I thought this was going to be my Celtic Halloween story since the pixies gave me this one. Because of the pixie’s actions, I can’t really say that I created this one. I lived it through in my mind and am telling you what went on. It isn’t as Irish as I normally write for my Celtic Halloween story, and evidently the pixies didn’t think so either because they brought a second Celtic story for me this year which I will publish later.
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WARNING! This warning is totally not needed for this particular story, but I am including it because it is needed for most of my stories. If you decide to read other of my stories make sure that you read the disclosures and warnings at the beginning of each story.
All of my writing is intended for adults over the age of 18 ONLY. Stories may contain strong or even extreme sexual content. All people and events depicted are fictional and any resemblance to persons living or dead is purely coincidental. Actions, situations, and responses are fictional ONLY and should not be attempted in real life.
If you are under the age or 18 or do not understand the difference between fantasy and reality or if you reside in any state, province, nation, or tribal territory that prohibits the reading of acts depicted in these stories, please stop reading immediately and move to somewhere that exists in the twenty-first century.
Archiving and reposting of this story is permitted, but only if acknowledgment of copyright and statement of limitation of use is included with the article. This story is copyright (c) 2017 by The Technician.
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Barkly Mansion is famous– or perhaps I should say infamous– for having the most fabulous Halloween party in the area. Actually, the Missus and I think it might be the absolute best in the whole nation. Some would say the whole world, but the reality is that our raucous and raunchy celebration of Halloween is typically American. Not that other countries don’t have their own raucous and raunchy celebrations, it is just that most other countries pick a different day of the year for peak decadence.
The Barkly Mansion tradition really began shortly after the War. It all started because I was attending a Halloween party at an after-hours club which illegally served alcohol. The common name for such a club in those days was a “speakeasy” and you had to have the right password to get past the muscle at the door.
Actually it wasn’t a whole lot different than many clubs today except that the music and the slang was a little different. Of course, then as now, if you didn’t know the right password for that particular speak and weren’t on the list, you could always resort to the universal password– “Benjamin Franklin.” Today you might have to say that several times before they let you in. Back then “Andrew Jackson” might get you through the door. “Ulysses S. Grant” definitely would… but as I said, times change.
It was The Roaring Twenties and skirts were as short or shorter than today, except there was normally a fringe of beads which hung at least to mid-thigh. The most popular dances involved wild arm movements which bounced the dresses and caused the beads to swing wildly often times causing the short hems of the skirts to flap upward revealing the tops of stockings– and often more. Women who danced in such a manner were called “Flappers.” In private they were called a lot of other things, but you couldn’t print words like that in those days.
Halloween was also a little different in those days. Everything was different. There were no computers or TVs and you had to yell into telephones that sat on a desk– if you were wealthy enough to afford one. But just like today, when you added booze– and drugs– and scanty clothing to costumes which concealed your identity, Halloween became little more than an excuse to release your inner slut or satyr.
Many of the women who came to this party at Tony’s Speak were prepared to be wanton, and most of the men were also prepared. They had “stopped at United Drug for some Aspirin” just in case they got the chance to “bunny hug” before the night was out.
You didn’t say “condoms” in polite society back then, and you sure as hell didn’t say “fuck.” Rubbers were kept under the counter at United Drug and other drug stores, but you couldn’t ask for them without getting thrown out on your ass. Instead you went to the prescription counter in the back of the store and said that you needed “Aspirin”– wink, wink, wink. The pharmacist then gave you what you needed in a plain paper bag.
I arrived as it was nearing midnight and many young women at this particular Halloween party were well on their way toward scandalous behavior that would be talked about for months. There were so many released inner sluts at the party that only the most awkward or pathetically ugly young man would have to go home tonight unsatisfied.
As I entered the door I ignored the abundance of low-hanging fruit waiting to be picked and headed straight for the bar. I knew that the woman I was interested in was the tall redhead sitting on a bar stool talking softly with a young man in a suit coat which nearly reached his knees. She was running her fingers down his extremely wide lapels and licking her lips in a seductive way that screamed, “Fuck me!” And the young man was definitely not deaf.
I slid between them and ordered an Irish ale from the bartender. Then I turned to her and asked if I could buy her a drink.
“That’s a rather applesauce pickup line, don’t you think?” the young Zoot Suiter said derisively, trying to push me back out of the way.
I leaned in close to her and said very quietly, “Julia, would you rather I had said, ‘What’s a nice succubus like you doing in a place like this?’”
