#this is what i mean when i say i'm into fantasy resus

[breathlessheartbeat]

Succubus

Inspired by @deliciousbeats89 resus thought this week: 

Resus thought of the day: A sucubus comes to you in the middle of the night. After taking your soul after making you orgasm they decide you are too fun and start cpr desperate to bring you back to make you their pleasure slave.

TW: blood (but tasteful); dub-con? maybe? 

You can read part 2 HERE

-----

She came in the dark of the night. And she was a vision. 

At first I thought I was dreaming. Half awake, I tried to blink to see if she would fade, turn into a strategically placed pile of clothing. 

But no. Her curves were real. Solid. Her thighs could make thunder if they clapped together. Her abdomen was strong, but not muscular. Her breasts were ample, barely caught by her pentagram bra. Her lips were plump. Her nose was round and pretty. And her dark eyes were full of malicious intent. All of these parts I really liked. 

Her entire skin was red. Stop sign red. Traffic light red. Volcano lava red. She had horns spreading from her forehead and curling towards the back of her head. Her ears were pointed. 

Her black hair was half up. Her maroon lips smiled, biting her lower lip. She climbed on top of my bed, walking on all fours until she was on top of me. I thought it was a dream at first, but it couldn’t be. I could easily see my clock counting 3AM and you could never tell the time in dreams. The feeling of the sheets under my fingers was very real. The wind from the AC, the noises from outside. 

Sleep paralysis, then? I thought. I must be the first case of a good one. 

Then, she reached her hand and touched me. 

The tips of her fingers were curled into black claws, as if they were stained by a very very dark henna. She put her palm against my chest and moaned low in her throat. When she smiled, I could see the tips of fangs. 

“You will be such a delicious little meal...” 

I opened my mouth, but found I had no words. What could I say? There wasn’t even the most distant part of me telling me I should be afraid someone had broken into my apartment. All I could think of was her: her touch, her words. 

She knelt, one big thigh on each side of me and she kissed me. 

My heart immediately went into overdrive. It beat so fast I could feel it everywhere, my body pulsing in tandem with it. It was impossible to describe what her lips tasted like. It was like food to a starving woman. My arms went around her and she let out a small chuckle of approval. My belly shook with the strength of the desire that flooded down to my legs. 

She pulled away. I felt a deep sense of loss. My hands tried to hold her back and she just chuckled again. Her lips were upon me again. On my face, on my neck. Everywhere she touched, fire. I could barely breathe. I let go of her, grabbing at the sheets. My chest was heaving as she made her way down. At first, she just pulled at the collar of my pajama top and then, it was cut by her long claws, laying next to me. She continued her trail of kisses until she found my now uncovered breasts. She took one in her hand and squeezed. I let out a sharp yelp of pain. It quickly turned to pleasure, so fast it made my head spin. 

Her talons had broken skin. I didn’t even mind. Her face turned to my left breast and she took it in her mouth, sucking at the tip, again and again until I thought I would die and then unlocking her jaw to make her mouth big enough to take my entire C-cup into her mouth. She bit down. 

Wetness took over my panties. 

She had her fun with my breasts. She put her head between them and nuzzled them, licking at the trails of blood she had left. It burned and I loved every second of it. She then touched her ear to my chest and sighed deeply. 

“Just hear it thumping… so lively… such a pity…” 

I wasn’t sure if I was missing bits of her words. The world had turned pink with pleasure and sudden love. I wanted to be in this moment forever, I wanted her to never leave, I wanted her… 

Her mouth continued down my belly. Kissing, nibbling. Her hands held my hips down because they kept bucking upwards. My insides were a twist of burning hot desire. I was going to explode very soon. 

Then he hit my mound and I could take it anymore. I came. I came hard. I closed my eyes and let out a pained moan, back arching slightly off the bed. The woman sniffed what had come out of me and tsked. 

“Oh, look at that. So quick… you humans used to be harder to please.” 

With that, she grabbed my legs. One moment all of my back was against the mattress. Then, only the top part of it. She had raised me and her nose was against my folds, pushing, exploring. She was kissing, she was sucking. Her tongue found my clitoris and I screamed, my legs shaking on her shoulders. 

She was ravenous. She ate my pussy as if it was the meal she had mentioned earlier. Her fangs brushed against the sides of my labia and felt like final judgement was upon me. She lapped and circled and sucked and I couldn’t breathe. 

