Succubus Summoning 110

He was in her and she was in him. Phil orgasmed and felt hers at exactly the same time. Reality was coming apart at the seams.

She delved into his mind and laid out his memories like a pack of cards. Impulsive and quixotic, she shuffled and rearranged them with the same ease. A jumble of familiar images flowed before Phil's eyes. Past, present and future merged in one chaotic kaleidoscope.

"Share your life with me," Cέrμləa whispered. "I want to feel your pleasures, triumphs and sorrows."

There aren't many of those, Phil thought. He was only eighteen and -- recent events excluded -- his life had not exactly been that interesting.

"Nonsense!" Cέrμləa retorted. "Why do you lie to yourself?"

Not lying, Phil thought.

A memory returned. He was flipping burgers in the back kitchens of some crappy McRestaurant or other. His colleagues, if they could be termed such, shuffled by like dead-eyed zombies.

Cέrμləa flicked the memory away as if it was a bad Polaroid photo.

"Fledgling, we're trying to have sex here. Now what's this?"

She shuffled through his memories and plucked one from the last year of his old school.

"Who's she?" Cέrμləa asked.

In the memory he was sitting in a classroom and looking at a girl. She wasn't like the other girls. He could see that from her black clothes and dyed black hair. There was a fierce independence about her. She wasn't afraid to be different.

No one, Phil thought.

The goth girl, Tracey Weis.

She's just a girl I used to see around school.

I used to have the hots for her.

"You never spoke to her did you?" Cέrμləa said.

I never got round to it.

I was always too scared.

The memory whirled and merged into another. Phil was lying on the crisp grass behind the football pitch. A full moon was above him in the night sky. Tracey was straddling him and sighing as her body moved up—.

Wait! That never happened.

"But I can make it as though it did, in your mind." Tracey spoke, but the voice was Cέrμləa's.

No! It wouldn't be real.

Tracey/Cέrμləa smiled.

"Reality is not immutable."

Tracey/Cέrμləa's pussy clenched tightly around his cock and Phil groaned as he came inside her. The image came apart in a bright starburst of colours. Tiny hairline fractures ran through the panes of his other memories.

Cέrμləa continued to sift through them like a prospector searching for gold.

"Oh yummy," she purred, "this one looks delicious."

It was the moment Verdé had taken his virginity.

"Such a gorgeous creature," Cέrμləa said. "All my sisters are pinnacles of sexual perfection."

Phil was lost in the memory of Verdé's soft sighs. He felt again, vividly, the silken pull of her warm vagina.

"She was your first," Cέrμləa said quietly.

Phil experienced again the monstrous eruption as he pumped the full contents of his balls into Verdé's hungry pussy. The scene flew apart in a bright coruscation of shards.

Cέrμləa picked through his memories and found more. There was Rosa on top of him in the bath as he lay on a bed of the softest foam. There was Nurse Honey rubbing her soft breasts across his shoulders. There was Verdé in the garden with the moons floating above her in a bright pink sky. There was even Nÿte, enfolding him in velvet darkness.

The memories merged together, the pleasures building up and building up on each other, greater and greater, until they formed a vast peak of ecstasy. Phil was carried up with them, his conscious mind obliterated beneath an onslaught of soft caresses and silken flesh.

"Why do you fear us?" Cέrμləa asked.

You're going to kill me.

Cracks spread through the circling panes of Phil's memories.

"If that is your desire," Cέrμləa said.

She paused for a moment.

The vast temporal orgy continued, eclipsing all of Phil's other thoughts. Fractures spread and grew.

Cέrμləa started shuffling through his thoughts and memories in a frenzy of activity. Images, tastes, sounds and thoughts blurred into a hurricane raging through his psyche. At its eye Phil plunged his cock into the exquisite pussy of Verdé/Rosa/Nurse Honey/Nÿte and felt the build-up of an apocalyptic orgasm.

Faster and faster Cέrμləa searched, sifted and sorted. She was a blur as she examined piece after piece, discarding most into haphazard piles.

Phil groaned as the memory of a multitude of ecstatic releases ran over and reinforced each other into one unstoppable avalanche.

Too. Much.

Cέrμləa stopped and stared at Phil with a shocked expression.

"You don't know?"

Phil's mind shattered and collapsed in a rain of glittering shards.

*****

Phil lay on a pure white hospital bed. A young girl with spiky blue hair and dark red eyes sat pensively on a chair at the foot of the bed. At the side of the bed sat a woman wearing the black garb of a mourning widow. Her face was hidden behind a black veil. Around them stretched a flat, featureless plane. It was covered in broken shards of coloured glass as far as the eye could see.

"I'm sorry, fledgling," the widow said, her voice rich and aged like a fine vintage of wine. "I've shattered your mind."

Phil stared blankly into space.

"It was not my intention. My other's self control is… not what it was."

The figure in black got up and stood over Phil's supine form.

"This is the only kindness I have left to offer."

She bent down as if to kiss him. Hands as white as alabaster reached up to lift the veil from her face.

A child's hand reached out and grabbed the widow's arm. The widow stopped and looked down into the face of the child with the bright red eyes. The child pointed to where Phil was clutching an object in both hands. It was a single shard of glass, held so tightly a little dribble of blood ran down his wrist and dripped onto the spotless white sheets.

"Well well," the widow said. "Interesting you should pick that one," she murmured after looking into the glass.

The widow looked at the young girl.

"Should we?" she asked. "We might only be saving him for a worse fate."

The girl smiled shyly and nodded her head.

"If that is what you desire," the widow said. She raised her arms.

A thousand million broken shards of glass sprang into the air like a film running backwards. They reformed into countless panes of moving memories, the sum total of a young person's life, played across screens as far as the eye could see.

"Spend some time with the child when you can," the widow whispered in Phil's ear. "She gets so lonely sometimes."

The widow took the child's hand in hers and they both walked away.

*****

Phil woke to the scent of cinnamon and the feeling of warm lips pressed against his. Rosa lingered over the kiss until Phil opened his eyes and then continued for good measure anyway.

"See, I told you he was alive," Rosa said.

"His mind?" Verdé asked.

Rosa held up a hand.

"How many fingers am I holding up?" she asked.

"Purple," Phil replied.

Rosa shrugged.

"Close enough," she said.

She picked him up and put him on her back.

"Let's go find Nurse Honey and get you straightened out," she said.

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AUTHOR'S NOTE
Thanks for all the kind comments. Succubus Summoning 111 will follow soon.
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