Bitten: Dark Erotic Stories (14 page)

CROSS-TOWN INCUBUS

E. R. Stewart

I
T ONLY HAPPENED
when she slept at Greg’s.

He lived across town from Sara, so many times, as an evening got late, they’d end up at his place. It was closer to the lights, clubs, and fun of downtown.

They would tumble in, laughing, usually more than a little tipsy, and cuddle or gab until sleep overwhelmed them. Sara would very often climb into the little corner loft bed to go to sleep.

It was built into the corner and reached by a ladder, a triangular platform made of simple two-by-fours. Single-bed-sized, it had a child’s mattress that fit her to a tee, and a coziness like no other bed she’d ever had. The bed was at the outer edge, with a small corner shelf built in. It had one drawer, too, also triangular-shaped.

They called it the loft bed, and she loved sleeping there. It was snug. It was always warm enough, unlike most of his apartment. And it was fun, like being a kid again, to look out over the apartment nine feet above the floor.

There was another, more private reason she enjoyed it so much, too. The orgasms were incredible up there.

She would climb up, sometimes so dizzy and giggly-drunk that she would almost fall, and then she’d crouch on her knees and pull off her shirt and bra—if she wore one.

Once topless, she’d spin and lie down on her back and shimmy out of her jeans and panties. She’d learned that her panties would be shredded if she kept them on.

Sometimes she left her socks on, but that was drunken distraction, not preference. She’d stuff her clothes into the drawer and set her jewelry on the shelf. Nude, she’d slip under the covers. A sheet and a light blanket were all she ever needed, or wanted, up there.

The pillow was old-fashioned down, and the sheets, five-hundred-thread count, brought from her mother’s house from her old childhood bed. They felt wonderful on her bare skin. Her nipples would stiffen, and she’d grow warm inside.

Stretched out in the dark, she’d think about what was going to happen. She’d get wet quickly, and touch herself in eagerness.

It always waited until her eyelids grew heavy. When Sara could barely stay awake, she’d feel the first soft touch between her legs. Always soft but also bold. It was like a finger, or a tongue, parting her labia, savoring her. She’d smile in the dark and turn her head to gaze at the patterns of light and shadow dancing across the ceiling, so close, reflected from the street three stories below.

She caught a faint scent of roses. She spread her legs a little, anticipating what was soon to fill her; that incredible hotness, that body-pinning weight, that spectacularly thick, long probing …

Something clamped down on one of her breasts. It felt like a hand, but there was nothing there. Nothing she could see; a night-light she brought up as an experiment proved that. It would knead at her, like a man pawing, and then it would slide hard nails down her body, leaving welts, sending shivers through her.

It gripped her ass and lifted her pelvis, and the first thrust, quick and commanding, was so sweet and so good that she often orgasmed right then.

First orgasms did not count with this lover, though. She knew this and tried to ride it out, resisting the sensations that cascaded through her. It would thrust into her and not withdraw right away, and a weight would come down on her, She would feel a tongue on her neck or hot breath in her ear.

It never whispered anything but her name, over and over.

There were times when it lifted her legs up, as if it had elbows braced under her knees. Rolling her back, it would expose her and move its penetration from her pussy to her ass. Sometimes it alternated with each quick thrust. Sometimes it filled both at the same time, an incredible feeling that made her gasp.

Other times her body was spun in the air, flipped over, and she would feel teeth biting into her shoulder, down her spine, all over her ass and thighs. Fucked from behind, her pussy would quiver and drip, ecstasy shooting through her from the illuminated nerve endings.

A long, slow lick from clit to anus was not unheard of, and the weight on top of her, pressing her face and breasts into the mattress, would prelude a deep, slow reaming. Other times it was closer to rape. She always had dozens of orgasms.

She loved sleeping up there.

Trouble was, she wasn’t all that keen on Greg.

Oh, he was nice enough, with his hesitant jokes and silly references to
Star Wars
. He focused on her when they were out, perhaps guessing he was lucky to have the likes of her, petite and pretty against his dump and frump.

