MONSTER MADNESS MARCH PROMPT | PARANORMAL EROTICA
Kasdeya Cast Down
The Accidental Warlock and the Succubus #2
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A Medium series: 1 (This prequel story can be enjoyed on its own, but you meet Kasdeya the succubus in part one).
Warning: this story contains scenes of non-consensual, paranormal sex that may offend some readers.
The night Kasdeya was ripped from the Earthly plane started like any other: she seduced several men, copulated with them, and killed them.
She’d been doing it for centuries, across the ancient, medieval, and industrial worlds, going to ground in times of war or famine. She had lain with Roman centurions, Ottoman traders, and noblemen in the court of Louis XVI. For those last, she had provided a much more pleasurable death than surely awaited them at the Place de la Révolution; for they died screaming in ecstasy as she fucked them into heart attacks, strokes, and other failures of the body.
In Rome, she was succubare; in Paris, succube; in Madrid, súcubo; here in London, not far from the dawn of the 20th century, she was succubus. In those places and dozens more she had been hunted, and always she had escaped the vengeful, savage wrath of man.
But this time was different, she thought to herself as she tossed the last man into the Thames where it curved southwest near Cable Street. The air reeked, and not only due only to these foul “factories” belching their smoke; there had been whispers of a savage killer in the borough, another monster who walked among them.
The air was pungent with the smell of malignance, of cinders and sulphur, the iron tang of blood and the fruity stench of decay. Something from the lowerworld was here, and Kasdeya had no doubt it was here for her.
She’d sensed it in the pubs where she sat on the laps of factory workers, valets, and merchants, her short, blood-red horns covered by a bonnet, her tail coiled under her heavy breasts and wrapped around her narrow waist under her dress; in the filthy alleys where the men pawed at her breasts, clutched her buttocks, and thrust their unwashed members into her mouth and her sex, their breath all beer and tobacco, their hands black with coal dust or filth.
She’d sensed it, heard the murmurs about The Murderer, but never seen the beastly manifestation of the evil in the air. Not until tonight.
Her eyes followed the course of the river as it curved again at the Tower Bridge, then up into the late November sky, the stars twinkling in the cool air. She turned north to return to her rented room on Plumber’s Row, the landlady there paid with what she took from the pockets of her prey.
Kas didn’t fear the streets or the alleys late at night; it would take more than a single cutthroat, or even a gang of dirty, cruel, and starving youths to cause her harm. She preferred the alleys nonetheless; she hadn’t survived this long without learning where she could run and where she could hide.
On Fairclough Street she first sensed him; she walked on. It wasn’t until she reached Fordham Street that he took her.
Gloved hands emerged from the narrow alley like shot from the pitch-black maw of a cannon, and pulled her off the street. Thick, sharp fingernails dug into her shoulders as she was dragged into the darkness.
Kasdeya struggled to get free; but she intuited immediately this was no man, he was much stronger than even the stevedores who occasionally fought her in a panic as she choked them. His fingers, tipped with thick nails like claws, dug through her dress and cloak, and into her soft, smooth flesh. She gripped his wrists and pulled outward and then up; she couldn’t loosen his grip.
He dragged her backwards, her boots skittering on the cinders and stone of the alley, until they were in complete darkness. The hands tightened and pushed forward, pressing her face against a brick wall, his body pinning her. He was large, several heads taller than her at least, his wide shoulders and torso speaking to muscle and power.
She did not scream. What good would come of the sleepy occupants of these threadbare houses stumbling out, only for this being to dispatch them before returning to menace her? There had been enough death in the East End. But she did make a soft ancient curse that her tail, tipped with keen-edged leaf shape, was still wrapped around her waist, the point lying uselessly against her navel, pinned like the rest of her body.
Her bonnet was snatched from her head, and one of the hands left her shoulders to caress around the base of each of the short horns at her hairline. The shockingly gentle touch sent a shiver through her. No man had ever touched her there. She barely touched her horns herself, and so she never realized they were sites of pleasure, like the peaks of her breasts or her sensitive pearl.
