The Queen's Service - Ch. 1 & 2

This is a short story I've been working on the past week: which I'll be releasing in four chapters. Sexy scenes don't start till Ch. 2, so I've bundled the first two together. I have 3 and 4 storyboarded out, though I'm not sure if I'll write them next or if I want to work on something else inbetween.

Chapter 1: Jailbreak

It was dark out, somewhere before midnight, the moon a sliver of pale yellow radiance. Warm, humid air was occasionally interrupted by a pleasant breeze. It was the kind of night where you wanted to be out on the tavern’s balcony, savoring the last beer of the day.

A man was laying on the crest of a hill, barely visible amid maple trees and undergrowth. He was looking through a spyglass toward a structure in the valley below. As he watched, another man slid into place beside him and the first man spoke without turning. “Sergeant Thatch. Report.”

“They have sentries posted at both entrances,” Thatch said, pointing toward the ruin. “And on the roof. All green troops, from what I can tell. I’ve seen prisoners coming and going on the far side. They’re always accompanied by guards, typically two of them.”

“Just two?”

Thatch nodded. “The men are ensorcelled, sir. I tried talking to one, but he just looked at me all fish-eyed. Gave me the chills, and I don’t mind saying it.” Thatch scratched his head, wrinkled his nose, and grunted. “Lieutenant Pike, if I may…”

The lieutenant collapsed his spyglass, meeting Thatch’s gaze. “Continue.”

“I have concerns that a successful exfiltration will be complicated by our targets’ mental state.”

Pike put a hand to his face and rubbed his hands for a moment. “I know the Scout Corps enjoys the technical language for reports, Thatch, but four syllable words are above my pay grade. In simpler terms?”

“Even if we can reach them, those men are broken. I don’t know what they’ve done to them, some kind of witchcraft or torture, but what if we can’t snap them out of it? They might not be fit to travel.”

The lieutenant nodded. “I’ve been chewing on that one myself. I wish we knew what they had them doing in the forest. But I can help them travel, if not much more. At least long enough to retreat to our forward camp. I’m afraid it’s need to know,” he said, sensing the scout’s question. “But leave that part to me. I just need you to find a route in and out. Agreed?”

Thatch nodded. “I’m ready, sir. Just say the word.”

“Good man.”

Pike gestured to someone out of sight: one finger up; a fist; a circle with his fingers. There was rustling from the undergrowth, then a lean man in black and gold uniform came stumbling up toward the pair. “Someone said you asked for me, lieutenant?”

“I did. What’s your name, son?”

“Jonathan Becker, Adept of the Imperial Demolition corps.” The man saluted sharply, nearly overbalancing as he did so. He stumbled a few feet down the ridge, caught himself on an outstretched branch that half-snapped under his weight. In the warm quiet of the night, it sounded like a gunshot.

“Adept Becker…” Lieutenant Pike fought to keep his tone even. “This is a covert operation. We are eight leagues into enemy territory, conducting a highly volatile rescue operation. Without the support of my superiors, who have deemed the retrieval of lowborn prisoners a non-priority to the war effort.”

Becker paled.

“I appreciate that you have volunteered for the mission,” Pike continued,  “And I understand that it’s outside the scope of your usual duties. But I would also appreciate it if you could maintain noise discipline for the duration. Do we understand one another?”

“Uh, of course, sir.” Becker swallowed hard. “Apologies.”

“Excellent. Where are we with the charges?”

“All ready to go, lieutenant. Tell me where to place them. I have a simultaneous remote-trigger prepared - as soon as we’re out, the whole place is ruins.” He frowned, glancing down at the tumbled-down fort. “Well, more of a ruin than it currently is.”

“And you have these charges stored…” Pike asked, gesturing vaguely with one hand.

“Did they not tell you?” Becker asked

“Let’s assume that they did not.”

“I’m a mage, not just an engineer.” He patted the bulging satchel slung over his shoulder. “I have a supply of explosive runes, all linked to a spell of my own devising.” Becker grinned, a hint of mania creeping into his expression. “They just need to be placed against key supports. Then, the minute we’re out?” He wiggled his fingers. “Boom.”

Pike eyed the bag leerily. “You’re sure they’ll be until then?”

“Perfectly safe, sir.”

