Before I go in, I DM Violette from our apartment's parking lot with an important question.

I slide my phone back in my back pocket and hop out of my car. Lucky for Jett, I'm not in the mood to act on any of my silent threats from this weekend. Not yet anyway. Violette begged for it again before I left, and of course I obliged. I got to eat her out then fuck her on her pastel bed, so I'm plenty satisfied. On the other hand, when I left, she already looked apprehensive about not having sex for twenty-four hours. I gave her permission to use as many toys as she wanted, but she said that would only help so much.

Which is crazy, right? Even for someone hypersexual, that's not that long to wait. It's another mark in the non-human column, I suppose. If she really is something else, what is she? "Succubus" is the obvious answer, but that seems so cringey to even consider. I don't believe in God, first off, and aren't they a religious, demonic, life-sucking sort of thing?

Still, the existence of folklore about creatures who live off sex is a starting point, so I'll have to do some reading. As I enter our apartment building's lobby and head to the elevator, I push my bangs out of my face and take a deep breath. My face, the same as ever despite a crazy weekend, reflects in the stainless steel of the elevator door before it opens.

She's not dangerous, is she?

Immediately, I feel guilty for thinking it. Powerful, yes, mischievous and spoiled, for sure, but dangerous? To me? I remember her sobbing and push the thought away with disgust. Wouldn't I be exhausted if she drained me in some way? If anything, I'm energized, especially after she lent me some of her strength. Eric's healthy as a horse too, and it sounds like he's been "meeting her needs" for a while.

I'm still deep in throught when I open the door to the apartment. It looks different than I last saw it: smaller, less homey. Eric and Violette's house had already started to seem like mine too. I remember, faintly, the feeling that I lost something after sleeping with her. But that might've been about giving up control? That first time was fuzzy and confusing and amazing, so it's hard to autopsy the memory, seems like cutting into something I should leave undamaged.

I kick off my shoes in the entryway, wondering how many more times I'll do that in this apartment. As I walk down the hallway, I trace my hand under the hanging photographs that mark this place as home. We'll put those up again, won't we? Alongside photos of Eric and Violette, plus new ones with all four of us.

It'll be a weird family, but a family nonetheless, right? If I did lose something to Violette, I've gained something too.

A smile's playing over my lips when I walk into the main room. Jett's there, TV on, tablet in his lap, but both of them disregarded in favor of his hand, which he's holding up as he admires the shine of low lamplight on his engagement ring. It's a silver band that has a tiny emerald set in it; green eyes run in our family, and it matches. The ring suits him.

He notices me and starts, dropping his hand. Embarrassment and defensiveness flare up like static under his skin.

I bet Violette wouldn't want to get married. I've never thought about it much myself, but knowing she'd say no if I ever asked makes me hate Jett a little extra in that moment.

Fear spikes out of his embarrassment, like brown noise on top of white noise, as I walk over to him. I put my hands on his shoulders and firmly press him to the back of his chair. He's the stronger one, but he yields.

"It's a cute ring, but even Eric admits you're still mine. Don't forget it," I say.

The way I phrase that makes him resentful, but he stifles it before speaking. "I've never denied that. We'll always be family."

The way his brain rationalizes our relationship is such a joke. Yeah, family. The kind of family who looks best with my cock in his mouth.

"I'll have to tell him who trained you out of your gag reflex. Bet he's happy about that."

He turns his face to the side so he doesn't have to look at me. "Are you asking for oral sex? Were your recent activities with Violette not enough? You know the door was open."

"You're lucky I didn't do it in front of you. Who would you be more jealous of in that situation, hmm?"

"I wouldn't..." He trails off, swallows as the image seems to overwhelm him, and his eyes close for a moment. Ew. Violette really did a number on him.

I jostle him out of his fantasy with both hands, then let go. "Gross. You've really gotta get that under control, man. It ain't happening."

"Oran." He says it warningly, like he has any sort of authority over me. For someone without a sense of humor, he's hilarious.