Her eyes flared red for just a second and she bared her teeth at me revealing the fangs which had instantly appeared. A slight hissing growl came through her lips.
“Don’t worry,” I said quietly, “I won’t rat you out. I just want to ask you a few questions. If you want to take one of these ossified punks home after I leave and drain him dry, I won’t stop you.”
She continued to glare at me, her eyes glowing slightly in the dim club. The young man behind me evidently saw the fire that flared in her eyes because he suddenly jumped to his feet and ran for the door.
“Because I pissed off a Leprechaun,” I said lightly, looking back over at her.
“What?” she stammered.
“You wanted to know how I was able to identify you as a succubus, and how I knew your true name,” I replied.
She looked at me slightly confused and I continued, “I know you didn’t say it out loud, but you didn’t have to. I can read minds.”
“How?.. How?.. How is that possible?” she stammered out. “Even the Succubi don’t have that power.”
“I told you,” I answered. “I pissed off a Leprechaun.”
She still looked confused so I explained. “During the War, I was stationed in Ireland as an intelligence translator. I’m very good at languages and codes. I was getting bored so I decided to try to learn Gaelic. Gaelic really isn’t so hard once you realize that there are about a dozen extra vowels in every word, and they are separated by eight or ten consonants that have no equivalent in English.”
She sipped the Bloody Mary which I had ordered for her and sat back down on the bar stool. “Anyway,” I continued, “I found an ancient tablet in the basement of the ruins of a church our unit was supposed to clear away so we could build an observation tower. The writings and runes on the tablet described how you could supposedly catch and bind a Leprechaun.
It had to be on Halloween night and it had to be a full moon, but all you had to do was stand in a field where the Leprechaun was hiding and recite the spell. Then the Leprechaun was bound until he blessed you.”
I tasted my ale. “Halloween was coming up,” I continued, “and it was going to be a full moon, so I figured what the hell. At midnight I walked out into the glen alongside the church and recited the spell. There was a flash and a lot of cursing in English and Gaelic and another language I couldn’t understand at all as a Leprechaun appeared alongside me. He was about three feet tall and was standing straight upright like he was struggling against invisible ropes or chains or whatever.
“He glared at me and I said, ‘Give me your blessing and I will release you.’”
“He continued to struggle and I added, ‘There’s another spell here that says it could be permanent… or does that rune mean deadly?’
“‘What do you want?’ he spat out.
“‘I’ll let you decide that,’ I answered. ‘But it has to be a blessing.’
“He pressed his lips firmly together and nodded. I felt something warm wash over me and all of a sudden I could read his mind. ‘Holy Moly,’ I shouted. Then I looked at him and said, “You’re released.’
“He began shrinking back to his normal size and started to scamper away, but turned and said, ‘You should have been very specific in what you asked me to do.’
“‘Why?’ I asked. And he answered– I’m not sure if it was spoken or just thought, because he was pretty small by this time… he said firmly, ‘It is very dangerous to force a favor from a Leprechaun… or any of the wee folk.’
“He walked back over to stand in front of me and crossed his arms. Looking me up and down he said, ‘If I hadn’t been so upset I would have realized you meant no real harm. You just didn’t know what you were doing.’
“He snorted slightly and spit on the ground. There was a puff of smoke and a small circle of grass disappeared. Looking back up at me he said, ‘Well, what’s done is done. A Barukhalah can not be undone. The blessing I gave you is that you can read the mind of anything that is looking at you. But a Barukhalah is a blessing that is also a curse. You will know what everyone and everything is thinking as they look at you. Sometimes the unspoken truth is very painful.’”
Julia interrupted me at this point and said, “So if I look away or close my eyes you can’t hear my mind?”
“Not exactly,” I replied. “The effect lingers for a while… quite a while for a powerful person such as yourself.”
I laughed. “Yes, killing me would shut me up, but I’m not a threat to you. I may even be able to help you.”
She held up her empty glass and I signaled the bartended for a refill. As soon as we had our drinks, she pointed to a small table in the corner and said, “Let’s find a spot a little more private.”
As she started walking toward the table, she waved her hand slightly and the young man and woman who were sitting there suddenly stood up and walked out into the middle of the room. They both had very vacant expressions on their faces as they stumbled around the floor more or less dancing.
“They won’t be back,” she said with a smile and gestured for me to sit down.
“No,” I said looking her in the eyes, “it doesn’t work on me. I don’t think the little one intended that, but I have found that even someone as powerful as you can’t control me unless I totally open myself up and let you– like during sex.”
