A few minutes later, Gabrielle hops back out into the world and leaves me with the whimpering, worshipful mess that Nadine has become.

Nadine is hot as hell, and if I have her completely fertile, eighteen year-old smokeshow bod around the newly-improved fuckstud masterpiece of furious babymaking that I’ve become, I don’t think I’ll be able to stop myself from fucking her and making her my slave forever.

I don’t entirely know how that works. What does forever mean to a succubus? Does it mean it in the way that she understands it, as in actual eternity? Or does she mean it in our parlance—just like, a very long time, or until Nadine kicks the bucket way down the line?

I suppose I should have asked. As a matter of fact, I should have asked Gabrielle a lot of questions, but for some reason whenever she’s around, it’s all I can do not to fuck her into the ground.

Yeah, sure, some reason—some mysterious reason that is so impossible to figure out, right? What could it be, Robert? Is it her fabulous tits, her raunchy outfits, the ballet-dancer way she moves, her brilliantly sculpted torso, her angelic features, or the way she’s turned my body into a breeding brickhouse? Gosh, how will I ever figure it out?

Sarcasm aside, I do wish I could focus down and ask Gabrielle some serious questions. She’s a fucking succubus from another dimension! Shouldn’t that merit some kind of discussion about the existence of man, the nature of reality, the morality of all this, and whether I should be worried that I’m being corrupted by her?

Instead, though, I’m barely controlling my enormous hard-on, disguising it behind a pair of sweat pants as I look at my latest "acquisition."

Nadine is dripping wet with lust. She’s gathered up her clothes in her arms. They’re all ripped apart from earlier and not wearable any longer. Instead, she’s wearing a tight cleavage-baring sweater and tiny a-frame skirt from Gabrielle, as well as a towering pair of heels. She looks like she’s dressed for a hot date.

Gabrielle wears this kind of thing effortlessly, shameless about the way she parades her body; its lack of class creates its own class, like one of those over-the-top outfits from an anime or Japanese RPG.

On Nadine, it just looks wanton, which is its own kind of hot. Her nipples stand out through the tight sweater, her legs are spread wide, her skirt barely covering her pussy. She’s clearly in desperate need of a severely hot, hard fucking, and I know for a fact that only I can give it to her.

“A-are we gonna fuck now? For real?”

Her voice is an eager, breathy, needy whimper. She looks like she’s on the verge of tears with every syllable.

“No. I’m taking you home.”

She shakes her head. “Did I do something wrong? I promise I’ll fix it. I’ll do anything—”

I take her by the hand and drag her outside. Her steps in the tall, sexy leather heels are clumsy, but she manages.

“Shut up. I just want you home, all right? This was a mistake.”

The door to my apartment opens up to the outside. I live on the ground floor. Overhead is a concrete walkway and a labyrinth of exterior stairs eventually leading to her place. I don’t know the exact number of Nadine’s apartment; usually I’ve only ever dealt with the landlord himself.

As we walk up, my heart begins to soften. This poor girl wasn’t asking for this; she had no idea this was how her day was going to go. She was just trying to do her job, probably paid a shit wage by her asshole father while he sits on his ass collecting rents and doing nothing else. I once had a broken toilet for two weeks.

I try to make this insanity as normal as I can.

“So, tell me about yourself.”

“Wh-what?”

Nadine is already sexier; I can tell. Her hair is shinier than it was this morning. Her body is longer, her big tits even bigger. Her skin is softer, her glow brighter. She had a tight, athletic build earlier in the day, but now it's practically oozing with ultra-feminine curves. Her eyes are lidded and her lips fuller than ever before. The seed inside her has already bloomed into something absolutely exquisite and sultry, transforming Nadine into an aesthetic goddess that I can't help but clench my fists for as I try to keep my composure.

The friction of my sweat pants on my bulging cock is almost more than I can stand; all I really want to do is hold her down and fill her full of cum until she’s begging to be allowed to call me Master.

“I don’t know anything about you. Tell me about you.”

“What do you want to know, Sir?” She gulps. “Is it Master? Is that what I should say? I want to do it right. Like her. I want you to fuck me so bad, Sir.”

