Trained By The Succubus - BlackTieCasual (2024)

Chapter 1

Chapter Text

The smell of sex sat like a heavy fog in the air of the dark bedroom. Sweat, c*nt, and hot breath, and in the thin sliver of space between Holly and her latest conquest, a thin string of spit still connected their mouths.

If there was a third party, an onlooker, Holly thought, they would be stunned by the contrast. She was a short brunette, pale with a slight tummy, and she leaning dominantly over a much taller, tanner blond woman. In the deep darkness of the ritzy apartment, lit only by the nightlight of the city outside, she could barely make anything out but forms. She mused to herself that this must be what sonar is like for bats, contours without color, nothing but the concrete figures that make up a body.

She peered beneath her, gazing through the little space between their warm, glistening bodies. Her tummy and wide hips looming above that lithe waist, those toned abs, and a pair of gorgeously perky breasts. Holly felt like a warrior, having just felled an enemy goddess. The soft, blond-bushed mound of Whitney’s c*nt was the sweetest prize a battle could offer.

“f*ck… You’re such a good girl, Whit. I didn’t think I would end up having you like this when we met.”

It had only been a few hours since they met at Oasis, their small town’s only real lesbian bar. They were both semi-regulars and Holly had seen Whitney’s face there before, but had never spoken. Whitney had been, in Holly’s mind, some faraway celebrity model, the kind of person you don’t just approach. Luckily for Holly, Whitney had been the one to traverse the loud, dim dancefloor, hungry for conversation.

When they had actually gotten to talking, half-whispering about their respective escapades over the drinks they bought each other, Holly was certain that Whitney’s status as a self-identified dominant would reduce their burgeoning romance into a simple friendship. Holly was a dom as well, standing at 5’3” over the lying figures of countless one-night stands. Holly never attached well to her lovers, and so she took all kinds and never described herself as having a ‘type’.

College girls, shamefully closeted housewives, alternative women with permanently disaffected scowls, it really made very little difference to her. Holly was a notoriously personable woman, and as a teacher in the off-season, she cared considerably less than others about showing up sexed and unfocused to whatever part-time summer job had taken her in. That was also a large part of why she was fine meeting the leggy, pin-up-proportioned Whitney at Oasis on a Wednesday night. Whitney had something in common with Holly before they even started flirting: they were both careless, but neither of them was reckless.

Though she didn’t believe it applied to her, ‘reckless’ was a word Holly had heard plenty of times before. One-night stands are reckless. Cruising at the bar is reckless. Showing up late and hot with her hair undone was reckless. What others failed to see behind her big doe eyes was that she was in perfect control of every aspect of her life.

Noncommittal sexual encounters kept her in charge of herself. f*cking strangers in the off-season kept her in control of her relationship with her career, if a bit desperate and destitute in the Fall and Winter. Cuffing season be damned, as a teacher she was in perfect control of the classroom as well. The driver’s seat was where she felt the most comfortable. That was where she felt she belonged, and so too was it in Whitney’s apartment.

“Holly… That was f*cking ethereal.”

Without warning, Holly collapsed and let her weight rest on her lover. Arms wrapped around body, lips met again in the dark. Open eyes were, for the moment, as good as closed. There was nothing but the empty dark of night, the sound of rain against the window, the smell of sex, and the feeling of bodies and lips enmeshed.

And then, breaking the pitter-patter of the rain, Whitney spoke again.

“God, you feel tired.”

Holly could feel her face getting red, and she nuzzled it into Whitney’s neck.

“Well of course. You think it’s easy dominating you? I bet nobody ever does it because you’re built like a f*cking tower.”

A tight-lipped, hummed chuckle rang out through the room. Fingers weaved into Holly’s brown hair, nails scratched gently at her scalp.

“That might just be true, and I really f*cking appreciate you doing it, but you feel so…” Whitney hummed again, softly to herself.

She had eight more than Holly’s thirty years, and she lived comfortably on inheritance compared to Holly’s school paychecks, but that was about all each knew about the other’s life. Holly perceived that Whitney had just the basest hint of a southern drawl in her voice. She mused that perhaps Whitney was from Texas.

And then, she thought about Whitney in chaps, ass out and ready for the strap again. She throbbed and tensed her thighs, but remained relaxed.

