The Dreams of the Succubii Read online

  The arse thrust back, decided at last, and he tilted the clear cone so that he could see the puckered bottom hole, and taut rubbery perineum, thrust up and outwards in acceptance of the cone's pressure. He tilted it again, bringing his eyes close to where it pressed, and watched as it went in a little. Perhaps a half an inch. He kept a steady pressure on it, and let the girl work herself backwards, content to see it drifting slowly into her. An inch, then a half inch, as she relaxed and let it gently stretch her anus. Two inches now, and her bottom cleft was full of it. He pulled it back a little and pressed it in some more. Two and a half inches in to her, and her golden asshole dilated slowly to receive it. The muscular mouth was clasped in a tight ring around the cone's clear sides. An almost perfect circle of taut, vulnerable skin, stretched against the glass.

  His cock pulsed.

  'Pull it out and you will see,' whispered Magda, into his ear. He felt her breath, felt her longing against his neck. The cone withdrew, leaving the smooth inlet reddened and open. He felt as if he could spill into the dark passage within. He could see the pink insides of the girl's rectum in the moments before her ass hole gasped closed. His own breathing was heavy, shuddering with arousal, as he placed the cone against the spread bottom and urged it gently back into the girl's backside.

  'It is astonishing, is it not?' asked Magda, 'The way it can spread so wide and then close up, as secretive as before.'

  He nodded his agreement, unable to find words, and the cone finally came to rest, settling at the ass hole's limit.

  'Now this,' suggested Magda, holding up a slim shaft of glass with three thick beads in a row on one end. 'You can see it popping in and out clearer. It is very sexy.'

  He pulled the cone away, letting Magda take it, and took the shaft of glass in his palm. It felt curiously greasy to his touch, or was that him? His sweaty fingers?

  He placed the beaded end at the gaping entrance to the blushing, pink funnel that disappeared in to the girl's broad, shapely ass. He could see her legs trembling, but she kept her bottom stuck out at him as he pressed the first bead into the opened hole. Her anus sucked around the oval, closing possessively around the bead, and so he pressed the second in, delighting in the way it popped past her anal sphincter to bury itself beside it's comrade. The third he thought might be too much, sensing the hesitation in the ass by the way it tilted down for a moment, but a sudden thrust upwards satisfied them both, as the third bead followed the first two into her tight asshole. He gently rolled it around, and the ass quivered, biting at the intruder in a gummy grip that flexed as the dildo moved in small circles.

  'In and out,' said Magda, hoarsely, 'But do it gentle. Nice and easy.'

  He obeyed, pulling at the shaft of glass so that the third bead appeared, stretching the little opening and showing it's glittery upper surface at the same time. It jumped clear of the anus' grip, popping into view like an air filled bottle suddenly released from the bottom of the bath. The bare hips jerked, wanting it back, or another bead to come out. The owner if the stretched arse was obviously enjoying the sensation, for it tilted upwards and spread it legs to make it easier for him to pop the dildo in and out.

  'See, Gideon?' crowed Magda, 'she loves it. Absolutely loves it.'

  'She does,' he agreed, 'Are we allowed to rub her slit?'

  'You are, Gideon, but no insertion. Only the clit,' came the frank reply, as Magda put her hand over his so that she could share the thrill of stimulating the anonymous ass. He felt her fingers, never guiding, always responsive, fold coolly around his.

  'It is not really allowed,' she said, 'but you won't tell, will you?'

  He felt his naked hip brush her clothed one, and the electric pulse of the slight bumping made his stomach roll loosely.

  'Never,' he promised.

  'You must fuck her now,' said Magda, breath shivering out in excited gusts, as she watched his hand press firmly at the offering's cloth covered clit.

  'I must,' he said, staring down at the wet, red end of his engorged penis.

  'It's his cock,' groaned Ghita, barely able to keep her head off the table, such was the drowsy effect the constant stimulation in her ass and clit was having on her.

  'Against your anus?' asked Miss Fay, holding Ghita's face in her capable, neat hands.

  'The heat of it,' nodded Ghita solemnly, 'It is different from the glass. Less rigid.'