Kasdeya struggled despite the arousal building in her, now that the force pushing her into the wall had been halved. But he held her fast, now using a circle formed by his forefinger and thumb to wrap around the base of one horn, then the other, rotating gently at the places the horn met her scalp. His arousal became obvious against her rear, a stiffening member of a length and girth large enough she could feel the bulge of it through his trousers, her dress, and her cloak.
“Not what you are accustomed to, is it?” the being said, his plosives butcher-knife sharp.
“Go to hell,” Kasdeya said, one side of her mouth mashed against the soot-covered brick. Sibilants would have betrayed weakness. She felt weak, in his grip and under his touch.
He laughed. “I am from hell.” His soft fricative didn’t sound any less vicious than a hard one might. “And I have come to take you back. Either that, or to put you to death.”
She struggled again, trying to loosen his grip on her shoulder, or at least stop him from kneading her head.
She’d escaped once, plunging recklessly through a transient portal centuries ago, waking in a crypt beneath the Egyptian sands. She walked toward half-formed pyramids to start her life on Earth, seeking out the essence that would keep her alive on the mortal plane.
Kasdeya loved it here, despite the stenches and the sheer monstrousness of humanity. There were treasures to be behold, smaller than the pyramids or the Colossus, but the splendent smile of a child or the faithful love manifest in a marriage ceremony were no less wondrous.
“I am not returning!” she said, her voice echoing off the walls of the squalid alley. “I’d die first!”
“Plenty have perished already in my pursuit,” the being said. Both hands remained fast where he wanted them.
Suddenly, the hand at her horns was in her hair, and he pulled her head back in a smooth motion, so that she no longer touched the wall. His other forearm he wrapped around her neck, and she could feel the powerful muscles there. He clutched the bodice of her dress and tore it to one side, and then the corset, down between her breasts to where the whalebone strips ended just above her large globes. Her tail was coiled over the corset, but his pelvis, held tight against her bottom, kept it trapped.
The brim of what she imagined was a top hat brushed her head as he began to lick her earlobe while squeezing one breast, then the other. She gasped as the rough leather of his gloves rasped against her nipples. The contrast between the silky touch of his tongue and the coarse palpation of his hands sent waves of arousal through her, thawing the cold spike of fear that had been sliding inside her since he forced her against the wall.
Kasdeya tilted her head and shoulders back without thinking about it, giving him easier access to the sensitive shell of her ear, and raising her breasts up. She remembered then the feeling of his nails on her shoulder, all but claws, and she put her hand over his, sliding down his fingers until she reached the tips, and pulling the glove from his hand. As if he knew what she craved, the being raked his talons across the white flesh of her globes, one finger scraping the hard, sensitive pebbles on each. She groaned at the sensation, a coarse, lingering sting that pricked not just these tender nubs, but the one at the apex of her sex.
Her folds swelled and moistened, her tail twitching against her belly. It writhed on her navel as the creature closed his claws around the base of each nipple, pulling slowly outwards, raking them as she had raked the backs of thousands of men as she took their essence. They had the better of the union, spasming uncontrollably as euphoria wiped their minds like a chalk slate.
The powerful, wicked hands on her and the huge organ now pressing against the cleft of her ass gave her reason to believe she had met her match in more ways than one.
He spun her then, to push her against the wall by the throat. His face was hidden in the dark under the brim of his hat. She felt a shiver run through her, but could not have said whether the quiver was borne of fear or desire.
He stooped to take her pebbled beads in his mouth, using his tongue to circle around their bases, as he had done with her horns, the wet softness of it sending a frisson through her, the cool shiver blooming into heat at her core.
It occurred to Kasdeya vaguely that he was now exposed: his vital organs, his genitals, the femoral arteries in his thighs all within reach of her tail and its razor leaf. That he wasn’t human shouldn’t matter; even if she couldn’t kill him, she could wound him enough to attempt an escape. But she didn’t uncoil her tail, twitching in arousal. His deeds since pulling her into this black alley hinted at a pleasure greater than she had ever known in centuries of carnal predation.
He used his teeth as he had his claws, gripping her nipples and drawing his head back to scrape them with his preternaturally sharp incisors. Her hands flew out like startled birds, knocking off his hat as she gripped the back of his head to pull him even closer, to coax more out of his tongue and teeth, to increase the entropy between her breast and her sex.
