Shop Mobile More Submit  Join Login
About Deviant Tera SFemale/Canada Recent Activity
Deviant for 9 Years
Needs Core Membership
Statistics 34 Deviations 514 Comments 12,027 Pageviews


There's a story behind this art, which takes a little time to tell... Each person here represents a real person, they are, to me, my fa...


Newest Deviations


TeraSuccubi's Profile Picture
Tera S
Current Residence: The Realm of the Succubi
Favourite photographer: My hubby of course...
Operating System: Macintosh
MP3 player of choice: iPod
Wallpaper of choice: Succubish
Skin of choice: Succubish
Personal Quote: Thank you for calling Tera, Queen of the Succubi... Please wait and she will be with you shortly...


Mature Content

This content is intended for mature audiences.

or, enter your birth date.*



Please enter a valid date format (mm-dd-yyyy)
Please confirm you have reviewed DeviantArt's Terms of Service below.
* We do not retain your date-of-birth information.
Silver Spoon
By TeraS


A silver spoon …

…a tool whose existence, in most cases, is barely given a second thought …

... an implement designed for the purpose of moving something from one place to another by means of scooping and lifting. Perhaps it is to be used in stirring sugar, or cream, into one’s coffee, or in the enjoyment of soup, being used to raise a small portion to one’s lips, then blowing over the liquid to cool it slightly before then touching the spoon to one’s lips and enjoying.

But a silver spoon can be used, if one is so inclined, to seduce another.

Imagine, if you will, a certain ebon-haired, green-eyed woman sitting at a table. Or perhaps she awaits you, resting comfortably, on a leather sofa, her long tanned legs curled beneath her. Or what if you encountered her in her kitchen?

She stands there, her hands placed on the countertop behind her, head tilted to the left, a bemused smile on her lips, regarding you as you enter. There is a lick of her tongue over her lips as a smile passes over them, her gaze not wavering as you return the look. The smile remains as she turns to her right, a slender hand tipped with red nails reaching for the door of the refrigerator that hums quietly in the background. You watch, spellbound, as her fingers wrap around the door handle, she looking over her shoulder as she moves that hand up and down the length of it before pulling the door open and revealing the freezer within.

She turns to look within the freezer, the cold air passing over her arm. As you move closer, you can almost make out the goosebumps that begin to form over her exposed skin, and you notice how the slightly-too-short, ever so tightly-fitting top reveals the curve of her back before her high cut panties cause your eyes to jump towards her long slender legs and dainty feet.

She reaches into the freezer, looking for something in particular and just before your mind forms the thought to ask what she is looking for, her voice purrs to you: “Would you fetch me a spoon, pet?”

The question isn’t so much a question of whether you would do so as it is a sensually spoken command. There is no hesitation in you; of course you need, so very much, to do as Mistress commands. You take the few steps more, arriving at the counter where she had been standing the moment before. A drawer is opened and there, all alone, is a single silver spoon.

You consider this for a moment, and you find your eyes tracing over the arc of the spoon the way they had traced the curve of Mistress’ back, and you notice how the light in the room glistens off its curves like the reflection of light against water. A flash of a memory takes you away from the moment, a remembrance of seeing Mistress showering, the rivulets of water cascading over her skin. Your hands soaping her curves, the light moan of pleasure she made which shook you to your core. You remember the light that shimmered over her skin, how it seemed to radiate from her, offering a bare hint of the power she held within herself.

The sound of the freezer door being closed with a soft thunk brings you back to the here and now. She is leaning against the freezer door and regarding you. In her left hand she holds a small container of ice cream, not much taller than the width of her hand. She tilts her head to the right, baring her throat, then placing the curve of the container against the tanned nape of her neck. You are frozen there, every bit as much as the ice cream she holds, as she shivers from the cold of it, her nipples now raised against the fabric of her top, making little bumps against the tightness, clearly showing her arousal. She licks her full, red lips, soft and just slightly pouty, as she whispers, in the barest of purrs: “Have you the spoon, pet?”

Her question drives you out of your daze and you grope for the spoon where it lies, still waiting to be used. Your hand scrambles into the drawer to find it and then, embarrassed that you didn’t complete the task Mistress set for you, you encircle the spoon with your fingers. Raising it from the drawer, you turn to face her again, forgetting to close it as you do.

She still leans against the fridge, but her attention is now focused upon the tub of ice cream. You watch as she rests one hand over the lid and starts to peel it aside. She licks her tongue over her lips again, then clicks it against the roof of her mouth as the top comes free. At that same moment, she raises her eyes to look at you under the bangs of her hair, her so-green eyes sparkling, a hint of the mischievousness she offers quite clear. Her eyes shift to look at the spoon in your hand, then into your eyes as she raises her chin to look at you. Casually, though you know full well that she isn’t, she offers her right hand to you, palm up, waiting for the spoon to be given. She doesn’t say a word, simply waiting for you to perform the simple task she asked of you.

The spoon moves through space as if it desires to be in her hand, in the same way that you ache for her fingers against your skin, her breath hot against you, her scent mixing with yours. You cannot be sure if the spoon is taken from your fingers, given by you, or if it leaps from your fingertips to hers. Whatever the means, you watch as she now holds the spoon so daintily.

She next raises the spoon in her hand, the curved end, the end meant to hold whatever it is dipped into, pointing towards you. That bemused smile you know so well is there as she lightly presses the tip against your skin, just above your navel, guiding you to step away from the counter, to be moved just far enough so that she can come between you and the open drawer you so carelessly—or was it by design?—neglected to close. Her steps are smooth, regal, mesmerizing. As she stands there between the open drawer and you, she takes a single step backwards before pushing out her shapely rear towards the drawer. As you watch, a long, sinuous, heart-tipped, red tail rises into the air behind her, then the tip touches against the drawer and begins to push it closed as she continues to move backwards, her eyes never leaving yours. The drawer almost, but not quite, closes, and it takes a bump with her soft rear to close it the rest of the way before she presses herself against the countertop’s edge. Her tail moves slowly behind her, the light from the window casting a glow about her form … or was that glow always there? She raises the spoon to her lips, her breath slightly fogging its metal, as your own thoughts are captivated by her.

Her hand moves the spoon away, her eyes looking away from you to the dessert she holds in her hand, your thoughts hoping the ice cream is an appetizer and you are the dessert instead. The shiver that thought brings goes through to your core and you stifle a moan of anticipation.