I laughed and said, “I found that out the hard way the first time I encountered one of the Succubi. She was almost as beautiful as you and would have drained me dry if she had been able to hold me, but when she climaxed the first time, I suddenly realized what she was trying to do and broke free. I’ve not had sex with a succubus since then.”
“Please let me speak,” she said angrily, “or I will walk out of here and warn all my sisters about you.”
“I’m sorry,” I said. I actually was sorry. “I will try to wait for you to voice what you want rather than jumping in.”
She smiled at me and waited. I could hear her thinking, so I knew she was testing me. I remained silent until she finally spoke.
“What do you want?” she asked.
“I want to know why you drain a man dry,” I said. “You don’t need that much life force. A single, normal sex act should give you enough to maintain yourself for several months.”
She looked over at me again. There was no smile. Her face was devoid of all emotion, but a sense of sadness, almost despair, flowed over me.
“I’m sorry,” I said. “What is happening?”
She gave a very weak smile. “Magic has gone out of the world,” she said flatly. “There was a time that I could draw power from almost anyone at any time– and I don’t mean the life force that I draw out during sex.” Her voice became slightly louder and somewhat shrill. “People used to believe in me!” she said loudly.
After looking around to see if anyone had heard her outburst she continued, “Almost all magical creatures rely on the belief of people to give them power. We have some intrinsic power, but we really can’t do all that much unless we have the power of belief behind us.”
“How does that make you have to gorge yourself when you have the chance?”
“Look around you,” she said, pointing out toward the costumed revelers in the club. “Tonight, these people believe. This is the one night of the year that they actually believe in Witches and Goblins… and Succubi. That is what gives me the power to become corporeal. I have to act now and draw as much life force as I can or I will not be here next year.”
The sadness washed over me once again. “Many of my sisters and brothers are gone,” she said with a sigh. “There was a time when we were numerous, mixing among the people, giving pleasure and drawing life force. Yes, it weakened the men– or women– but they could rebuild that life force in a few days– or weeks if we were greedy. It was only if someone severely angered us or was a real threat to us that we drew out all of their life force.”
She took a long sip of her drink. I thought she was again testing me, so I waited silently for her to speak.
“I am afraid,” she said slowly, “that the Succubi and Incubi are doomed to extinction.”
“There are many humans,” I said, “who would not regret that.” Her eyes flared with red light, but she remained silent as I continued, “And you have brought that on yourselves.”
Her eyes were now bright red and a soft hissing was coming from her mouth. Her body was quivering slightly as if she were tensing to strike.
I lifted my ale and held the glass up as if making a toast. “But I,” I said brightly, “can turn that around.”
I took a sip and then smiled at her as I set my glass back on the table. I could see that she was trying to calm herself. She took several deep breaths and then asked, “How?”
“You need someone to believe in you,” I began, “and you need a source of life force. Right?”
She nodded her head.
“I believe in you,” I said firmly, “and I have grown jaded sexually.”
She looked confused.
“When you can read a woman’s mind,” I said, “it is very easy to get her into bed. I know exactly what to say. I know what little gifts would absolutely melt her heart.”
“How do I know that isn’t what you are doing right now?” she asked.
“I might be,” I answered, “but it doesn’t make any difference. If I go to bed with you and totally open myself up to you, you are behind whatever it is that protects me. Once you start, someone as powerful as you could drain me completely and leave me a withered husk like you have other men. I would be just one more wrinkled old man the police are unable to identify.”
“Why take that risk?” she asked. I think she said it out loud, but I was starting to get a tad nervous and was having trouble being sure what I heard with my ears and what I heard with my mind.
“Why do men eat Fugu?” I responded. “It is just a fish. But if the poison isn’t properly washed out of that Puffer Fish, the first bite is your last– ever. That added thrill creates a taste that nothing else can match.”
“So I am just a Puffer Fish to you?” she said. I could tell she was upset by the comparison.
“No,” I said, “you are already the most tasty morsel a man could ever desire. And that makes you worth the risk.”
I paused and looked down at the table. “But there is more than that,” I said softly.
I continued to not meet her eyes through the long silence, then I continued, “I was there last year in New Orleans when you took that young man back behind the stage. I could hear your thoughts as you drained him.”
