Chapter 5: The Hunt Begins
The skillet's worn handle bit into my palm, a grounding anchor against the tremor in my limbs. The succubus’s voice still echoed in the hollows of my skull. Little bait. Draw them. Hold them. The words were ice picks chipping at my sanity. But beneath the terror, a different current surged – a cold, sharp fury that burned away the paralyzing shame. Fuck waiting. Fuck being hunted in my own home.
I pushed the cabin door open. Dusk had bled into proper night, the air sharp with pine and loam, thick with the rustling secrets of the woods. The moon, nearly full, cast long, skeletal shadows from the trees. My sanctuary felt like a cage now, a brightly lit trap. Out here, at least the playing field was open.
Time to lure the wolves.
I leaned back against the rough-hewn logs beside the door, the chill seeping through my thin thermal shirt. My heart hammered against my ribs, a frantic drumbeat against the vast silence. I focused inward, past the lingering ache between my thighs where the hiker had torn into me, past the raw scrape on my cheek. Down to the deep, unfamiliar throb behind my nipples. The pressure was building again, a low hum of insistent need. Use your gift. The succubus’s command was a poison I swallowed willingly now.
I unzipped my jeans, pushing them down just past my hips. The cold night air kissed my skin, raising gooseflesh. My fingers fumbled with the torn neckline of my thermal top. I pulled the fabric up roughly, exposing both breasts. The moonlight glinted off the dampness already beading on my swollen nipples. That cloying, sweet scent bloomed instantly in the still air, impossibly potent. My breath hitched. Vulnerability warred with a terrifying kind of power. I was dangling flesh, but I held the hook.
Come on, you fuckers. Smell it. Want it.
I closed my eyes, forcing my breathing to slow, to deepen. I imagined the scent unfurling like smoke, drifting through the trees, finding hungry nostrils. My fingers drifted to my right breast, tracing the curve. The skin was hypersensitive, every touch sending electric jolts down to my cunt. A low groan escaped my lips, unbidden. Not pleasure. Not yet. Just the raw, biological imperative. I pressed the pad of my thumb against the tight bud of my nipple. A thick, glistening bead of nectar welled up, spilling over my skin, the smell intensifying – floral decay, irresistible sweetness. Yes. That’s it. Feed.
Silence. Then, a rustle. Not a squirrel. Too heavy. Too deliberate. From the shadowed thicket of blackberry brambles across the clearing. My eyes snapped open. My hand tightened on the skillet handle resting against my thigh. Hold them.
It emerged slowly. Not a bear. Not a wolf. Something… else. Thick-bodied, matted fur the colour of dirty snow, catching the moonlight dully. It moved on all fours, but its shoulders were too broad, its head too low-slung. Its eyes, when it lifted its snout, sniffing the air with wet, guttural snorts, glowed a sickly, phosphorescent yellow. Predator. Drawn.
It padded closer, its movements unnervingly silent for something so bulky. Its gaze locked onto my exposed chest, the nectar glistening. A low, rumbling growl vibrated in its chest, more felt than heard. Hunger radiated from it, a palpable heat against the night chill. Its jaws were massive, lined with yellowed, uneven fangs that gleamed wetly.
My heart threatened to choke me. This wasn’t the hiker. This was primal. Feral. The skillet felt pathetically small. Hold them. I forced my body to relax against the cabin wall, arching my back slightly, pushing my breasts forward. A silent offering. The nectar flowed more freely now, trickling down my ribs. The scent was overwhelming, even to me – a siren call of corrupted honey.
The creature hesitated a few yards away, its yellow eyes flicking from my breasts to my face, then down to the skillet. Suspicion warred with ravenous need. A thick rope of drool dripped from its jaws, spattering the pine needles. It made a wet, chuffing sound, pawing the ground. Then, the scent won. With a guttural snarl, it charged.
Not a run. A lunge. Covering the distance in two terrifying bounds.