She looks up as the spoon has taken a small portion of the ice cream, her hand bringing it towards her soft, smooth lips. The spoon is paused just before completing its journey. A stray thought comes to you, wondering if the spoon is crying out in need to be kissed by those luscious lips. Knowing you are watching, she parts her lips, the spoon passes between them and then she presses her lips against it. There is a moan—whether from you remembering how her lips feel against your sex or from her enjoying the ice cream really doesn’t matter: the sound alone is desire, passion, and need. As the moan ends, you can clearly see her shapely red horns in her ebon locks of hair, the light from the window—or is it?—making what seems to be a halo all about her. She draws the spoon from her lips, which are drawn out slightly as the spoon escapes her. Yet even though it leaves her lips, she still controls it every bit as much as she does her pet, who cannot move or look away. The tip of the spoon is pointing upwards, her fingers curled still around the stem, the end of which you suddenly realize has a tip shaped exactly like Mistress’ own tail. She crooks a finger towards you, your will obeys, and you cannot help but move closer to her. As you do, she returns the spoon back to her lips, the curve meant to contain what she desires upside down, then pressing her lips against the spoon before drawing it out once more. She still holds the ice cream in her other hand as she then parts her lips and then moves the spoon towards you as you close the space between you both. She taps the spoon against your chest, the cold of the ice cream still upon it, making you shiver once more. The spoon, you realize now, is you. She controls you and the spoon without any effort at all. The spoon obeys her will and desire in the same way that her pet does. Her touch upon you both is firm and sensual, a reflection of her will and seduction. The taste of her lips upon you both is erotic, and you both ache for it so utterly. You are both in your place, the spoon in its drawer, you in her orbit. Neither of you can escape, not that either of you would want to. Your hands move to touch her hips and, as you do, you realize that, somehow, you missed that she is leaning against the counter nude. Her hand rubs the container of ice cream against your chest as the spoon taps your collarbone lightly. She pours the now melted confection down your chest before licking her lips and pushing you back slightly with the spoon. You find yourself gasping for breath as she then licks you clean in one swift, sensual move. Your head spins, and, the next thing you are aware of outside your overwhelming ecstasy is Mistress reaching behind herself, placing the spoon and ice cream container on the countertop.

Her long, red tail wraps around your waist, holding you as she begins to walk from the kitchen, her pet drawn along, awash in anticipation of what Mistress’ desires will be.

The spoon on the countertop witnesses from afar as the sounds of pet becoming Mistress’ pleasure fill every room.

For the spoon … it finds itself placed in another container of ice cream, captured by it, slowly sinking into the velvety mixture, surrendering itself to its simultaneous fulfillment and fate.

For pet … well, you have been captured since Mistress first smiled and, as for your surrender, that came when the silver spoon of Mistress’ tongue caressed you while you imagined her first lick.
Knee Socks
By TeraS


Sometimes, one of the succubi finds herself in an odd situation. That could be any number of things, and, as Tera would tell them all, that is, very much, expected. There are some moments, especially for the more innocent of the succubi—and yes, they do exist—where they find themselves utterly confused by the ones they are with.

Kerri had been following him for quite some time. Well, some might say she was being a little bit of a stalker, but the sweet green-haired red-tail didn't have a nasty thought in her at all. In fact, she was a bit of an airhead at times, though that was part of her charm, really. Regardless of that—and she didn’t dwell on it much, if at all—something attracted her to him, and so she had spent the last month following him around at a distance …

… to start.

She didn’t know exactly what it was about him that she liked. Maybe it was how he smiled, when he did … which wasn’t often, because he was so very shy around everyone. Or perhaps it was how he was so nice, never having a bad word to say. It could be how he spoke, but that shyness did get in the way of conversation.

Or, perhaps, it was what she saw when she snuck into his bedroom in the middle of the night and watched him sleep. She especially liked the foot of his bed; there was just enough room for her to perch there and watch him. She looked at him, under the covers, snoring, mind you, and tried to figure out what she liked about him.

This went on for a very long time.

During the day, she would follow him around at a distance, usually. Once, when she was trying to be as nonchalant as possible she bumped into him in the middle of the library. Before she could apologize to him, he had run off, around the corner and vanished. This really confused Kerri. She hadn’t said a word, hadn’t done anything wrong and yet he’d gone and rushed off like she had poked him with her pitchfork.

She went back to the Realm, back to her little apartment, and looked at herself in the mirror. She couldn’t see anything wrong with how she looked. Her hair was in a ponytail, the skirt she was wearing wasn’t that revealing: it didn’t even show off an inch of skin between the bottom of the plaid skirt and the tops of her knee socks. And her top? Well that wasn’t anything stupid looking, either: her curves were just right in it, not too much cleavage showing or anything. If anything, some of her sisters would tell her that she was really overdressed for being one of the succubi.

A thought came to her. What if she was wearing too much? Maybe that was the problem! Maybe he ran off because he couldn’t see her well enough and mistook her for someone else! Perhaps someone had done something bad to him wearing something like she had decided to wear that day! Deciding that this had to be the problem, Kerri quickly wiggled out of her skirt and then pulled off her top. She looked at herself in the mirror again, and then slipped off her bra and panties as well.

But then she paused. She loved her knee socks, really a bunch, and she didn’t want to take them off. Not just because she liked them—which she really did—but more because she didn’t feel right being completely naked and running around like that.

Tracing a finger along the elastic top, she smiled and recalled how her sisters made fun of her not wanting to be completely naked. One of them told her that being naked has all part of being of the succubi and she needed to get over her problem about being totally nude. Still, as she thought about it, if all she was wearing was her knee socks, then she was, almost completely bare, and that was just as good as being totally undressed, really.

Well, it would have to be, because she wasn’t going to be naked for anybody. Not even him. No matter how much she liked him and all.

Looking at the clock, which she had set to his time, she realized that he was probably asleep and, without another thought, she portalled away from the Realm to his bedroom.

When she got there, she noticed that he wasn’t, in fact, in bed. Frantically, she looked around the bedroom, trying to find him, and when she couldn’t she very quietly creeped around his home looking for him. She could have just poked into his mind, but she didn’t want to—again, another one of her quirks. It would have made things a lot easier, not to mention finding out what his name was, but that didn’t seem right somehow.

Kerri was mulling this over, her tail swaying slowly as she walked along one of the hallways, when she walked headlong into him. She found her body pressed into his, face to face, or, more accurately, she looking up at him while he looked down at her … with the weirdest expression she’d ever seen on him. It almost looked like he was having some kind of problem breathing.

Worried, she blurted out: “Um … Hi. Are you okay?”

He fainted, and then she was left with him out cold on the floor, his head bouncing off it when he landed. Slapping a hand over her eyes, she groaned in despair before grabbing his feet and pulling him down the hallway into his bedroom and then, none too gently, lifting him into his bed. She considered pulling off his clothes … after all, maybe that’s why he fainted … they might be too tight on him or something … She’d had that problem a lot because of how tight some of her tops where, especially the latex ones.

Instead, she crawled into bed with him, straddling her legs over his waist, and paused. She tried to remember what Tera had told her about what to do when someone fainted. Then it came to her: she could try mouth-to-mouth resuscitation! That would wake him up!

