Free Succubus in the City by Nina Harper

want commitment. I’ve condemned a fair number of reasonable men to the afterlife in damnation, and I’ve felt some degree of regret about them. In the past few hundred years I’ve been avoiding the nice ones. There are enough self-righteous louts, arrogant jerks, and self-involved narcissists that I don’t have to deplete the supply of genuinely worthwhile men in the world.
    Nothing about this particular specimen prompted my sympathy.
    “What’s your name?” I purred. Not because I cared but because I had to have something to call him.
    “Kevin,” he said hesitantly, as if that much pronunciation had been a burden.
    “Well, then, Kevin, I hope you’re feeling good. I hope this shower is making you feel better.”
    He grabbed my breasts again in his ham hands and proceeded to squeeze. “Hey, remember Mr. Whipple,” I reminded him, but he was too blitzed to get the reference. “Don’t squeeze the Charmin,” I added.
    “Your name is Charmin?” he asked, unsurprised.
    “Yeah,” I lied, but for some reason his mistake bothered me. Maybe because he never did ask my name.
    Suddenly I wanted him gone as quickly as possible. I didn’t want to have to make him come in order to go, but that was my inescapable burden. My prey have only one way to Hell, and that’s through Heaven. Or at least one really spectacular orgasm.
    Sighing, and knowing it was only a preliminary promise, I started to caress his cock with my soapy hand. Big shock, he started to get hard. I would have bet money that he had been too drunk to get an erection, but clearly I was wrong. Maybe it was his capacity for alcohol, maybe it was that he had a quick metabolism, or maybe he was just lucky. Maybe it was me who was lucky.
    He had slumped to the bottom of the oversized tub and was stretched out as if on a bed. He sighed and leaned his head back against the high-contoured tub wall as I wrapped my fingers more firmly around his hardening member and began to squeeze in earnest. If I were lucky, if I were very lucky…
    I helped him to stand and started to give him the hand job of his life in the shower. When he sagged against the tile I supported him with my hip and shoulder because if I were very, very lucky I wouldn’t have to do any more.
    Just a few more good, firm strokes.
    “Oh yeah, oh yeah, baby, don’t stop,” he moaned.
    I didn’t. I didn’t dare hope but I pumped my hand like a prayer of deliverance and licked into his ear for good measure.
    He just leaned against the tile and let me do him. Since he’d stopped squeezing my breasts, he hadn’t bothered to touch me, except to hang on to my shoulder when his knees went weak. Not even an attempt to turn me on, to do anything for me at all.
    I held his balls lightly and then massaged softly behind them with my left hand as my right kept going. I tightened my grip and added a bit of speed, of insistence. I wanted him to come. I wanted him gone.
    And then he came in the shower, all over my thighs and his. Not a huge orgasm but I didn’t care. He had been so drunk I was shocked he could manage at all. Desperation, it had to have been.
    He came and he cried out, and suddenly he disappeared in a flash of flame and a swirl of greasy gray ashes down the drain.
    Now I only had clothes to hand over to Vincent in the morning.
    Even though it was near three in the morning, and I had to be at work in five hours, I turned off the spray and got out the Scrubbing Bubbles and scoured the tub immediately.
    Then I took a long and very hot shower with my favorite lavender soap and shampooed my hair twice.
    When I felt fresh and decent I toweled my hair dry and then wrapped a clean towel around it. If I could get it mostly dry, I would only have to blow dry for a few minutes before I went to sleep. Then I took care of business.
    First, I wrested Kevin’s wallet from his wet jeans. He had almost two hundred dollars in cash, which went into my wallet. I looked at his driver’s license. I was right, he