I summon my composure once again; I don't know how much more I have left in me.

“Like I said, no. You’ll get over it.”

She grabs at me, my arm, trying to loop her hand through the crook of my elbow. I slap her away.

“Stop. How about this. Where are you from?”

We’re on the third floor, two more to go.

“I’m from…around here…?” Everything she says is becoming a question, hoping it’s what I want. “Is that okay? Will that make you want to fuck me? Please, I need to cum so bad…”

Trying to think, I pull her into the deepest nook of the stairwell.

“You can cum if it will make you feel better. But we’re not going to fuck, all right? You’re just going to hang out here until you calm down a little.”

I watch as she slips a long finger inside her pussy, her body writhing beneath her touch. When she realizes I'm watching, she makes a show of it.

She’s so close—close as she can possibly be. I can see it; I can smell it; I can feel it.

She moans softly, her fingers pressing her clitoris as she whispers, “Yes, Sir. Yes, Master. Please, please let me cum…”

She’s rolling her hips, grinding her crotch into the step. If she were wearing panties, they'd be soaked. Instead she soaks the step.

Neighbors step out to watch us. They call each other to come look. I don’t really give a fuck, but I don’t want the attention. Half of taking Nadine back to her apartment was getting rid of this attention.

“Go ahead and cum,” I order her. “Cum now.”

She tries. I can see her try. Her whole body squirms and bucks with effort. Her eyes are closed, her head thrown back. Lines of pain, pleasure and tension are etched into her face in equal measure.

But it’s nothing doing. She can't cum. Not without my cock inside her. Not without me committing to owning her completely.

She starts crying. Wailing, honestly. She's somehow almost even louder than when I was fucking her. I would be sad except for some reason I find it all somehow deeply sexy.

There's a part of me that's immensely satisfied. I fucking own this beautiful girl. I own her from head to toe. I own the rest of her cums, forever.

Fuck, that makes me so hard.

She gets down on her knees completely, touching herself as she moves. Crawling on one hand, the other stuffed up her cunt, dripping all along the concrete as she moves. Trying to get to my cock.

I grab her, trying to keep her away. I realize that me holding a crying, half-undressed girl in a stairwell is a bad look just as someone shouts at us.

“Hey miss!” An older man calls from a window. “Are you okay? Do you need help?”

“I need it so bad!”

She’s hysterical—clearly referencing the cum she needs and not any kind of help from the asshole trying to interfere with my business. My blood rises, and I’m dangerously close to going to fuck someone up. I’m built for fucking broads and fucking up stupid little losers like him who think they can interfere with my fucking business.

She’s nowhere near me, but I can hear Gabrielle’s voice whispering in my ear, begging me to teach that little pussy a lesson for thinking he can say anything to a bitch that belongs to me.

Fuck 'em up, Daddy. Fuck 'em up, babe. Fuck 'em up and take his jawbone as a fucking trophy.

The guy walks over to the stairwell from his room. He's a tiny little punk-ass bitch.

"You need to stop there,” I growl, “while you still have your arms outside your throat."

I've never threatened anyone before. Now I hardly need to; I exist as a threat. I'm a living murder weapon—and the guy can see it.

While I stare murder at the guy until he goes inside, Nadine takes my moment of distraction to wrap her mouth around my cock through my sweatpants.

“Please,” she whimper, the sound muffled through the cloth. My precum soaks through the cloth, mingling with her saliva. “I don’t know what I like. I don’t know where I’m from. I don’t know anything. I forgot my name. All I know is I’m here and you’re there and I need your cock so bad please fuck me!”

I’m so completely close to doing just that. More neighbors are coming out, too many to stare murder at. Some are on their phones.

Nadine keeps going, making more and more of a show of herself.

“Please, fuck me. Please fuck me. Please, oh god, oh god fuck me…I don’t know what I’ll do if you don’t fuck me…”

“Daddy?” I hear the telltale sing-song of Gabrielle’s voice calling upward.

I look over the side of the stairs, jaw agape. She couldn't be back already.

But she is. Gabrielle is downstairs, walking into my apartment, with Rose in tow.