With a wave over my shoulder, I turn and leave him to his thoughts, the residue of them buzzing like a wasp trapped inside my head.

* * *

I wake up to an empty apartment. Jett's at work, and I have a couple classes today, starting in a few hours.

Violette and I texted some last night, but she told me around 6 PM that she really had to catch up on painting. That sounded reasonable, so I took the opportunity to work on writing, except I couldn't get much done. Even knowing I'd see her again soon, I kept checking my phone for more messages. When she didn't send any others, I eventually went to bed since there was nothing better to do.

Violette, don't ignore me! I'm more fun than any painting, aren't I?

Now that it's a new day, I check my phone right away and grin when I see she messaged me this morning. Yes! A rush of giddiness runs through me as I open my DMs. I know I shouldn't be so desperate, but in the ancient words of my forefathers, I got it bad.

All right. Now that I've sent an appropriately casual message, time to start deep diving on folklore about creatures that feed on sex.

With a plate of cold pizza in one hand, I sprawl out on the living room couch and start reading. I'm not a low-effort YouTube channel, so I'm not just gonna summarize Wikipedia pages for you, but I do start clicking on sources from there.

A handful of hours pass as I read historical documents, modern essays on the meaning of sexual symbols carried through history, vampires and how they relate to sexuality, demonology, and conspiracy bullshit. You should know the drill. Imagine a montage of me typing things like "are sex monsters real?" and "why girl want sex so much?" while scrolling through several websites of different colors, dramatic music playing over it while my superimposed face grows increasingly concerned. At the end I slam my laptop shut--or, uh, lock my phone screen, I guess--and say "I didn't understand any of that!"

Joking aside, some of it was helpful. I confirmed that succubus is a religious concept with roots in Judaism, so I threw that option straight in the garbage. Heaven is bullshit and Violette's not a demon. There were also many stories about compelling men, women, and others (not usually referred to in the nicest terms) who used sex to bewitch people in basically every culture I delved into. Just like psychics like me have supposedly been around for millenia--not that I think most of them were as real. Maybe some of them could have been.

Japanese folklore has a bunch of pretty youkai girls who take advantage of unsuspecting victims. My mom once told me the story of a kitsune woman that was exposed when she gave birth to a litter of foxes instead of human children, who then had to flee the wrath of her husband. When I hated the original version of the story, she retold it with the husband coming around to his fox children and apologizing to his poor wife. As a little kid, I thought a bunch of baby foxes sounded way better than human babies. Still do, to be honest.

I don't think Violette is a kitsune, or a yuki onna, or any sort of spirit or creature. But why would I mind if she was?

"Who cares, who cares!" I declare to the empty room as I get up. I'm officially canceling caring about this season. Violette's Violette, and whatever the source of her power, whatever sort of being her mom may or may not be, it doesn't matter.

I have to get ready for class. I have to look perfect but not too needy when I show up at the house at 5:30. There are so many more important things in the world than worrying about Violette's origins!

* * *

Despite the fact we're officially in spring by now, there's a chill in the air when I get to campus. I'm glad I wore tights under my shorts, and not just because I think Violette will like them. The wide-neck fluffy black sweater I have on over a purple tank top also protects me from the cold while adding to the whole "cute college goth girl, but watch out" vibe I'm repping today. There's a spring in my step as I head into the old building where they corral the foolish arts and literature majors like myself.

Here comes the chorus. There's so many people, and I'm still amped up on Violette's energy. I'm mostly uninterested in pursuing or playing with anyone today, so instead of listening in for thoughts to manipulate, I just send out an indulgent one that hits everyone within range as I pass.

Wow! I have no idea what gender they are!

I take the stairs two at a time and sidle a few minutes early into my first class of the day: Professor Blanc's. Can you blame me for fucking my hot Monday professor? She starts off the first of the week with a little spice.

There they are! I wonder why they haven't texted me since last week. Should I schedule another meeting? Get a hotel room instead?

