Categories > Original > Erotica > Incubus
Incubus
When I first saw him, I was completely bewitched. I should have told the priest about the immoral thoughts he inspired in me, like a muse of perversion.
?Blocked
Title: Incubus
Rating: M
Author: [info]mystik_serena
Archived at: [info]lovemedeeply
Warnings: Really, really porny
Notes: One-shot, POV changes
The brush of skin on skin was an entrancing feeling, the kind to trap and arouse the one stuck and tied in his own skin. The sleeping incubus laughed as it felt the taste of lust stroking the youth's stomach with heat, flushing first from his face in the most adorable shade of red to pink, then further as an arrow of heat through his heart, sapping the strength from his legs. A low purr of arousal, the scent of sex on the air. His hand lowered slowly, sneaking down between his legs.
The soft, gasping moans as his hand moved across his length, so shy and virginal, even as he convinced one hand to go further, past the hot, heavy sacs towards the puckered skin behind it. A gasp, more wanton than the previous ones. Of course, the pretty boy with the long, deliciously pale legs, wanted it. He wanted the invading, almost uncomfortable feeling tinged with protectiveness of being taken. Not yet, darling, not yet, the incubus grinned. Oh no, not yet. But soon. Very, very soon.
One finger entered his body, earning a high pitched moan, the feeling so new and so familiar as the finger crooked and stroked the inside of his body.
"Oh, God," came the moan. Oh, afraid not darling. Look in the other direction...
So lovely, his body writhing even further as the next finger was added, delightfully stretching his body. If only it was time already, if only, if only. A soft whimper from the boy as he sweated with the heat running through his body, making him hot and cold by turns like a fever, but he wouldn't mind if it killed him. His hand continued to move against his member, gaining speed and pressure.
Oh so beautiful when finally the two sensations crashed in a display of colors behind the boy's eyes, making his body tighten around his fingers and the wetness explode under his sheets.
Not soon enough, the incubus decided, his own hand moving feverishly against his naked form, slowly tracing across his lips then down his neck and brushing over his chest, across his stomach until it met between his legs. He taunted himself, tracing his fingers over every bit of it, fingers flicking against the tip and tracing over the sac. Eventually, he allowed himself to come, a mess all over himself, but his body was weak and sated, limp against the luxurious sheets that he indulged himself in. Oh, he couldn't wait to touch the pretty boy. It would definitely be worth it.
~!~
When I first saw him, I was completely bewitched. I should have told the priest about the immoral thoughts he inspired in me, like a muse of perversion. Where I had been taught to want a woman, and in the normal methods (which had been outlined to me by my elder brothers), I suddenly found myself wanting more than that.
I wanted my arms stretched out above me, until they ached, but it was a delicious ache, running through my body as someone else controlled it. I wanted my hips jerking in movement to another pair, with them inside of me so deeply I would wonder if they were piercing my heart.
I wanted, most especially, his hands on me, driving me completely, ragingly mad. I wanted to be touched by him so badly, that it was all I could do, when he came to visit my father or my brothers, to resist following him and attempting to bring him back to my room.
I wondered what it would be like, to be fucked by him. Well, to be fucked at all for that matter. I wondered what it would feel like to be whipped, in the way that is spoken about in secret whispers instead of the one spoken about as a punishment, in the loud, imposing tones that adults use to frighten children with the boogey monsters.
My plan was hopelessly simple and much too complicated: get him into my room, and pray to God I could distract him long enough to seduce him. It simply never crossed my mind that he could, possibly, not want me in return. There had to have been hope of something to drive me so entirely out of my wits.
Oh and it worked. I made up some excuse and he followed after me with a knowing grin. I wondered how much he expected of me, but then I couldn't be bothered to actually care.
He looked out of place in my room, an adult in the room of a child. It was arousing and perverted. I think he enjoyed the sensation of knowing how wrong it would look because he did his best to look as entirely sexual as he could. He made me look like a complete bumbling fool, and he appeared as the wise teacher come to redirect the mistaken energies of his pupil.
The observation amused me, and I thought it might amuse him as well. It did, he laughed and cupped his hand against my cheek.
"Oh, darling pretty boy," he whispered against my hair, his lips having stroked my cheeks and down my neck, "If you have me, as you want so badly, you may not be able to handle it."
I responded, "If I do not have you, then I think I will not be able to stand it!"
He laughed. He had a sexual laugh, something that should not be used when educating virgins. It makes us want to try, though I was smart enough not to right away. His lips were hot against mine, and it stole my breath when his tongue pushed its way in. I must have moaned.
