Page 68 of The Succubi's Choice

“You work for the people who tortured you last night,” he says, as if butthurt, and it’s pretty hilarious while it’s also awful. Like, yes, she does, and she’s going to have to deal with the emotional fallout of it at some point but…

He smiles at her, something soft and something fond and something way too real, and it makes her look down and away. Which is strange, he brought her to a fucking orgy, but it’s this soft smile that causes a blush to raise up on her cheeks.

So she leans into him, more so than she already is, inside his personal space and squaring off with him, and the smile vanishes, replaced by something much more serious.

“You’re just going to stay back, do some business, and...watch?” She asks, trailing her injured hand up his sleeve jacket.

He watches her hand, and her charm sparks, completely unnecessary, disappearing into the folds of his clothing. “Try to control that, some people might ask questions.”

She glances down at her hand in a useless motion. “Yeah that’s not intentional.” She flexes her fingers, feeling the inherent want and struggle right there beneath her skin, like something waiting to burst free somehow. “Uh, if you’re gonna be there, can you warn me? If I’m doing that? I don’t want to...make someone do something they don’t want to do.”

Again, the small smile. “I think you’ll find that most everyone here is open, but...I will stop you.”

“If you’re not...I dunno...politicking,” And she’s a creature of sexual energy and power and she feels like a bumbling teenager with absolutely zero game. “I don’t think I’ll need a babysitter or anything...”

Two other people stride past them, disappearing behind doors, and her eyes follow them, like every part of her body is attuned to whatever the hell is going on in the other parts of this gleaming mansion.

“Do you want to...” He gestures towards the many doorways to the many halls, as if she would know how to best navigate this world, as if she could take initiative.

Her head swims, for just a second, with the idea of what’s waiting behind those doors for her. “Yes,” she says, and he places a hand on the small of her back, a gentle reassurance.

They open with a cool puff of air, not unpleasant, not yet, but enough to ruffle her hair and her nerves, enough to put a hitch to her step.

She’s lived so much of her life counting all the things to do correctly so the Organization doesn’t find anything out, and here, faced with the possibility to let go, to go beyond where she’s ever been, she’s practically shaking.

She’s never heard of another succubi doing anything as stupid. Or bold. The nearest she’s heard of was a succubi who worked as a prostitute in New Orleans, who disappeared when they found out she was harming her return customers.

But then again, she never heard of a succubi with a human husband before a few nights ago.

Not-Thomas makes a small circle on her back with his hand, and she’s hyper aware of every motion through the thin cheap fabric of her dress, as they walk their way down a beautifully lit hall, with hardwood floors and paintings of flowers on the walls. It’s the sort of house you see in television shows about unhappy people.

With another knowing nod to another man in yet another suit, he guides her to another room, dimly lit.

The first thing that hits her is the warm smell of wanting bodies, and it’s like a tuning fork for her soul, and she makes a small noise, entirely involuntary, in the back of her throat.

The next thing she notices, is a woman in the center of the room.

She’s naked, on her knees but all but suspended by a complex series of ropes and knots between her breasts and down her shoulders, capturing her arms behind her. A flush has risen over her breasts, vivid and crimson, and Miri aches to run her hands over that smooth skin. A few drops of sweat drip down her neck, glistening.

Her legs are splayed open, and just from stepping into the room, Miri can see her pussy, gleaming and wet.

She’s blindfolded, her head leaning back and exposing her throat, her lips parted in an obscene pleasure.

“She can get out if she wants,” Not-Thomas whispers into her ear, soft. “I don’t know how, but I’ve seen her leave before.”

Miri can’t move, struck by the beauty in front of her, and as she watches, another woman approaches.

The other woman rubs her shoulder in a soothing motion, before kneeling next to the bound one. Never breaking that connection with her hand on the shoulder, the second woman gently, ever so gently, places a finger directly over her pussy.

The bound woman jerks in a startled motion, but a wispy sigh escapes her lips, as the second woman gingerly circles her soft folds, and Miri is spellbound.

She’s not the only person watching, the room is full of people. Bodies writhing, some in pairs, some more than pairs, on almost every surface.

The room is circled by deep couches, halfway to beds, some people just lounging and watching, like this is a completely normal situation for them. A couple sits, the woman on the man’s lap, and idly watches the scene in front of them, their faces not even changing.

To the right, a woman on her knees gets fucked, and with each thrust she moans, high and squeaky.

Again, with the gentle pressure and the gentle guidance, Not-Thomas leads her to the side of the room, and she’s not sure she would be able to walk without him. Her legs shake, utterly shake, like she’s a newborn deer or a child or —

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