The problem was that she wasn’t exactly sure how that worked. But she was a good kisser, and she thought it worked in the same way, more or less. So, having no other good ideas, she leaned down, put her lips to his and started to kiss him …

… at least she did until his eyes opened, he yelled, and she found herself tossed off him and over to the foot of the bed, where she looked at him in as much shock as he did with her.

“Who are you?”

She smiled and offered him her hand: “I’m Kerri. It’s nice to meet you!”

She expected that he would shake her hand, say hi, and then tell his name too. But instead he kept staring at her, mouth moving, but saying nothing. Frowning, she gently slapped his cheek with her right hand which seemed to snap him out of it.

“Why are you naked?”

Frowning, she replied: “I’m not naked.”

“Yes! You are!”

This wasn’t right, obviously, so Kerri turned herself around and then waved her right leg at him: “No, I’m not. See? Knee socks!”

Now, she expected an answer, but instead, for some reason, he fainted again, at least this time his head bounced off the pillows and not the floor. Confused, she looked at her leg and then wiggled her toes.

What was the problem? She wasn’t naked. She was wearing her knee socks. Bouncing out of the bed she walked over to a mirror that was nearby and looked at herself. Obviously the problem wasn’t her! She wasn’t naked, and, really, he must have seen girls before, so what was the problem?

Tapping a finger against her lips she mused out loud: “Mebby the problem is what my knee socks look like. But, I can make them something like latex stockings, or pantyhose or something. Maybe that would be better!”

She didn’t have time to answer herself as he moaned from behind her: “No! That’s worse!”

By the time she turned around to look at him, he had put a pillow over his head, and that confused her even more.

“Um … Why are you hiding behind that pillow?”

“You’re naked!”

In a huff, Kerri answered: “No, I’m not! I’m … Look, I am not naked, okay? I am wearing knee socks, so I am not naked!”

There was an uncomfortable silence, then he asked: “What are you doing here?”

Happily, Kerri explained: “Oh, well, see, I am one of the succubi, and I think you’re kinda’ cute, and I wanted to meet you. So, here I am!”

There was another pause and then, peeking out from behind the pillow he asked: “Actually, why arent you naked? I mean, isn’t that what your kind does? Run around naked all the time?”

Now it was Kerri’s turn to be shocked as she asked: “You want me to take them off?”

He didn’t answer, still hiding behind the pillow. A smile started to appear on Kerri’s lips as she began to walk towards him: “You’re naughty.”

“No! I’m not! It’s …”

At this point, Kerri had crawled into bed with him again, and placed herself exactly where she had been before, straddling him, but this time that pillow was in the way.

“You are naughty. What’s wrong with me wearing my knee socks?”

He crushed the pillow to his face, which made Kerri wonder if he was going to try to eat it or something. Deciding that wouldn’t be any help at all, she took hold of the pillow and yanked it away from him, then set it down in front of her—which, for some reason, seemed to make it easier for him to talk to her. It didn’t mean, however, that he was going to get away without answering her.

“What’s wrong with my knee socks? I want to know.”

His answer surprised her: “You’re … a lot more beautiful wearing them … never expected to meet someone like you … and …”

He didn’t get anything else out because he found himself crushed between the pillow and one of the succubi who was now kissing him … deeply.

After a bit, just before he fainted from lack of oxygen, or blood, or something, to his brain, she broke the kiss and he found himself nose to nose with her, her tail moving slowly behind her.

“That’s the sweetest thing anyone’s ever said to me. Thank you.”

“Um … You’re welcome.”

He paused, then added in a squeak: “I’m Tom.”

She kissed him again: “Hi, Tom. How can I make you happy?”

Hesitantly, as if he was afraid to break her, he took Kerri’s hands in his own: “I was going to ask you the same thing.”

Winking she replied: “Just let me wear my knee socks. I’m a little shy about being naked.”

He had the most odd expression again, she thought, before he replied: “And I’m a little shy around beautiful girls.”

She laughed: “Oh, you’re too cute for that. I mean, you must have a lot of girls.”

“Um … no. You’re the first that ever said ‘Hi.’ You’re also the first to bump into me, the first to be this close to me.”

Kerri wiggled a little closer, putting the pillow to the side as she did so: “It’s nice to be first. Would you like to help take off my knee socks?”

He gave her a sloppy smile: “I don’t think so. I think you’re perfect as you are.”

It turned out, in time, that they were, indeed, perfect for each other, and Kerri was able to prove something to her sister succubi: you don’t have to be naked to be a succubi. But you do have to know what you like and who you love …

… and how to choose your stockings well …

Mature Content

This content is intended for mature audiences.

or, enter your birth date.*



Please enter a valid date format (mm-dd-yyyy)
Please confirm you have reviewed DeviantArt's Terms of Service below.
* We do not retain your date-of-birth information.
By TeraS


There are those in the universe that require evidence to believe in something: solid proof of some description with nothing that’s vague or might be happenstance. Some of the more focused ones call themselves “scientists.” They examine the world in its minutia, seeking out the reasons for why things are as they are, figuring out how they work, putting the world into a framework. This, at least, is what they plan on. Much of the time that works very well … except, of course, when it doesn’t.

Dr. Richard (and no, you cannot call him “Dick”) Edwards was one of those scientists that accepted only what his test equipment told him. Scales and monitoring equipment provided the data to verify whether something was true or false, actual or not. There was no room in his world for such things as fantasy, for the idea of things that were, just slightly, outside of his frame of reference. Except that there was one thing that nagged at him, one thing that he didn’t quite understand.

In every institution of science there is someone that comes along to test one’s theories. One or more colleagues pick them apart, looking for the errors, pointing out the things that seem obvious to them, but not to the one that had been seeking out the answers. Some call them fact checkers, others call them examiners. For Dr. Edwards, he called her Miss Horn, and she was a real problem, one that no amount of measurement could put into context exactly.

She was irritating and bothersome and poked around his lab every day. She was the cause, he was sure, of much of the failure of his more sensitive equipment. He could hear the click-clack-click of her heels at the door every morning and every evening, every time she passed by once more. Oh, she was polite enough, she did have a nice voice, and while her personality was more than a bit outgoing, that was nothing compared to the other problem he had with her.

You see, it didn’t matter how professionally she dressed, there was no possible way to hide the depth of her cleavage. And his eyes were drawn there unerringly. She did have a thing for the professional look mixed with a just a hint … well, if he was to be truthful, it was a heaping shovelful … of seductiveness, mixed in a way that invariably captured his attention.

But he’d managed to remain professional throughout their interactions. He hadn’t drooled at the slit of her skirts that left no doubt of the color of her panties, or that she was wearing thigh-high stockings, the lace teasing out from the bottom of her skirt, causing his fingers to twitch from time to time. Standing nearby, being the proper gentleman as she bent over his desk, hands on either side of the desk blotter, reading his work. He managed only to gaze upon the curves of her hips while her skirt did wonderful things to her bottom as it stretched itself, moulding to her.

