If Frank had kept his eyes open while his cock erupted into the wickedly tight passage of the pretty little thing flattened beneath him, he would have seen her pupils dilate and her irises momentarily change from their charming blue to a bilious yellow. But he was too busy coming.
Frank liked blue, so that’s what she wore. Usually hers where wholly obsidian with tiny white pupils and situated rather differently. In fact, Endymia’s face was far stranger than the one she was showing Frank. But when she had read his mind, it was clear that Frank suffered, like so many other humans, from an addiction to cliché. He thought blue eyes were sincere and non-threatening.
He was wondering, as he pulled his spent and shrunken cock out of her pert body, why he felt overcome with exhaustion. It was deeply unfair that, having actually scored the sort of hottie he had previously written off as unattainable, he was going to perpetuate the ultimate unforgivable faux pas and fall asleep.
Endymia patted him on the thigh as he settled onto his back. “Never mind.”
She had, after all, got what she wanted. Even as Frank’s first porcine snore emerged from his snout-shaped nose, her body was absorbing and breaking down the generous sticky deposit he had left inside her. Proteins were being re-chained and transported, molecules broken apart to release their energy and feed her insatiable engine.
She got to enjoy her moment of ecstasy in the privacy of Frank’s oblivion. Thick essence, free now of all impurities, streamed into her highly specialized circulatory system. As it hit her version of a cerebral cortex, she arched her back and hissed at the hit of pleasure.
He smelled of beer. It was coming through his pores. In the greenish light of the street lamp, which leaked through the cheap, woven motel curtains, she watched the pale wick of his cock curl almost snail-like into the flabby lea of his overhanging gut.
What Endymia had seen when she invaded his skull was an overwhelming sense of doubt about his virility. It was mostly born of his homophobic reluctance to look at anyone’s cock other than his own and a monotonous penchant for quantity-over-quality style porn.
Frank was dreaming now. Viscous threads of imagery tugged at her senses.
She was down on her knees, blue eyes wide and gazing up adoringly as she licked her lips and swallowed the head of his cock.
The warm rush of his dream pleasure spilled over. Endymia smiled. She didn’t share the same erotic responses as humans, but she’d grown to appreciate how pliant it made them. For her, reproduction was a rhizomatic affair that had far more to do with soil temperature. Still, she got her pleasure from consumption; they had that much in common at least.
Beside her, Frank’s dream took an interesting detour. She was still on her knees, pert and cheerleaderesque, but her jaw had unhinged and his cock, now truly swallowed, had only been the appetizer. The main course was his belly. Her lips peeled back to reveal a circular whorl of serrated teeth. They fastened onto his abdomen and…
Whoops! A bit of psychic backwash there.
Humans never ceased to fascinate Endymia. They weren’t just food. They were amusing, too. She would go along for centuries thinking of them as little more than a herd of unruly milk cows and then, suddenly, one of them would show an unexpected and uncanny sensitivity. Only the rarest had any inkling of what lay beyond the visible realm of their everyday world. She regretted never having had the pleasure of feeding on William Shakespeare, but she’d had Nils Bohr several times and he had been delicious.
Who would have guessed that pudgy old Frank had a sensitive bone in his body?
With a mixture of mild curiosity and queasy trepidation, Endymia dipped back into his mind only to find herself, still dressed as a cheerleader, gorging herself on his upper bowels and spleen.
Why were they all so damn literal? And so detailed?
He certainly wasn’t having fun any more. His legs jerked and twitched. His heart thundered along like a Camaro with 4 flat tires. The veins stood up along his forearms and his hands were balled into desperate fists. His sweat dampened the sheets beneath him as if he were attempting to flush the nightmare out through his pores along with an excess of Coors.
Most humans never dreamed after she’d had her way with them. They usually collapsed into a groggy, semi-catatonic state until their bodies burned the necessary blood sugar to put them back on an even keel. They woke up alone, smug and unexpectedly ravenous. But due to what she was almost certain was a minor thyroid problem, poor Frank was dreaming of disembowelment.
In Frank, Endymia could sense no feelings of hostility or bitterness towards her as her dream incarnation began gnawing on a lower rib. There was only a resigned sadness at the realization that he should have known better than to think he could attract someone as beautiful as Endymia.
Oh, for fuck’s sake! He wasn’t THAT bad, she thought. She’d fed quite happily on humans with far more flaws. There wasn’t anything irredeemably wrong with Frank. Nothing that a little medication, exposure to literature and a wider range of people couldn’t cure.
“Wake up!” she said, poking one chubby man breast to bring him to the surface.
He surfaced with a full-body jolt.
“Wha… I’m awake. I’m awake!” he muttered, as if he’d been caught committing some embarrassing indiscretion.
As he stuttered and blinked into the half-light, Endymia let her façade drop. Her skin lost its rosy blush and her face morphed into its truer, more reptilian state. Her forward-facing eyes drifted back towards the sides of her head and the pupils resumed their natural goat-like shape.