I think I made several mindless, vapid sounds as his hands began to push their way up my stomach, his fingers touching every part of my body. Each portion of my body that so much as made my breath hitch, he exploited unfairly. He hadn't even touched anywhere particularly interesting, and I was writhing underneath his hands. His tongue tormented my mouth, and I attempted awkwardly to imitate his motions. It made him laugh softly, but I didn't care. He was touching me and kissing me, and everything was hot and slick and mindless movements.
When I came the first time, I tried to warn him but he just laughed softly against my lips, his teeth snapping sharply and gripping the soft skin. It sent fires down my spine to join the ones already between my legs, causing my body to jump and writhe hotly, feeling as though I was burning already in the fires of Hell. I couldn't focus enough to care because as soon as I ended my orgasm (teaching me the reason behind calling it "le petit morte"), his fingers, long and thin, were sliding into my body and another wave of lust and want and need began to blanket my body.
I felt claimed and wanted and thoroughly aroused, even after my recent experience. It made me moan again.
"This, dearest, might hurt a little bit," he warned me as he rose above me, a demon of night and day, of fair skin and dark, of blood and want and lust and something so incredibly perverse, I was bewitched and damned.
It hurt, oh it hurt, but I couldn't find it in me to dislike it, especially when his hips moved and brushed a part of me that I had never experienced. It felt like heaven. He gasped above me, which only made the feelings to me more intense, because it was me he was above, and it was me that made him make those sounds.
I almost wish we could have been romantic and have come together, but unfortunately, I came first, shrieking softly and clawing at his back. It took him several more movements before he moaned against my neck and I felt something buck inside of me.
He stayed the night and whispered one mysterious apology that he refused to explain.
It was later that I ran away with him, following the taste of opium like kisses that removed my sanity and made me want more. It made me want to be claimed and wanted and needed like the source of an addiction.
~!~
I wish, at times, that I hadn't taken him so young. Then, he would have known a normal, balanced relationship that didn't depend so much on the shape of his body. Perhaps then, he wouldn't have become so self conscious. He was always beautiful, though. Always. His body was shaped perfectly, like an angel and an athlete. His responses were perfectly timed, as if he'd been created just for me instead of trained over many years to become as he did. His time was almost up, the youth had drained his body of its strength, if not the virility and it's form. He was still so beautiful, though. So lovely...
He smiled sweetly at me, when I came to visit him on his last day. The one thing I regret is how much I spoiled him, making him lovely and terrible. "Come to see me one last time?" he whispered and leaned back. There were pale marks on his skin, from me at his request. The scars marked him mine, and his hands were already cuffed above his head.
"Is that what you want tonight darling?" I whispered against his hair.
He nodded slowly, his hair falling against his face. He knew, he had to know. His eyes were too tired and his smile too forced.
"Please?" he asked softly, looking the way he always did when he didn't want me to deny him. Or, he wanted me to deny him in different ways.
His body was long and soft beneath my hands, and his moans were tormented and sated as my fingertips were replaced by my nails, scratching up his legs, towards the soft inner thigh. I left a dark red mark there with my teeth and he moaned darkly.
His hips jerked heatedly as I continued to torment him, his skin heating and sweat breaking out. At one moment, I leaned down and tasted the salt on the skin at the crease of his leg. His hips bucked and he whimpered pathetically. He couldn't touch himself, he couldn't make himself come. His love and his lust was addictive, and I fed like an addict, as often as I could.
His member was hard and wanting and I pressed my lips to the tip, making them move in an at
"Please, please, please," he whispered, licking his lips and catching a droplet of sweat as it prepared to caress his lips.
His body had become used to me, but I still slid my fingers into him to torment him. He whimpered and moaned and pushed back against my fingers, attempting to bring me further and further into his body.
He screamed when I took him, his body writhing around me, making me respond in kind. There was nothing... prepared about our sex, nothing that ever seemed to follow the traditions of skill. We made our own in our attempts to draw out sounds from one another.
I wanted to soak into his skin like water, tasting his entire body.
He was hot and tight around me, and I moaned softly. Lovely, lovely boy. He whimpered when I gave a particularly hard thrust, and after years of practice, and we came together, our bodies thrusting and bumping and grinding.
When we were finished, him untied and curled against my side, I whispered, "I love you."
~!~
The sleeping incubus awoke and stared blankly at the ceiling. The dream made him smile and bring his head back to remember each delicious feeling that sounded just slightly of memory.
