Made of This

This had been provisionally accepted for an anthology on the theme of ‘succubi’ but fell at the last hurdle. Given the currently nebulous future of erotic publishing, even though this isn’t transgressive and is more about the figurative rather than the literal succubus, I present it here for you to read if you’re so inclined. Needless to say, adult material and all that.

I stare into the gaze of the hollow-eyed man. Rangy, thin and pale he doesn’t look well but he does look focussed. There’s a yearning there, a determination, a hint of fire and passion that his appearance doesn’t reflect. His hair hangs around his shoulders, tangled and clinging to a body that stubbornly refuses to give in, like his mind. His face bristles with whiskers, grown over weeks, unkempt tufts sticking out here and there as it transitions from the mere ‘unshaven’ to the ‘beard’.

I raise my hand to my chin and pull it down, over my mouth, stroking through that rough growth.

The man in the mirror does the same.

I let the water run until it is warm, not hot. Cold or hot would stir me awake and that is the last thing that I want. Then I wouldn’t be able to see her for a while. The warm water tastes foul, who knows how long it has been lurking in the hot water tank, but it quenches my thirst and makes me feel more alive, more capable, more human.

Every day I dream her a little closer and I see her a little longer. Every day she seems… she feels a little more real. Like Lady Luck she cannot be courted, cannot be invoked, cannot be summoned and cannot be relied upon. She must just be allowed to come in her own time, on her own terms and in her own way.

The water is hot now, spiralling away into the sink. I soak the flannel it it, rubbing soap against its rough surface until it froths. Then I wash. I turn my arms this way and that, run the warm cloth under my armpits, cleaning away the stale sweat she leaves me with. Water drips down my downy chest and trickles lower, over my belly. The delicate tickle of its passage makes me think of her caresses and I bite my lip at the memory until it hurts, a shiver moving through my cock as the memory comes alive and the flesh follows the mind.

I push the flannel lower and wrap its damp warmth around me like echoes of her soaking heat. I lift my heavy, aching balls and lather them, making myself clean for her. Weighing that twitching shaft in my hand, I stroke it groaning at the feeling, the warmth, the wetness, the slickness of the soap.

I stop…

I want her, not the memory of her. If I come, she won’t. I ache with need and my fist moves of its own accord, wrapping around me and pushing down, but it’s her I want. I lean against the cold smoothness of the sink and give a guttural groan of abject frustration. My own touch feels good, but it’s nothing compared to hers and so, by sheer force of will, I stop. I bite down on the inside of my cheek, using the pain to distract me from the growing throb between my legs.

I toss the flannel aside with a wet slap and a spray of droplets. Then I turn, naked and uncaring, pacing, ungainly from the swollen, heavy rod between my legs. I catch sight of my ridiculous shadow, wagging like the tail of some lazy dog and I cannot help but laugh at myself as I move to the bed.

This is where she comes to me, this is where we are one. I run my hand along the neat lines of the bed, the only thing in this whole flat that is neat and tidy any longer. Today there are clean sheets on the bed. Cool and smooth. I luxuriate in their feel against my skin as I slide beneath the covers and stretch my arms and legs, joints popping with the tense anticipation and hope that I will see her again spreading through me.

It’s day outside right now. Sunlight peeks around the heavy curtain and threatens to keep me awake. I hear the distant and constant rumble of traffic, I hear people talking to one another as they pass by my window. I try to put it out of my mind. I close my eyes and these distractions begin to fade away one by one. I concentrate, instead, upon the girl of my dreams.

She is never the same twice. She comes like mist in the shadows of your dream, ever changing, always wonderful. I never truly see her, I feel her. She is everything and nothing to me. If you try to hold onto her, she vanishes like smoke. I know it’s her, every time, though she never feels the same, never smells the same, never tastes the same.

She’s Page 3 of The Sun, she’s a rap star’s music video. She’sNancyfrom primary school who was the first to get breasts. She’s Helen with the short skirt from science class who made you fail your tests. She’s every lover you have ever had or ever wanted, everyone you knew, imagined or wanted. Every film star, every pretty stranger on the train, everything you ever desired. If you’re strong, she gives way, soft and fluid beneath you, warm and wet and eager to please, worshipping you with her flesh. If you hesitate, she takes. She can be demanding and forceful if that’s what you desire. She places your hands on her body, tell you how to touch, how to lick, what to take and she mounts you with abandoned and shameless ease in a way that no other woman can.

She’ll indulge any fantasy, do anything you want, push your limits and let you be who you really are, even if you don’t know who you are or what you want. She’ll push you to, and then over the edge. She’ll catch you and forgive you for anything you’ve done. She doesn’t care.

My cock aches, uncomfortable now with all these thoughts racing in my head. My flesh tents the sheet, the cool bordering on painful against my swollen glans as I twitch with every heartbeat against the fabric. I turn, laying on my side instead, that girthy length slapping against my thigh. I try to relax, try to be calm, to ignore the yearning need that sits in my stomach like a rock and makes my balls feel leaden.