She straddled his hips, the rough texture of the scaled skin rasping over his pink, sweaty flanks. She lashed her long, whip-like tail across his bare legs once, smartly, in an effort to claim his focus. It worked
“Oh, Lord. Oh, fuck. Jesus… Jesus…’ Frank wailed, calling upon all sorts of mythical personages in his panic. He struggled and bucked beneath her for a while, which amused Endymia enough to laugh. Not that Frank could tell it was a laugh. To him it sounded more like a snake inhaling a baby chicken. When it became obvious he was not going to be able to dislodge her, he made a whinnying sound and voided his bladder. The hot gush of liquid puddled around Endymia’s bent knees.
“Hush up, Frank,” she said matter-of-factly, bending over him, letting him have a good look at her inhuman form.
He gave another, sharper wail, like a newborn puppy being stepped on.
“Shut up. Stop whining!” Endymia snapped. “I’m going to do you the favour of a lifetime.”
“Don’t eat me. Oh, GOD, don’t eat me!”
“Eat you?” The thought made her shudder in disgust. “Are you crazy?”
This, had she considered it for a moment, was an unfair question. But she was a sentient creature herself, with feelings and just as much dignity as any other. “Don’t be disgusting!”
With one long-talonned forepaw, she grasped his chin and forced him to look at her. “Are you going to listen?”
Frank swallowed between strangled, desperate gulps of air. He nodded.
“I mean it Frank. Are you listening?”
“Good. ” She sat back on his hips and took a cleansing breath before beginning. “There’s absolutely nothing wrong with the size of your cock, Frank. I know that’s what’s bothering you. But it’s perfectly normal. Your endurance is for shit though. You might consider a regime of 20 minutes of cardio three times a week. It would help a lot. ”
He stared up at her. Speechless.
“Also, next time you hit the men’s room, you might consider sneaking a peek at some of the other males of your species. If you’re basing your survey of the male reproductive organ on the stuff they’re sporting in porn… well… ” Endymia shrugged. “The scale’s all wrong. Believe me.”
Endymia could see she was getting through to him, even if only a little. Frank swallowed against his dry throat, making it a noisy affair.
Caught up in the role of temporary truth-teller, Endymia was beginning to enjoy it. “Oh, and you might consider reading more. Not the shit you read. Sports Illustrated does not give you a rounded view of the world, Frank. It really doesn’t. Try a novel. Maybe Dan Delilo?”
She checked herself then and reconsidered. “Well, okay. You could start off with someone a little less challenging. Steven King? Reading really does expand your horizons, you know. And, maybe take a few trips somewhere. Ghana, Morocco, Greece…”
Endymia waved his question aside. “Even Mexico. It’s big wide world, you know. Try some sushi.”
It seemed absurd, considering the situation, but the suggestion of raw fish actually prompted a sound of disgust from Frank. As if the demon sitting on his chest and the puddle of piss he was sitting in wasn’t enough.
The urine soaked sheets beneath him were turning clammy. “Uh… anything else?”
Endymia thought for a moment, rolling her goat-eyes up into her head. She was well aware this was disconcerting to look at, but it helped her order her thoughts, particularly after a large meal.
“Oh! And get your thyroid checked, tubby.”
“Well, you eat crap, drink too much beer and do absolutely no exercise. But that’s not what is causing this,” she said, landing an ungentle slap on his belly. The rounded pyramid of fat jiggled like a jelly mold.
She laughed a wheezing hiss. “I can smell it in your blood. Something’s wrong. Just take my advice and get it checked. They can fix stuff like that nowadays.”
Feeling that she’d been more than charitable to someone who had originally been nothing but an energy snack to her, she climbed off him, wrinkling her nose at the scent of his accident.
Only once the succubus was hunting through the scattered clothes on the motel floor, did she notice the full weight of his humiliation. He tried to kick away the wet sheets and prop himself up on his elbows.
“I should have known you were too good to be true,” he said. There was the same sad resignation to his words as she sensed in his dream. “First time I get laid in two and a half years, and I end up pissing myself with an extra-terrestrial.” He shook his head at what Endymia assumed was his perception of the unfairness of it all. “You sure got a fine set of titties on you, even if you are an alien.”
Endymia, who had managed to find her slinky purple and turquoise dress and was struggling a little with zipping up the back, glared at him. “I’m not an alien, you cretin. I belong on this earth just as much as you do. Probably more. I’ve been here a lot longer.”
Frank looked abashed. It was clear he hadn’t considered her feelings at all. ” Uh… pardon me. I didn’t mean to…”
She was at the door, pulling it wide to let in the night’s humid air and a view of the badly lit forecourt of the motel. One again in her human-friendly form, she glanced back at the vulnerable human on the bed. “You know, Frank. You can stop being an asshole anytime you like. It’s not genetic.”
As she walked out into the darkness, the crickets stilled in the wake of her five-inch fuck-me pumps as they clicked on the asphalt.
Frank scrambled off the bed, grunting as he fought to disentangle his legs from the sodden sheets. He half-tumbled, half-launched himself towards the motel room’s open door.
“Hey!” he called out into the night. “Can I get your number?”
But there was no one there and nothing but the drone of passing cars on the state highway in the distance.