She’d met him at a party and, lonely that night, accepted his invitation to a movie on the condition they go immediately. He’d agreed, and it had been fun. She’d given him what she at first thought was a mercy fuck—then realized, to her own surprise, that she liked him. He was smart, kind of funny, and managed—sometimes just barely—to be attentive without being puppy doggish.

She had spotted his loft bed that first night, of course, but hadn’t explored it until a second visit, much later at night, when she showed up bedraggled by rain, needing a place to crash. She’d been let down by a couple with whom she’d had three-way sex; they’d used her and dumped her off, laughing at how timid she’d been going down on the other girl.

He knew none of that, of course, but had been welcoming, if blitzed by sleepiness. He let her in, hugged her, and promptly fell asleep on the couch.

To be polite, she let him be and climbed up to investigate the loft. It looked inviting.

That night, it happened.

Despite being drained from the threesome, her body held reserves of enjoyment and pleasure beyond her experience.

That first time, when she felt herself being made love to, she’d kept her eyes closed for a long while, thinking it was Greg. When she opened her eyes and realized she couldn’t see who or what was doing her, it scared her.

She remembered Barbara Hershey in that
Entity
movie. That had been brutal and terrifying. But this was … wonderful.

She lay back and enjoyed it. Next morning she asked Greg about the bed. “Oh,” he said, “it came with the apartment. I slept up there once and didn’t much like it. Kept feeling like I was going to fall out, y’know?”

After that, Sara slept over often, and although she helped Greg spurt his dollops of seed in many places, they never made love in the loft. She always made sure that she climbed that ladder after they were done for the evening.

That high corner captivated her. She would find herself thinking about it at odd times during the day. It affected her studies and her part-time job at the bookstore, her visits home with her parents, and even her bath time, when she preferred to meditate the way she’d learned at a Buddhist temple.

She couldn’t get rid of Greg, though, and lose the bed, and her delicious invisible lover. For a few weeks she drifted.

* * *

One afternoon, Greg announced that he was moving out of the apartment.

They were tossing a Frisbee in the park. A few of their friends had thrown a picnic. It was casual, with couples sneaking off into the forest for quickies. Sara had already given two hand jobs to healthy-looking young men who’d dared ask and a blow job to Greg, who’d dribbled on her sweatshirt by pulling out too soon. She bitched at him.

“Fine. Well, I’m moving away, anyway.”

“Where are you going?” she asked, her body getting a chill.

“Back to school in Michigan; it’s a lot cheaper and, well, my grades aren’t exactly top drawer.”

She tried to talk him out of it, but his parents were behind the move. Once she knew that, she understood how solid a railroad he was riding. Greg’s parents ruled him.

Sara insisted on coming home with him that night, even though she had to blow off a study date with her roomie.

He shocked her by saying, “No, I think I need some alone time.”

She showed up anyway, about midnight.

He was cranky and didn’t want to let her in, but she cajoled him, promising a special treat. To Greg, that meant he could give her a facial, or maybe a spanking.

Rolling her eyes, she climbed the stairs and entered the apartment, only to find his parents there, staring at the TV and sharing a cold pizza.

It was civil but led nowhere.

Greg’s mother was a shrew and his father was a bland, chunky guy who seemed to stare at her crotch a bit too much, through his greasy glasses.

Sara twice choked down proclamations of love. She just couldn’t lie that big.

As for Greg, he remained cold and depressed. No fun at all. The TV babbled mindlessly and the night became the next day.

Sara was just about to say something about hitting the sack when Greg’s mother got up, waved goodnight without a word, and climbed the ladder to the loft bed.

Sara opened her mouth, then closed it.

Then she said, “Guess I should go.”

It struck her, as she walked back to the dorms, that she should just take over the apartment. Live there, pay Greg’s rent, and have the loft, and its inhabitant, to herself.

Money was the problem.

She simply didn’t earn enough and, even if she sold blow jobs and sex at the frats, she couldn’t be sure of making the rent. Greg’s parents had helped him out.

