Kate was walking down Oxford Street when she first heard the voice. It was quieter than a whisper, but carried over the noise of the Christmas shoppers milling around her. She looked round. “What do you want?”, she thought.
“I felt your little tantrum at the manor”, said the voice.
“What are you talking about?”, she thought. She had been trying to forget the manor, mark it down as one of her blackouts. A delusion created by her mind because of her murky childhood abroad or so her analyst had said. Funny, after that visit she’d been unable to contact him to make another appointment …
“You’ve an impressive temper on you. Just like your mother.”
“You knew my mother?”
“A long time ago. Our paths crossed.”
“Wait a minute”, thought Kate, “You’re just a voice in my head, why am I talking to you?”
“Perhaps I’m not just a voice, perhaps I’ve decided to be your conscience.”
“I have a conscience”, thought Kate, though she had come to doubt that.
“We’ll see …”
~~~
Kate sat in the reception area of Bradstock, Gillet and Purves. She didn’t normally get nervous for interviews, but for some reason this one seemed different, important somehow. “Why? It’s only a temping job until next spring”. Then the fun would really start. She would get full access to her trust fund, not just the meagre allowance she currently subsisted on.
Subsisted probably wasn’t the exact word most people would choose. She lived in a flat in Chelsea, was clothed in designer-wear from her Vera Wang shoes to her Cartier wristwatch. But there was never enough money. The blackouts were getting more frequent and the ensuing shopping sprees to calm her nerves were getting more expensive.
“Mr Smith will see you now”, announced the sour-faced harridan behind the reception desk. “Third door on your right.”
Kate wobbled down the hallway, suddenly unable to walk in heels and wishing she had a chosen a pair of court shoes. She raised her hand to knock at the door. Adjusted her clothing, then raised her hand again to knock. Just as her knuckle was about to strike the door a voice from inside said, “Come in.”
Kate jumped, her heart raced. “Why are you acting like a teenager?”, she thought to herself. Blood rushing in her ears she entered the office.
Sat in his leather chair, John regarded Kate over steepled fingers. He was going to enjoy this. “Sit down, Miss … do you mind if I call you Kate?”
“Of course. I mean of course I don’t mind, yes please do …”, she stammered.
Kate sat in the chair opposite John, knees together, peeking out just below the hem of her black skirt. Hands on her lap, palms down. Her mouth was dry.
“So ….”, began John, unable to prevent his mouth curling into a mischievous smile, “ … you were brought up in Portugal.”
“Yes, by my grandfather. Well he was kind of a distant relative, my mother’s will placed me in his care when I was about four years old.”
“Then English schooling, degree 2:2. Hmmm”, said John stroking his chin. He really shouldn’t be having this much fun.
“Yes, well I would have had at least a 2:1, but I had a few problems in my final year …”.
“Yes”, said john, “I heard about them”.
“I’m sorry?”, Kate was perplexed. “How do you know about that …”
“… let’s just say that since your mother passed away I’ve been interested in your well being.”
Kate was speechless.
“You see your mother was a very powerful woman. Powerful in a way which I understand. I think underneath this cloak of normality that your mind has chosen to protect you with, a way in which you understand too.”. John stood up and walked round the desk. He sat on the edge of the desk facing Kate. “Give me your hand.”
“Oh fucking great, a weirdo-creep interviewer”, thought Kate, but despite of this felt compelled to put her hand in his.
As her fingers slipped into his palm she suddenly felt distant from the sombre oak-panelled office around her senses muted, and yet at the same time more alive. Kate looked into John’s eyes, his deep crystal blue, no green, no oh hell, his beautiful eyes.
“I’ll remember for you … “. And that’s what he did. John stepped into her mind and threw aside the dusty coverings that had protected her for more than three centuries. Without him in her mind, their consciousnesses entwined, she would have been unable to cope with the truth laid bare. But with him there she had someone to cling on to. She saw him for what he was, the first.
More disturbingly she saw herself, the immortal daemon daughter of a sorceress. Young in comparison to “John” but already centuries old.
She saw the death of her mother and her mortal father, screaming in the flames of the old Yew Tree Manor. She saw the men she had devoured through the ages since them. She saw herself for the vengeful succubus she was. And she felt no remorse for their deaths, she would suffer no nightmares from remembering their screams.
In their minds’ Kate and John looked at each other. More naked than any mortal would look on another mortal. More beautiful and dreadful to behold than a mere human could conceive.
“I want you”, said John.
“So you like younger women?”, laughed Kate. “Are you sure your old heart can stand the strain?”
“It can”. With that they were back in the office. John leant back over the desk and pressed the intercom button on the desk phone. “Hold my calls for the rest of the morning, please”.
Kate rose to her feet, stepped toward John and placed her hand on his chest, stroking his deliciously defined pectorals through his shirt. Suddenly she pushed him back onto the leather clad mahogany desk. Then tore off his belt.
Fire leapt into her eyes as she raised her hand high. Steely talons sprang from her fingers as she slashed at his groin, shredding his trousers. John’s cock strained at his KC’s. A flick of Kate’s index finger released it.
John closed his eyes. Kate’s serpent tongue flicked at his shining glans. “Not wanting to be a spoil-sport, but I prefer a human tongue”. Kate shrugged and forced her tongue back into human shape. John groaned as she lapped at his shaft. Kate circled the tip of his cock with her tongue, still lithe even in human form. She sucked the tip of it, then gently rubbed her teeth across the tip. He drew in a sharp breath, half pleasure, half pain as her razor sharp teeth were drawn across his frenulum.
Kate slowly let his cock slide over her tongue and down her throat. Then out again, sucking hard as his stiff member passed her lips, emitting a loud pop.
John raised his head and opened his eyes, smiling. “Your wings are showing,” he said.
“Do you like them?”
“Your mother would be proud.”
John stood and encircled Kate with his muscular arms, her apparently frail frame trapped in his embrace. He stroked her back and held her head to his chest. Then, tenderness over he ripped her white silk blouse from her, then her skirt.
“What about my panties?”
“Turn round, bend over and take them off.”
Kate eagerly obliged. As she bent forward, thumbs hooked each side of her panties, John was treated to a view of a pulsing wet pussy. Panties round her ankles Kate looked over her shoulder and said in her best Southern Belle voice, “Why sir, whatever shall we do now?”.
She fluttered her eyelashes and her wings at him, just for added effect.
John pushed her roughly to her knees, knelt behind her and drove straight into her with his magnificent erection. She screamed with carnal lust as he hammered her hot dripping pussy. No human had ever fucked her like this. “Yes, yes fuuuuuck mee!”, her orgasm tore through her body and outward across London like a psychic tidal wave.
He continued to hammer into her, growling and pulling her onto his cock. His strong hands grasping mercilessly at her waist slamming her into his groin. She came again, and again. Then he came with a growl of exaltation “Aaaargh, yes!”.
It took them both a few minutes to recover. Their bodied, minds and psyches drained, yet sated by what they had just experienced.
“That was the best sex I’ve ever had.” said John eventually.
“I bet you say that to all the daemons you’ve slept with”, answered Kate softly.
“Yes, but you are the only one.”
“Do you want to do that again?”, she ventured.
“Well, I’ve got the rest of eternity to kill …”
To be concluded.
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