I looked up at her. “I expected to hear thoughts of triumph,” I said. “but instead I heard sadness and regret. ‘I am so sorry,’ you said in your mind, ‘but there is no other way.’ You stroked his wrinkled face that moments before had been young and vital and then said aloud, ‘I hope you at least had pleasure before you died.’”
Her eyes were no longer flaring red. Instead they were awash in tears that were overflowing onto her cheeks. “You were there?” she asked quietly.
“I was at the party,” I answered. “Your mind was extremely strong and I sought out the source of such pain. We linked that night. I have been able to tell where you were ever since.”
She looked at me and I knew what she wanted to ask. I probably should have waited for her to speak, but I wasn’t sure she would be able to bring herself to say it.
“Yes,” I said, “I could track you even while you were non-corporeal. I have been following you for the past year, trying to get a chance to speak with you. Obviously, I couldn’t see you, but I could hear your thoughts. … and I could feel your pain.”
I reached over and took her hand. “But more than that,” I said softly, “I came to know the real you and I fell in love.”
“What!?” she yelled. “Now you are just saying what you think I want to hear.”
“That could be,” I answered. “But it isn’t. Besides, what do you have to lose?”
I looked into her eyes. “Julia, I believe in you. If you accept that belief, it will give you the power to remain corporeal the whole year. If you find out I’m lying, you can just gorge yourself on whoever you want and then finish me off as dessert. Then you can go back into the ether until next Halloween.”
I took a deep breath, “But if I am telling the truth, you have a way to return to what once was before belief in magic left this world.”
We sat staring at each other in silence for several minutes. Then I said quietly, “Why don’t we blow this popsicle stand and go back to my pad?”
***
Soon we were naked in my bed. Her lips were warm and hungry. Her body was exquisite. And yes, her cunt pumped me like a milking machine once it got to that point. I held off entering her as long as possible as I drove her higher and higher with my hands and tongue. Just as it looked like she might be on the edge of orgasm, she rolled me over and began to ride me.
She dropped herself onto my rigid tool in one thrust, and once I was inside her, it was out of my control. She bounced up and down on me screaming a very loud and very high-pitched keening wail. I could feel what felt like gallons of cum erupting from my cock.
Things were starting to fade and I was afraid that I had given my life for love, but then she looked down at me. Her face was contorted in ecstasy but there was something else. She was struggling against something or struggling to do something.
Suddenly she collapsed down against me panting heavily. Her fingers were digging into the side of my chest.
“You don’t know how hard that was after all these years,” she groaned. “I almost couldn’t stop myself.” She stopped to pant for breath before continuing. “I still took more than I intended. You are going to be tired for a few days.”
She took a very deep breath. “But I feel so refreshed,” she said with a sigh.
She lay against me, slowly drawing circles on my chest with her finger. “Do you think this will really work?” she asked.
“It will or I will die trying,” I said with a laugh.
“That’s not funny,” she said, slapping me lightly with her hand. She then got very quiet. “I don’t think I want to lose you,” she said softly. “I’ve had thousands of men– and almost as many women– lust after me… … but you are the first person who actually loves me.”
She rolled off of me and sat beside me on the bed. “Others have said it, but that was just so they could mug with me.” She leaned over and again drew circles on my chest with her finger. “I think,” she said with a smile, “you actually mean it. You love me.”
“Do you think you will be able to love me?” I asked.
Again her pain washed over me. “Love is not possible for a Succubus,” she said sadly. “I guess those who loved couldn’t use the act of love as a way of harvesting life and died away.”
“What about those who are saddened that they have to harvest life force?” I asked softly.
“I guess we will also die away,” she said softly.
“Unless others willingly give you life force,” I said. “Do you have enough now to keep you for a while?”
“Yes,” she answered. “I don’t have enough to last until next Halloween, but I should be good for the next several months.”
“That gives us time to plan,” I said clapping my hands together.
“Plan what?”
“Among other things,” I answered, “next year’s Halloween party. But we also have to accumulate some funds. The only way we can pull this off is if we are rich. We need a big house and have to give a lot of big parties.”
“Why?” she asked. The confusion on her face made her even more beautiful.
“Because,” I said with a grin, “we need to make friends with a lot of young men and women if we are going to have a pool of lovers for you and your friends to snack on.”
She still look confused, so I added, “You don’t think I can keep you and all your friends alive by myself, do you? Besides, I will eventually shrivel up and die before my time from all the life essence I am giving you.”