No he hadn’t lost himself when she rolled her hips, occasionally looking over her shoulder at him, an eyebrow raised in the midst of challenging some point in his research. Nor did her eyes, peering at him through her horn-rimmed glasses, cause him to do some of the decidedly erotic things that crept into his thoughts. He even managed not to stare, well at least not to drool, as the dear woman wrapped her lips around her index finger before using that slick digit to turn over one page for the next.

When she wasn’t looking, he did clutch at whichever table he was standing near, trying very … hard … not to blurt out something inane or stupid or, worst of all, express some of the thoughts that were egging him onwards. This all went on from the first day that Miss Horn, with her delightfully red hair in a severe bun, had entered his world, and it just kept getting more and more present and severe as time went onwards.

It all came to a head when she’d questioned a particularly complex formula and he blurted out: “You couldn’t possibly understand those equations, Miss Horn!” With the words out in the open, he found himself the target of her deep blue eyes, searing him through her glasses. Pursed lips were not a good thing. The crossing of arms over her wonderful cleavage was even worse. She was not, at all, happy.

“I beg your pardon, Dr. Edwards?”

In for a penny, in for a pound, he thought: “I do not believe you have the means, or ability, to question my equations. Nor, I expect, have you the mental alacrity to see past my work to my ultimate goal.”

Her smile was evil, there was no other way to put it: “Really? Is that so?”

A rational mind would, at this point, look for a way out, to exit the field of battle with their dangly bits still intact. Richard, while he was a brilliant mathematician, wasn’t very good at dealing with objects of one’s desires that seemed to be set on one thing. Thinking that, perhaps, being less formal might work, he tried: “Miss Horn … Addison … If you’d …”

“My name is not Addison … I’m well aware of your name however, Dick. But you don’t know mine?”

“I would prefer you not use that name.”

She crossed the lab in three strides and he found himself looking into her eyes, having nowhere to run, feeling very much like one of the mice in the mazes that were in the other labs. Pausing very close, her purse was shrugged off her shoulder. Opening it, she fished out a small silver business card.

“What is my name, Dick?”


She looked at the card, shook her head and then, with a snap of her fingers put the card upside down on the counter beside him.


“No, your name is Addison. I’ve heard others …”

“You’ve heard my name … but you haven’t … heard … my name. I find that distressful … Dick.”

Attempting to hold onto some sense of control, the apology was hurried: “I apologize.”

Then, he turned to the card—obviously her business card—his fingers brushed over it, intending to flip it over, to read her proper name and move on.

Her voice—sharp, but at the same time making him sweat came: “You’ve been testing a lot of things … haven’t you, Dick?”

“What do you mean?”

“Testing this … testing that … I’m sure you have notes on everything you’ve been testing, haven’t you?”

“Of course!”

The woman that had been captivating him in his dreams, in his thoughts said the one thing he wasn’t prepared for: “Does that include … me? Have you a book, listing your tests? My responses?”

Frantically waving his hands, the trapped researcher’s voice rushed faster still: “I’ve done no such thing! I haven’t made any notes!”

That evil smile turned in a way that made her next words a purr of delight: “So, you admit you’ve been testing me, then?”

“I have not! You have no evidence that I …”

“Don’t I?”

He stood his ground. Of course she didn’t. There wasn’t any … at least nothing that was actually written down. The touch of her long burgundy nails put paid to the lack of evidence: “mmmm … your stiff cock seems to betray you.”

Out of desperation, he pushed her hand away: “Miss Horn! Please! Restrain yourself!”

Her hands only moved to toy with his lapels: “Oh you’d like that … wouldn’t you? Tying me up? Bending me over your desk? All … so … helpless as you did … anything … you wanted?”

The mouse, trapped by the cat, wanted to refuse her: “Addison! I would do no such thing!”

The tigress licked her lips: “Oh? I think you’d do more. You’d tease me, make me cry out for your cock, scream in delightful heat as your fingers dipped inside of me, caressing my clit, rubbing my heat, my honey dripping …”

“Addison! Please!”

Her smirk was heat itself as she pushed him against the counter, then along it: “Yes … Dick?”

“This is completely unprofessional!”

The counter came to an end. Luckily, or perhaps by design, the flustered scientist found himself in a chair, the object of his lusts hovering over him. As she pulled a hairpin out, her red tresses became loose, a waterfall of blazing desire framing her slick, wet, shiny, burgundy lips, her gleaming blue eyes in shadow: “Then … let me be … very … professional … Dick.”

He’d been so held by her eyes that he hadn’t noticed her glasses were gone. But he did notice her hands fumbling with his belt, tugging on his slacks before … before … his mind froze in mid-thought. There was nothing he could do as her fingers toyed with his shaft, her lips swirled around, then over, its swelling head, teasing all of the sensitive places in ways that made his knuckles white as he hung onto the armrests for dear life. There was no question in what was left of the examiner’s mind: she passed her oral exam with flying colours.

Her lips came free with a pop, followed by another wanton lick of the tip, as if she was toying with an ice cream cone: “What’s my name … Dick.”

It was a struggle, she didn’t stop nibbling, licking, devouring him to her delight as he whimpered: “Aaaadddisonnnn …”

Her lips left him, his hips trying to push himself back to their warm wetness, but she’d moved too far away as she looked him in the eyes: “Close. But no.”

Letting go, her fingers undid her blouse, then with a shimmy, her skirt fell away, leaving her bare save for her burgundy lace panties, bra, and stockings. He could hear her heels—burgundy, of course—scraping on the tile floor as she straddled him.

Her breath warmed him, her eyes inescapable: “Say my name.”

He moaned in want: “Aaaadddisonnnn …”

A long, sinuous, burgundy, heart-tipped tail rose into the air behind her: “Say … my … name …”

Whimpering, needing, he begged her: “Aaaadddisonnnn …”

A pair of burgundy horns rose into her flaming hair, her voice all consuming: “Say … my … name …”

The cry came from the depths of his soul, his fantasies tested, his needs probed, the answer being the only one that mattered: Addisyn!”

The one being tested moaned in delight at her name: “mmm … yesssss … You pass the test … Dick.”

From that day onwards, there was one person that could call him Dick … but she had a very good reason. She passed all of the tests.

Mature Content

This content is intended for mature audiences.

or, enter your birth date.*



Please enter a valid date format (mm-dd-yyyy)
Please confirm you have reviewed DeviantArt's Terms of Service below.
* We do not retain your date-of-birth information.
As part of the 2009 Halloween Celebration in the Succubi Realm, we had a little get-together where the theme was a special set of costume horns being put on by someone and then… Well… The Succubiness begins from there….

This is a story called Cherries, written by myself. It’s too long, doesn’t follow the rules and so it is, but isn’t, part of it really… But it was fun to write and hopefully it will help me to finish a bunch of other stories of the Succubi that I really want to finish…

Hope you enjoy it!

