Supernatural succubus erotic story

She’s Coming

All Short Stories, Dark Erotica, Sex and the Supernatural

The distant figure walking slowly toward him down the dirt track shimmered in the heat haze. He moved the shotgun to rest in a more comfortable position across his scrawny legs and leaned back in his chair.

From his front porch, he could keep watch over the scrubby land. The clapper board house and his traps protected his back. He shifted his position on the seat, there was less flesh padding his bones now. He looked down at his bony fingers resting on the stock of the gun. Once he had been tall and muscular, now he felt withered but he was still strong; he could still pull the trigger and hit a rabbit, or a person, at twenty paces.

The figure grew steadily larger. The parched landscape was an odd place to go for a walk in the noonday sun, unless you had a reason to. Now he could see it was a woman. Her long skirt flowed off her hips and down to her ankles. Her breasts swelled out against a white cotton shirt overlaid with a dark waistcoat.

He shifted the shotgun again. There was no sign of a gun he had learnt to be careful. You never knew what people carried tucked into their waistband in the small of their back.

She stopped at the foot of the steps to his porch. He looked down at her. She was easy on the eye, tall, long dark hair flowing out from under a wide-brimmed hat.

“Long walk,” he said.

She smiled.

If he was twenty years younger. “You looking for me?” he asked.

“Have you got anything to drink?” Her voice was soft and honeyed.

“There’s water out back and lemonade or beer in the fridge,” he gestured to the open door.

“Thank you.” She climbed the steps and stood, now looking down at him for a moment before disappearing inside.

He swung his chair around and lifted the gun so the barrel pointed at the door. Pretty or not he would blow her in half if she came back out with anything other than a glass or a can in her hand.

The clock in his head ticked away the seconds.

“I mean you no harm,” her voice said behind him.

He tensed. “I’m a difficult person to sneak up on,” he said without looking around.

She must have stepped out of the back door without making it creak and then walked around the house without snapping a dry twig or brushing against the bushes.

“If I wanted you dead you’d be gone by now.” She climbed back onto the porch.

“So what do you want?” His finger still rested on the trigger.

“Just a drink for now.” She sat down in the chair opposite him holding a glass of lemonade.

She grasped the hem of her dress with her free hand and fanned the heavy material exposing long slender legs.

“My wife used to sit there and do that. That was her chair until she passed.”

“I know.” The girl took a swig from the glass.

“What’s your name? You’re sitting on my porch and drinking my lemonade – at least I ought to know your name.

She smiled and dragged the dusty material of her skirt up until it sat in folds across her thighs. “Freya.”

He felt something stir between his legs, something coming to life that had lain dormant for the last few years.

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