“I dunno, Holly. You seem f*cking exhausted. Not in the current sense, mind you, but in the general way. You’ve dommed a dom, but do you ever give yourself time to submit?”

Holly sighed and kissed Whitney’s cheek, not dodging the question so much as denying it. Whitney listened to the raindrops on the window, letting them play like notes of a lullaby in her ears. It wasn’t long before the two of them were asleep together, tangled in each other’s arms.

Chapter 2

Chapter Text

With morning came another escape.

Holly had always woken up early. She needed time before work to really focus on herself, and in the summer it was about watching the sunrise from her apartment window.

She slipped out of the covers expertly, sure not to shift Whitney’s sleeping form. The last thing she wanted was more questions, like the one she had barely avoided answering the night before. Even if Whitney understood Holly’s need for control without pathologizing it, Holly hadn’t gone back for seconds in a long time. It was easy to slip from bed to bed, to focus solely on herself when she wasn’t spanking, biting, or f*cking some beautiful vessel with her strap. Mornings were a no-go for her because mornings-after would, she feared, lead to second nights. Second nights would of course lead to thirds and fourths. It was clear to her that eventually it would all lead to heartbreak.

Soon enough she was cocooned again in her lightwash jeans and her sensible maroon halter. She had been so excited for Summer to arrive, it felt oddly somber for her to slip her flipflops back on and think of facing the mild morning heat. She found herself staring absently out of Whitney’s highrise bedroom window as the sun peeked up over the horizon. The sky was gorgeous gradient of soft, sleepy blues bleeding into oranges and foamy reds. It was like Venus rising from the ocean.

She glanced back at Whitney, face red like it had been the night before. Without saying a word, she slipped out into the crisp morning air.

Days drifted by for Holly. She only ever really lived at night, just like she always felt the most comfortable in other people’s apartments. It had become true for her that she slept better in strangers’ bedrooms as well, but when that thought crept up on her she was quick to suppress it. Why focus on the flaws of her current lifestyle when she had no plans to change it?

She had just arrived at her floor when she felt her phone buzzing in her back pocket. Quickly, she opened the door and grabbed her phone to check if it was some distraught or halfhearted message from Whitney, but to her dismay it was a promotional text from Oasis. Holly sighed, decided that she didn’t care about the new weekly Trivia Night, and tossed her phone onto the couch.

Why was she still thinking about Whitney, anyway? It was over, and a lovely night with a beautiful woman would soon decay into awkward half-glances at the bar. It was asinine not just to have done it, but to worry about it. One and done, she said to herself.

She slipped into a pair of black jeans, one and done. She grabbed her blue vest and nametag, one and done. Black non-slip shoes, hair back, no extravagant jewelry or makeup, one and done. She would be dressed just like everyone else at Savemore, one of a million retail and discount grocery stores all with the same name.

One, she said again to herself as she fixed her bun in the mirror, and done.

Thursday went by without an issue, lazily creeping along its measure of the calendar as Holly oversaw stocking in the boxed meals section of Savemore. She checked her phone again on her lunch break, and then took an impromptu cigarette break an hour before she got off.

She stared at her blank screen in the empty loading dock, and she could feel Samantha’s eyes over her shoulder as it faded to black. Not that she really minded, Samantha had given her a cigarette and an opportunity to check her phone. Sam was a stocky butch with short, red hair which she wore in a combover. As soon as Holly saw her while getting introduced to the Shift Lead position, walking the aisles with a confident and somewhat authoritarian swagger, she knew they would get along.

“Expecting someone?” Samantha’s was a directness that Holly greatly appreciated.

“No, not really. I met up with someone recently and I thought maybe she would want to…” Holly shook her head, and decided that ‘talk’ wasn’t the right word, “Follow up.”

They each took a drag before making subdued and knowing eye-contact. Samantha turned a corner of her mouth up into a wry half-smile, “Uh huh. And was a following up something that you discussed?”

Holly rolled her eyes, shook her head and just barely stopped herself from sticking her tongue out at Sam. The ginger must have been 21 at the oldest, and when Holly asked if Sam ever went to Oasis, the only response she got was that Sam had ‘stopped drinking at 19,’ which put a bit of a damper on their conversation. It was nice to know that Sam was comfortable enough with Holly to be playfully accusatory.

