His Appointment With The Succubus.
The cottage stood, battered and worn upon the hill, surrounded by rumors of its defunct owner. Tiles fell from its roof as rats escaped from beneath the doormat: The man knocked on the entrance. It creaked open. The storm roared louder and lightning threatened the air; he decided to enter. “Hello?” His voice echoed in the corridor void of souls, illuminated only by stray light peeking out from under edges of a semi-open door. Feet crunching beneath old wooden floor, specks of dust and mold attacked his senses. He thought it strange that the building was empty, for the man was promised a welcome, much more.
With a glistening shoe, color of ashes left from bodies astray, he kicked spare rubble away, turning right towards a waiting room. A sense of doom lingered, following his shadow so tall. Praying this was no farce, the man seated himself into a chair, possibly abandoned, listening to the sound of pitter patter rain splatting against cracked windows and the terrain.
The man rubbed his tired eyes, blinking once, wiping sprinkles of grime off his long dark coat, he straightened up to the sound of footsteps, clickety clackity heels. A beautiful woman entered, hourglass figure and barely-worn attire both misfits for a place like this. She tapped a non-existent rhythm against her right thigh, tight leather skirt. The man glanced at her knees, only slightly revealed in shade to her prominent chest, hugged close by a lovely white, silky chemise. Clothing for work, yet at the same time not. The man thought, pushing his glasses framed golden back up the bridge of his nose.
The woman approached, slow, as if she had all the time in the world, blood red talons ceasing with a screech once their metres apart were replaced by inches. Holding out a palm attached to nails painted wine as her lips. “Resume.” The woman demanded in a tone marking no interest. Reaching for either sides of the chair, the man shuffled through briefcase as plain as day; as plain as him. He found the five pieces of A4 paper, perfectly put together and stapled, straight and stable. Swiftly, the woman snatched it away. Not bothering to read anything but the front page: “William Kaiser.” She echoed the words, his name, from the neatly formatted document. The man, William Kaiser, nodded, attentive and ready to correct her should she mispronounce or miss a line. “Twenty-Seven…” The woman clicked her tongue, playing with her long, parted hair.
With a tilt of his curious head: “Is something the matter?” William questioned. “I hadn’t been aware of an age limit concerning morticians.”
“No.” She waved him off. “You’ll have to do.”
“Right.”
The woman stared at him with an intensity he had not fathomed could be found in an interview. It is all she did, perhaps blinking twice or thrice, and as the minutes grew long and he uncomfortable, William tired of looking into deep blue. “Beg pardon,” He began. “But am I allowed a question or two?”
A flash of excitement lit up within her eyes, one of hope, one of light. “Of course darling.” She purred, swaying her hips and leaning her weight against her better leg. “You may ask me anything.”
“Excellent.” The man smiled with genuine relief. “Well then, Miss…”
“Aada Van Helvede.”
“Thank you! You see, I was wondering: Has our meeting already come to an end, or perchance might eye colour also be a prerequisite for this job?”
Thunder crashed loudly in the background, illuminating the room as the wind sang songs only the dead would know. Possessed by rage, the woman lunged at William, knocking the old chair over and single-handedly pinning his wrists to the wall with a hold so strong he could not fight it. “Why. Isn’t it. Working.” She muttered through gritted teeth, breath ghosting against his skin. Despite the situation, William remained as a cold winter’s night, unfazed, unmoved. His focus diverted to a hairy spider crawling out from catacombs inside a long crack smack in the middle of a far wall.
Displeased, Aada trapped his chin between two monstrously perfect fingers, snapping his head in her direction. He sighed, a long, exasperated, lonesome sigh of a man who had abandoned himself. “I possess no goods of value, neither here nor in my domain. As a person, I do not have much worth either, if we speak realistically: You could not trade me for ransom.” His shoulders sagged as he averted her gaze now turned a sickly pink. “However, if it’s any old life you desire, I could recommend a few people... I don’t think I’ll be much fun to torture… As you may have noticed: I’m not the most expressive person around. Oh, don’t think this means I’m a coward afraid of dying who would gladly trade his life for the one of a friend, simply, I wish to save you the trouble if a reaction is indeed what you seeked...”
Outraged, features turning sour: “How can one say such a thing!?” Aada yelled as she shook him by the collar. William winced as her high-pitched voice invaded his eardrums. “Have you no pride?!”