She lost track of time then, looked up at the stars and let out soft moans as he licked and nibbled and scraped, making no sound of his own.
She was drawn from her reverie when he slid out of her grip; he was descending, tearing at the rest of his dress as he ended on his knees. His face came inches from the tip of her tail, but she did not consider a stab to the eye or the throat. With one quick motion, her torn dress was gone. The cool autumn air that assaulted her warm petals caused a tornado of sensation between her thighs and chilled the thin ribbon of her secretions dribbling toward the knee of one leg.
Kasdeya dropped her head from the stars, as if by some miracle she could see him between her thighs in the darkness. She only saw the faintest outline of his head, where his black hair began, dipping, and then rising slowly, his tongue tracing that ribbon back up her thigh, erasing one chilly trail and creating a warm one. He gripped each half of her buttocks in one hand, the talons deep enough to leave bloody dimples, as his tongue glided up to the junction with her pubis. Then down again, the slick muscle tracing down the petals of one side, then up the other. She gripped his head again, still straining to see this creature, this obverse denizen of the lower world that was taking her to ebullient, unknown heights of pleasure.
He was as gentle with his tongue on her soaking folds as he had been with her earlobe, and she tried to focus on keeping her knees from buckling, from collapsing in a quivering heap of excited nerve endings.
She nearly did collapse when he finally shifted his wet, insistent strokes to her pearl, leaning back on the wall to brace herself, to keep from plummeting onto him. He used the whole of his tongue to pleasure her, slow, steady strokes that filled her with exhilaration like water in the Tottenham Lock. When he took her pearl between his pursed lips, sucking and flicking with a complete lack of restraint, the lock opened, and the wave of her orgasm washed over her, carrying her fear and thoughts of escape like so much flotsam.
Never had a mortal man made her feel this way, as though she was caught in a squall of erupting nerve endings and boiling blood, a flush spreading from her core to her fingertips and toes. She gripped her own claws into his scalp and relied on the wall to keep her upright.
The monster rose like liquid smoke in the dark, and engulfed her mouth with his, filling her senses with her own sweet secretions. She parted her lips to return the kiss, the new, bafflingly tender touch just adding to the storm in her.
As suddenly as he had started the kiss, he broke it, and then leaned forward to whisper in her ear.
“Months of fruitless searching, five false demons, and then I happen upon you disposing of your offal, completely by chance,” he breathed. “I may never have found you, even with the vigilance committee and the police to draw you to me. I reckoned you would be foolish enough to try to slay me before I could capture you, but I reckoned wrong.”
Realization blew through Kasdeya like a cold gust of wind, cooling the heat she felt inside and out. Then she was burning again with fury and disgrace an instant later. “It was you! You…eviscerated them!”
She had heard the frightened and furious whispers in the pubs and alleys of Whitechapel of a man they called Leather Apron, preying on prostitutes. He had slit their throats and mutilated them, and the whispers said he had removed organs, and had even sent half a kidney through the post. She had been intrigued but not alarmed; the depravity of man ran like a sewer underneath every society she had known. The names floated through her mind: Mary Ann, Annie, Liz and Catherine, and not a week gone by, Mary Jane…she had never connected the Apron with the otherworldly presence she sensed.
He chuckled. “I had to be certain. Tails and horns can be removed, but this…” his hand gripped her hip suddenly, his fingers digging into her back, his thumb pressing like a steel bolt into her abdomen. “You possess viscera here that the mortals do not, which secretes the fluid that makes them so…virile.” The last word he all but spat into her ear.
He released her hip and seized her throat, running the claw that tipped his thumb across it, sending keen, drawn out prickles through her; icy ones to her heart, fiery to her core. “It was no knife,” he said, as he scraped the talon under her jaw. “I’ve no need for a blade.”
Trapped between dread and desire and feeling crushed by guilt, Kasdeya was unaware that her tail twitched, starting to unwind of its own accord, and then was still, as he teased his nail tenderly across her throat. She also did not notice that with his other hand, the demon had loosened the ties at the back of his trousers, letting them fall unseen at his feet.
She could again register the size of him as he brushed himself against her navel, dangerously close to the razor tip of her tail, a hard, heavy length that lay against her abdomen, the top almost reaching between her breasts. Her mind reeled with the geometry of his body and hers and what that measure might portend.
