"You die tonight, slut, but if you cooperate, your last breath will be as ecstatic as a thousand years in the Celestial realm."
Without getting an answer, Mischief coiled her tail around the woman's wrists, binding her hands behind her. She began to bite again, small nips at sensitive areas on the woman's throat and jawline. She drew more blood, but it was more arousing than painful. At the same time, her hands were free to roam up and down her victim's body, gently caressing stiffening nipples, massaging taut stomach muscles, and finally one hand made its way down to the juncture between Mychal's body and that of his brother's wife. Mischief artfully rolled the swollen clitoris between her fingers, and used her other hand to guide the woman's hips up and down, restarting the rhythm she had interrupted when she entered the room.
Mischief's guidance, sometimes forceful, sometimes with artistic finesse, had Wychar's wife rushing towards orgasm faster than she could have managed on her own.
"What's your name, whore?" Mischief whispered into the woman's ear.
"W-wenecia," gasped Wychar's wife.
"Mine is Mischief. Say it!"
"M-mischief," Wenecia bit the syllables out around a sensual moan. As she approached orgasm, Mischief began to play rougher and rougher with her breasts, first caressing, then squeezing, and finally raking them with her claw-like nails. In her lust, Wenecia was only stirred to further heights of arousal by this treatment, and she barely registered that the demon had once again began to bite down hard at her neck, draining more of her blood and life-force. Controlling the tempo that the sexual dance moved at, Mischief kept the woman on the edge of climax for what seemed an eternity, building up tension throughout her body, but focusing it at her throbbing clitoris. Wenecia was feeling a level of lust and pleasure that she had never felt or even imagined was possible. Eventually, she reached a plateau that was so close to orgasm that she didn't believe it was possible to go any further. The tension felt like an immovable, unbendable rod within her, and frustration began to set in as it appeared that the demon had somehow broken her body.
Mischief could sense this feeling within her victim. She had felt it herself, the succubus' curse, when she had been involved in a seduction in which she was prevented from climaxing. She held Wenecia on the edge for a few moments longer, then applied her flare for the erotic in earnest. The tension broke like a glass rod giving way, and Wenecia exploded, her entire body gyrating, her juices literally spraying from the point of her and Mychal's intimate connection. Mischief put her body through intense abuse, knowing that more extreme, the better, as Wenecia wouldn't feel anything but rapturous pleasure until it was over.
She came down from ecstasy and immediately became aware of the bloody scratches across her torso, and the hand that had left five deep bruises on her throat, though Mischief ceased her rough treatment as soon as the climax finished.
Standing up, Mischief jerked Wenecia off of Mychal, snapping her tail to send her sprawling. The woman found herself unable to move or even protest. The succubus turned towards the man that the woman had come to for a lover, though he had become little more than a prop. It took no more than a few moments to finish what she had started earlier, draining out his soul and leaving a withered husk after one orgasm. She took his seed with her mouth, once more relishing the feeling of the warmth and energy filling her insides.
When she was done, she once again focused her attention on the woman. Wenecia was dizzy from pleasure and didn't have the strength or will to move. Mischief threw Mychal's remains out a window. The sack of skin and bones had already been already coming apart, and didn't even seem to weigh what a human skeleton would.
"You might survive another orgasm like that, maybe even two, but only if I will it. I want one of my own, bitch, and you will give it to me, or die in agony instead of joy."
Wenecia made no reply, but Mischief dragged her back on to the bed. She began to play her favorite game, the one that she had perfected with Penitent. The mortal, however, had to be dealt with much more gently, and after what Mischief had already done, the tail coiled around her neck was there for little more than a show of control, barely squeezing at all. She was even forced to give Wenecia a little energy from her magical breasts, just like Penitent. For Bliss, the memory was nostalgic as well as confusing; she had only ever been on the receiving end of that treatment.
So Mischief came as well, all the while cursing Wenecia's mortal weakness that kept her from playing as she would have liked. Penitent had also played that game from the other side, and knew full well the pleasures to be had. A grave mistake nearly occurred then, as Penitent thought of the pleasures that she had with Bliss, wishing she could taunt Mischief about her delving into incest as well as domination, and her thought almost made it happen, as their minds were still connected. As it was, the other succubus was too enraptured with her own story to pick up on Penitent's smug thoughts, though Bliss of course heard them. It wasn't really news, though the strength of her mother's desire to tell her secret, to brag to the other succubi, was surprising. Penny was nearly bursting with the need to confess her "crime" to anyone who would listen. Bliss felt another chill go over her, and began to wonder if Penitent would reveal her to the one she feared so much, to give her away as a gift to curry favor and deflect punishment. Would her mother do that to her? She thought the answer was yes, if she had to. Penitent would always do what she had to.