Upon hearing the words, he snorted, smirking beneath a handful of raven strands, having escaped his brushed back hair, now grazing his forehead. “I am but a man who dislikes wasting time and effort on things that could be avoided. May I leave now?”
Aada released him as if having touched fire. Landing harshly onto the creaking floorboards, William huffed, standing yet interrupted midway by a blow to his cheek. “You are not leaving until I’m done with you." The woman spat, kneeling, reaching for his groin she rubbed with such fervent intensity over the fabric of his pants that William had to bite his lip to hold back a gasp.
“W-what are-" But his question was muffled by lips soon pressed to his, a tongue exploring his mouth. Refusing to give in to such careless thrills, William sat the way a statue would, even if his body spoke otherwise. Bringing teeth to his neck, full chest against his own, Aada sucked on his skin until a constellation of bruises appeared and William felt tingles in places he should not. “Why are you doing this?” He panted heavily, nimble fingers trembling beneath the woman’s violent touch.
She paused. Fiery rage dwelling within her gaze, glistening beneath the faint light of the rising moon: “And why is it so many questions with you?” Aada snapped. “I planned to make this quick, yet with how much of an impudent fool you are, I feel it is my duty to teach you a lesson.”
She licked her lips as a haughty and confident William raised a brow, scoffing: “Well, I hope these will be useful skills you will show me then, Miss Van Helvede.”
*
In the middle of the basement rose a stone bed. Shackled by leather cuffs, William’s hands found themselves trapped behind his own back. On his knees and blindfolded, Aada circled around his figure. “Even your underwear is a bore.” She laughed, eyeing his simple black boxers before leaning in to kiss him again. Once more, William tried and tried and tried to keep his composure, yet Aada had other plans for him in mind as she mounted his waist, grinding her hips against an erection so hard it couldn’t have been anything but painful, until he slowly broke, limbs weak, drool pooling at the edges of his mouth, sweat dripping down his back and shivers up his spine: William’s moan was a tiny one, yet not an inaudible cry. Ashamed, he bit his lip until it bled red, praying for his shameful noises to be censored.
Aada chuckled, running a cold hand up his thigh. “It’s okay darling, you can let it all out with me.” She whispered beside his ear.
Caving, giving into the feeling of chilled fingertips caressing the tip of his cock, William’s hips bucked on instinct. His face grew warm as he realised what he had become: A vile creature of sin, just like the ones in books covering his shelves back home. “I’m sorry.” Head hung low, William yelped between ragged cries, and weak but pure ohs and ahs.
“Adorable.” Was the only word Aada found to describe him as she cooed, delighted. Stricken by the urge to see his face: She removed his blindfold at once. Ravaged, pale complexion turned a light shade of magenta, William’s eyes remained lidded, unable to directly face her form. “And such a dirty expression I got out of you.” Aada smirked, lifting his chin and leaning in, ready to take his lips again. But Willian blinked, and he saw: Not much without glasses, blurred spots and incoherent colors, yet enough to know the being holding him was not of human origin. Aada’s features melted like old wax, arms once so fine now muted to purple wine, raven wings splitting in fours from her shoulders down to the floor. Excitement expiring, transforming to fear: William screamed in horror falling backwards onto his spine. The shadow lingered above him, cackling, running a gentle palm along his cheek. “William.” She breathed, air that smelled like death and rotten forget-me-nots.
“Do not say my name, monster.” His words inspired by false bravery fell short, delivered with a stutter, and frantic gasps for air.
Aada did not cease to caress his ever trembling and distraught body, against his limbs her touch was delicate, mellow, as a summer’s wind would be. “I’m only here to show you a good time dear. Close your eyes. Relax.” The succubus let her hands rest atop his firm torso. “Won’t you breathe again? For me?” Chest heaving up, low, William calmed from his terrified high. Showing a glint of razor-sharp teeth as a smile possessed her lips. “Good boy.” Aada said as she kissed his cheek.
When William blinked again, her form from before is not what he saw. Rather, it was a mix of both human and demon, demon and human. Petting his messy damp hair, Aada praised the man once more, helping him up and leaning his shrivelled body against the bed. She pinched his nipples twice, swiftly replacing fingers with fuzzy spiders. “Don’t worry, they only bite.” Aada chuckled, freeing the man from his restraints and bending him over chilled stone. Back arching, William gasped as she raked sharp nails down his spine, drawing reds and dark purple hues along with more sounds she took considerable pride in extorting from the tamed man.
