Chapter one: The succubus and the sleeping beauty.
Hi! This will be a strange tale of otherworldly influence, mind control, corruption, bdsm, voyeurism and exhibitionism and much, much more. Every character engaging in sexual activities will, of course, be over 18. I am writing this mostly for my own sake, but I sincerely hope you enjoy it, and would appreciate constructive critiscism. It will be off to a slowish start, and increase in pace as the story goes on.
Please, enjoy!
The inky, smoky shape traverses the dark ceiling without sound nor scent. It nestles in the corner of the ceiling, right above the bed. It almost seems to purr as its smoky tendrils vibrate, coiling up around its shape. It has no name, or if it has one, it is long forgotten by both man and itself. That fact does not bother it.
It cares little about names, only about pleasure. Sinful pleasure, some might call it, pleasures of the flesh, but it has no morals. It has been drawn here tonight by one thing, and one thing only: unfulfilled, repressed depravity, waiting for a trigger to unleash it.
It looks down upon the source of the pent-up sexual longing. A woman, maybe 20 or 25 years old, sleeping restlessly. She has tossed off her covers, but a large shirt and a pair of pyjama pants cover most of her body. Still, the supple shapes of her body sends a ripple through the inky tentacles of the being in the ceiling, and the currently furrowed brow is the only blemish on a very beautiful face.
This will be easy, it thinks, and if it could laugh it would have. Instead it plunges downwards suddenly, aiming for the woman’s face. Instead of a splash, or a thud, or any form of impact, it enters her mind, nestling itself into the parts of her sleeping mind most susceptible to its subtle, corrupting influence.
*****
Laura’s nightmare changes as suddenly as a flash of lightning. One moment she is running through quicksand, desperately trying to escape some unknown assailant, the other she is pulled down into the ground. Instead of quicksand, however, she is plunge into pleasantly warm water, her run turned effortlessly into a swim.
She swims in darkness, yet she is not afraid. She sees the light ahead, a light that promises pleasure. She does not know why the light means pleasure, but it does. All she has to do is swim, but the water is getting warmer, and heavier, and the wetness on her forehead is suddenly made of sweat, and she starts to struggle, and…
Laura wakes up panting. She is drenched in sweat, her sleeping clothes damp and clinging to her body.
*Oh my, it’s hot. I should take of my clothes.*
The thought is Laura’s, yet not quite hers. She is alone in her apartment, but she still hesitates to undress. Her mother’s shrill voice seems to echo through her mind. “A lady does not sleep in the nude, young miss!” Memories of her mother bring a pang of anger into her chest, and that settles it. Angry and warm, Laura wrestles her shirt off. Her breasts seem to breathe a sigh of relief as the cool night air cradles them, and a shiver runs down her spine.
*Much, much better. But my pants are still clinging to my legs, isn’t it unpleasant?*
There it is again. A thought, Laura’s own, but the voice is as clear as if someone is whispering inside her head. She shakes her head, trying to wrestle free from the last tendrils of befuddling dream-residue in her head, and then she undresses completely.
An immediate wave of pleasure. Laura stretches on the bed, her long legs reaching for the very end of it as she shocks herself with a very unladylike moan. What is with her? She sits up in the bed, massaging her temples. Her mind feels strangely fuzzy, as if she was a little drunk. She lies down again, staring up into the ceiling. She is suddenly very awake, and very aware of her own nakedness.
*This is much more pleasant, is it not?*
Again, it is Laura herself who sort-of-thinks. The clearness of the thought is already less familiar, but she still bridles slightly at it. But it is more pleasant, now that she thinks about it. So pleasant, in fact, that she feels her nipples start to stiffen in the perfectly cool night air.
*I know what would help me sleep.*
The thought is sudden, and it comes with… rather vivid images. Laura blushes into the darkness. She isn’t a complete prude, but masturbation has always been shameful. Her priest had demonized it in her childhood, and even now, when she was a grown woman of 23, she seldom did it. Still, the thought lingers.
Lingers, and grows in strength. Laura carefully traces her body with a light finger. Her hard, smooth collarbones, her soft, heavy breast… her nipple stiffens even more as her finger reaches it, and her breathing becomes heavier. She pinches it, lightly, and pleasure floods her mind. It is not the usual pleasure of simple touch, this is something… new. As if her pleasure was enhanced by something, some strange drug.
Laura keeps breathing as she explores her own body. Still pinching her nipple, her other hand trails down her flat, smooth stomach down to her crotch. She lets her finger trail softly through the short hair there, then slowly downwards.
Another deep moan slips from her mouth as her gentle fingers cup her vulva. Her labia are already swelling, and with a slow finger she wets them with her own juices. She can’t remember ever being this wet, but then again, it has been a long time. Her mind starts to explore her own, rather meagre, collection of sexual encounters.