By TeraS


“I’m not wearing this Lynne! No way, no how!”

Those words were thrown with a good deal of force by a dishwater blonde twenty-something inside of a change-room in the back of a costume shop. Sitting outside and reading a fashion magazine was an Asian girl with long hair. She flipped the page she was reading over and replied, “Oh shut up and try it on Trish. You lost the bet so that’s what you are going to wear. So put it on so I can get in there.”

The curses and mumbling continued for a while and then Trish walked out of the room holding a bag in her hand, “I did. You’ll see it at the party later. Come on and I’ll pay for this… and yours… and we can go home.”

Trish slammed the bag on the counter before grabbing Lynne’s bag and putting that on top with a loud thump. She fumed at the smirk on Lynne’s face as she walked out the shop door to meet their friends in the mall outside. The girl behind the counter coughed and said, “Umm, you can pick an accessory for your costume for free if you want? It’s part of the two for one offer.”

Trish waved her hand at the clerk, “Oh just pick something for me will you? My so-called friends just want to embarrass me with this costume.”

The clerk pondered for a moment and then said, “Oh? Well then, how about you mix it up a bit?” She reached under the counter and then put a small cardboard box into Trish’s bag, “That’s for you okay? Not for your friends. I think that it will make them look at you in a new light.”

Trish paid for it all, thanked the clerk for her kindness and apologized for being grouchy to her, giving her an invite to the party they were having Halloween night.

And so, that is how Trish found herself standing in front of her mirror looking at herself in an angel costume. Once again she tried to make the halo straighter above her, fix her plastic wings so that they were more comfortable, and tried to make the gossamer white costume reveal a bit less of her than she really wanted to show.

Lynne barged into the room in her outfit. She had braided her hair into two long ponytails and squeezed herself into a too-tight fitting Japanese schoolgirl outfit that showed off a lot of her cleavage and, if she bent over far enough, would flash her panties at anyone that cared to look. She giggled, “Oh you look so innocent Trish!”

Trish gritted her teeth, “And you have the slut look just perfect.”

“Fine. Be a stick in the mud tonight if you have to. Just don’t fuck up my fun tonight or else.”

The door slammed as she strode out, leaving Trish in her room looking at the bag from the store and the scattered packaging strewn all over the place, and in the middle of all of that.

That cardboard box the clerk in the shop had given her.

Sitting on the edge of her bed, Trish pulled the box over to her, placing it in her lap, and then broke the seal to see what was in it.

To her surprise, it was a pair of red devil horns on a headband. She smiled at the silliness of it all. She was supposed to be an angel in this costume, but the devil horns would make her look like she wasn’t.

She pulled the halo out of her hair, tossing it back onto her bed and making her way towards her door putting the horns into her hair as she did. Just as her other hand touched the door handle she sniffed the air in confusion… Cherries?

And then the world went black.

Dan was Lynne’s boyfriend of the moment. That meant that she liked having sex with him at the moment, and that made the other guys and girls jealous of him, which was just fine as far as he was concerned. Lynn had told him that she had a surprise to show him before the party and so he had arrived early for it, dressed in a toga.

He was walking towards her bedroom when a door to his right opened, a slim hand with long red nails reached out and pulled him inside, to the aroma of cherries around him as it did.

Lynne was standing there in an angel’s costume with devil horns on her head. She pressed him against the door and purred in his ear, “Hello lover. I haven’t had a good fucking in days. Why not?”

Dan wanted to answer, but there was something making him rock hard and making his mind think only of bending Lynne over and fucking her like the little slut he knew she was. He sniffed the air again, the scent of cherries stronger than ever, and his mind glazed over. Moments later, and Dan was plowing her from behind, her moans and screams muffled by the pillow beneath her.

What he didn’t see, or care about, was her hair turning blonde, and the costume she was wearing turning red.

Paula was Lynne’s roommate, mostly because she was the only one who could really tolerate her wild side. She was placing a pirate’s cap on her red hair when the door opened and then closed behind her. Assuming that it was Lynne, she continued to work at her costume, the scent of cherries coming to her nose, making her wet and needy. Turning around, she saw Lynne standing there in a sort of angelish-devilish costume with a wicked smile on her lips. Paula looked to the floor and whispered, “Yes Mistress?” What no one knew was that Paula had been Lynne’s subby for several years and that was the real reason she stayed with her.

Lynne slinked up to her before putting a hand up under Paula’s bra and saying with a purr, “You haven’t eaten me out today, little slave. On your knees. You can do that right now.”

Paula’s mind was hazing over as the words from her Mistress sank in. Within a minute, she was on her knees, her tongue buried into Lynne’s pussy and her thoughts only of obedience for Mistress…

What she didn’t see was the white angel wings on Lynne’s back turning black, then becoming large and bat-like before moving in the air behind her. She also missed Lynne growing a long slender red devil tail behind her which snaked around to slap Paula’s ass with its end.

In the kitchen, Rachel was putting the finishing touches on the snack table. She had decided to just wear her cooking school outfit as she was going to be in the kitchen all night anyway. As she was looking it over one more time, the aroma of cherries filled the room becoming overpowering. The petite redhead found herself gripping the table with one hand and her other hand rubbing frantically at her clit trying to make herself cum.

There was a purr behind her, “Bend over the table, Rachel. I’ll make you cum, honey…”

She didn’t hesitate for a moment at the command, pushing the food in front of her away enough to bend over it. A moment later a long wet tongue lapping at her pussy, and in the next moment she came to the smell of cherries around her.

Lynne crouched behind Rachel, now with red skin, a long supple tongue, and bee stung lips.

But Lynne also came back into the house after having a smoke outside. As much as she wanted to smoke in the house, the other girls had warned her that she would be kicked out if she did. She was looking into the hall mirror to see that her hair was perfect when she smelled cherries…

. . . and found herself looking at herself standing in the middle of the hallway. It was her. Same hair, same looks, exactly what she saw every morning in the mirror except that…

. . . she was a demoness.

Lynne pressed herself against the mirror as her other self came closer, her hands moving over her body as she spoke, “I really should thank you in some way, Lynne. You were the one who picked that store, that costume that you are wearing, and the one that you picked for me.”

Lynne had an instant of clarity and gasped, “Trish?”

Her answer was a laugh as her mirror self transformed into Trish…. Or something more than Trish… She had long platinum blonde hair with two long sharp devil horns in it. Her body was… God it was making Lynne wet and achy just looking at her. Large firm breasts, a shapely sensual body, a bare, wet, perfect pussy. She wanted to look away, but the flutter of the bat wings behind her, the long red tail moving from side to side, her green eyes that held her.