William’s tears dripped across the side of his face as he indulged in the feeling of Aada running her tongue along his skin, softly, as if he were to be savoured, not devoured. His toes spasmed as he stretched his fingers to a sky he could not see, grabbing the air for imaginary anchors. The slow burn of her frozen saliva did things to his body he simply could not comprehend and William listened to something breaking within him, invisible shards of glass, as a voice he did not recognise to be his own begged pleases and Aadas and mores until Aada chose to listen, finally placing two digits near the front of his entrance, rubbing his dick leaking with slick, transparent whites. “It’s been a while since you’ve done this to yourself, hasn’t it? You dirty boy.” She snickered, leaving small nips against his lobe, bite marks across his jaw before entering his virgin ass. William clenched around her, wincing from the slow burn of his insides gradually turning to ice. Aada leaned forward, kissing him with passion to distract William from his momentary ache. “Relax.” She whispered as the tension in his muscles begun to fade. Moaning against her lips, William leaned into her touch, fucking himself against three fingers, panting, screaming, requesting more, always more.
Retreating: “Stay still.” Aada ordered, tone strict.
William nodded against stone turned hot by his feverish body, whining, powerless, face flushed and red: He listened to the jingle of a harness being strapped to hips as incredible warmth was soon after pressed to his ass, eliciting a mewl from his shaking lips. He pawed at the gravel-made bed, searching for corners to hold onto as the succubus threaded her fingers through his hair, thrusting her hips forward.
William's voice cracked, a tiny hiccup fell from the man’s lips as she hit his sweet spot over and over. Against her cock, he grinded his hips whilst Aada tugged at onyx strands, pulling him up until they were both standing and still. “Such a little slut, giving it all away just because I’m willing to fuck your tight cunt.” She spoke close to his ear and his legs shook. Another sob left his mouth as William feared his body threatened to give out.
“P-Please.” He begged, reaching for himself in hopes of finding relief, yet denied just as quickly of reprieve, as Aada slapped his hand away with an arrogant laugh.
“Who said you could come slave?” Her grip tightened around his girth.
“P-Please.” William echoed, only a former shadow of himself.
“Please what?”
“Please… Let me come.”
Smirking, releasing her hold on his hair, Aada let the man fall onto the rugged bed. She ravaged his insides, fucking him senseless; with hands digging into his hips hard enough to bruise, holding his ass firmly towards her groin. “Touch yourself.” She told a William who had become a sweaty mess, delirious from his ecstasy, too occupied choking on his own moans.
The smell of sex filled the room as he revelled in the pleasure of his climax.
Panting, wasted to nothingness with limbs who would obey no more. Is it over? He wondered as Aada's presence left him in absolute silence.
Mere seconds later, heavy footsteps followed and through the haze of his arousal did he see a larger body of purple advancing, with two wings on its back, both massive in comparison to Aada’s adorable, coal feathers.
A deep voice spoke: “You’re always too soft on them sister.” The incubus grunted, pushing his long white hair out of the way before ferociously grabbing William by the neck and violating his mouth without mercy.
“But Varius! He just-“
“Shut up! Watch. Learn.” He snapped, depositing Williams body back-first onto the stone bed, grasping his ankles and spreading his legs from above. Arm wrapped around his stomach to keep him steady, hand pumping his dick. With his tongue, Varius entered a quivering William, unable to speak in nothing but riddles and half eaten words swallowed by the sounds of his desperate cries. “Heh. You enjoying being my toy?” The incubus snickered, licking the edges of his mouth and a trail along William’s twitching cock before grabbing the man’s hair and dragging him forward to meet his lustful kisses once more.
With a sigh, Aada admired the view, fingering her slick, wet cunt, waiting and eager, for the best that was to come. “This’ll be good.” She chuckled, biting her lower lip with impatience.
Drool dabbed across the side of his chin, William smiled as Varius pulled away, eyeing his erection, tilted and flushed, leaking with pre-come that dripped onto his abs. Filled with the desire to take the incubus’s prominent bulge with his lips, William kneeled, coming face to face with his swollen member.
Barely able to fit him in his mouth, he settled for sucking his tip, lapping at a thick cyan vein pulsing along the side of his length. Varius laughed. “Want me to tear your ass apart William?” He asked, petting his hair roughly as if he were only brainless swine. “Or perhaps you’d like it if I fucked your mouth,” Varius thrust into him once, cock hitting the back of William’s throat before quickly pulling out, leaving him gagging, eyes wide and glossy with tears. “Like that?”