  'That's the cock alright,' agreed Miss Fay. 'Keep yourself steady for him now, girl.'

  Ghita tried to obey, but the lazy feeling in her legs and hips resisted her efforts at a strong, bottom thrusting posture. She could feel the cock at her opening, like a tongue, or a warm ball. She relaxed her ass as much as she could, but the heat made it want to draw in.

  'Yeah,' she said to no one in particular, head again nodding seriously. 'It's going in.'

  'Let it in, pet,' instructed Miss Fay, lips dangerously close to Ghita's own. Her mint-scented breath flowed like a breeze across Ghita's scarred cheek.

  'Oh, it feels so big, Miss Fay,' cried the girl, frowning prettily. 'So hot.'

  Miss Fay pecked a quick kiss on Ghita's forehead, and ran a guilty hand down to stroke one of the girl's sweat slicked breasts. The nipple was a hot thorn across her palm. She desperately wanted to kiss the girl's twisted mouth, to trace the lightning strike of scarred tissue with her tongue.

  'Oh, Miss Fay!' cried the girl, frown deepening as her anus was stretched and her bottom filled.

  'A nice, hot cock up you, girl,' said the ecstatic older woman, as she squeezed the girl's firm breast. 'That's what you need.'

  'Up the ass,' agreed Ghita, locking her pink tongue across her white teeth and tracing the line of her upper lip.

  'Is it in?' asked Miss Fay anxiously, as the girl groaned deep in her throat, and dropped her head to press her forehead against the table top.

  'In, ...ahh...and out again, I,….Ahhh!'

  'He's fucking you so?'

  'He is, ahhhh!'

  'Your tight ass?'

  'My tight, fucking, aaaahhh! Oh God. My ass!'

  Miss Fay dropped her free hand to press against the cloth of her panties where it pouched around her full cunt. She felt she could relax a little now, as the girl was being well fucked, and so she pressed her little clit in firm, delightful strokes of two stiffened fingers. Her other hand cupped the girl's hot breast, thumb and forefinger pinching the long nipple to full erection. She pulled it, tweaked it, twiddled it., drawing the little nub away from it's cushion of breast so that she could see its full length.

  'They're playing with my cunt, Miss Fay. Aaah! The bastard...,' the girl groaned. 'Oh, it's so long.'

  'Is it stretching you, Miss O' Connor? Is it hurting your little hole?' asked the older woman, growing coarse with lust.

  'Really stretching me, Miss Fay,' sobbed the girl, hysterical with excitement, 'Ah, God. It's so fucking nice. Oh...oh...ooooh.'

  'Oh, that's the good girl,' said Miss Fay, beginning to come. 'That's the lovely, sexy little girl.'

  'He's coming in my ass,' moaned Ghita, 'I can feel it spurting in me.'

  'Ah, sure that's lovely,' said Miss Fay, not really listening as her head jerked in response to the overwhelming feelings her frantically rubbing fingers were producing in her loins.

  'The dirty bastard,' said Ghita, 'Ah...oh...ah..the dirty bastard. Oh, the lovely, dirty bastard.'

  Her voice rose in pitch as her orgasm approached, The feel of the hot sperm spurting against the walls of her rectum was so deliciously dirty that it sent her thrilling over the edge in seconds.

  'The dirty, ass fucking bastard....ooooh!'

  The upper torso of Ghita was being rocked, as whoever had his cock in her arse thrust in to her from behind the screen of the wall. Her breasts shook, as he slammed in to her, in quick metronomic flicks of the fleshy mounds.

  Miss Fay was beginning to recover from her own, less overwhelming ecstasy, and she sheepishly turned her attention back to the buggered girl.

  'What's happ
ening now, Miss O'Connor?' she asked, bracing herself against the head of the girl's table to still the post orgasmic quivering in her thighs.

  'He's pulling out of me, Miss Fay,' replied the girl, saliva drooling unheeded from her slack, plump-lipped mouth. 'Oh, that feels so strange.'

  The girl's bottom-hole gaped, a miniature slick-rimmed whirlpool starting to work itself closed. The opened cleft between her muscular cheeks glowed, golden brown and smooth as butter. Gideon stroked the silky skin, teasingly tracing the clenching orifice into which he had so recently spilled his seed. His cock felt slightly raw, and he was relieved when Magda, of the white hands and cone sucking red mouth, rubbed some salve along its reddened length.

