They were having sex; Jack could hear the furtive grunts and cries as his best friend and his latest flame groped each other's bodies. And here he was alone, again. He thought that this camping trip during Break would help to raise his spirits. So much for that idea. Almost seriously he wished on the shooting star that streaked in a sparkling arc across the night sky. wished for... what? A girlfriend? Casual sex? Or something in between? When he heard the impact, and saw the burst of flames, it almost occured to him that the nearby impact of the meteorite was perhaps an endorsement of his vague, wishful yearnings.
Jack hastily brushed aside a strand of his blond hair as he ran with undefined anticipation towards the crash site. As he suspected, the meteorite left a burning trail of grass, bushes, and soil from the frictional heat of its entry in Earth's atmosphere. Wow, Jack had never examined one so close and... and... now that's an odd meteor... The thing was long; tubular-shaped almost; though shriveled from the heat of its reckless flight through the sky. At the end of a sizzling, scorched path, there lay a grey structure about... maybe the size of one of those huge olive-loaf sausages... but maybe a little wider. Stranger yet was the fact the back end was breached, or maybe it was designed to open up. Sharp, acrid smoke billowed from the surface of the hot, extraterrestrial object, and from the open end there was... some sort of liquid?
Jack, overwhelmed with curiosity, grabbed a nearby stick and began to prod the anamoly. The surface was elastic and yielding, almost like rubber perhaps, yet clearly overwhelmingly more resilient than Earthly plastics if it was able to survive the heat and impact of a fall from space. And inside... There was a white, sticky material that Jack prodded next. Soft... liquid... almost gelatinous. He tentatively lifted a globbet of the fluid in the air onto the stick.
"It... It could be alive? Extraterrestrial, alien life?!" Apparently so. The fluid was something like syrup, yet more viscous, definitely gelatinous. It was a pale, milky white. Almsot transparent when thinly spread, but cloudy in larger clumps. He watched fascinated as it flowed and oozed down the stick with a slithery, yet almost deliberate pace. If he didn't know any better, Jack would have thought that the slime was crawling down the stick and...
It leaped! The white glob seemed to spurt forward onto the flesh of his hand! Once a viscous tendril had made contact, the remainder of the glob surged forward, covering his fore arm in less time than it took to say it! He dropped the stick, howling instintively as the... the... you know... it almost looked like loads, and loads of... of... sperm?
He thought it was a predator; he thought it was dangerous; but as the fluid engulfed Jack's arm, he felt... he felt...
"ORGASM!" she shrieked! "M-my f-first... *real* Orgasm!" Susie declared. The strawberry blond hair plastered to her sweating face. "The Others... never gave me... UUUNGGH!!" she ran her nails down Brad's back as he concluded, blasting his load into her. He didn't respond at first to her declaration, an eloquent endorsement of his masculine vigor. Made all the more expressive by her slender legs entwined about his rippling ass. Brad knew that Susie liked to cuddle, so with hands kneading the pliant flesh of her rosy C-cup boobs, he prepared to descend upon her again, reveling in the sensuous bliss of their mingled, nude flesh. The air in the small tent seeming a few degrees warmer from the coupled exertions of their youthful sex drives.
As the pair clutched each other, post-coital exhalations combining as thoroughly as their sexual fluids, Brad expected his urge to diminish. So he thought. Instead, his cock remained more rigid than ever as he noticed the first touch. Jerking around his dark-haired, crew-cut head, he saw the milky, slimy tendril engulfing his lower calf. Susie gasped as the hot slime oozed onto her inner thigh. There should have been fear; this... this was some kinda... monster or something! Brad should have screamed in panic, wrenched himself free and fled into the night; Susie slung over his shoulder, yet he did not.
Instead, his penis reinserted itself into Susie's moist lips. The rising tide of impossible lust was far stronger than his fear, an impossible passion swept over both of them. It was an iron-clad prison of voluptuous flesh, a sudden surge of need stronger than the willful volition that drove any of Brad's most basic motions. Yet... despite the strangeness of the eerie, white slime crawling over their bodies, neither Brad nor Susie could muster the Fear they would need to escape; neither could muster enough common sense panic to overcome their aching need to grind their sex organs against each other.