She got back and found her roomie, Jane, still up, sipping Pepsi and squinting into a biology text. “You look like shit,” she said as a greeting. “What’s wrong?”

Sara decided, finally, to tell someone about the bed.

Turned out Jane knew about such things. “It’s an incubus,” she said. “Men are visited by a succubus.”

“Figures,” Sara said, smirking and pursing her lips.

“Yeah, but ‘in’s‘ better. What you need to do is look in that shelf for its talisman. It’ll be something weird, like a stone with a symbol on it, or a piece of wood wrapped in wool or hair.”

“Oh, ick.
Blair Witch
stuff, huh?”

“Like that, sort of. Yeah.”

Great
, Sara thought. “So what do I do when I find it?”

“You keep it. And the incubus should follow it, and you, home.”

Now, that sounded perfect to Sara.

She helped Greg pack out.

They made love standing up in the shower, while his parents went to see a show.

Sara refused to get sentimental and told him she had to do something before they left the place behind. She climbed the ladder one last time, carrying a small crowbar.

She started by lifting the mattress. There was nothing under it but the two-by-fours. No hidey-hole.

Next she checked the shelf. It wouldn’t come out; it was built into the corner. Removing the drawer, she felt behind it and sighed. Nothing.

Then her hand felt a raised edge in the back, on the bottom. She pried it up and in the small compartment found a statue about the size of her thumb. It was dark brown like polished mahogany and carved to resemble a crude male form with a huge phallus.

She smiled, kissed it, and put it into her jeans pocket.

At once she felt a stirring in her pussy. She’d better get home, fast.

She almost didn’t make it. Invisible hands plucked at her clothes; claws shredded the crotch of her panties even as she climbed the steps to the dorm.

Jane was there, but by the time she entered their dorm room, Sara couldn’t stand it anymore. “Jane,” she said. “I found it, it’s real. Oh my god, help me!”

Jane dropped her book, ran across the room, locked the door, then tore off her own clothes.

It was the strangest threesome ever.

Sara’s breasts compressed, as if being squeezed. So did her lips. Her body flattened, as if a weight lay on her. When the weight moved, so did Sara, and the bed. Jane watched as Sara’s labia were parted, opened as if something were being thrust into her, over and over, in hard fast rhythms followed by long, slow probing.

Jane’s knees went weak. It was too intense to resist. Oh god, another woman’s nipple on her tongue; it dizzied her, and unable to resist, she fell onto her friend.

Except that she could not make them touch body-to-body. Something intervened. Her breasts and belly pressed against something warm, almost hot, but it wasn’t Sara. It felt like skin made of smoke and smelled of citrus and ginger and autumnal leaves. As she pressed her full weight down, Sara moaned, and Jane realized there were several inches of empty air between them now. She had sandwiched an invisible lover.

Jane could barely breathe. Something stroked her labia from beneath. She thought it was Sara’s finger, until she saw her friend’s hands clenched into fists of ecstasy. It was so thick. Without thought, she straddled it, and it slid into her without resistance, finding her already lubricious, halfway to losing herself in a shuddery orgasm.

So thick, so long … so good …

It was as if there were two penises for them, two throbbing, eager erections, one curved downward to be inside Sara, the other reaching up to explore inside Jane. It writhed inside both of them.

Jane held onto Sara’s shoulders and watched her roommate’s face smile with pleasure, frown with concentration, and go blank with final release.

Jane rode the incubus hard, bouncing up and down. Each time her weight pressed in, it drove the invisible cock into Sara’s greedy, wide-open pussy. The incubus matched their level of excitement and brought them into sync. It carried Jane, and Sara, to the brink of a shared orgasm where neither could tell when one left off and the other began.

When the invisible lover between them vanished, a smoke fading to scent and then to memory, the two women lay embraced, their sweat glowing, too exhausted to speak. Jane kissed Sara on the lips before nuzzling into her friend’s neck and shoulder and going back to sleep. When they awoke, Sara whispered, “It’s ours, now.”