  'It is done,' she said, 'and done well.'

  'It was amazing, Magda,' he replied, luxuriating in the soothing rub of her cool hands.

  He watched, as the legs and hips that protruded through the wall in front of him lifted up, big buttocks clenched, and stuck straight out, so that he had to step backwards a little to get out of their way.

  'She leaves us now,' said Magda. 'The offering is complete.'

  They watched as first the hips, and then the thighs, and finally the shiny-booted calves were drawn away from them, disappearing, as if by magic, in to the wall. It was surreal.

  'I'll never know,' said Gideon, sounding surprised, as he finally realised that it was over and the girl's anonymous bottom was gone.

  'Never,' agreed Magda, 'and neither will I, if that's any comfort?'

  'Oh, I don't mind,' Gideon replied, 'those are the rules, and I accepted them. It just seems strange that's all.'

  'Isn't that the whole point?' said Magda seriously, her beautiful Nordic face intense as she looked at him. 'The not knowing is what makes it beautiful. A dream of a dream. A kind of.... symbol.'

  'Oh, I understand,' said Gideon, pulling up the rubbery pants that were virtually all he wore. 'And now?'

  'You could go home,' said Magda slyly.

  'Could?' he asked, for clarity, as his heart thumped with delight.

  Magda stroked the rubber covered curves of his bottom with one hand as she pinched his nipple with the other.

  'I am off duty now,' she said, tickling down his abdomen to gently cup the bulge of his sated cock. It gave a lazy twitch as if to say, 'Don't worry about me. I know what to do.'

  Her eyebrows rose, blue eyes twinkling. ‘So soon,' she said, 'It is remarkable. You must be starving after that performance. Come, let me feed you, Gideon, my sweet, serious boy.'

  They gave a last glance at the aperture through which the girl's bottom had disappeared. It was shuttered now, almost seamlessly. There was nothing to see.

  He draped his arm about her slim waist, as they walked towards the door. Unable to resist, he slid his hand over the firm, working curves of her taut buttocks, as they rolled under the thin material of her short black dress. She let him do as he pleased, as her own arm came around his waist, and patted the rubber clad cheeks of his bottom. He kept politely quiet as she murmured something in to her head set, then turned to smile shyly at him.

  'You will suit me very well, Gideon,' she said, giving his buttocks a possessive squeeze. 'Very well indeed.'

  Ghita had laid on the table, lazily lapping up the sensations that coursed through her as Miss Fay cleansed her rear, inside and out. She felt like sleeping, here, face down and naked on the table. She rubbed absently at her scar, which had begun to gently itch. A healing itch, she knew. She would never be wholly free of damage, but the bitter edge of loss has softened. She was desired, and the knowledge that it was so freed her to return that desire.

  Miss Fay rubbed her limbs dry with a soft towel, gently lingering at her cleft.

  'You need to sleep, my pet,' she said softly, 'My lovely girl.'

  'And then?' asked Ghita, wanting Miss Fay, wanting her clean thighs and black eyes. Silence grew, and then Miss Fay was muttering in to her head set. Ghita caught the last soft phrase.

  'Tis the same with me, Magda.' the lilting Irish voice said, 'She has me in her web.'

  'I have?' asked Ghita, tilting herself up so she could look directly at Miss Fay.

  'Then kiss me, Miss Fay, and take me to your bed.'

  The older woman laid her cool cheek bone against Ghita's naked back and sighed, 'I must, my lovely girl, for your beauty could melt a heart of stone.'

  The end.

  Afterword.

  And so, this first anthology ends. You may have realised, kindred soul, that this is not intended for one handed readers. The stories are a way to sting a lust awake, so that its chafing might induce you, kindred soul, to find your share of happiness where you may. They are best read one at a time, perhaps before a bath, or on a sunny weekend lazing in the bed, while your partner makes the morning coffee. I hope you have enjoyed reading these as much as I enjoyed writing them, for it was you for whom I let these dreams unfold. I may return to these characters, or the others who wait patiently for their turn to cartwheel in the sun, but either way, I hope you have liked them just a little bit, as I have. They are nice people, and the world needs more of those. Remember most of all, that it is you, kindred spirit, for whom the Succubii dream.