The milky puddle of living slime oozed deliberately, almost intelligently into the tent, but for some unearthly reason, Brad and Susie couldn't care less.
He couldn't be bothered by the guilt; Jason would not be swayed from this goal; from finally proving the theory that nagged him, tormented him. Yes, peeking into other dorm rooms *could* get him in trouble, but the risk was small compared to the potential benefits that might arise from proving his theory; proving the existence of the paranormal.
Specifically; proving the existence of Succubi.
Jason wasn't sure exactly when the trouble had started; did the Dreams start when he began covering the chapter on medieval superstitions? Or had the Dreams prompted his investigation of this phenomenon? The strange tales of sexual demons that preyed on men in the night. It was all sort of a jumble; there was no telling what the connection was. Fred Hendrick was writhing on the sheets in his dorm room, Jason surreptitiously checking the keyhole, to see if *she* would come.
Though he considered himself a cosmopolitan student of history, he couldn't help but laugh at the superstitions of his ancestors; he remembered reading quotes from so-called 'scholars' of the middle-ages, saying that '... The deeds of succubi and incubi were so numerous that it would be impudent to deny them.' Superstition to be sure; or so he'd once believed. The strange cases of anemia that had hospitalized some of his college buddies wasn't enough by itself to sway his mind, but then there were the dreams.
He could hear the moaning, as Fred thrashed in yearning within the confines of his dream. Jason could almost taste the cold sweat as the sophomore a room across from him gurgled out his furtive yearning in a dream only he could experience. That was what Jason had started to call Phase 1. Somehow, the creature would insert itself into the dreams of her victim. They would usually be grim, depressing, arduous visions, and then *she* would appear, like a beacon of light, the succubi, (in human form) would seem like a breath of fresh air, the light at the end of a tunnel of drudgery. And just as the man reaches out to touch her, the dream vanishes.
And thus Fred had awakened night after night. But Jason thought he had seen her, thought that she was ready to move on with this one. That was why he watched; to try and glimpse her, perhaps photograph some supernatural event or ability, vindicating his suspicions while making a name for himself. Soon, when the prey's hunger for her had become an obsession, the creature would appear before him, testing him, offering glimers of hope that his yearning might be fulfilled.
When the first flutters of movement appeared at the edge of Fred's window, despite his confidence Jason was still more than a little surprised. The flutter soon became a steady lowering of a pair of dainty feet. Female feet; descending as though suspended by nothing more than dreams and desire. The door being directly across from Fred's window allowed Jason an almost full view of the paranormal proceedings. Camcorder at the ready, he was able to capture, however faintly, the ghostly scene.
It was too dark for facial features to be visible, but the creature could not hide the supple curves of toned, female legs, wide hips as it lowered its sleek frame to gaze with vampiric intent into the dorm room. Did she have the classical giant bat-wings? Jason couldn't tell; he thought there was a fluttering; but it was too dark, too far away to be sure. But neither the dim light nor the obfuscation from looking into a key-hole could hide the ripe delight of her callimastian curves; her feminine bounty. But no, if Jason was right, this creature wasn't a woman, might not be female at all; it was apparently some paranormal abomination, mimicking a woman that it might prey upon mankind.
The erotic apparition ran a delicate hand from the tender slopes of her neck, across her soft clavicle down between the shadowed hemispheres of breasts whose buoyant perkiness could only be described as supernatural. The response was simultaneous in her prey. Fred raised a hand, groping his own neck. Fred Hendrick was a fairly popular basketball player, but had also made the Dean's list from his academic accomplishments; if he had a weakness it was being too soft-hearted. Jason was certain that a recent, painful breakup from his girlfriend had left him vulnerable to a succubus. He tensed the corded muscles in his throat; feeling on his own body the places where the succubus touched herself.
.... There is more of this story ...