Instinct screamed SWING! But the succubus’s command overrode it. Hold them! I braced, forcing my knees not to buckle, keeping my body presented. The skillet hung useless at my side. The creature slammed into me, its massive head driving into my stomach, pinning me hard against the cabin wall. The breath exploded from my lungs. Rotted meat and wet fur clogged my nostrils. Hot drool soaked through my shirt. Its muzzle, rough as sandpaper, shoved against my breast, snuffling, snorting, searching for the source of the scent. I cried out as its wet, rasping tongue scraped over my sensitive nipple, a shock of rough sensation that wasn’t pain, wasn’t pleasure, but something terrifyingly visceral.
It found the flow. A deep, guttural rumble of satisfaction shook its body. Its jaws opened wide, engulfing my breast. Not biting. Sucking. Hard. Like a calf desperate for milk. A sharp, deep pull that felt like it was drawing liquid straight from my core. My back arched violently off the wall, a strangled gasp tearing from my throat. The sensation was excruciating, overwhelming – a deep, hollow ache mingled with a shockwave of raw pleasure that radiated outwards, flooding my belly, pooling hot and insistent between my legs. "Fuck!" The curse ripped out, half-pain, half something else entirely. Its hot muzzle mashed against my skin, the rhythm of its suckling frantic, desperate. My nectar flowed into it, thick and fast. My vision blurred. I felt a weakening, a draining sensation, but beneath it, a terrifying arousal surged. My free hand clawed at the creature’s matted fur, not pushing away, clutching.
It was working. Its powerful body pressed flush against mine, its frantic suckling pinning me. This was the hold. The trap sprung. But the succubus wasn’t here. I was alone with this beast sucking the life from my tit, its thick, musky scent mixing with my own. And my body… my treacherous body was responding. Heat flooded my cunt, slickness soaking my underwear still tangled around my thighs. The rough friction of its furred belly against my exposed hips, the rhythmic, deep pull on my breast… it was triggering something feral inside me too.
The creature shifted. Its hindquarters pressed harder. I felt something huge, thick, and impossibly hard rub against the open V of my jeans, grinding against my lower belly. Fuck. It wasn't just hungry for milk. The nectar… it was an aphrodisiac. For them. And now for me.
A guttural growl vibrated through its chest into mine. It pulled its muzzle off my breast with a wet, sucking pop, a string of milky saliva connecting us. Those yellow eyes, now clouded with a drunk, ravenous lust, locked onto mine. Its hips thrust roughly, that massive, hot shaft rubbing insistently against me through the thin denim, seeking entry. Its breath was hot and foul on my face. It wanted more.
Panic warred with the dark, unwelcome heat coiling in my belly. This wasn’t part of the plan. This was… consumption.
Before I could react, before I could even bring the skillet up, it dropped its head again. Not to my breast this time. Its snout shoved roughly between my thighs, pushing against the bunched fabric of my jeans and underwear. A thick, wet tongue, rough as a rasp, licked a searing stripe over the denim, right where I was soaking wet. I cried out, the sensation jolting through me like lightning. Its tongue stabbed again, insistent, demanding, seeking the heat beneath.
"No!" The word was ripped out, but my hips bucked involuntarily against its muzzle. Fuck, no!
Its massive head lifted. Drool dripped from its jaws onto my thighs. It made a low, rumbling sound, almost like a question. Its yellow eyes burned into mine, holding me pinned more effectively than its weight. Then, it shifted its grip. One massive, clawed paw slammed onto the cabin wall beside my head, splintering wood. The other paw hooked its claws into the waistband of my jeans and underwear and ripped. The sound of tearing fabric was obscenely loud. Cold air hit my exposed cunt. The beast snarled, a sound of pure, triumphant hunger.
It reared back slightly on its hind legs, freeing its massive erection. It was thick as my wrist, ridged, glistening wet at the tip. It pulsed with a terrifying life of its own. Its head lowered again, sniffing greedily at my exposed pussy, my thighs, the nectar still slick on my breasts. The rough tongue swiped over my clit, making me gasp, arch, my hand tightening convulsively on the skillet handle. Pleasure, sharp and unwanted, lanced through me. It wasn’t gentle. It was claiming. Marking.
It positioned itself. The blunt, hot head of its cock nudged against my opening. I was slick, ready, my body betraying me utterly. Its yellow eyes held mine, a challenge, a promise of violation. It huffed, a cloud of hot, rancid breath.