“Not necessarily,” she said with a smile. “If we make love without me drawing life force from you, it disturbs the great pool from which all life force comes. I can’t pull it into me, but some of it will flow into you. And since it is new life force from the great pool, it refreshes you in a way that more than makes up for the life force I have drawn from you. Not only will you not die early, your life will be extended beyond anything you can imagine. I think that is the way it used to work when Succubi and Incubi were common and intermarried with mortals.”
She smiled again. This time it was a very sad smile. “We can not procreate among ourselves,” she explained. “You can get me pregnant, and an incubi can get a mortal woman pregnant, but only if we are not drawing life force from your body. We have been too hungry for too many years to allow ourselves the pleasure of sex without feeding, and so our numbers are diminishing. Someday we will disappear altogether.”
“Will all the children be Succubi or Incubi?” I asked.
“Not necessarily,” she answered. “The girls will all be beautiful and the boys will be extremely handsome, but we will not know if they are mortal or like me until they reach puberty.”
“Wow!” I exclaimed. “And I thought I had a hard time going through puberty and dealing with the changes in my body.”
***
It didn’t take long for us to acquire significant riches. Julia didn’t have the power to make money just appear, but if she accompanied me to the bank when I applied for a loan, the loan officer would get this blank look on his face– they were all men back then– and he would sign the papers for whatever we needed. The stock market was going crazy in those days and if you invested right you could make millions in a short time. Then one Wednesday morning, Julia came to me and said, “We have to draw all of our money out of the stock market… today!”
I didn’t ask why, but by nightfall, we had converted almost everything into cash or gold. The next day we completed our exit from the stock market, but it was “Black Thursday,” and prices were dropping rapidly. Many of our friends were wiped out the next week on “Black Tuesday” when the market crashed completely and triggered the Great Depression.
That actually worked out rather well for Julia and her friends. With my ability to read minds, I could tell which of our impoverished friends were really planning to commit suicide and Julia or her friends obliged them in a way that made it look like they hadn’t killed themselves. They didn’t attack them or anything like that. Julia merely explained to them what she was and offered to end their life in a very pleasurable way.
I was surprised at how many women wanted to kill themselves rather than face a life of poverty. Julia, however, said that she had seen this many times before. It is much harder for a woman to give up a life of luxury than it is a man. Perhaps that is because a woman immediately recognizes the full reality of what has occurred while a man only accepts bits and pieces of the truth of their new status in life and gradually accepts his decline to the bottom.
Having riches when no one else did was both a blessing and a curse. Because we had money, we– like the Rockefellers and Kennedys and others who actually controlled the stock market behind the scenes– were in a position to phenomenally increase our wealth. But public opinion turned against the opulence of the upper class. It was not unusual for the very rich to be spit upon in the streets. We sold off our mansion at a great loss, moved, and changed our names.
We were able to buy another mansion, just as grand, also at a very reduced price. And the locals were glad to have someone with resources come in and buy the local plant and keep it open and running. Thus, the Barkly’s– as we were now known– though extremely rich, were loved by the people. That love was made even stronger by our tradition of opening the mansion grounds each month during the summer for a free picnic.
That was Julia’s idea. She knew that the working class were much more likely to believe in magic and that such a gathering would provide the necessary power for some of her sisters and brothers to take bodily form. They had to promise absolutely to only snack, and she patrolled the grounds constantly to make sure that was enforced. There was a lot of gossip and talk about what went on in the bushes during those picnics, but no one suspected anything because not everyone in the bushes was coupling with a Succubus or Incubus.
It didn’t take long for many of her siblings to become strong enough that they could remain corporeal and sure enough that they could trust not having to overfeed. Some even fell in love– or at least acquired a taste for a particular mortal. They married and became a “normal” part of the community. A lot of the upper management at the plant were Succubi or Incubi. It was unusual to have women in management back then, but they had no trouble getting the workers to follow their direction. The town and surrounding area has prospered ever since.
Which brings us back to the reason I am here. Halloween is just around the corner and there are many of our young men and women who would love to have you attend the party this year. I can guarantee you will have a good time– a very good time. And Julia and I will be there in case any of the young sluts or satyrs lose control of themselves and go too far. Who knows, love may even bloom and you will find your life-mate at this party.
What I am saying is that this is your official invitation to my annual Halloween Party. The place is Barkly Mansion. The time is after dark on Halloween night.
I’ll give you some time to think about it.
Don’t worry about an RSVP, after listening to me for this long, our minds are linked. I’ll be able to hear your answer.
***
Would you go?
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END OF STORY
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