Cool it, please, ma'am; the situation has changed.

That'd be too desperate. Best to wait until they make another move, I think for her, then add, It's hard though. I want them to fuck me again.

Did you think I'd let her go now that I have her hooked? It was a project to get her this interested, there's no point wasting her. I'll stay faithful to Violette's request, but I think I can talk her around with some puppy dog eyes of my own--especially if it's an older woman who isn't a rival in the same age range.

Though the way she looks might set Violette on edge if she saw her. I study her for a moment. Yeah, I'm not imagining it. Her silhouette's less exaggerated, and she's taller, but the rest of Professor Blanc reminds me of Violette's mother: curvy, bright red hair, ghostly pale skin, blue eyes.

Nauseau washes over me like a wave, but it carries something with it, a message in a bottle dragged ashore by a storm. Daughters. More than just Violette.

There's no way my professor could be one of them, right? For one thing, she doesn't have any sort of resistance to me... which does mean I can find out easily enough.

I put my head in my hands to block out the light and push into her mind, way deeper than I ever needed to go before. Back to her family life.

Her mind's a tidy, modern library, where current memories are shelved in an orderly manner, while older memories lay more haphazardly in the back, waiting to be reshelved or culled from the collection. Her parents rest among the current memories. A good sign; she has a relationship with them still. I pull one memory off the shelf.

Dinner with her family, just a few months ago. Two parents, a suburban mom and dad, nothing out of the ordinary there. Some frustration mixed with fondness. A blonde mother and a bald, hazel-eyed dad with light eyebrows--he must be the redhead. Is that how blonde and red works, genetically? Not sure. Either way, they're typical middle-class folks. No sign of Violette's mother anywhere.

I withdraw with a sigh and lift my head up. She's got her eye on me, but all I sense is concern. I send some calm over her, dust away her anxiety that I might feel taken advantage of--oh, honey. With a mental squeeze, I insist that I'm totally fine, plus she can trust me to be discreet. It'll be no good if she's laying up at night worrying about me or her job. I'm not into crushing spirits, remember? Jett's the closest I get to pure sadism, and even that has limits.

The room finishes filling up and class starts; I have to focus then. It's not a hard class, just your standard 200-level English course, but I can't slack off for my favorite professor now, can I?

That said, my mind keeps wandering back to the image of Violette's mother, grasp for any of the other words she said. But I'm a fisher trying to fish with nothing more than my hands, so all I'm left holding at the end is sea water and the ghost of scales on my fingertips.

* * *

Imagine the torturous slowness of my last class of the day. I'm just over an hour away from seeing Violette, and I know without a doubt--because she's been blowing up my phone with explicit messages since she got out of school--that she's dying for me to get there. Then, add to that that the class I have to sit through is Geography, I think I deserve a reward for not doing everything in my power to get the professor to cancel class as soon as he walks in the room.

I do encourage him to let us out early, though.

* * *

The front door's unlocked when I get there, so I open it (cautiously, it's still not home yet) and call out, "Here I am, as promised. Where's my poor wilting flower?"

"Nnnngg!"

There's a half-groan, half-shriek from upstairs, followed by the sound of running feet, then Violette comes barreling down the stairs and into my arms. I cannot help but notice that she's completely naked.

"Orrrrran, you're so mean," she cries into my front, her flushed face pressing into my fuzzy sweater. As I wrap my arms around her, I notice the rest of her is burning hot too. No wonder she got undressed.

"Hey, hey, I'm here now," I assure her. One more moment of squeezing, then I push her back from my front and grin at her. "You really managed it?"

"Yes! And I'm aching so much," she whines. "I was so good and you have to fix it, please!"

"I will, let's just go up--"

"No! Here! Now!" In a surprise attack, she grabs me by the sweater and guides me to the floor. By the time I'm there, it's unclear to me if she physically shoved me down or if she gave an order I've forgotten; either way, the result is the same.