On his bed, his arms wrapped around himself, the boy decided that he didn't want to remember the fantasy. It hurt too badly to think about.
Rating: M
Author: [info]mystik_serena
Archived at: [info]lovemedeeply
Warnings: Really, really porny
Notes: One-shot, POV changes
The brush of skin on skin was an entrancing feeling, the kind to trap and arouse the one stuck and tied in his own skin. The sleeping incubus laughed as it felt the taste of lust stroking the youth's stomach with heat, flushing first from his face in the most adorable shade of red to pink, then further as an arrow of heat through his heart, sapping the strength from his legs. A low purr of arousal, the scent of sex on the air. His hand lowered slowly, sneaking down between his legs.
The soft, gasping moans as his hand moved across his length, so shy and virginal, even as he convinced one hand to go further, past the hot, heavy sacs towards the puckered skin behind it. A gasp, more wanton than the previous ones. Of course, the pretty boy with the long, deliciously pale legs, wanted it. He wanted the invading, almost uncomfortable feeling tinged with protectiveness of being taken. Not yet, darling, not yet, the incubus grinned. Oh no, not yet. But soon. Very, very soon.
One finger entered his body, earning a high pitched moan, the feeling so new and so familiar as the finger crooked and stroked the inside of his body.
"Oh, God," came the moan. Oh, afraid not darling. Look in the other direction...
So lovely, his body writhing even further as the next finger was added, delightfully stretching his body. If only it was time already, if only, if only. A soft whimper from the boy as he sweated with the heat running through his body, making him hot and cold by turns like a fever, but he wouldn't mind if it killed him. His hand continued to move against his member, gaining speed and pressure.
Oh so beautiful when finally the two sensations crashed in a display of colors behind the boy's eyes, making his body tighten around his fingers and the wetness explode under his sheets.
Not soon enough, the incubus decided, his own hand moving feverishly against his naked form, slowly tracing across his lips then down his neck and brushing over his chest, across his stomach until it met between his legs. He taunted himself, tracing his fingers over every bit of it, fingers flicking against the tip and tracing over the sac. Eventually, he allowed himself to come, a mess all over himself, but his body was weak and sated, limp against the luxurious sheets that he indulged himself in. Oh, he couldn't wait to touch the pretty boy. It would definitely be worth it.
~!~
When I first saw him, I was completely bewitched. I should have told the priest about the immoral thoughts he inspired in me, like a muse of perversion. Where I had been taught to want a woman, and in the normal methods (which had been outlined to me by my elder brothers), I suddenly found myself wanting more than that.
I wanted my arms stretched out above me, until they ached, but it was a delicious ache, running through my body as someone else controlled it. I wanted my hips jerking in movement to another pair, with them inside of me so deeply I would wonder if they were piercing my heart.
I wanted, most especially, his hands on me, driving me completely, ragingly mad. I wanted to be touched by him so badly, that it was all I could do, when he came to visit my father or my brothers, to resist following him and attempting to bring him back to my room.
I wondered what it would be like, to be fucked by him. Well, to be fucked at all for that matter. I wondered what it would feel like to be whipped, in the way that is spoken about in secret whispers instead of the one spoken about as a punishment, in the loud, imposing tones that adults use to frighten children with the boogey monsters.
My plan was hopelessly simple and much too complicated: get him into my room, and pray to God I could distract him long enough to seduce him. It simply never crossed my mind that he could, possibly, not want me in return. There had to have been hope of something to drive me so entirely out of my wits.
Oh and it worked. I made up some excuse and he followed after me with a knowing grin. I wondered how much he expected of me, but then I couldn't be bothered to actually care.
He looked out of place in my room, an adult in the room of a child. It was arousing and perverted. I think he enjoyed the sensation of knowing how wrong it would look because he did his best to look as entirely sexual as he could. He made me look like a complete bumbling fool, and he appeared as the wise teacher come to redirect the mistaken energies of his pupil.
The observation amused me, and I thought it might amuse him as well. It did, he laughed and cupped his hand against my cheek.
"Oh, darling pretty boy," he whispered against my hair, his lips having stroked my cheeks and down my neck, "If you have me, as you want so badly, you may not be able to handle it."
I responded, "If I do not have you, then I think I will not be able to stand it!"
He laughed. He had a sexual laugh, something that should not be used when educating virgins. It makes us want to try, though I was smart enough not to right away. His lips were hot against mine, and it stole my breath when his tongue pushed its way in. I must have moaned.
