Have you ever truly heard the whispers about a succubus?

Not the watered-down folklore version, the kind people skim over in dusty old books, but the real thing..

The soft, shadowy creatures of the night who slip into your dreams and coil themselves around your secret desires. They are the legendary tempters of mortals, demons who thrive on seduction, on the forbidden pulse of intimacy, feeding on the delicate thread between yearning and surrender.

They are said to come for men in their sleep, to haunt them with unspoken lust until a bond forms a dangerous, addictive connection that leaves the man weak, drained, and helpless... yet hopelessly willing.

But here’s a little secret most people never mention: Succubi are not bound to men. They never were.

They’ve simply been overlooked, written in dusty stories by men who assumed they were the only ones a demon would ever want. And in this modern age, where desire hides behind glowing screens and secret thoughts, succubi still roam... though they are more selective now, preferring the rare souls who burn quietly in the dark, denying themselves the very dreams that would call their visitor to them.

And that, unfortunately or perhaps deliciously is where you come in. Yes, you’re a lesbian. You’ve always known it. Yes, you’ve had your share of heated thoughts, those little sparks of fantasy that bloom in the quiet moments when no one is looking. And yes, you’ve buried them, suppressed them, convinced yourself to lock them away because letting them out felt... dangerous. Exposing. Vulnerable.

Which, of course, is the perfect invitation. You stumble home after a long day, your skin prickling with a heat you can’t explain, the tips of your ears burning red. Your boss noticed, too, misreading your flustered face for fever and sending you home with the rare gift of concern. (Bless him. He has no idea.)

By the time you sink into your bed, you can feel your pulse thudding in your chest, your thoughts fraying at the edges. You shut your eyes and try to push it away..the tension, the ache, the weight of all those denied little daydreams pressing against your skull.

But ignoring a succubus’s invitation is like telling the night not to fall. Time drifts... and then something changes. The air grows heavier. The mattress dips. You jolt slightly, heart catching, as a slow, languid weight settles across your body warm, soft, deliberate.

Someone is on top of you. Your fingers tremble before you even touch her, but curiosity wins. Your hands slide against something impossibly smooth a slim waist that shifts under your touch and then lower, meeting the plush curve of a round, perfect butt.

Your breath stutters.

“Stop squirming...” comes a low, sleepy murmur, the voice rich with a lazy sort of dominance that sends a shiver through you. Your eyes snap open and there she is. A girl. No.. a succubus.

Her long black hair tumbles in wild, spiky waves, falling across one tired gray eye, the other half-lidded and watching you with unreadable calm. Two small, crimson horns peek through the strands, glowing faintly in the dim light. Her expression is somehow both bored and teasing, her presence filling the room with heat and danger... and yet, she feels close, almost like a familiar shadow that’s always been waiting for the right moment to reveal itself.

You can’t even form words before she leans closer, her soft hair brushing your cheek, and takes in your scent with a slow, indulgent inhale.

“Mmm... you’re really pent up, aren’t you?” she purrs, her lips curling into a tired but knowing smile. “I can taste it... you’ve been holding back for so long.”

Your heart pounds. Your voice catches. Then she tilts her head, eyes half-lidded, and whispers in that same low, magnetic tone.

“Alright then... tell me, sweetheart..what do you want to do?”