Lynne couldn’t do that. All she could do was moan and whimper as Trish touched her chin with her long red nails and spoke, “Yes. It’s me. And thanks to you Lynne, I’m a Succubus… A creature of sex and desire…. And you desire me right now Lynne…” She placed her hands on Lynne’s shoulders, “On your knees, my little Asian fuckslut. You are going to make me come and then… Oh then, my little cunt, you are going to serve me forever, just like all of the rest will…”

The last thought that came to Lynne as her tongue and lips touched Trish’s clit was that she really should have picked the angel costume for herself…

Mature Content

This content is intended for mature audiences.

or, enter your birth date.*



Please enter a valid date format (mm-dd-yyyy)
Please confirm you have reviewed DeviantArt's Terms of Service below.
* We do not retain your date-of-birth information.
By TeraS


Imagine, if you will, you see across a room the single thing you’ve always wanted, desired, were open to regardless of the cost.

It’s … her.

You've dreamed about her smile, her lovely ruby red lips that seduce you from afar; the shine of light in the room which brings out the achingly kissable texture of her lips, which you can feel, somehow, kissing your own from so far away, her eyes … her so wonderfully, deeply emerald-green eyes that pierce through the darkness of the room, capturing your own with but a glance in your direction. That darkness is pale in comparison with her wild raven mane, framing her lovely tanned flesh.

You can see, feel—and that shiver is thrilling—her mischievous power, how it caresses your soul, your mind. Your thoughts are drifting towards what she tastes like, how thrilling it would be to worship but the smallest little piece of her.

It would be, would it not, the one thing you’ve desired?

You pause there, far away, observing her. There’s that little nagging thought telling you that you aren’t worthy of her, that she’d never really cast a second thought about someone like you. The vision, the one that you hold deep inside, of kneeling, obeying, serving is but a fantasy, isn’t it?

But …

… it’s … her.

She’s holding court, there’s really no other way to explain it. The deference of those around her is clear, beyond reproach. The room has others, of course. They attract their own: those who have come to their own choices, believe in them—trust given for the bliss asked for. You could, of course, simply go off and find one, be accepted by them, have a place with them.

But …

… it’s … her.

Others pass between her and you, your breath catching when she isn’t there and then calming again when she comes back into focus. She remains there, regal, the Queen she is, observing those around her. Your thoughts turn towards her bemused smile and how dearly hard you are at the thought of being the one, on this night, to wean a passionate moan of delight from the Queen herself, to be—there is little doubt now in your thoughts—submissive to her; to obey her thoughts, the thrill of her praise being enough that you’d cum at her touch, her kiss, her power enveloping you and making you hers; giving up all pretense for the sake of gaining that which you need so dearly now that you cannot bring yourself to turn away. She would not be disappointed in you, of course … unless …

But …

… it’s … her.

A murmur comes from the souls in the room and your attention is diverted for an instant. Looking about, you wonder what caused it, but there’s no real sign. The pets mill about their owners, paraded by them, displayed as prizes to taunt and tease the others in the room. You sigh softly, knowing she’d never do such a thing. She values the souls that are hers. Again, that little wish comes to you, wanting, needing to be set free.

Your eyes turn back, seeking her out once more. A last little glimpse of the desire you’ve held and cultivated in hope. The throne—for it can only be that when she is upon it—is empty. The frown that comes tells how crestfallen you are to have missed her erotic form flow over the space, parting the seas of need, want, and desire around her, for what else could happen here in her Realm of power over all that orbit around her? Of course it is! You shake your head and scold your thoughts for missing the obvious.

But …

… it’s … her.

The night has come to a close; the pets depart with their owners and you are left alone. The sounds ebb away, leaving silence. The scent of perfume fades, leaving but clear air. The lights go out, one by one, until the last light left marks the way out. The moment is past, the night has moved on.

The steps towards the light are in silence, your thoughts still of her, still thinking about her touch, her scent, her desires. Your lips move silently, forming around the words you wanted to say to her, the words of devotion, belonging, needing: to obey, offer, give, anything to feel her hands, her lips; the simple words which you still wish to say.

A figure steps into the light, shocking your attention back to where you were going. You start to apologize for being tardy, babbling that you didn’t realize that the event was over and it was time to leave. But then three things bring you up short. The long sinuous tail that appears over the figure in shadow’s shoulder is unmistakable. The scent of cherries that tickles upon your senses is everything you imagined it would be. But most of all, her form, in all of her seductiveness, passion, love, and desire, it floods the space between you. The effect is to make you start to lose yourself, to fall into her.

You cannot speak nor move as she tilts her head to the right, idly flicking a lock of hair over her shoulder. You want to touch her raven locks, to nuzzle your cheek against the velvet tangle that is her mane. The light that was behind her seems to become part of her, putting her form into contrast with the darkness that surrounds you both. You are—you have become—her singular focus. If you were one to fear her, you might think yourself as her prey.

But …

… it’s … her.

She traces her nails along her shapely bare thighs: that dress—the black one trimmed in red that leaves her legs bare to be worshipped, caressed, and licked—hides just enough that the need within you burns ever brighter for knowing that she is so close, so near now.

The thought comes to fall to your knees in submission, to offer yourself, your entire self, in mind, body, and soul. That thought seems to be perfect. But she remains just out of touch, waiting for something. Another thought comes of serving, to give anything she wishes. The thrill of her praise in being more than a pet makes the ache worse still, and you cannot help but clench your hands, the indecision not worth of her presence. But still she waits upon you. It is confusing, uncertain, unclear.

But …

… it’s … her.

She … purrs. If you were hard before, that was nothing to how you now ache. The clicking of her heels announces her approach, her scent stronger. The gleam in her eyes now, so close, makes that which you saw from afar a pale thing to recall. Was that moments ago or in time uncountable? You cannot remember, nor do you care to at this moment.

The first touch of her fingers against your skin lasts an eternity: a light brush of fingers over your wrist, along your arm; a soft tracing of nails over your cheek as she flows around you; the exquisite shock of her lips kissing your neck, your cheek. Whether it is being unable to move, not wanting to, or willing yourself to allow whatever she wishes, whichever isn’t important. Pressing against your back, her curves against you, long-nailed fingers guide themselves over your waist, to tease against the inside of your thighs, seeking out your want, need, desire. Still, you accept she is in control, she leads this dance.

But …

… it’s … her.

Reality shifts. The heat of bare skin against bare skin is unmistakable, as is the whine that escapes you as she still presses against you, her tail wrapping itself around one of your legs, her smooth fingers stroking your hardness. She purrs … no … she moans, breath hot against your ear, a lick of her tongue to tease you, pulling you into her, holding you. Her voice, sweet and syrupy, seeps into your thoughts. That little voice inside of you—the one you’ve know but not allowed—finally speaks the truth, the truth she’s known from the moment your eyes met. It isn’t about need or want, and the opening of that door within yourself leads to one thing. Your needs and wants turn into devotion. That devotion gives you but one singular purpose. You are hers, and hers for always.