The incubus observed as the man coughed up his lungs, both hands pressed to his neck in panic as bile rose in his mouth. With four deep breaths, gulping, he swallowed. Wiping his fluids away, glancing up to Varius with an enormous grin: “Do whatever you wish mister incubus. It’s nice to feel something over nothing for once.” William said.
Varius smirked, and it would have been a moment of great desire and sin, a bond they could have shared for years: However, this was not a romance and it certainly wasn’t love, so the incubus only snorted and slapped him until his head turned right. “What a disgrace you are.” Walking away, and tucking himself back in.
But an ending like that? William could not accept it. He needed to feel what he had felt again and again until his final hour came. So on his knees he grovelled, falling off the stone bed and crawling; unable to walk with such weakened legs: Towards Varius’s ankles, he then grabbed and held and kissed. Begging, pleading, for him to turn around. William clung to him, pressing his mouth to the incubus’s bulge, imploring him for a second chance. And with a glare that could cut men in two, the beast finally snapped: “Okay.”
William’s heart pounded loudly in his ears as he observed Varius looking down on him from above, unzipping his pants once more and playing with his cock. Refusing to waste any time, the incubus grasped the man’s hair with the tender grip of a renown sadist, dragging him along the floor that grated his knees. As he was thrown towards Varius’s throbbing, purple length, William yelped, glancing at his hungry eyes, fluorescent and yellow, beneath the moonlight. “Let’s see how much you still want it after this.” Varius scoffed, a smirk possessing his lips, pumping himself thrice, observing thick creamy whites dripping onto William’s fingers as he got down on all fours, ready to take him whole. Yet with the chuckle of a maniac, Varius relaxed, letting all his dastardly fluids flow, leaving William beneath him to receive them all. Mouth wide open, baring teeth and tongue, a crooked smile that could not be broken: He swallowed it all, the piss and the come. Crazy glint swimming beneath his golden eyes, Varius whistled: “Heh. Not bad.”
Taking his insolence for a challenge, shoving William’s body over his shoulder, the incubus walked across the room, releasing the weakened man only to push him face first into stone. Holding his legs apart, pinning his wrists to the wall with his free hand, a hint of cold was deposited onto the tip of his nose: It William's glasses, returned to him as a whole. Thankfully. He thought. But why now?
With a movement of his ice-cold palm, Varius encouraged him to tilt his head. “She is lost thanks to you.” The incubus nodded at she and William finally took in the sight of Aada, thighs spread open, transparent member carved into delicate glass in hand, inserted into her warmth. Grinding down, needy and restless, she cried names of men foreign to his knowledge.
“What’s this?” Wrapping his hand around William’s length, growing once more. With a compelling chuckle: “Enjoying the view of my sister fucking herself?” Varius asked as he stroked the man in a rhythm oh so painfully slow. “What a filthy bitch you are.”
Bending him over and bucking his hips, the incubus tore him apart, leaving William aching as he burned and screamed and moved his limbs around in a feeble attempt to find comfort against the cold wall, helpless, prisoner to a trap he could’ve never escaped. Fascinated by the man trembling beneath him. “Now what will you do?” Varius purred as William’s hands bawled into fists, a weak cry falling out of his lips. Flipping him around until they could both stare at the fire burning between their bodies, Varius bent his knees, hands clasped together, he looked up to William whose face grew distorted, deranged as he cried and cried yet followed him down into depravity nevertheless.
Resting a palm against Varius’s shoulder to avoid toppling over, he stood with his legs spread, above Varius’s dripping length. William hesitated for a second and two then three before leaning in to kiss the incubus, harsher than he’d ever kissed anyone, impaling himself on Varius’s cock whose eyes went wide, enchanted by the man’s will. “Fuck you’re good.” He told him in a manner not meant for a lover or a slave but an equal, laying with him, covering his skin with kisses and bites and his own body, Varius thrust madly into the man he had seduced so.
Wrapping his arms around Varius’s muscular back, listening to the vile sounds of their arousal and Aada’s loud moans echoing across the room, William came screaming his name; Varius. Varius. Varius. Ceasing to feel his limbs, his being, himself. As his nails dug into the incubus’s back. “That’s right, be honest with us William.” Varius complied lapping at beads of sweat fallen on the side of his face.
Moved to tears: “Beautiful!” Aada gasped with a hand to her gaping mouth.