“And you’ve gone over the plan with Sergeant Thatch?”

Becker nodded. “Four times already, sir. He was… concerningly insistent.”

“We’re out here on our own, son,” Pike said, his voice hard. “It’s the details that’ll keep us alive. Go over it one more time.” He pulled out a silver pocket watch, squinting at it in the moonlight. “Study up, get some rest if you can. We move in two hours.”

* * * * *

Three figures descended the wooded slope, shadows beneath a midnight sky. Drifting clouds obscured the moon. Lieutenant Pike took up his position within a patch of vegetation just off the road, watching with grim satisfaction as Thatch ranged ahead. The man moved like a phantom through the tall glass before flattening himself against the moss-covered stone wall and slinking toward their targets.

Timing was everything here, but the pair had coordinated this maneuver countless times before. Pike drew the hunting bow from his shoulder, nocked an arrow, and aimed. The sentry was down before they could cry out, vanishing in a cloud of sulfurous mist. Their companion turned, mouth open to raise the alarm, just as Thatch’s blade drew across their throat.

Guiding Becker behind him, Lieutenant Pike moved cautiously through the field to join their scout.

“Two down, sir,” Thatch murmured. He was eyeing the small pile of ash each demon had left as though he expected it to move.

Pike nodded. “We can expect a few patrols inside - nothing extravagant.” He sniffed, nose wrinkling at the smell. Not as bitter as he was used to, but still unpleasant.

It was always disconcerting, the way they died. If they were dying at all, Pike thought to himself. There was still so little they knew about their enemy, each class of demon a new terror to learn. Warbringers were the most familiar - great jagged brutes that comprised the bulk of demonic infantry, hellishly strong and irritatingly slow to die. Bladewings rose in dark clouds over the battlefield, harrying the empire’s archers and artillery. Each breed had their own particular uses, as Pike had learned through blood and experience. Each was dangerous in their own way.

“Sir?”

The lieutenant looked up, blinking. They were waiting for orders. “You know what to do, Thatch - eliminate any non-humans you see, quick and quiet.” He turned to the demolitionist. “Becker, follow behind him at a distance. Look for weak points, wherever the blast can do the most damage. Look at me,” Thatch said, forcing the man to meet his eye. “You are not to place explosives yet. Assessment only. While you’re doing that, I’ll locate the dungeons and signal you. We’ll meet at the stairs down and go together. Understood?”

Both nodded.

“One more thing - contrary to earlier intelligence, the monsters we’re facing seem to be succubi. Explains why the men Thatch saw were addle-brained. I’m told they’re not much in a fight, but you don’t want to let them talk. Quick and quiet, before they know you’re there.” He wanted to say more. That they were ready for this. That everything was going to be fine. The words lay in his throat like a chunk of iron, too heavy to dislodge. “You have your orders,” Pike said at last. “Move out.”

* * * * *

It was all going according to plan. Pike located where the soldiers were being held, an ominous set of spiral stairs lined with guttering torches. Thatch had taken down a half-dozen sentries, vanishing each into demonic mist before prowling after his next target. Even Becker had managed not to trip over himself. By the time they reunited in front of the dungeon stairs, the mage had a crude map marked with several candidates for demolition.

Thatch detailed his sweep of the first-floor corridors. There was a barracks of some kind to the south that was best left avoided and a reinforced door that the scout had deemed of interest, but too risky to investigate. He’d also noticed a room containing a variety of glassware; the sergeant had made a cursory sweep for hostiles and found none, but the lieutenant’s signal had prevented closer inspection.

Despite the danger they were still in, Pike found himself smiling. “When you’ve got doubts…” he whispered.

Thatch’s mouth drew into a wolfish grin. “Call in the scouts.”

Pike led the way down. He eyed the stonework carefully, wanting to avoid any moss or detritus that could make them slip, but the path down appeared to be well-worn and mostly clean. Part of him worried that it was too easy. That they might have been lured into a trap. Soldier’s instincts had saved his neck more than once, but there was no sign of an ambush. Maybe it was just nerves.

Gritting his teeth, Lieutenant Pike slowed their pace as the stairs spilled out into a dimly-lit corridor. The walls were lined with iron cells. Thatch pulled a torch from its brackets, raising the guttering light to the edge and revealing human shapes within.