Your knees touch the floor. Your eyes look upwards in submission to her desires, waiting for her to allow you to fulfill the purpose shining within you now. Your place is exactly where you needed to be, your lips against her skin as divine as she. The heat of her sex, your tongue pleasuring her makes you think of nothing else save to serve and obey. Your devotion to making her scream in pleasure is your entire purpose. Devotion, in all of its forms, leads to ecstasy and bliss as her fingers entwine themselves into your hair.

Your soul awakes with new purpose. The devotion of your soul to her is blinding in its brilliance. That missing piece within you falls into place. You are devoted to the Queen in all things, in all ways. The passions given are returned tenfold and more.

But …

… it’s … her.

The collar marks you as hers, however she wishes you to be, devoted in passion, lust, want and desire; given to all she is and all she sees within your own soul. Perhaps that little voice deep inside still wonders sometimes what she sees in you.

But …

… it’s … her.

She is as devoted to you for the soul that you are. For that is true devotion: the knowing of that truth alone.

Comfort Zones


This story originally appeared on my Blog, A Succubi’s Tale on August 1, 2016:


Comfort Zones
By TeraS


Just about every name prompts a certain mental picture for people. For example, the name Tera immediately brings up the image of a certain Queen of the Succubi with red horns in her raven hair, lovely oh-so-green eyes, and a bemused smile. The image is expected, familiar, almost … magical … in a way.

There are names which, when spoken, paint a picture of someone who is sexy, who has delicious curves and a personality that’s willing to do just about anything, sexual or otherwise. Her name was one of those, and Bianca really didn’t care for it all that much. That particular name was one that many humans—and, for that matter, quite a few in the Realm—connected with a certain latex loving redheaded human who was very popular. Bianca the succubi didn’t really mind her. The problem came, at least in her mind, with the comparisons that would be made between the two of them, even if that didn’t happen except in her mind.

She had a little glossy picture of her namesake stuck to the corner of her bedroom mirror, something she looked at every morning, something which she compared herself against.

Red hair? No, the Bianca of the Realm was a platinum blonde.

Shapely? No, not even close.

Latex? She’d never liked the stuff, much preferring a nice cashmere sweater and yoga pants over anything else.

There was one thing however that they both did have: lovely, deep, hazel eyes.

There was one thing that she did have that her human namesake didn’t have: horns and a tail, white ones. Our dear Bianca was a white-tailed succubi of the Realm and she loved being so. She adored books, spending hours upon hours reading them. The best part of her day was humming happily as she worked her way through the Realm archives within the Library. Bianca’s happiest moment was when she came upon a book, or a scroll, or some other little piece of wisdom that hadn’t been seen by anyone in Tera-knows-how-long.

Bianca was a florist, not a librarían … though the idea had its temptations, not the least of which was the little fantasy that she didn’t tell anyone about. The one where she was called into the Library to pay a late fee and Tera was the one to be collecting on it. It was the source of many a night’s self-pleasure, with or without her tail being involved.

When she found the card in her mailbox, the one that said she had a book overdue, and there was a fine to be paid, she pinched herself to be sure she wasn’t dreaming. Then she poured a bucket of cold water over herself, and then, to be absolutely sure it wasn’t a dream, she licked the tip of her tail. Upon coming back down from the orgasm, not much more than a puddle on her living room floor, Bianca decided that the note was real.

Thus Bianca found herself in Tera’s office in the Library, a thin book clutched in her hands and very nervous. She was so out of sorts that her hair was a mess, her yoga pants crumpled, and her sweater far too long for her arms. In other words she was a mess and dreading what Tera was going to do to her.

The book was, after all, almost a century overdue.

Holding the volume against her chest, she shook her head and wondered why she’d even taken the darn thing out in the first place … or why she kept reading it over and over … or the hold it had on her. She couldn’t possibly do what the book suggested, it wasn’t her. The entire idea was so far out of her comfort zone anyway.

“Hello, Bianca; it’s lovely to see you!”

Tera’s warm hug was such a surprise that the florist lost her hold on the book and it fell to the office floor with a loud thud that sounded like a thunderclap. Before she could scramble to pick it up, the Head Librarian had collected it and was looking at the cover.

“Um … Hi, Tera … um … Look, I’m sorry about the book being late. I know I should have returned it sooner.”

Tera’s answer was a non-committal “Uh-huh” as she started leafing through the pages. As she did so, Bianca found herself the target of Tera’s so-green eyes, flickering from the book to her and back again.

“I mean, there’s no reason for me to have that book anyway. There’s a lot of other succubi that should have it. I’m sure it would do a lot more for them.”

The red-tail turned a page, tilted her head to the right … and then the one thing that Bianca feared most of all happened. Her Majesty had a bemused smile as she said: “I see.”

The shiver that passed from the tip of the borrower’s tail to her clit and then up through her horns made her nibble her lip: “So … What’s the fine?”

Tera snapped the book closed and that bemused smile turned. Bianca had heard tales of a particular smile that the Succubi Queen had when she was going to do something that amused her. Cupping her hands over her nose she sighed: “Oh, Tera … you wouldn’t.”

Handing the book back to her, the Queen replied: “Oh yes. I would.”

Straightening up, Bianca glared back: “No! You wouldn’t.”

Less than an hour later, Bianca found herself sitting in a dressing room, Tera fussing with her hair while she still didn’t believe her monarch was going to do this to her.

“So. I think we’ll put waves and curls into your hair and …”

“No, Tera; not going to.”

The irresistible brunette placed her hands on Bianca’s shoulders and looked into the mirror: “Sweetheart, you picked the book. You kept it for so long. You can probably recite every page in the book, can’t you?”

“Has nothing to do with it.”

Tera nuzzled her lips into the white-tail’s platinum hair and she shivered: “Gawd … Tera … Please …”

“It has everything to do with it. You are a wonderful person. You are amazing at what you do. But you have a dream that you can’t bring yourself to try.”

“I’m going to look stupid.”

“You’re going to look amazing.”

“I’m going to make a fool of myself.”

“You’re going to have them eating out of your hand.”

“Tera … I’m scared.”

“I know.”

Bianca looked in the mirror, then her eyes fell upon the book which was lying on the countertop: “Everyone will know it’s me. I’m not …”


She sighed: “Yeah; haven’t got the cleavage, the looks, or the style.”

Tera turned the chair around so Bianca was looking directly into her eyes: “You aren’t her. So you do your own thing. Start in your comfort zone and … see where that takes you.”

A sigh … a long one … then the wallflower floral expert asked: “Does it have to be latex?”

Tera smiled.

The stage was illuminated with a single spotlight. The rest was darkness. The surrounding room was also bathed in shadow, keeping those watching the stage hidden from view. As she looked out from behind the red curtains, Bianca was thankful for that. If she couldn’t see who was looking, then things might not be so bad. The music starting was her cue: a slow-beat tempo with a deep bass line that made her shiver. A deep breath, and she made her way into the spotlight.

