3 First Contact

"As I was saying, there was perhaps something else that drew me to the human. Looking back now, it was a strange thing which I'd done: covering him up after I had harvested him. A peculiar and sentimental act. But back then, I thought little of it.

I visited him every night for a week. After that first time I was far more careful. I'd stroke him into hardness, sometimes squeezing him between my breasts to excite him. He'd lie there, clawing the sheets and moaning as though he was dying and I'd quickly mount him and ride him to completion. He looked so vulnerable beneath me and more than once I wondered if I hadn't made a mistake of some kind, that I was forcing myself upon one not yet an adult. But it was just his innocence, his fragility that made him appear so young.

But the night soon came where I committed my first of many crimes: allowing myself to be seen by a conscious human.

I'd just finished riding the human and he'd come inside me. I lay on top of him, panting hard. I would often find myself dazed after harvesting, drunk with an overflow of orgone. That particular night I'd climaxed harder than usual and pleasantly exhausted I'd lingered, luxuriating in the feeling of his member growing soft inside me.

Suddenly he sat up and reached out for me. Alarmed, I shied away from his embrace but relaxed when I saw he was still asleep. Foolishly, throwing caution aside, I permitted him to pull me down and embrace me. Of course, I kept clear of any attempt of him to touch my lips with his, but the way he crushed my bare breasts against his chest filled me with a flooding warmth I'd never experienced before. It was a strange sensation, a delightfully subtle suffusing of the body that made me tingle all over.

I gazed upon his sleeping face. He was still deep in a dreaming state. I thought of how different his kind, gentle features were to those of a demon. What a stupid thing to think - of course he didn't look like a demon! But such was the magic of this strange sensation I felt within me.

While I looked upon him his eyes flicked open. They stared unseeing for a moment, but then they focused on my face. I choked back a cry of panic and at once diffused into shadow.

I flew straight back to Hell, horrified by my actions. What was wrong with me? Why had I taken such a stupid risk? I determined never to visit this human again. But the next night came and again I found myself ascending to the human world, drawn by the beacon of his orgone, and by the memory of his face. This time, however, I was careful to leave right after the harvesting. In fact, you might say I fled.

Each time I'd return to Hell heavy with orgone, but as soon as it was drained I'd quickly hunger for more. Being filled to the brim had made me insatiable. I was tormented, hating the necessity of waiting until night came before becoming shadow and ascending to the upper world to harvest him.

It was this overwhelming hunger that compelled me to commit my second crime: appearing during the daylight hours.

At last the craving grew too much to bear. The hollowness inside gnawed at me and I desired to harvest the human immediately. Perhaps he slept during the day? In my visits to his room I'd seen no evidence of his ever leaving it. I decided it was worth the risk.

I became shadow and rose up into the upper world. Dazzled by the sunlight I leaped and flowed between the little pools of shade safe from the sun's gaze until I came to the human's habitation. I slipped in through the ventilation shaft and spilled out into the darkness of his room.

He was indeed asleep. Grinning, I flew down to him and was about to tear the bedclothes from his bed when he stirred and opened his eyes. Luckily, I'd not yet become material so he saw nothing. He did, however, blink and wave a hand through the air in front of him. Had he sensed my presence? I fled back to the corner of the room and hid there, floating.

Yawning, he pulled himself out of bed and went to his desk. A space had been made in the soda cans and snack wrappers for a large sheet of paper. I waited, watching, as he took up a pencil and busied himself drawing. He opened a can of that sugary beverage that humans like so much and drank it avidly. Soda was no good for him and I determined to hide his supply next time I had the opportunity.

He spent a long time on his work. Soon he smiled, and after a final frenzied scratching of his pencil he set the paper aside.

He left the table and retreated back to bed, where he lay, staring up at the ceiling. Could he still sense me? He seemed to be thinking about something.

Finally his eyelids fell. His heartbeat slowed and his breathing deepened and I knew he'd fallen asleep. Exhausted from keeping shadow-form so long, I materialised and floated down to the floor. I crept towards him, my blood surging. As I passed the desk I glanced at the half-finished can of soda on it. With a sigh I grabbed the can and incinerated it in my palm. A tiny pile of powdered aluminium was left and this I poured into the bin beside his desk.

What was it that had so taken his interest? I looked down at the paper and stepped back in shock.

The paper was covered in drawings - drawings of me.

I was unmistakable: my small curved horns; my wild, always unmanageable blue-black hair; my large eyes with their cat irises. I looked closer. There were more than just portraits. He'd also drawn me full length. I admired the skilful way he'd so flatteringly portrayed my long, slender body. My wings were especially well-drawn, right down to their hooked talons.

I glanced across at the sleeping lump on the bed. So he'd seen me in his dreams. It was a common enough occurrence. And there was the time, too, when he'd glimpsed me on the point of waking. Perhaps that explained the detail with which he was able to recall my features.

I drew a claw along the edge of the paper. My chest grew warm. I looked so beautiful. Every detail had been painstakingly rendered. Why had he spent so much time on drawing me? Was I really so interesting to him, a fleeting erotic dream?

I pulled myself away from the drawings with difficulty and floated across to his bed. I slid the bedclothes off him. I'd grown especially hungry. Was it from all the waiting I had done, the orgone I'd expended remaining a shadow while watching him draw?

Perhaps it was something more than that.

Having revealed his body I drew my claws along his sides. He murmured. I peeled his shirt up and placed a palm on his stomach and stroked downwards, towards his abdomen. He gasped and turned his head so his cheek rested against the pillow. I slipped my hand into his pyjama bottoms and tantalised his sleeping member. He groaned and his face flushed. I was delighted by the reaction and soon got him hard with my delicate ministrations.

This time I wanted to take things slow with him. Perhaps I'd been flattered by the drawings he'd made of me and wished to reward him. There was nothing in the demonic protocols about not being permitted to please the humans you harvest. After all, a pleased human often emits stronger orgone. It's for this reason that succubi spend so much time training in the many different techniques of fornication.

But fornication was the wrong word for what I was doing to him now. I was teasing him. I pulled his pants down just far enough to release his now rampant organ. I kissed the head and flicked my tongue underneath it. All human males delight in that and he was no exception. A bead of moisture appeared at the tips and I dug it out with my eager tongue. Then I slipped his whole length into my mouth. A combination of stroking the length with my hand and lapping with my tongue soon had him crying out. He bucked his hips up off the mattress and I did my best to accommodate his eager thrusts with my throat. Soon he gasped and came, his ejaculate filling my mouth to overflowing. I greedily drank it all. I fell back on my bottom at the foot of the bed and scraped the overflow of his semen into my mouth. He tasted different, sweeter and thicker.

Once again I'd let myself get distracted. I didn't notice that he'd woken up until he sat up and smiled at me.

"So you are real," he said.

I dissolved at once into shadow and fled out through the ventilation. I flew back down into Hell in a panic. I knew of course that I should've reported the incident, should've never returned to this same human again, but something prevented me. That warmth, that alien warmth that had taken hold of me.

That warmth would not let me.

I knew then that I was ill, or cursed. It was the only explanation. Perhaps I'd come in contact with some holy object, flown over some sanctified place by mistake? There had to be some explanation for my increasingly bizarre behaviour.