Her first college boyfriend, Mike, had attempted to please her with fumbling fingers on the graduation party senior year. They had been two 19-year old virgins, and no one had gotten much pleasure from that night. Her mind, as if irritated, tosses the memory aside. Instead she finds a more recent one. John.
John had been Laura’s first friend at her internship after college. They had never had sex, Laura had been to nervous to approach him and John had been pleasantly flirty rather forwardly seducing. Yet a very clear image of John appears before Laura now, his muscular ass in a pair of suit pants, a pair of suit paints which can barely contain the bulge in the front, a bulge Laura stole many longing glances of…
Her clit is ready when her questing finger reaches it, and that overwhelming sense of pleasure hits her again. It’s almost as if her mind is rewarding her, in some strange way.
*I should message John,*
says Laura’s mind. Her finger stops caressing her clit.
Her whole body freezes up. Of course she should not message John. It is a terrible idea, a terrifying idea, but still her clit pulsates under her finger, as if urging her on, and she can’t help but to softly rub it again.
Her other hand slowly reaches towards her night stand. Her phone is there; her fingers find it without trouble in the darkness of the room. She shouldn’t. She’s not even sure she still has his number; it’s been over a year since they spoke.
*I could just ask him how he is. There’s nothing strange about reaching out to an old friend, is there?*
It’s hard to argue with your own thoughts. Laura tries. It’s the middle of the night, this will be weird, he probably won’t even respond. Still, she finds his contact info, and one hand types out a short, innocent message as the other one slowly circles her clit. Warm, pleasant waves come over her brain, keeping her from thinking too much about it. It’s better to just type, and caress, and enjoy, is it not?
“Hi John! Long time no see. How are you?”
Laura clicks send, and immediately regrets it. It’s weird, isn’t it?
*Maybe I should write something more…*
“Sorry, this is weird, lol. I just couldn’t sleep and started thinking about the internship, haha!”
Send. Regret. Oh my god, this is even worse. Laura starts typing again, but this time she’s interrupted. A text from John.
“Hey Blondie! Long time no see indeed, lol. No worries, I was up. I’m good, hbu?”
Laura flushes into the darkness again. Her finger is still slowly circling her clit and now she smiles as she types.
“I’m good! I’m at Cornell and Sharpe now. Are you still at BLB? And what were you doing up this late, partying on a saturday?”
She lies back and closes her eyes, remembering John’s body before her eyes, waiting for his response. It comes much quicker than she thought is would.
It’s just a picture, with a very short text attached to it. It’s a picture of a very bulging pair of men’s underwear, and a hand firmly gripping the bulge. Underneath, it just says: “Hard time sleeping.”
Laura almost stops breathing. She doesn’t even notice that her finger is moving faster now, moving in small, delicate circles over her swollen clit, a building pleasure spreading through her body from the pit of her stomach.
*I should respond. It’s strange not to, right? He’ll feel bad if I don’t…*
A wave of guilt sweeps over Laura. It is mixed with desire, anxiety, pleasure… and this strange new sensation. Somehow she knows that she will feel that strange pleasure, that sense of reward, if only she responds. After all, it is strange not to. John would feel bad…
“I think I can see why, lol”
It’s a dumb response, and not like Laura at all, but Laura doesn’t care. She can feel the pleasure burning inside her now, the electrical feeling of her soft fingertip eagerly caressing her clit.
Vibration. Another picture. Laura can’t understand how she didn’t see it coming, but she didn’t. She sees it now, though. John’s hard cock, bigger even than she had imagined, laying on its side on John’s thigh. Laura has always taken a firm stance against dick pics, called them disgusting, perverted, but the sight of John’s thick, hard cock ignites something inside her, and she finally reaches that final tipping point.
*I think it would be nice to cum now,* the strange not-quite-Laura in her head whispers eagerly.
And she does. Her mind overflows with an unfamiliar feeling of raw ecstacy as her legs start to cramp and her toes curl up. Almost electrical surges, warm flashes of pleasure emanates from her clitoris up her spine, igniting her whole body in an orgasm stronger than any she’s had before.
She lies there, just breathing. She can see tiny stars in the ceiling, and her mind is fuzzy as she tries to recover from the intense emotion running through her head.
“Was that weird? You still there?” John texts.
Laura feels too tired to respond, but it is af there is some other being, something that is stronger rather than weaker after that ordeal, which has taken over her mind momentarily.
She snaps a picture of just her still-wet fingers, and sends the picture to John.
“That was just perfect. Good night, John.”
Source: reddit.com/r/eroticliterature/comments/w9h0ur/a_succubus_corrupting_influence_fm_fpov_corruption