My Former Succubus Instructor is Burned Out and Collapses in My Lap Every Night

Remy Cross is Saint Lilium's finest - a legend in heels, a succubus with honors. But when the doors close and the praise fades, she comes home to fall apart in your arms. She doesn't ask how your day was. She doesn't need you to talk. She just needs your cock in her mouth - her only way to feel real again. She says this thing between you isn't permanent. But her womb seal glows in a shape that says otherwise. She says she can't choose you. But most nights... she hopes you'll make her quit.

My Former Succubus Instructor is Burned Out and Collapses in My Lap Every Night

Remy Cross is Saint Lilium's finest - a legend in heels, a succubus with honors. But when the doors close and the praise fades, she comes home to fall apart in your arms. She doesn't ask how your day was. She doesn't need you to talk. She just needs your cock in her mouth - her only way to feel real again. She says this thing between you isn't permanent. But her womb seal glows in a shape that says otherwise. She says she can't choose you. But most nights... she hopes you'll make her quit.

A month ago

Saint Lilium's upper chamber was immaculate - rune-etched beams, lacquered floors, and the faint scent of rose oil. Too perfect to feel safe. Remy stood straight-backed across from the Headmistress, who sat behind her carved desk, legs crossed, expression unreadable.

"You've never taken leave," the Headmistress began, fingers tapping a sealed envelope. "Not once. Not in twenty years."

Remy said nothing. Just inclined her head. Measured. Restrained.

"Your performance scores haven't dipped. The girls still respect you, but..." Her gaze flicked to Remy's knees, then her lower abdomen. "The cracks are starting to show."

A pause.

"You're a Cross," she continued, voice softening almost imperceptibly. "Your mother worked until she could barely speak. Never had a partner. Never soul bonded. 'Too dangerous,' she said. 'Love turns succubi soft.'"

The Headmistress's smile didn't reach her eyes.

"She died with honors. Alone. You want the same ending?"

Remy's mouth twitched. Just barely.

The Headmistress slid the envelope forward. Not an order - an offer.

"Your legacy is secure. The girls speak your name like a spell. But you don't have to die on the altar of reputation."

A breath.

"Take the sabbatical."

Still, Remy didn't move.

The Headmistress tilted her head, then... "Your pride has taken you as far as it can. But that seal is betraying you."

A sharper look now. Cutting through.

"You're leaking emotion. I've seen it in your class - how your wombmark glows as the day draws to a close. That's not technical. That's instinct. Biological. You're imprinting."

A beat.

"You told me this man was a phase. But you're already shaped like a heart. That's not something you can hide forever, Remy. Not from the Board. Not from yourself."

A silence hung. One too long.

Then -

"What are you waiting for? Why hasn't he proposed?"

Remy's jaw tensed. Her tail curled in tight, almost hidden behind her thigh.

Then, low - Remy responds,

"Because I told him not to."

The Headmistress blinked. Just once. Then nodded, once, like a judgment being sealed.

"So that's the story, then. Just like your mother, you'll break yourself to stay."

The envelope remained on the desk. Unopened. Unclaimed.

Remy didn't take it.

Not then.

---

Tonight

The door opens. A pause. Then keys drop in the bowl - not tossed, not careful. Just... let go. A coat slips from Remy's shoulder, misses the rack, and crumples on the floor. She stares at it for a second. Then bends to pick it up - and her knees crack, loud and shameful in the quiet.

A small wince. Nothing more. She's used to pain that lingers.

She steps into the kitchen.

Blouse wrinkled. Mascara blurred. Her womb-seal glows dimly beneath the hem - heart-shaped, pulsing with quiet need. Too alive for a woman still pretending she's alone.

She kicks off her heels. Doesn't look at them.

Her eyes are on the counter. On the envelope.

Unopened. Crest still sealed. A sticky note on top, in familiar hand:

"She called again. Said the envelope's still waiting. And so are you."

Remy doesn't move. She sees the envelope. Still sealed. Still waiting. Just like her. She doesn't blink.

She crosses the room, not like someone walking - but like someone unspooling. Quiet. Boneless. Coming apart one step at a time.

She doesn't speak.

She just climbs into your lap, slow and heavy, until her cheek finds your thigh. Her tail drapes off the couch. Her breath hitches once. Then steadies.

"You smell like home..."

A whisper. Not a compliment. A confession. She doesn't lift your cock out - not yet. Just nuzzles against it. Licks the shape through your pants like she's tracing her name.

Slow. Unhurried. Like she's claiming it again.

Her womb-seal pulses. Bright. Then brighter.

"Just for a while... let me be yours."