I think I made several mindless, vapid sounds as his hands began to push their way up my stomach, his fingers touching every part of my body. Each portion of my body that so much as made my breath hitch, he exploited unfairly. He hadn't even touched anywhere particularly interesting, and I was writhing underneath his hands. His tongue tormented my mouth, and I attempted awkwardly to imitate his motions. It made him laugh softly, but I didn't care. He was touching me and kissing me, and everything was hot and slick and mindless movements.
When I came the first time, I tried to warn him but he just laughed softly against my lips, his teeth snapping sharply and gripping the soft skin. It sent fires down my spine to join the ones already between my legs, causing my body to jump and writhe hotly, feeling as though I was burning already in the fires of Hell. I couldn't focus enough to care because as soon as I ended my orgasm (teaching me the reason behind calling it "le petit morte"), his fingers, long and thin, were sliding into my body and another wave of lust and want and need began to blanket my body.
I felt claimed and wanted and thoroughly aroused, even after my recent experience. It made me moan again.
"This, dearest, might hurt a little bit," he warned me as he rose above me, a demon of night and day, of fair skin and dark, of blood and want and lust and something so incredibly perverse, I was bewitched and damned.
It hurt, oh it hurt, but I couldn't find it in me to dislike it, especially when his hips moved and brushed a part of me that I had never experienced. It felt like heaven. He gasped above me, which only made the feelings to me more intense, because it was me he was above, and it was me that made him make those sounds.
I almost wish we could have been romantic and have come together, but unfortunately, I came first, shrieking softly and clawing at his back. It took him several more movements before he moaned against my neck and I felt something buck inside of me.
He stayed the night and whispered one mysterious apology that he refused to explain.
It was later that I ran away with him, following the taste of opium like kisses that removed my sanity and made me want more. It made me want to be claimed and wanted and needed like the source of an addiction.
~!~
I wish, at times, that I hadn't taken him so young. Then, he would have known a normal, balanced relationship that didn't depend so much on the shape of his body. Perhaps then, he wouldn't have become so self conscious. He was always beautiful, though. Always. His body was shaped perfectly, like an angel and an athlete. His responses were perfectly timed, as if he'd been created just for me instead of trained over many years to become as he did. His time was almost up, the youth had drained his body of its strength, if not the virility and it's form. He was still so beautiful, though. So lovely...
He smiled sweetly at me, when I came to visit him on his last day. The one thing I regret is how much I spoiled him, making him lovely and terrible. "Come to see me one last time?" he whispered and leaned back. There were pale marks on his skin, from me at his request. The scars marked him mine, and his hands were already cuffed above his head.
"Is that what you want tonight darling?" I whispered against his hair.
He nodded slowly, his hair falling against his face. He knew, he had to know. His eyes were too tired and his smile too forced.
"Please?" he asked softly, looking the way he always did when he didn't want me to deny him. Or, he wanted me to deny him in different ways.
His body was long and soft beneath my hands, and his moans were tormented and sated as my fingertips were replaced by my nails, scratching up his legs, towards the soft inner thigh. I left a dark red mark there with my teeth and he moaned darkly.
His hips jerked heatedly as I continued to torment him, his skin heating and sweat breaking out. At one moment, I leaned down and tasted the salt on the skin at the crease of his leg. His hips bucked and he whimpered pathetically. He couldn't touch himself, he couldn't make himself come. His love and his lust was addictive, and I fed like an addict, as often as I could.
His member was hard and wanting and I pressed my lips to the tip, making them move in an at
"Please, please, please," he whispered, licking his lips and catching a droplet of sweat as it prepared to caress his lips.
His body had become used to me, but I still slid my fingers into him to torment him. He whimpered and moaned and pushed back against my fingers, attempting to bring me further and further into his body.
He screamed when I took him, his body writhing around me, making me respond in kind. There was nothing... prepared about our sex, nothing that ever seemed to follow the traditions of skill. We made our own in our attempts to draw out sounds from one another.
I wanted to soak into his skin like water, tasting his entire body.
He was hot and tight around me, and I moaned softly. Lovely, lovely boy. He whimpered when I gave a particularly hard thrust, and after years of practice, and we came together, our bodies thrusting and bumping and grinding.
When we were finished, him untied and curled against my side, I whispered, "I love you."
~!~
The sleeping incubus awoke and stared blankly at the ceiling. The dream made him smile and bring his head back to remember each delicious feeling that sounded just slightly of memory.
On his bed, his arms wrapped around himself, the boy decided that he didn't want to remember the fantasy. It hurt too badly to think about.
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