“This is it, sir,” Thatch said. He moved down the corridor, examining the sleeping contents of the prison before finally coming to a black iron door at the end. Thatch looked up, his eyes meeting Pike’s. “Sir… you’re going to want to see this.”

There was one man inside the cell, his beard and hair a bedraggled mess, but despite the squalor around them he appeared surprisingly clean. Pike stared, trying to see past the exterior. It took a few moments. He turned to Thatch, eyes wide. “Is that…?”

“Brooks? I think so, sir.”

“I’ll be damned,” the lieutenant whispered. “The old marksman himself. Damn. I had thought…”

“Don’t blame yourself,” Thatch said, laying a hand on Pike’s shoulder. “When he went missing after the ambush at Sirosene, we all thought he was done.”

“We should have looked for him anyway,” Pike muttered. “But we can fix it now. Let’s get these doors open.”

They continued examining the cells, and within several minutes they had picked or smashed the locks on the cell doors. Thirty-odd men were now milling aimless in the corridor, their eyes glassy, barely responding to their own names. Lieutenant Pike approached each man in turn, drawing a flash from his coat and forcing a drop down each prisoner’s throat. Within minutes the group was blinking as though walking into sunlight, life flooding back into their faces. The men were shaken, but each nodded in understanding as the lieutenant detailed their plan of escape.

There was just one problem - Brooks’ cell wouldn’t open. The iron was far too thick to break through, the lock deviously difficult. Worse, the old soldier wouldn’t rouse despite their words. He lay on his cot, slowly blinking, looking between Pike and the ceiling as though both were of equal interest.

Thatch was pacing, glancing occasionally between the stairs and the lieutenant. “Sir, I want Brooks free as much as any of us. Gods know he doesn’t deserve this. But we’re running out of time.”

Pike shook his head, glancing at his pocket watch. “I’m not leaving without him. And there’s over an hour before first light. Think about it, Thatch. There must be a key somewhere - this place isn’t that large. Here’s what we’re going to do…”

It was a simple enough plan. Thatch would investigate the reinforced door he’d found earlier, which Pike had reasoned was the most likely repository for a key. With a little luck, he’d also pick up some maps or documentation that would aid in the war effort. Becker would use his map to place the explosives, leaving enough space that they’d have a clear shot to the exit. Pike himself would keep their newly-freed companions steady, girding them for the journey and gathering what intel they could offer. If all went well, they would simply free Brooks and race for the way out, leaving demons and rubble in their wake.

* * * * *

Chapter 2: Organic Chemistry

Jonathan Becker, Imperial Adept, was dolloping alchemical paste onto the back of a small piece of copper scrawled with arcane sigils. He pressed it against the wall, watching the stuff bubble as the old stone was fused to the runic bomb. Becker hummed softly, tucking the jar of paste away before sauntering toward the next location on his map.

He was having a wonderful time. When Becker had joined the Corps, he’d expected to pioneer new techniques in arcane and alchemical warfare. Too late, he learned that most of his time would be spent mixing blackpowder and adding it to a variety of mundane explosives. Fieldwork had consisted entirely of sieges: tedious, drawn-out affairs that dragged on for weeks or even months. All of the danger, none of the excitement.

When Pike had asked for volunteers on a clandestine mission, Becker had leapt at the chance. Exploration! Fieldwork! Behind enemy lines! True, this particular op had been more stressful than he’d anticipated, but Becker was confident the worst was past. Having seen Sergeant Thatch at work… well, he was glad the man was on their side.

And speaking of Thatch… Becker pasted his last explosive to a load-bearing column before peering around a corner, watching the scout sergeant’s efforts. The man was still examining the door, ear pressed to the wood as he fiddled with the lock. Becker looked around at the empty halls and remembered the report Thatch had given earlier. Something about a room full of glass? Pike had instructed the scout to pick up anything relevant to their mission; surely that directive applied to both of them. The mage rummaged through his empty satchel as he crossed the hall, skittered past a line of broken statuary, and disappeared through the half-open door.

