was once a literary giant and caustic critic, but he now explores the exciting
world of the Crimson Succubus, an enigmatic creature obsessed with all
things darkly erotic. As the Succubus' personal voyeur, Carmine alone bears
witness to the decadent acts of the Succubus and her many charges. His
of the Crimson Succubus:
Assuming the simple guise of a Spanish señorita, the she-devil Crimson Succubus entered the tavern El Conquistador and found a table in the darkest part of the establishment. Moments later, a young waiter walked over, a bottle of clear liquor under one arm.
“Buenas tardes. I am Fernando, your attendant for the evening. What may I get you, señorita?”
“Tequila, por favor.”
Before the waiter could turn around and attend to the order, Succubus locked her sanguine orbs upon his diminutive eyes. Raw heat emanated from her countenance, permeating every pore of the young man. He used the sleeve of his tunic to wipe the sweat which built upon his brow and saturated his mane of black hair. Fernando found suddenly his entire pelvis throbbed like a troubled heart. The urge to look down was great, but he managed to ward off the temptation. Still, he felt his ass become increasingly tighter and his cock was growing so large every inch ached and burned. These effects were so great his pants migrated upward, revealing his dilemma to all who would bother to look in his direction.
“A goblet,” he managed to blurt out. “Forgive me. I shall fetch you one.”
“No need,” replied Succubus, her stare maintaining its intensity. “Put the bottle down and remove the cork.”
Red-faced and trembling, Fernando did as he was told. After releasing a luscious sigh, Succubus began to lick the bottle’s head, her tongue running along its lustrous edge.
“An excellent liquor.” He tried to look away again, but her spell was much too strong.
“Where is the worm?”
“Señorita, it is mezcal that has the worm. And it is not a worm at all, but rather a butterfly waiting to be released from its cocoon.”
“It is said that the essence of this worm-- or shall I say, this cocoon-- invigorates the taste to aphrodisiac heights.”
His cock ached for release. The young man tugged on his trousers. “It is said.”
“Shall we make some mezcal, then?”
Dropping to her knees, Succubus pulled down Fernando’s pants only enough to expose his dark member. Immediately after taking a lick of salt and a bite of lime, the demon placed her lips on the waiter’s engorged cock, teasing its head. She pushed forward, her lips parting. The salt along the edges of her mouth stung the cock, which in turn made it stretch even more.
As the young man arched his back, Succubus wrapped long fingernails around his taut bottom, their barbed tips driving into each cheek. Opening her mouth just enough, she eased his cock within, her tongue swirling about its head while her cheeks squeezed the shaft.
The waiter tensed, climax swelling within his gut, and Succubus placed his cock’s head near the opening of the bottle. She then stroked and squeezed the shaft until his juice mixed with the alcohol.
“Caramba! The essence of a butterfly,” she said taking a swig. “It is mezcal now.”
“What do you mean?”
“You were untouched by woman, until now.”
The waiter’s eyes watered. “I was to have been a priest.”
For an instant, Fernando swore he saw the señorita’s eyes turn completely red and short horns sprout above her brow. A blink later, however, and the vision was gone.
“Come, I shall make you a priest.”
“The first step is to make sal de gusano-worm salt, like what is made in Oaxaca.” Succubus managed a grin. “It will cleanse you.”
“Mmmmm, yes. It consists of salt, chili powder, and worm. I love it with lime and orange slices.”
Fernando’s cock once again began to stir. “It will cleanse me?”
Succubus licked her lips. “Oh yes.” She touched his forehead. “But not right now.”
* * *
Church bells rang in a monastery and seminarians began their morning rituals. At the southwest corner of the abbey’s dormitory, seminarian Fernando Salas opened his eyes and removed the singular blanket that covered his body. Sitting up, he unraveled the rosary attached to his cock’s shaft. The crucifix was covered with his own alabaster seed.
When the bells stopped ringing, a hideous, yet enchanted chuckle made its way through the dormitory, and in several instances senior disciples found themselves defiled with enormous erections of their own.
Wiping away the sin from his crotch, Fernando dressed and was about to make his way to the bathing area when he spotted several items on a desk. Placed on a plate adjacent to his working Bible were a phial of salt, a cruet filled with mashed chili powder, and several orange and lime slices. And there was a short note, the chirography as scarlet as blood.
“For tonight,” Fernando read aloud.
Dropping to his knees, he screamed the abomination’s name again and again.
“Lilim-- daughter of Lilith!”
But it was fruitless. Fernando had learned about the love of the worm, and for as long as he lived there would be infinite recipes to explore.
© 2002 Carmine. All rights reserved. Do not copy or post.
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