Chapter 9: Double Trouble
The silence that followed Belphina’s scream was profound, broken only by the ragged symphony of their breathing and the persistent buzz of the faulty lamp. She remained upright, impaled, her body trembling with aftershocks. Her platinum hair stuck to her damp forehead.
Harry stared, his mind blank, a static hum of pure panic. “Are you… okay?” he managed, the question absurd even to his own ears.
Belphina’s head lolled towards him. The contempt, the glacial arrogance, was gone. In its place was a hollowed-out, stunned confusion. Her ice-blue eyes were glazed, pupils dilated, reflecting the flickering light. She didn’t speak. She just shuddered, a full-body convulsion that made her internal muscles clench around him reflexively.
A low, happy chuckle came from Demona. She slithered off the couch and onto the floor beside her sister, her movements sinuous and proprietary. “See?” she whispered, her lips close to Belphina’s ear. “You feel it now, don’t you? The emptiness. The need. It doesn’t go away. It just… waits.”
Belphina finally blinked. A single, clear tear tracked through the mascara smudged under her eye. She wasn’t sad. She was unmoored. “What… what is he?” she breathed, the words barely audible.
“Ours,” Demona said simply, and there was a possessiveness in it that included Belphina now, a shifting of boundaries Harry couldn’t begin to comprehend.
Belphina’s hands, which had been limp at her sides, rose slowly. They didn’t push him away. They settled on his thighs, her grip tentative at first, then tightening, her nails biting slightly into his skin as if he were the only solid thing in a spinning room. She began to move again, not with predatory intent, but with a desperate, seeking rhythm. It was slower, deeper, each roll of her hips accompanied by a soft, broken whimper. She was chasing that feeling again, the overwhelming fullness, the obliterating heat. She was trying to understand it by drowning in it.
Harry was pinned, physically and emotionally. He watched, mesmerized and horrified, as the proud succubus unraveled above him. Her earlier confidence was a discarded shell. This was raw, primal need. He felt his own body responding, the tension coiling tight in his gut. He tried to hold back, a stupid, polite instinct, but it was futile. The sensation was too much, the visual of her disintegration too powerful.
“I… I’m gonna…” he warned, his voice strangled.
Belphina’s eyes snapped to his. For a second, the old defiance flickered. “Don’t you dare,” she gasped, even as her body milked him frantically. “I… I command you…”
The command dissolved into a choked cry as he lost control. It hit her like a physical tide, a surge of that same dense, generative power that had broken her minutes before. Her back arched violently, her scream this time was silent, her mouth a perfect ‘O’ of stunned ecstasy. She shook, seized by a climax that seemed to tear through her in relentless, pulsing waves, each one wringing a sharp, guttural sound from her throat.
As the final tremor subsided, something shimmered into existence around her neck. It was a band of dark leather, simple and unadorned, clasped with a small, dull metal ring. It appeared not with a flash, but with a solid finality, as if it had always been there and they were only now seeing it.
Belphina collapsed backwards, but Demona was there, catching her sister in her arms. They sank together onto the stained carpet, a tangle of limbs and heavy breath. Both of them turned their heads, their faces—one dark, one light—wearing the same expression. It was a dazed, blissful, utterly vacant smile. Their eyes, violet and blue, held the same glassy sheen of complete surrender.
Harry stared at the collar. A cold dread poured through him, cutting through the post-coital haze. “What… what is that?” he whispered, pointing a trembling finger. “What did you do?”
Demona nuzzled her sister’s cheek. “We didn’t do anything, Master. You did.” She said it with reverent simplicity.
Belphina blinked slowly, her hand coming up to touch the leather at her throat. She didn’t seem alarmed. She seemed… satisfied. A deep, contented sigh escaped her absurdly full lips. “Fits,” she slurred.
“Oh, fuck,” Harry breathed, scrubbing his hands over his face. “No. No, no, no. This is not happening. This is a dream. A weird, pizza-induced dream.”
“Master,” they said in unison, their voices a harmonic blend of smoke and honey.
He peeked through his fingers. They were both looking at him with those identical, worshipping smiles. The dread in his gut twisted, mixed with something else—a bewildering, unwanted stir of attraction. They were, objectively, the most breathtaking creatures he had ever seen, and they were looking at him like he’d hung the moon.
“Don’t call me that,” he said, his voice weak.
“But you are,” Demona said, disentangling herself from her sister. She crawled towards him, her movements liquid. Belphina followed, moving with the same predatory grace, but now it was aimed at pleasing, not conquering.
“You have two pets now,” Demona continued, her eyes gleaming.
“Two obedient bitches,” Belphina echoed, a giggle bubbling up from her chest. It was a startling, lighthearted sound. She dropped her head, shaking her shoulders in a little shimmy. “Woof woof!”
Harry’s brain short-circuited. He watched, utterly paralyzed, as the two ancient, supernatural beings began to nuzzle against him, kissing his shoulders, his neck, his cheeks with a fervent, puppy-like affection. Their hands were everywhere, stroking his arms, his chest, as if re-memorizing his shape.
“We’re going to be so good for you,” Demona whispered against his ear.
“Better than her,” Belphina added, shooting a playful glare at her sister.
“Will not.”
“Will too.”
They were bickering, but it was devoid of its earlier malice. It was familiar, squabbling, almost domestic. And it was happening on top of him, in his ruined apartment, with a broken door hanging off its hinges.
“The door,” Harry said, grasping for something normal to fixate on. “My landlord is gonna kill me.”
“We’ll fix it, Master!” Belphina chirped, springing up with dizzying energy. She strode to the doorway, examined the splintered frame, and gave the door a casual shove. It swung shut, and with a soft, demonic click, the broken lock seemed to melt and reform. It looked whole. “See?”
Demona pulled Harry’s face back towards her, her expression suddenly serious, though the dumb, happy smile kept threatening to break through. “You own us,” she said, her voice low and intense. “You fed us. You filled the hollow places. The collars… they’re just a symbol. A pretty symbol.” She traced the leather around her own neck. “We were always yours, from the moment you didn’t break. You just… made it official.”
Harry looked from her earnest face to Belphina, who was now cheerfully picking up empty pizza boxes and stacking them with exaggerated care. He felt a profound, universe-sized exhaustion. And beneath it, a flicker of something else. Something that wasn’t fear.
He was just a guy from the library. He liked quiet Saturdays and subtitled anime. He didn’t know how to handle one succubus, let alone two.
But as Demona laid her head on his chest with a sigh of pure contentment, and Belphina skipped back over to curl against his side, he realized a terrible, undeniable truth.
He wasn’t handling them.
They were handling him. And they seemed terrifyingly, collaringly happy to do so. The thought should have horrified him. Part of him was still screaming in a small, quiet corner of his mind.
The rest of him was just… very, very tired. And unusually warm.