It took the man’s eyes a few seconds to adjust to the light cast by a dozen-odd chemical lamps, hung at irregular intervals throughout the room. The halogen glow refracted from a dizzying array of alchemy equipment, bathing the room yellow-green light. Some tables were clean and organized, various glasswares stored in neatly labeled containers. Others were strewn with parchment and reagents, hastily scribbled notes and the charred remnants of experiments gone wrong.

Becker dove into the laboratory with gusto. He wove between a maze of tables, benches, and stools, examining vials filled with strange, bubbling substances and stuffing any writing he could find into his satchel. He was tempted to skim through whatever tomes were strewn about, but he didn’t have time for thoroughness. Better to grab what he could and let the Corps sort it out on his return. Maybe there would be nothing, but then again, he might get lucky. Becker’s thoughts raced, imagining the looks on his superior’s faces when he returned with details of the demons’ latest technological advances.

The mage’s thoughts were interrupted by the sound of approaching footsteps. His first thought was that Thatch had come to drag him back to the dungeons, but after a few seconds' consideration, Becker realized that Thatch never made noise when he moved; the man was almost supernaturally silent. But if it wasn’t him…

Becker ducked behind a desk as the footsteps drew closer. They were coming from the other side of the room. He mentally cursed Thatch, wishing the scout had mentioned that the room had two entrances in his report. Would the other man hear him and come to his rescue? Despite his talent with explosives, Becker wasn’t much of a combatant himself. He began mentally reviewing his spells that were combat-ready, grimacing at the shortness of the list.

Maybe they’ll just leave, Becker thought. The sound had stopped, so at least they weren’t coming closer. Then there was the sound of rustling parchment and the clinking of glass, followed by the distinct pop-pop and sizzle of a burner igniting. Whoever was out there was getting ready to work, which meant they wouldn’t be leaving anytime soon.

He had to move. Becker dropped to all fours, strapping his satchel tight against his body as he began to weave a slow, laborious path through the various tables toward the exit. He held his breath every time he passed into view, waiting for the sounds of discovery. After three minutes he was halfway to his goal. Becker paused, wiping sweat from his brow that was more due to anxiety than exertion. As he lowered his sleeve, it brushed against something on the table above him. Time seemed to slow as the vial wobbled, tipped out of its holder, and began to fall. It was too fast. Too close. Becker fumbled for it, clutching with nervous fingers. For a moment he had it, but the vial bounced off his palm, eluding his grasp and shattering on the floor. Amid the muffled stillness of the workshop, it sounded like a glass chandelier crashing into the governor's foyer.

Becker winced.

“Hello?” came a voice, distinctly feminine. “Is someone there?” A pause. “Calli, if you’re skulking around my lab again, I swear…”

Not like this, Becker thought to himself. He was frozen in fear, back pressed against the table, praying for Thatch to come and knowing the man was too far to have heard. Gods, there was a demon in the room with him. They were going to find him. And probably eat him, if you believed the stories. To make matters worse, the shattered vial had contained some kind of strange pink liquid. The substance was bubbling tepidly on the floor, a vaporous haze rising from the puddle. Too close to avoid it and afraid to move, Becker could feel the stuff snaking its way up his nostrils. He prayed it wasn’t toxic. What a way to die that would be: inhaling poison in a demon’s lab.

Thankfully, whatever had spilled appeared benign. Becker sniffed, trying to place the scent. Then he did it again. It was strangely aromatic. Earthy. Fragrant. As he continued to breathe in, Becker could detect individual flavors to the scent. No, that was wrong. It was more like a memory. He could smell the warmth of a day in late summer, wind rustling the branches, fresh wheat and apples on the wind. It was the smell of a woman’s hair when you embrace her for the first time, knowing that you’ll kiss soon and that there’s no need to rush.

Becker was so focused on breathing in the strange scent that didn’t realize how loud his questing inhalations had grown, nor did he recognize the sound of approaching footsteps. So it came as a surprise when there was a woman looking down at him, several meters away. Her silky white hair was tucked into a messy bun, a few strands falling to the side. Half-rimmed glasses framed her silver-blue eyes. Becker’s eyes continued downward. He couldn’t help notice how the woman’s lab coat hung open, exposing a bodice that left little to the imagination. The plump swell of her breasts, the supple curve of her hips… His thoughts had grown muddy, congealing like a bucket of paint left to sit for too long.