I blink up at her from my position on my back on the entryway rug. At least it's a nice, plush rug.

"Seriously? Right here?"

She shoots me a glare and straddles my thighs, her hands scrabbling at the zipper of my black shorts like an energetic mongoose. They're shaking. I do feel bad for her, but I was kind of hoping she'd take a second to appreciate my outfit when I arrived? Instead, when she realizes I have tights on under my shorts, she shrieks in frustration.

"Off off off off!"

"Okay, shh, I'm doing it," I assure her as I lift my hips and shimmy all my lower layers--shorts, tights, and underwear--down past my hips. She's not the only one who's turned on, even if I'm not as hungry as she is. When my cock's free, it takes her about two seconds to position herself and swallow it inside her.

"You really like to climb on top, don't you?" I say with a gaspy little laugh. Bravado aside, I'm starstruck once again by how good she feels. Like each inch of her hole was made just for me.

"It's your fault! Now tell me I'm a good girl," she demands. Her hips remain still as she stares at me fiercely.

I realize she's really not going to move until I say it. Not that I don't intend to! "You're so good. The best girl. And my favorite." Could be laying it on too thick, but I mean every word of it.

The groan of relief she lets out rocks her whole body. As her hips start to move, she seems to become lost in the rhapsody of it. She closes her eyes and runs her hands over her stomach and breasts, like she needs to feel every part and confirm that it too is throbbing and sensitive.

I wish she was in a different position so I could suck on her nipples again. I don't think she ever wears bras, so were they poking through her top all day? She admitted she has a roster of enthralled dick to get her through the day that she rotates through; I wonder how many of them saw her, sensed her frustration, and were surprised not to be called upon. God. I have to drop that thought before it overwhelms me and I cum too early for her satisfaction.

Not that I think it'll take much longer. I press my fingers against her folds and clit so she has more friction as she moves, and that has her grinding even harder and making cooing sounds like a sweet, tender dove. Then, they rise in pitch, turning into high gasps that telegraph she's about to orgasm.

Her eyes open before she reaches it, and I know what she's going to say as she opens her mouth: "You. Can't."

I do kind of deserve it after getting her this worked up. "Okay," I say meekly. She loves that, just like I hoped, and her spiraling moans pick up again until she's shuddering and pulsing in a way that really should make me cum too.

"Hehe." She rests her hands on either side of my chest, and her hips work in a much more casual motion now. I'm dying but also it's fine, it's fine, seeing her smug reddened face makes the edging worth it.

Oh. The front door's opening. I didn't lock it after I can in, did I? Ah, but even if I had, Jett has a key.

"Honestly!" He sees what we're doing and hurries to shut the door before anyone on the sidewalk outside, past the yard, can see us. If you've gotten this far, you know Violette doesn't stop for a moment just because he walked in on us.

"I needed it," she says, and Jett's somewhat mollified by that.

"Of course, but, right in the foyer...?" Not mollified enough that he doesn't try to reason with her.

"Get down here and play with my tits," she snaps. My eyes widen, and she giggles with delight. She does know how to surprise me.

Jett, for his part, can't ignore a direct order like that any better than I can. He drops to his knees and moves behind her, murmuring "Like this?" as he cups her breasts. His hands, well-cared for but still calloused from weight training, make a nice contrast against her delicate-all-over skin.

"Ugh, now I have to hear him enjoying it," I complain to Violette. She giggles again at that and sucks at me with her pussy in a way that should not be possible or allowed. I groan.

"I suffered all day," she says simply, and I can't argue with that. Anyway, she knows I'm lying. Obviously, I'm attracted to Jett, or I wouldn't have started fucking him in the first place. The warping she's done to his attraction adds another level to it. Seeing and hearing how blissed out he is over touching her breasts is the exact sort of fucked-up shit I'm into.

"Is it really... all right...?" Not that he stops groping at her for a second.

