Page 6 of All Your Bloody Lies

The snake under me pulses, and I know I have him under my spell.

“Let’s test out that stretch,” he challenges, and my eyebrow arches in response, but I don’t question him. I open my mouth, and he shoves three fingers inside. I have to stifle a near gag as the tips brush against the back of my tongue.

I’m not surprised they fit, but he seems taken aback.

“Do you enjoy multiples, Xeraphine?” another of his comrades asks, and I presume it’s the man with slanted eyes and dark black hair like mine. He looks like the kind of person who cheats people out of their money.

I don’t get the chance to respond because his fingers remain lodged in my mouth.

“Oh no boys, sorry. Not tonight,” Miles replies for me.

Fuck, why does his fingers nearly causing me to vomit turn me on so much?Stupid Amoro, settle down.

I quite enjoy having all of my holes filled, but tonight wasn’t the night for that. So, I nod as though submissive to his demand. As hisfingers start to withdraw from my mouth, I push my tongue between them, serving as a reminder of what’s soon to come.

Dylox are delectable, and indulging in this one will leave me satisfied for weeks.

“Would you like a drink first? To loosen up?”

Pfft. I nearly roll my eyes in consternation, but instead, I stifle my natural instinct to dominate and I run my fingers through my hair. “I’m sure you would prefer me to be tight,” I remark.

There’s a momentary concern that this might be too easy, but most men are predictable and easily manipulated by me. While I could attribute it to being a Succubus, I’d like to think I’m just that good at what I do.

“I’ll be back boys,” he announces as he stands, lifting me with him, and I force out a giggle. “Don’t wait past midnight; tell Jess I’m with one of you.”

My lip twitches. By the Gods, I am fucking starving.

The moment he navigates us through the crowd toward the exclusive VIP section, I watch him pull out a nice bundle of cash and slap it into the security guard’s hand. Anticipation courses through my body as he shifts me in his arms, no longer cradling me, but instead gripping my ass, my legs wrapping around his waist instinctively.

Before we even reach the door, his lips are smashing against mine, and I allow my Amoro to slip slightly. The pheromones seep between our lips, eliciting a hiss of absolute need from him.

I don’t need to drug him to have him, but I’m going to make sure he gives me everything I need before we’re done.

“You are a fucking dream,” he groans so loudly that my throat vibrates from its intensity.

When he finally sets me down onto my feet, refusing to release our locked lips, we stumble through a cracked door. I’m surprised he’s capable of closing it behind him with the fervor of his advancements. His tongue darts into my mouth, playing with the balls on my tongue before dancing with it.

I tear at his shirt, the buttons from the top to midway bouncing around the room. He aids in its complete removal before turning his attention to my only piece of clothing. It’s up and over my head before I register our lips parting, already becoming intoxicated by his desire.

For Succubae like me, everyone has four food groups. The first is their desire, like alcohol to humans, enough of it could send me straight to unconsciousness if I’m not careful. It typically pours from my victim’s mouth. The second is their lust, or what most call their pheromones. It’s the scent they release while sexually aroused, akin to an appetizer. It’s not filling, but it’s enough to bridge the gap from foreplay to the main event.

My favorite of the four is their secretion. Disgusting; but to me, their sweat, saliva, semen—it’s like dessert before the main course. I’ve always craved my sweets before dinner.

Lastly, the climax of them all is when they release their tension and allow the shield around their lifeforce to drop. The only time anyone’s guard is down on their life is when they’re in the midst of an orgasm.

I’m ready to go straight to my dessert. The smell of mild musk wafts up as he loses his pants in our devastating kiss. We turn, and he breaks us apart, my breathing heavy as I try to center myself amidst all of his desire.

The room possesses a solitary couch, its size seemingly inadequate for someone of his stature to recline comfortably, yet my desires transcend such concerns. We could lay on the floor for all I care, as long as I get what I need in the end.

Black walls envelop us, accompanied by curtains in a rich, deep navy, obscuring much of the light. But for someone attuned to the night like myself, illumination is unnecessary; I perceive the silhouette of his taut, rigid cock, primed and eager.

“Do you like to be dominated, my pet?”

Personally, I hate being told what to do. It is such a turn-off. Yet, it’s a common trait among men—they often crave control to reach their peak performance. And that’s exactly what I require.

So, I put my liar panties on, and approach him, dropping to my knees without hesitation. “Yes,” I exhale, the sensation of his cock against my skin evoking the comparison to a serpent, if it had appeared unexpectedly, it may have surprised me.

Like a dog begging for its meal, I part my lips eagerly and extend my tongue fully, ready to indulge in every sensation. He grips the hilt of his length while the other hand grabs the back of my head bringing his thick, monstrous cock into me. Indeed, he barely fits, buthe does. The moment my piercings grace the underside of his shaft, he throws his head back and groans out a moan.

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