All of me is fixed, focussed, concentrated on that ache between my legs, on the throbbing weight that presses back against my belly but I close my eyes and try to clear my thoughts. I start to count down from a hundred, eyes closed lips gently moving, letting my limbs grow heavy, breathing slow and steady and pressing my head deeper into the pillows.

Somewhere I lose count and then she’s there, in the velvet shadow of the dream. There’s nothing but blackness and yet I can feel her presence; I know she’s there.

Her hands slide around me from behind, slender fingers play over my skin and I ease back against her. She’s soft, but slender, the heat of her belly presses against my rump and her thigh caresses my hip as she winds around me, soft and gentle as silk. I feel her breath against my neck and then her lips, parted perfectly, slide along my chin and she peppers my chest with kisses, fingertips describing the ancient patterns of need and adoration across my skin.

I feel her breasts, soft and smooth as they sway against my chest and my excitement rises. I draw her before me with sudden strength and feel her curves. Her breasts swell into my hands, heavier, rounder, arched up with her back, there’s a gasp that I sense rather than hear. Turgid, thick nipples press to my palms as I bare her down into the blacknesss with a force that surprises me, but not her. She knows me better than I know myself. She plays to me, arching and opening her body to me until I push and claim her, clutching her flesh to mine as the hot, buttery heat of her swallows me whole and takes me deep within her.

She laughs, she clutches, she pulls, I feel her hair as I drive into her and bury my face in her neck. Her legs twine around me, her heels pull at my hips, drawing me deeper. I cannot see her, but I can feel her in my mind’s eye. She is dark tonight, heavy, rich, curved, exotic and sweet. She is molasses, she is caramel, she is oil beneath me. There are no words, words are unnecessary between us. She burns like fire and her nails digging into my hips, as she hisses and her body rises to meet me tells me, all I’ll ever need to know.

I don’t make love to her.

We don’t fuck.

I take her and she possesses me.

I dive into her and lose myself in her. I let myself vanish into arms, her legs, her ample bosom. Her breasts smother me and I bite and suckle at their tender curves. My body moves until we’re soaked with sweat, until the unshaped darkness around us is dripping from our heat. I can feel her body grasp me, I can smell the scent of jasmine rising from her flesh mingling with the honey-sweetness of her matchless cunt.

We turn and twist, our bodies one. One moment she is beneath me on her back, the next on her hands and knees, lifting her body to mine like an animal. We tangle and untangle writhe and twist, knot our limbs, our hands, our bodies into one.

I roll and she rides me now, clutching my hands, bracing against them. Her hips in a deep, writhing roll that I have only felt once in the waking life. The most perfect sensation I have ever felt. She is glorious, she is everything, she is all I ever want. If only this moment could last forever.

Already I feel her slipping away, becoming less real, less substantial. Our union takes on a desperation with that revelation, clutching heat as her body tries to anchor mine. There’s a speed, a passion, a force that we’ve never had with each other before. Her nails dig harder into the backs of my hands and draw blood, not that I care. My hips rise and buck to those churning, broad hips, fierce with the need for release, grimacing like a beast beneath her.

I’ve never cum inside her. She swallows me, she tugs the straining ropes of seed from me into the darkness, she takes my passion on her belly, her breasts, her back, lets me mark her mine. She never, ever lets me fill her.

Until now.

Now her hips push down until I can be no deeper, we’re so close we’re one flesh. Her cunt clenches my cock like a fist and she kisses me, hard, upon the mouth.

Time stops.

She tastes like whisky; smoky, hot, sweet. Her lips are like fire, her tongue electric, I feel like I’m engulfed within her, rooted within her, that nothing exists for her but me.

The Gordian knot in my belly, insoluble to anyone but her, is slashed. The weight, the tension I’ve been carrying and resisting unfurls unleashes and unwinds in a sudden explosion and I strain upwards, crying my joy into her mouth as my cock leaps inside her with a muscular jerk. Gush upon gush I empty myself into her, giving her my all, straining to wring every drop, every iota of my desire into her body, to show her my adoration with nothing but my cum. I rise so hard, so desperate that her body is nearly thrown from me, her knees digging into my sides as she holds onto me oh-so-hard.

She lays her panting body against me as time starts again, skin tacking to skin, keeping us one. She’s smaller now, petite, almost girlish. She’s curled upon my chest like a kitten, kissing and licking the beads of sweat from my chest as though my cum had not been enough. I can barely feel her now. She’s becoming insubstantial, fading into the darkness, becoming a part of it again, slipping away from me. My heart aches at the parting as she fades with one last kiss and my sleep-gummed eyes open to the dim shade of my room again.

I blink, trying to clear my eyes and focus. I lay on my back, staring up in the half-light at the crinkled curves of my ceiling. She sheets are dry, but I feel drained and spent, satisfied for this precious moment but my cock and my belly are wet, sticky, hot. My hand slides down and my finger runs along the slick length of me before it draws back out.

I smell jasmine.

I taste her.

She is.