A savage place! As holy and enchanted
As e’er beneath a waning moon was haunted
By a woman wailing for her demon lover!
Samuel Taylor Coleridge, Kubla Khan, 1798-99
Peter opened the front door to be greeted by a comic tableaux. Four of his friends, dressed as if they had just stepped out of a certain Chateaux on lake Lucerne at the turn of the 19th century. Unfortunately they had stepped out into one of the intense but sporadic showers of rain that were lashing Yew Tree Manor. Rather soggy, they carried their luggage into the hall.
“The bloody car broke down just outside the garden wall”, explained Mark, “The weather I expect, though when you pay that much for a bloody car …”. “We’re here now”, interrupted Mark’s fiancÃ©, Emily, “Let’s get dried off and get a drink.”. The suggestion of alcohol immediately raised the mood of the bedraggled couples, so Peter led them to the kitchen to open a few bottles of wine.
Equipped with bottles and glasses, as well as their luggage, the newly arrived couples retired to their respective bedrooms. “Where’s Kate?”, asked Luke, “Charlotte wanted to talk to her about arrangements for Christmas. You are still stopping with us, aren’t you?”.
“I think so”, replied Peter, “Kate’s asleep, I’ll wake her up and ask her. See you downstairs in half an hour.”
And indeed Kate was asleep. After their frantic screw over the kitchen sink she had retired to the bedroom. Peter had been concerned, her skin was cold and clammy as he helped her up the stairs to their room. She had lain back on the four poster bed and smiled at him. Not a loving smile, more a benevolent one, a “You served me very well”, type of smile. Peter had been quite disconcerted at the time, but once the moment had passed and she had fallen to sleep he wasn’t so sure. “It was just a smile”, he told himself.
Peter quietly let himself into the bedroom and lay next to Kate. He lay on his side watching her chest rise and fall. The urge to slide his hand up her leg and stroke her inner thigh above her stockings was difficult to resist, but he did. She needed her sleep.
Within a few minutes his eyes had closed, lids heavy, drained from the earlier sweat exertion. He began to breathe deeply and steadily, a contented post-coital slumber.
Kate’s eyes snapped open. She slid off the bed as smoothly and as silently as a snake. Gliding across the carpet and out the door without a sound, she left Peter to his dreams.
Mark and Luke’s voices drifted up from the kitchen below, they had spent just a few minutes straightening their outfits, so as not to miss any serious drinking time. The dark fairy saw a door ajar at the end of the landing. She cocked her head slightly, unblinking eyes studying the sliver of light emanating from the room intently for movement.
She was at the door now, and let herself in, as silent as a malicious whisper.
Emily was on the bed, on her side facing the door. Her eyes were closed. She wore red bra and briefs, nothing more. The dress, carefully chosen, now rather damp, was hung to dry from the curtain rail above the radiator in the window.
Kate walked round the foot of the bed and lay behind Emily. Their bodies were not yet touching but Kate’s hot breath played on the back of Emily’s neck. Emily stirred, “Mmmh, Mark!”. “Yes”, replied the succubus.
Kate slipped her hand around Emily’s waist and slowly drew her middle finger across Emily’s skin from the navel to her cleavage. “Do we have time?”, asked Emily. “Yes. We have all the time we need”, Kate assured her. Emily reached to the front of her bra and undid the clasp, letting her dark-nippled C-cup breasts to spill out.
Kate caressed each one in turn, squeezing the nipples, moulding crushing the mounds in her hand. She dug her purple painted talons into the tender flesh. “Mark!”, exclaimed Emily, surprised, but wanting more. Emily’s juices began to flow, excited by her insistent lover.
Emily turned over and looked into “Mark’s” eyes. “I want you”, she said, blissfully unaware that her desires were of no consequence.
Kate plunged her tongue into Emily’s mouth and her hand into Emily’s panties. Kate’s fingers slid down the moist slit and found the opening she sought. First one, then two, then three fingers penetrated Emily. One made her sigh, two elicited a gasp. Three made her cry out grinding more heavily into Kate’s hand and pressing her exposed tits into Kate’s dress.
Kate’s fingers massaged Emily’s G-spot, juices began to flow down Kate’s arm. Emily’s cries of ecstasy were muffled by the passionate and insistent mouth pressed against hers, her tongue seemingly bound tight by one, or was it two tongues in her mouth.
Kate’s wings began to beat gently, lifting the couple from the bed. Mouths tight together, Kate’s arm around her prey’s back and the other hand buried in the prey’s mound. Emily writhed as Kate massaged her pussy with the strength of one possessed and the knowledge of a woman who had explored her own body many times. When she came, juices dripping from her pussy, down her thighs. Kate held her close. Emily dug her fingers into Kate’s buttocks through the velvet of her dress. Kate left deep indentations with her claw-like nails in the bare flesh of Emily’s back. Only then did Kate’s wings beat slower and lower her to the bed.
Kate drew her hand out of Emily’s panties and across her inner thigh, leaving four red tracks …
Peter woke to the sound of Mark and Luke hammering on the door. “Are you two going to stay in there all night?”.
He roused Kate, and they made their way downstairs.