Lost to his pleasure, William’s head tilted backwards. He let out one final cry composed of anger, grief, lust and joy; every emotion he had ever felt, before the world went dim for him and the noise dissipated, leaving silences over silences, with no questions left but a void, a feeling of peace.
“Hey brother? Let’s keep him a little longer.” Was the last thing he heard before his mind was drowned out by waves calling him back to the room he never thought he’d see again.
*
William woke to the sound of heels abusing tiles. Alarmed: Tiles? He thought, for there weren’t any where he had fallen victim to slumber. He peeked at his body, clean without traces of musk, bile or him or her.
Head snapping towards the lady walking with her much-too-loud shoes, William felt a squeeze in his chest he could not help but feel as she made a turn around the corner, ignoring the entirety of his figure. It wasn’t her. He told himself. But of course it wasn’t her: It was just a dream after all.
Called to the front desk for his interview: William stood.
A man walked out of his office and past the secretary in hopes of greeting his candidate.
Holding out his palm for William to shake: “Varius Van Helvede. Pleasure to meet you.” He said. “Perchance, you do not happen to have your resume on you?”
Later, Chris.
Rome. 2016, March. Hadn't seen him since the '90s. Drunk on being away from the States, drunk on red and white wine, and a stomach gorged with in-house pasta, bread, and anything else I could get my hands on. Alley, restaurant. Trevi fountain checked off. Young Italian girls waving Americans in to their restaurants. A brothel feel. I want to go into the story about the two Italians fighting over the check. The owner and a drunk patron. I want to go into the gelato after, the air of Rome, the bricks of the alleys. But I can't. Rare to see this profile written in first person, but this is different. Like Rome is different. Lost there. Must gaze upon the Pantheon during the first rays of moonlight.
Lost there. Around a blind corner I nearly walked into Cornell. The man was tall. I'm 6'1 and he loomed over me. We glanced at each other, I registered the situation, and kept moving. GPS called me a moron in code, so I followed Cornell and his wife, and their little girl. I wasn't listening but I was. He was telling his girl about how life is in Italy. I heard, "In Italy..." then the crowd around us absorbed the rest. A few people took fast second looks, and then went back to their tables, their drinks, their own trips and lives.
In Rome no one cares who you are.
Quite a beautiful feeling.
Rome is different.
Crossing back toward where I had to go. Losing light. The Sun becoming the Moon, and I'm standing there then, staring at the street that I would cross to my hotel, to give up, but I'm feeling too fine, and I'm in Rome. I'm in fucking ROME. Not to sound incredulous. I put my phone to my ear to hear the directions, looked down the street. Cornell. Giving me a skeptical but not-so-sure stare, a sideways check. It would appear I was following them, but I wasn't. It didn't bother me. I laughed ahead. Rome is different. He disappeared down the street with his family, and I realized I'd been going the right way the whole time. Turned back, walked and thought about it. I could have had a conversation with him, I could have dropped one name. His parents lived next door to my friend's parents here in West Seattle. He'd skated with Cornell, and once told me he and his parents would watch Cornell mowing his parents' lawn from upstairs, even after Soundgarden took off. We could have had a conversation away from the music, the words, just two dudes from here laughing about the suddenness of meeting in Rome with such far-reaching connections to the past. What stopped me from shaking his hand? I would like to fall back on ego, but it was only ego in the sense that I didn't want to be a fan, a number, even with a rare connection.
But the truth is I am a fan. And though I don't believe in regretting something you've already done, I should have shaken his hand. I didn't have to tell him that his lyrics were brilliant, his voice one of the most distinctive in all remembered time, or any of that bullshit people like him, the few of them, hear and have to deflect or appropriate when they're out in the world. I also simply didn't want to interrupt him or his family while they walked in peace as the Moon rose over Rome.
I found the Pantheon, young moonlight. Breath stolen.
This morning I awoke to a text from my buddy, Dave. Four words and an abbreviation: Dude, Chris Cornell died. WTF?
Tap google. 52. Suspected suicide. No matter, he's gone. They all go, they don't live long enough to see themselves shine like the rest see them. And they don't care. Sitting here now, blasting Louder Than Love, and sending my best thoughts to his family.
Bukowski once said in a letter, "Death isn't a problem for the deceased, it's a problem for the living." Or something like that. Looking back on the dead artists of the last few years, Cornell hits pretty hard. 52 years old.
Much love to his people. Hands All Over just started. I need more coffee, and to kiss my dogs.
Outside it's grey and bright and warm.