Once Becker had finished his inspection it took a few more seconds for him to process the full picture, including her shapely ram’s horns and the thin line of a tail hovering by her ankles. Then it all slammed home at once and the man scrambled backwards until his back was against a table, half-falling over himself, before pushing shakily to his feet. He looked around the room, noting with relief that his satchel was still with him. He was fifteen meters from the door. He eyed the distance, wondering if he should make a run for it.

“However did you get in here?” the demon asked, adjusting her glasses as she examined Becket. Her brows rose as she noticed the shattered bottle and its contents. “And you’ve been into my potions, too. Naughty boy…”

“Stay back!” Becker said, trying to project a confidence he didn’t feel. “This whole place is mined. One step closer, and I’ll…” The man frowned, unable to think of the word. It was right there, on the top of his tongue. His tongue… He ran it around his gums, trying to remember why this was important.

The succubus held up a hand in acquiescence and settled herself onto an empty table. She eyed him intently. “You seem confused, pet. Perhaps recalling your last mission?”

“What I would really like to know,” the woman continued, “Is how you got up here at all. None of the others have slipped their cage, even back when they were more… spirited.” She licked her lips after speaking the last word. Becker knew, because he was watching very closely. They were full and soft and very pink.

“It’s almost as though you aren’t one of our guests at all.” The demon put a hand to her mouth. “Is that why you’re here, sweetie? You snuck in the front door? Ooh, look at that blush - I’m right on the mark. Perhaps you weren’t fibbing about those explosives.”

“Damn right!” Becker gestured frantically toward the woman, his eyes moving to the half-open door that led to the hallway; to Thatch, who would certainly keep him safe from this she-devil. “You just stay right there. I’ll leave. And we’ll just… go do our own thing.” Was that right? Surely he had more than one thing left to do today. “Things,” he amended.

“I have it.” The demon clasped her hands together. “Let us come to an arrangement. You’ve breathed in a copious amount of my latest concoction. I expect you want to know what its effects are, yes? All I ask is that you allow me to observe you while the potion does its work. No more than five minutes of your time. I promise that once we’re finished I will not interfere if you wish to leave.”

Becker ground his teeth, forcing himself to focus. The pink substance was clearly impairing his cognition. But the demon didn't seem to care whether he escaped or not. Even if she was lying - and he wasn't sure if demons even could lie - this might still be his best option. It would be a struggle to find the way out in his current state. He could play her game, wait for the effects to diminish, and then make his escape. There was still time before the lieutenant led the others to safety, and there was always the chance that Thatch would come to his rescue before then..

Becker nodded warily. “Deal.”

“Wonderful,” the succubus said. “You may address me as Dr. Ava, if you like. Or just Ava - no need to be formal. To begin, how would you describe your current level of arousal? On a scale from one to ten.” She rummaged through a drawer until she found a notepad before looking back at him, pencil poised to write.

Becker could feel the mental slurry descending again, but even so he knew that a scale was worthless without anchor points. “What are the top and bottom of the range?” he asked.

Ava raised her eyes, peering at him in surprise over her glasses. “A fellow adoptee of the Tellenic Method? I hadn't realized I was in the presence of a peer. What a treat!” She put a finger to her lips. “How about this. We’ll make one a mild interest in sexual activity, without compulsion attached. Ten will be an overpowering urge for release, libido entirely supplanting the rational mind.”

“… maybe a two?”

“Excellent. When the number increases, be sure to let me know.” She began scribbling on the pad. “Well in line with predicted values. The previous iteration was too strong,” the succubus explained. “The effects were almost immediate, resulting in animalistic frenzy. Which can certainly have its place in my metaphorical toolbox, but it was not the intended outcome.”

Ava closed her notebook around the pencil, turning to look at her audience. “The key factor is control. True in any experiment, but doubly important for fieldwork. We want to equip operatives with subtle tools that can be used without detection.”

“Why…” Becker hesitated, then decided to ask anyway. “Why are you telling me all of this?”

Ava’s brows furrowed, as though she were confused by the question. “We’re working together, are we not? Collaboration requires communication.” She glanced down at the paper, skimming her notes. “Now, where was I? Ah yes - the first stage is increased arousal, coupled with a slight enhancement of the visual and olfactory senses. These will increase steadily over the next several minutes, but on their own would not rate above a four or five on our previous scale. An effective aphrodisiac, but nothing extraordinary.” She gestured to Becker with her notebook. “This is what you are experiencing at present.