"When I say it is." She arches her hips up and back to grind against his groin, and I can't do anything but whine as she leaves my dick behind to do it. I didn't get to cum even once, please! Not him first!

But she's a merciful princess, and she comes back a moment later to welcome me inside her once again. Relieved, I mouth "thank you" and place my hands on her hips.

"Do you think I could fit you both? Be honest," she says.

"I don't want..." I want her all to myself! Jett doesn't deserve her! But I have to follow her words, and she didn't ask my opinion. I swallow. "Probably. Probably you could."

"I've never done it before," she says, a giddy little grin on her lips, two perfect smudges of pink on her cheek. "Would you like it?"

"Better if it wasn't him," I say, knowing I sound petulant but unable to cover it.

That's enough of an answer for her. She drops down against my front and lifts her hips up until she's just above the head of my cock. "Do it at the same time.

"I couldn't, I shouldn't," Jett mumbles, but we can all hear him unzipping. Violette trembles as euphorically as an ancient priestess receiving a message from the universe. If I'd been born back then, I would've happily sacrificed all my belongings for her favor.

Jett presses his dick against mine, a friction that makes us both shiver. Instead of acknowledging me at all, he presses his face into her hair. Angry heat sparks in my chest. Don't smell her hair like some pervert, dude, she's mine.

Unfortunately, I can't focus enough to command him to stop, because Violette senses us below her and takes the initiative to push back. It seems, for a second, like we'll need to do more than this, lubricate Jett's cock for one thing, stretch her out, take our time--but then who am I kidding, Violette devours us with a moan that runs through the three of us like an electrical charge.

"Fuck," I gasp. Jett's dick throbs against mine, and that's sexy too. Ugh. Guess I was wrong about it not happening. Not that I ever imagined it like this.

Violette looks at me with dark eyes and takes hold of my face. "Do you like it?" She's close enough that her sweat drips on my face. Jett's not wrong. She smells amazing.

"Yeah." I have to get it out past a whimper. She could destroy me if she tightened her pussy the right way. Or the wrong way. God, who knows.

The rest of it is a fucking blur. Violette orders us to move together, and I think it's the only time Jett and I have ever been so in sync. Violette stays quiet through it all in a way that's almost threatening, but her face is tight with pleasure. I think that she's downplaying how much she likes it for Jett. My name slips from her lips a few times, but he doesn't garner a mention. To his credit, he keeps his mouth shut and fucks her hard with me.

In time, we're all heaving and gasping enough for her satisfaction. She says something to order us to cum together, but I honestly can't remember what. I might've blacked out for a minute from pleasure.

When my vision's less full of stars, she fills it back up with her as she drops in close for a kiss.

* * *

Any jealousy I have toward Jett dissipates in the aftermath, as he's so embarrassed and apologetic about acting on his "inappropriate urges" that Violette turns testy. She stands up, imperious despite her small stature and nudity, and tells him to shut up. Like a court jester who knows the queen could have him executed, he bows his head and goes silent.

"Get us some towels, and clean the rug. And, umm..." Uh-oh, the gears in her head got stuck on a gumdrop. She looks down at me for a suggestion.

"Tell him to give Eric head when he gets home from work. Somewhere good, like in the family room." I have so many ideas on how to torment Jett, so I'm glad someone finally asked!

She claps her hands together once and nods in agreement.

"Good idea!" She leans over Jett, who's still on his knees, and pets him like a dog. "Give Daddy a blowjob when he gets in. Make sure it's where we can watch."

Jett twitches and opens his mouth, but before he can disagree, I apply my own pressure. Instead, he says, "Yes, Violette."

Agreeing so readily despite his intentions seems to break his resistance, and he's quiet as a mouse when we put ourselves back together and leave him to scrub the rug.

"I like your outfit today, by the way," she says as we climb the stairs to her room, in a way that's absurdly demure when contrasted with the fact she is still 100 percent naked. It almost kills me.

"Oh yeah? Thanks," I say. Inside, I am screaming YES!!! the whole way to her room.