Literally. I felt like oxygen wasn’t quite reaching my lungs. My heart, that had been beating in time in my ears since she had arrived, gave a painful twist. And yet, I couldn’t feel an ounce of regret. 

I came again, with a roar that I didn’t know could be lodged in me. I was exhausted. Sweat covered my body. My lips tried to mumble a request for time, but she was at me again. At my core. 

Her tongue went inside me. It was pointy and slitted. And it grew. And it grew and it grew, going inside me. My eyes were bulging out, unable to believe. I could feel her going inside me: touching my cervix, my uterus, everything inside, twisting it inside out. 

I shook violently. My back was raised from the mattress. I tried to kick, but I found my legs to be heavy as lead. A choking sound came from my lungs. Ah, yes. Air wasn’t enough. I needed her, her, her. My heart was going so fast I was surprised it didn’t explode. I came a third time and I heard her laugh with amusement as her face was squirted with my juices. She licked her lips. Her black eyes in my dark room were heaven itself. No. Not heaven. Something else. 

It wasn’t just my cum on her over extended tongue, that was dropping all the way down to her breasts. No. There was light in there too. A magical essence of something. She touched it, straddled me, smudged it in my face. 

“Your soul, my sweet. Isn’t it beautiful? It’s delicious. Congratulations.” 

She leaned down and kissed my face, licking what she had smudged there, as if she couldn’t miss a lick”. 

“Now be a good girl and don’t move.”

She kissed me. Hard. My lips immediately went numb. Her tongue asked for passage and I just opened for her. I was weak, unable to do anything else. It dominated, demanded space. I opened my mouth for her as much as I could, but it felt like there was always more for her to explore. Her tongue continued down as if it was a serpent, reaching all the way down to my throat and continuing, much like it had did under me. 

Of course some part of me reacted. My hips tried to lift from the bed, but she was holding me down. My chest shook under her, trying to fight, but her hands went to my shoulders, holding me down. 

I couldn’t breathe. I tried and I tried, but she was blocking my airway. I could feel her moving down my throat and it revolted something in me. I struggled harder and she held me harder. I felt something in her tongue suck. My eyes rolled back in pain. My chest was burning and my heart was no longer as loud. It was erratic, stopping more than it was pumping. My hands fell to my side. My strength left me. 

She continued to suck on my body. Some part of me could still feel it. The part she was consuming. My soul. For a second, I could watch me from her eyes. I was pale as I had never been before, my lips turning blue. All of my skin bore red scratches were her fangs or talons had been. My body was all twisted in the bed as if I had been in a fight. Bruises were forming wherever her much heavy body was holding me down. 

Finally, she was done. 

She sat up, put her head up and pulled her tongue out of my throat and back into her own mouth. She let out a heavy sigh, closing her eyes and licking her lips. 

I knew, then, I was supposed to be gone. I couldn’t still be watching. Something was wrong. 

“The other succubi said this might happen. That there might come a day when I wouldn't finish a meal. That I would want to protect one soul. That I would want to feed on it more than I once.” She murmured to herself, her feverish eyes watching the same ceiling my now blind fixed eyes were. She looked down at me, my battered body. She leaned over, caressing my face. “I left a little bit in there. There’s enough for you to make more. Now, we just need to fix this, don’t we?” 

The tip of her talon touched the spot on my chest over my idle heart. 

She held my face, stiffly tilted it back and blew into me. My throat was raw from her tongue, but my starved lungs took air just fine. Then still straddling me, she put her hands on top of my chest and started compressing my heart. 

[luxe-pauvre]

I just found your blog so forgive me if this has been asked or sounds too stalker-y, but I'm curious as to what happened to your dream of fashion journalism?

You must have scrolled back years to find a mention of that; that’s commitment. I’m weirdly happy that this strange little corner of the internet I’ve maintained is worthy of that kind of time.

The first problem was that it wasn’t ‘the dream’. An issue I had at school, and still do to this day, is that I love most subjects. It wasn’t that I really loved music and so was destined to be a musician, or I really loved maths so I was destined to be a statistician, I enjoyed nearly everything. I had an inkling of careers I’d be suited for (fashion journalism being on the list, but not at the top of it) but I’ll never be able to write ‘since I was 3 months old I’ve always wanted to be a … ’ on an application.