“Now,” the succubus continued, “A fascinating aspect of the human mind is that you instinctively perceive attractive persons as more trustworthy; a beautiful woman is more persuasive than a plain one. A succubus will always be more attractive than a human woman, but succubi further exploit this by emitting a pheromone that subtly affects the men around them, lowering inhibitions and amplifying the ironically named Halo effect. However, the pheromone requires time for its victims to become fully intoxicated.”

Despite the danger he was in, Becker found himself absorbed by what Ava was saying. Other than effective places to stab them, the topic of demon physiology was tragically taboo; there was clearly so much to learn. It was a shame he had nothing to write with. Maybe she would let him copy her notes at the end of their session?

Ava, shrugging out of her lab coat and laying it on the table. Her corset was strapless, revealing the smooth curve of her shoulders and the top of her large breasts, which were pressed together in a mesmerizing swell of cleavage. She glanced briefly at a thin leather wristwatch before resuming her lecture.

“This is where the chemical really does its work,” she explained. “It amplifies the reaction to succubus pheromones, greatly accelerated by the state of the recipient’s arousal. As intoxication takes hold, anyone affected will become increasingly pliant and agreeable, taking anything the succubus tells them as absolute truth.”

The demon ran her fingers along the top of her cleavage before pushing two fingers between her breasts. Becker watched in dumb fascination, his head following her motion up and down. Up and down. A line of droll began to form at the corner of his mouth.

“How would you describe your current level of arousal?” Ava asked, picking up her notebook.

“Six,” the man blurted. “S-seven.” His eyes were trapped in the valley of her chest. Becker wasn’t sure when it had happened, but there was now a noticeable tent in his pants. He couldn’t remember being this hard before in his life. Becker blushed with the realization that Ava could certainly see the state he was in. “Eight.”

The demon’s mouth drew into a smile, her eyes narrowing in sinful delight. “Very responsive - you would make a wonderful research assistant.”

Becker could feel his heart beating faster, chest puffed with pride. He was clearly doing a good job. And what an opportunity it would be, to help such a beautiful woman on such an important project!

The succubus’ voice lowered into a sultry purr that sent a tremor down Becker’s spine. Her expression was one of predatory anticipation. “Oh, it seems you've become excited. Did staring at my big, soft tits make you all hot and bothered?” She rolled her shoulders in a slow, sinuous motion that caused her chest to bounce and jiggle. “I think it would be best if you pulled down your pants so we can observe your condition.”

Becker nodded, trying to hide the burning in his cheeks and failing miserably. He hooked his thumbs into the waist of his pants and drew them carefully past his erection, shivering as it came into view. Here Ava was, doing her best to explain a complex alchemical process, and he wasn't able to tear his eyes from the hypnotic expanse of her breasts. He could almost feel himself falling into her cleavage, vision narrowing until it filled his gaze entirely, one hand gripping a table at the sudden weakness in his knees. But the shame only seemed to worsen his arousal.

“Poor dear,” the succubus said. “It’s gotten so hard in such a short time. And the way it’s throbbing! With how swollen your balls have become, and the quantity of precum you’re leaking….” She shook her head, tsk-tsking with concern. “It isn’t healthy - we’ll have to resolve this right away. You had better take your hand and start masturbating,” she said, making a ring with her thumb and forefinger, miming the motion. “That’s it, very good - up and down. We hardly need lubrication with how wet you already are. But remember, you aren’t allowed to cum until I say. It’s important to follow my instructions, don’t you think?”

As soon as she’d spoken, Becker’s hand was already around his cock. It ached as he caressed the shaft, long strokes from base to tip. He wanted to go faster, to push for the release every cell of his body demanded, but as soon as she finished speaking his hand slowed to a torturous, almost leisurely pace. Becker watched the rise and fall of Ava’s perfect breasts, waiting for the demon’s next command.

“Ten,” he whimpered.