Was he taunting her still, daring her to emasculate him with a twitch of her tail? She could have, perhaps, but then she was rising, one powerful hand on her ass, lifting her up. Her back scraped against the wall, the hand on her throat still not fully extended. Her legs had nowhere to go but outside his hips. She rested her ankles there, and her elbows on his shoulders.
He held her there, with no sign of effort that she could detect; his breath did not quicken and he made no other sound. He seemed languid, almost distracted as she felt his hard length spreading her warming petals with only the barest touch. Again she tried to calculate conformations, and again, her estimations were overcome by excitation.
He took the peaks of her breasts in his mouth again, suckling gently before using his tongue to trace warm circles around them, making the need between her legs keener. But he seemed determined to taunt her further with his cock, sliding it almost imperceptibly along her cleft, her lips swelling and moistening with each unhurried, ephemeral stroke.
Kasdeya didn’t know how long this went on; only the consistent darkness informed her it wasn’t hours; the stars still shone unmolested by sunlight above her as he built her arousal up to a boiling point. Neither his arm nor his tongue seemed to tire as he licked her nipples and brushed her folds, the length of him ensuring he never broke contact with her sensitive nub.
The constant, scrupulous touch threatened to undo her. She writhed as much as her position allowed, whether to encourage him to quicken his movements or to increase the friction between them’ she wasn’t sure which, and it didn’t matter; she could not go on like this, heated to the point of combustion, even in this cold, tenebrous alley.
Without warning, he thrust into her, one brutal plunge that stretched her sheath and filled her to where a mortal woman would have a cervix, nearly causing her to scream.
She didn’t know if his entire length was inside her, but however much he had driven deep within her was stimulating every inch of her channel. The constant spreading of her soaking folds was delicious beyond even her vast experience. She dug her own claws into his shoulders as he fucked her in a frenzy, the antithesis of his teasing only moments before, each furious thrust more satisfying than the last, each bringing her closer to release. Without leverage, she could not move to match his rhythm, to lift up as he withdrew, to lengthen the distance of each stroke, to draw out the wet friction along his entire length.
So Kasdeya did what she could, what drove her lovers, if you could classify them such — she thought of them as prey — to crashing, spasming orgasms: she squeezed her walls around that silky shaft, to increase the friction, sending flaming pulses of pleasure through her.
He rutted her far longer than any man had or could; nothing about this demon was inferior to human males. His preternatural cock kneaded her channel as he lowered his head again, now using his teeth on each hard bead. If he drew blood, she neither noticed or cared; the whole world was this cock in her as she floated in the darkness, her body aflame but unlit in the night.
Her climax built as he railed her, still not making a sound, not showing signs of ebbing, building up and up, as if he could choose the moment that he erupted. Perhaps he could, but Kasdeya could not; she exploded suddenly, a shaking, quivering orgasm that rocked her body in his hand. Her mind became a mirror of the sky; a black nothingness punctuated by bright stars of euphoria, each birthing and dying in the space of nanoseconds.
When Kasdeya’s senses returned — the cold air, the reek of the alley, him — he was still pumping into her, even faster now. While he still made no sound, there was a hum in the narrow passage, a thrumming buzz that was steadily increasing in volume, filling the small space as if it was corporeal and would envelop her.
He came as the thrumming became loud enough to hurt her ears, emptying his infernal seed deep into her. His hands on her throat and ass clenched as he spasmed inside her, this time the pain so sharp she was sure he had pierced her skin. The stars started to burst again, in front of her eyes, and behind them.
When she awoke, Kasdeya knew instantly she was in the lowerworld. The smell and the harsh, lustreless light told her it was so even before she took note of the stone walls and rock spikes that formed her cell.
She screamed and screamed. She shrieked, pleaded, and begged for the next 134 years. But it wasn’t until Andy Higgins mistakenly summoned her in an attempt to impress a woman on the Internet on Halloween 2022 that she could finally return to Earth.
Thank you for reading! Many thanks to editor extraordinaire Posy Churchgate - Writes & Edits Fiction for her thoughtful use of the red pen.
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