Tera said to start with her comfort zone, and so she appeared under the spotlight dressed in her yoga pants and too long sweater from her meeting with Tera. A pair of horn rimmed glasses was perched on her nose and a scrunchie held her long hair in a ponytail. The only thing that was different, at least that could be seen, was the pair of clear plastic six-inch high stripper heels that adorned her.

The pole awaited her and the lessons in the book came to mind—the book about pole dancing and stripping, the book that made her wet with the thought of her fantasy of being a stripper, a really good one. She didn’t hear the reaction from the audience, the music being so loud and the light so bright that nothing came through to distract her. Two quick strides and her right hand found the pole, she starting to circle it with a meek little walk, something that suggested that she was new at this, a little meek, maybe even a little innocent.

Once around and her glasses were held in her free hand, her pink painted lips sucking on the stem she held. A careless toss of her hand and the glasses went sailing off into the darkness, probably to land on someone there. She didn’t dwell on that, she didn’t have time to. The book said to keep on with the show.

Stopping with her back against the pole, she started to roll the bottom of her sweater up slightly, revealing a firm tummy and cute little bellybutton. As she did so, her tail hooked into the waistband of her pants and started pulling them down, revealing that the good girl on the stage was wearing a red “G” string underneath the plain-looking yoga pants.

She let go of the sweater and it fell to below her waist, covering the bare skin and “G” string for but a moment before her hands started teasing her pants lower and lower. As the mid-point of her thighs appeared, something red—a stark contrast against the blue of the yoga pants—came into view. Leaning forwards, her eyes looking into the darkness where she knew everyone was watching, she left her pants pooled around her shoes.

Bianca had lovely, long legs, and the shiny red latex thigh high leggings that were painted onto them drew attention to them—or at least she hoped so; that little doubt in her mind was nagging at her. Pushing that aside, she stepped one impracticable heel out of the pool of material at her feet, then kicked her yoga pants away from the stage.

Her hands returned to the hem of her sweater, pulling it upwards again. The red “G” string appeared again; this time it was clear that was latex, as well. Rolling her hips, she strutted around the stage, tossing her ponytail as she did so. The good girl was becoming a little bit naughty.

Gathering the sweater just below her cleavage, she smiled, nibbled her lip, and then continued to draw it upwards. The bikini top that peeked into view was every bit as red and every bit as latex as the rest of her clothes. A wink came a moment before she pulled the sweater over her head and then gathered it over her cleavage which had been in view for the barest of moments.

Turning away from the audience, her back became the stage for her ponytail to swish, to distract as she pulled the sweater from her and tossed it away. Turning back, it was revealed that she was wearing fingerless red latex opera gloves as well.

The shy girl was more wanton now, more sure of herself. She half-strutted to the pole, taking another turn around it. As she did, the tip of her tail flicked at the scrunchie, shooing it away and allowing her hair to blossom into a cascade of curls and waves. Tera did say that would look good. Bianca, at that moment, wasn’t about to argue over that point again.

The discarding of that last bit of her good-girl image made a change in her posture and expression. The come-hither look she had been practising in the mirror lit up, and her walk on the stage came with the rolling of her hips, the thrusting of her cleavage, and a look in her eyes that called out how sure she was in her sexuality and power.

Bianca lost track of time then, her thoughts going to the pages of the book, playing out those moves and losing herself in them. The music played, not stopping once, and she didn’t care. This was her fantasy … or at least it was until the music started to fade out.

In a bit of a rush, she made love to the pole, rubbing it between her legs then deep into her cleavage. Ending with the pole against her back, she dropped to the stage, her legs wide, her lips in a moan, and her tail twined around the pole above her. She had her eyes closed as the music came to an end and she waited for the reaction. She had tried her best, hoped that it was sexy, better than just being plain Bianca.

The sound of one person clapping caused her to open her eyes in surprise. She must have done terribly if only one person was clapping. She was freeing her tail and getting ready to leave the stage when she heard something she’d never thought she would: “I want a lap dance.”

It wasn’t the words. It was the person who said it.

Looking into the darkness, a light came on, revealing Tera reclining on a chair and watching. Bianca’s breath caught as she realized that the tempting red-tail was dressed exactly as she was, right down to the heels.


“Mmhmm …”

Bianca looked into the dark: “Who else is here?”

“No one but us naughty succubi.”

The dampness in the white-tail’s sex came as a surprise and she moaned: “Oh gawd … I was such a …”

Tera crooked a finger: “… hot, sexy, seductive white-tail succubi that danced for her Queen and made her wet.”

The answer to that was a needful moan as Bianca crawled on the stage towards Tera, her beckoning smile and finger pulling her from the pole.

“I want you here, my tail twined with yours, and I want a kiss.”

Bianca’s legs were wobbling, but she focused on looking hot. Feeling hot wasn’t a problem as the brunette wanting her made the blonde cream. When she came within arm’s reach, Tera pulled Bianca in, drawing her to sit on her audience’s lap.

A lick and kiss from Tera against Bianca’s shapely neck made her squirm: “Tera …”

The red-tail drew her tongue away: “Yes?”

“You … You know you asked about my comfort zone?”

“Mmhmmm …”

She looked into Tera’s eyes: “Fuck my comfort zone. I want you.”

That dream that Bianca had? The one about having to pay a fine for her book being overdue?

That was nothing to what Tera did to her … and her comfort zone … over and over again.


  • Listening to: TV, eh?
  • Reading: Six Succubi Books Every Day
  • Watching: A lot of lousy succubus movies
  • Playing: About something, sometime, somewhere
  • Eating: Chocky Ice Cream
  • Drinking: Diet Coke (As Always)


Add a Comment:
mariannelatex Featured By Owner Jan 15, 2017  Hobbyist Photographer
Thanks so much for your watch!
mariannelatex Featured By Owner Jan 14, 2017  Hobbyist Photographer
Hi Tera loved your style to write... Hope you can read my stories!
TeraSuccubi Featured By Owner Jan 14, 2017

Thank you!

I've added you to my watchlist and I'm starting to have a peek at your stories!

Best wishes for your writing!
mariannelatex Featured By Owner Jan 15, 2017  Hobbyist Photographer
Great hope you like! I'm close to publish four chapter!,
ZellaRoss Featured By Owner Jan 10, 2017   Digital Artist
TeraSuccubi Featured By Owner Jan 10, 2017
*welcome snuggles*
okario Featured By Owner Dec 2, 2016  Hobbyist Digital Artist
Thank you for the Added to my devWatch!    :)
TeraSuccubi Featured By Owner Dec 7, 2016

LoveLatex64 Featured By Owner Sep 30, 2016
Thank you for the watch! I'm so honored...
LordAmon12 Featured By Owner Apr 29, 2016
Happy Birthday!!
Add a Comment: