, locking her ankles behind his back. He filled her. Just when she felt she could take no more, he thrust the rest home. Britt gasped.

She could not contain him, yet her muscles tightened in erratic contractions, trying of their own accord to hold him captive.

He withdrew. His cock glistened, baptized in her fluids.

He thrust again, gliding into her.

She couldn't possibly open herself more.

His movements touched off a storm. Her core spasmed around him.

She threw her head back and surrendered to him completely.

He battered her.

Time fell away and his thrusts blurred.

From out of the fog, a roar of release, growing in volume.

Britt whimpered and abandoned herself. She reached forward, between her legs, and found him. At the moment of climax, her nails gouged furrows into the flesh of his back. The ring at her breast blazed painfully and she cried out.

At her cry, Damian withdrew suddenly, leaving her bereft and hollow.

Britt opened her eyes, ready to plead for his return.

Gouts of semen arced over her leg and spattered the desk and scattered papers, unmarked assignments.

How do I explain that? Britt wondered absently.

A hiss rose from the desk. The liquid bubbled and a sulphurous vapor filled the air.

Britt watched in horror as the liquid vanished into the holes it burned through the papers and the surface of the desk.

The hissing ceased but the odor remained. She looked at Damian. His appearance had returned to normal. He scrutinized her, unspeakable sorrow in his eyes.

Britt's tongue lay paralyzed in her mouth. She drew up her legs and clutched them tightly.

Damian pulled on his jeans. He reached out to her and she flinched.

"I'm sorry," he whispered, his despair fathomless.

"I...." he began. He then shook his head and exited the room, leaving Britt on the desk with her knees drawn up to her chin, arms hugging her legs.

* * *

"You seem to be doing a little more than the usual house calls. A little overtime, Damian?"

A woman, clad entirely in black leather, detached herself from the shadow of an ancient oak. Her coat ended mid-calf, partially concealing the boots that hugged her legs to just below the knee. She belonged to that rare class of woman who could walk confidently on stilettos, and a rarer subset thereof who combined that skill with feline grace.

She turned and smiled at the young men who had stopped their game of touch football to observe her. Her coat opened, revealing a black waist cincher over a partially unbuttoned white blouse. A black leather skirt hugged shapely hips and, by virtue of its immodesty, revealed a scandalous expanse of toned thigh between it and the tops of her boots.

She turned back to Damian and smiled, but concern quickly etched her face.

"Kat. Stop teasing the boys. We may have a problem."

Damian glared at the young men and they quickly turned away.

Kat and Damian walked quickly to where he'd parked his car.

Inside, he made no move to start the engine. Instead, he gathered Kat in his arms and embraced her as one would a lover, tongue twining with hers.

She tasted him and the residue of Britt's blood.

She sat back and regarded Damian. "You're right. We may have a problem."