The demon hadn’t seemed to hear him. “The final stage of this process is the rational mind’s complete and utter usurpation by the animal mind. The victim is still able to speak, to process language, and even form complex thoughts, but their decision-making capability is overridden.” She laughed, watching the enchanted Becker with evident amusement. “In layman’s terms, the now fully intoxicated man is thinking entirely with his penis, which is in turn subservient to the succubus’ will. The more he agrees with her, the more he follows her commands, the further his mind is overtaken, until he comes to feel pleasure simply from obeying his mistress and the presence of external stimuli are no longer required.”

Becker was trying to speak but his throat was too dry. His mouth formed the word ten, over and over, repeated in a silent mantra. Sweat beaded on his arms and neck as he continued to stroke, continued to stare.

Ten. Ten. Ten.

She was so perfectly beautiful. Each soft curve of her body was a work of art, worthy of prayer and veneration. Each word tumbling from his lips was a goddess’ command, to be heeded and obeyed without thought. He couldn’t remember where he was or what he had been doing moments before. There was only her.

“At this point,” the succubus said, “The chemical agents have run their course. If exposed without encountering a succubus, the inhaling man would suffer from an extended erection but no long term consequences. But if exposed to a succubus’ pheromones and subsequent stimulation, well…” Ava gestured to her audience and his spellbound, worshipful masturbation. “We have a vivid example of how potent the effect can be.”

Ava finished a last few scratchings in her notepad before setting it down on the table and glancing at her watch. “You’ve done wonderfully, young man. Quite the educational session, and I appreciate having a conversation with someone who understands the jargon. But I’m afraid our time is up. As promised, you are free to leave unmolested.”

Becker blinked in confusion, slowing his efforts to without stopping entirely. He swallowed twice. “Leave?” he asked.

“Naturally.” Ava held up a hand to examine her nails, tone casual. “That is what you want, is it not?”

What he wanted? Becker tried again to push aside the fog that had rolled over his thoughts, to remember what she was talking about, but the effort was exhausting and led nowhere. Still, he knew he didn’t want what was being offered. Why would he want to leave when the only person who mattered to him was right here?

“Poor boy, you seem terribly confused.” Ava took one step closer, then another. Each enhanced the view of her cleavage, which Becker was still staring at in glassy-eyed captivation. “What if, instead of running off to join your friends, you stayed here and helped me with my work? You could be with me all the time, doing whatever I told you like the good boy I know you want to be. And of course, you’d be allowed to cum whenever I want.”

Becker nodded enthusiastically. The blood was pounding in his ears, drowning out everything but her words and the thump-thump-thump of his own heart.

“The only thing you’d need to do is tell me where your friends are and what they’ve been up to. But that’s okay, right? You don’t mind betraying the others if it means you get to burst for me. It would make me so happy. And I know how much you want to make me happy.”

The words spilled from Becker’s mouth, easily and without hesitation. “Thatch is trying to get into the heavy door. And Lieutenant Pike is downstairs, with the men he freed. They’re waiting for the key to break out a friend of Pike’s…” Strengths, weaknesses, the location of their forward camp, when they were expected back. He was saying too much, more than she had asked for, but he couldn’t stop. Soon Becker was babbling about classified information from the Demolition Corps, about to launch into an explanation of their most recent efforts to combine holy water with blackpowder.

“Shh,” Ava cooed, silencing him at last. “That’s exactly what I wanted to hear. You’ve done such a good job, darling. Are you ready for your reward? Good boy, that’s what I thought.” She took a beaker from a nearby countertop, holding it in front of Becker’s trembling cock. “Don’t you dare waste a drop,” she chided. “I’ll need a sample to brew the next batch.

Ava’s eyes glowed, her voice echoing with command. “Cum for me.”

Becker moaned as he climaxed, milking each creamy spurt into the waiting glass. He tried his best to be careful, but with each ejaculation his body seemed to weaken while the volume erupting from his cock was constant for three, four, five splatters into the waiting jar. Fist tight around his still-trembling member, Becker meticulously milked himself of each remaining drop until he was completely spent, exhausted beyond words.

Moments later he collapsed against a countertop, awkwardly lowering himself to the ground as his legs gave out. The last thing Becker saw was his mistress licking flecks of cum that had sprayed onto the back of her hand.

“You stay right there,” the succubus murmured, stepping over the prostrate man on her way toward the exit. “You deserve some rest. I’ll be back after we’ve dealt with your friends.”