  Stephanie Calvin, February 2012.

  If you liked this book, you may also like the novella, Dolly Boss by the same author, available on Amazon and Kobo. There is a sample chapter or two for your delectation immediately following this afterword.

  Dolly Boss.

  An exclusive excerpt from the erotic novella by Stephanie Calvin.

  Copyright page.

  Dolly Boss

  Stephanie Calvin

  First Published by Stephanie Calvin on Amazon

  Copyright 2013 Stephanie Calvin

  This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold

  or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person,

  please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. Thank you for respecting my hard work and creativity.

  Supercunt.

  Estelle Verne is an absolute, total and utter bitch. Beautiful, talented, successful, not to mention the owner of the finest arse in the City of London, but beyond all of that, her supreme talent was, and still is when she wants to be, for being one hundred per cent concentrated vixen.

  None of which would matter one iota if she didn't also happen to be, horror of horrors, my boss.

  I used to think I was pretty much a feminist, in so far as a twenty-eight year old computer nerd with an, I would like to think, post ironic appreciation for mildly sexist video games can be.

  I know that being too pale, having five foot of muscle on a six foot frame, and running slightly to fat almost go with the territory in my line of work, but I had always thought I was, at heart, the living, breathing epitome of the metro-sexual, urban, middle class male.

  It took Estelle Martin, the supercunt, to cut through the layers of bullshit that my years of living equably through university with feminine peers had painted like a veneer of idiocy over my inner caveman. Six months of working under Estelle, and I was ready to move to Saudi Arabia just so I could order a few women about. Six terrible months, in which I finally began to understand the old joke that middle aged men tell each other when they are sure there are no women around.

  Don't know it? Well I'll tell you. 'They're all bitches except Mom,..but if you want to know about her, ask Dad!'

  It got so bad that I stopped ringing my sister. A sister who was always the first person I would ring if I had important news, good or bad., the first person I would think of going to see when a long weekend was coming up. I started to think of her, Phylis, as being part of Estelle's gang. The secret conspiracy of successful women. My upbringing, as the adored son of a neat, quietly ambitious, and very traditional English mother had left me utterly unprepared for Estelle, and for this I blamed both my mother, my sister, and all the other women I had ever had any intimacy with, for lulling me
into a sense of false equality and docile compliance. Perhaps I better explain a bit more about that upbringing, so you can really understand just how emasculated I had, unbeknown to myself, become.

  I was christened, Martin Joseph Godfrey, in a little village just outside Colchester, almost twenty-eight years ago today. I went to the local village school, mixed, and very Mary Poppins inspired in its approach to child nurture. Mostly female teachers of a very nondescript niceness, showing me how to express myself, and channelling all that creativity into approved wholesome outlets. Like in art, where my admittedly clumsy efforts at showing how a T-Rex could chew the legs off a slow caveman could have been censored on the grounds of insulting the description 'drawing', but the real objection was the innate violence I wanted to explore.

  'Draw something nice, Martin', they would say.

  And so I would, though I doubt my renditions of singular, smoke chimneyed houses, with green scribbled haystack lawns and yellow cartwheel suns, added anything to the annual art display in the main assembly hall, except perhaps a singularly perfect expression of why it is both cruel and pointless to give some children a box of crayons.

  And from there, an almost seamless progression through the education factory of modern England, where every outburst of aggression was smothered with expressions of disapproval from prim lipped young misses, and their Tweedledee male counterparts.

  Its not nice, you see. Not in a middle class boy.

  If you have those sort of feelings, you are supposed to take them out on the rugby field. But what if you don't like fucking rugby, eh? What then?

  University lulled me further into this somnambulistic emasculation. I was able to retreat into the wonderfully logical and controlled world of computer simulation, and in the real world, satisfy the most basic of my sexual urges with 'nice' girls who wanted to play at being Mommys and Daddys in house share arrangements that almost mimicked the civilised middle class homes they seemed to be forever escaping back to.