The best piece of advice I received at school, from a particularly brilliant teacher, was to not specialise until university. To try to take the broadest range of A-Levels possible so that when it came to choosing a degree my options were open. This turned out to not be possible for me. I went to a school that was in ‘special measures’, and when I was interviewed by the great college I went on to attend I was openly called a ‘risky student’. In real terms that meant the subjects I could choose from were limited. They didn’t want me taking anything deemed too hard because what if I messed up their averages? I ended up taking A-Levels that were mostly in the arts realm, and so the course toward fashion journalism was set as I wouldn’t meet the entry requirements with those subjects for my other interests.

The way I dealt with that disappointment is apparent from what you read: I maintained to everyone that I had been interested in fashion and journalism for a long time (which is true, I edited my school paper, I find fashion fascinating, I quite enjoy writing), and that it was my dream job; the only and ultimate goal I have ever had (not so true). When I say everyone, I mean everyone. School friends, college friends, my parents. I decided if that was the path that I was going to be forced down then I would embody it wholeheartedly, which helps at the time because it removes those nagging 3am doubts.

Roll on some years later, and I’ve started the degree at LCF: it wasn’t what they had made it out to be. They had spent a lot of time at open days trying to hammer home that it was an academic course (which is what I wanted) and not just about pretty dresses, and it wasn’t just about pretty dresses but it also wasn’t very ‘academic’. I don’t know if this is the case now, this was years ago and so it is not a comment on the course as it’s being taught now. I became friendly with the programme director and she got me an internship at a start-up where I met the (now former) art director of Harper’s Bazaar and some Vogue stylists. I worked hard for them and they liked me, which led to me interning for them on and off for a couple of years. And it wasn’t for me. There’s no other way of putting it. I throughly enjoyed my time with them, and working (even if for free and unofficially) for the magazines I’d always dreamed of working for was a great experience, but I couldn’t see myself doing it as a career. I think I expected the ‘behind the scenes’ of the fantasy to be a lot more business-like than it was - it’s a multibillion dollar industry after all - but it was for all intents and purposes still rather ‘fluffy’, for lack of a better word.

But it is a cardinal sin to change your degree. You are not allowed to change your mind, it is a complex and basically irreversible decision (is how it felt in my head at the time), and so I persevered. Until I got sick. Very sick. Life-as-you-know-it-ripped-out-from-under-you sick. ‘Sick’ culminated in a night in resus, a ‘do you want to see the chaplain’ ‘you might not make it through the night’ night in resus, and then a month or so in intensive care. A few weeks later, when I was finally left on my own for the first time, I had what can only be described as some sort of hysterical breakdown. I think it hit me all at once: I was 20, something like that isn’t supposed to happen to you when you’re 20, I’d done everything ‘right’ after all. I did however make me realise that I didn’t want to do anything that wasn’t fulfilling me anymore (increased mortality salience has that effect), and so I left university on medical grounds, and left fashion journalism behind.

To transform this into something that might be useful to others rather than me just cathartically turning my life into a coherent narrative: it’s okay to like/love multiple subjects, and it’s okay to “change your mind”. There is a pervasive idea online, particularly in ‘study’ based social media, and in UK colleges that you pick one thing, one career path, one degree, and that’s what you do from now until eternity. You can’t adore literature and science at the same time. You’re good at English, you chose English, and that’s your life now. I’ve seen people on this hellsite be attacked relentlessly for changing career paths/degrees like it’s an awful thing that makes their love of the subject(s) less valid, and that they aren’t a ‘good’ student because of it and will never be great at what they do. I don’t fully understand why this idea has found its way into culture, other than that “changing your mind” is nearly always perceived negatively, but it’s not true. Some of the best and most successful people I know changed their degrees and/or career paths. Some rather late on in life. Don’t stick at something (and run up a large student debt) because you feel that there’s no going back and want to appear committed. And most importantly: it’s a cliche that life is short, but it is. Don’t think that everything you know, want, have ‘dreamed’ of, can’t be ripped out from under your feet because it can. Your world can suddenly shift on it’s axis, so enjoy what you’re doing, or at least be doing something that moves you towards where you’d ultimately like to be, and if you’re not doing that, turn over the table.