“Well, if there wasn’t any kind of understanding about it, you shouldn’t expect her to do it on her own. And anyway, you gotta think: do you really like her, or do you just wanna f*ck her again?” Holly mulled it over, and offered no real response to Sam. They each took another drag, but Holly’s cigarette was down to the filter and she was tapping her toe against the concrete. It sounded like a the ticking of a clock working doubletime.

After some more silence, Sam patted Holly heartily on the back and told her to think it over before walking back inside. Holly was stomping the butt of her cigarette out when she heard Sam in the storage, chewing out some young worker for not grabbing enough inventory. She sighed, and let the day go on without her.

Holly spent Thursday night thinking about what had gone on before she left for Whitney’s apartment. Sam had wormed her way into Holly’s brain, though not as deeply as the tall blond.

Do I actually like her, Holly mused. How had it gone, exactly?

Whitney had come to her, draped in the dramatically low lighting of Oasis. They sat together at the bar, and began some casual verbal foreplay. They were charming to each other, smiles turned into little shared laughs. Whitney had asked about Holly’s job, had asked lots of questions about what she did and if it was fulfilling. At the time it seemed drab, and Holly wasn’t particularly enthused to talk about how rude her students could be when she was trying to get into this lovely woman’s pants…

But it was sweet, right? Moreover, it was selfless. Whitney talked a little about herself and how there were problems with her family, but she never gave too much away because the conversation was primarily focused on how inviting she found Holly to be. But Holly wasn’t just inviting, or even just desperate. She was approaching drunk.

She turned the memory over in her head, trying not to accidentally slip into little imaginings of the night before. Whitney was a little southern, a little classy, very well composed and focused and caring. She made sure Holly drank water, for Christ’s sake. And then they went to Whitney’s ritzy highrise apartment and laid in her innumerable-thread-count sheets and kissed. Whitney wrapped a hand around Holly’s throat, and in the throes of both fear and desire she pulled back and pushed Whitney onto the bed.

Holly could still see that tiny waist giving way to an incredibly curvy ass, could still feel those more-than-handfuls of breasts pressing against her palm as she took Whitney behind with a strap, could still feel that toned body beneath her own, as her fingers slipped under the waistband of her black jeans.

But Holly was alone, on her couch, in her apartment with the light off and ready to fall asleep. And it was miserable to fade out of the memory and arrive back in her own decrepit little world. She sighed, and fired a quick text off to Whitney.

“Hey, last night was lovely, let me know if—“

And just like that, a text arrived with supernaturally good timing.

“Hiya Holly, I really loved meeting you. I could have made you breakfast, but I kinda guessed you weren’t ready to stick around. I hope it was comfortable for you, I’m here if you ever want to meet up again or even just talk.”

Holly deleted her unsent text and laid her phone face-down on the couch beside her, submerging herself in darkness again.

Chapter 3

Chapter Text

Friday was blurry.

Holly had woken up still laying on the couch, hair messy and fingers still lingering lazily above her waistband. The sun was coming in through the blinds in uniform streaks, but Holly didn’t remember waking up to turn her alarm off. As she sat up, all she could think about was the prior night’s dream: Whitney smiling in the bar, Whitney’s closed eyes and open mouth as she moaned, the contours of her toned body in the dark, glistening with sweat and sin and need.

Holly was woozy, struggling to open her eyes fully as she stumbled her way to the bathroom and glanced in the mirror. Was she sick? There was no pallid mask over her peachy face, no sign of sickness except for her disorientation. She tried to shake it off, but when she finally got going she found that she was so… sensitive to the world.

She was unnaturally aware of her position in space, of the feeling and texture of each thing she touched. The water in the shower covered her like a silk sheet, and the mist that filled her lungs was nearly enough to topple her. Why did she feel so needy, so perfectly aware and still so aimless?

She rubbed herself down with a fresh towel and took in the softness of the fabric before tossing it to the tiled floor of her bathroom. If all else fails, blame Whitney.

Soft navy blue panties, loosely flowing nylon shorts, she could feel it all against her skin, against her legs, against her mons. She departed for her morning walk after donning a black t-shirt bra and a soft maroon blouse, but soon found that the heat she so readily welcomed felt nearly extreme enough to kill her. Whatever effect Whitney had had on Holly, it was ruining her day already.

When she got back to her apartment building, she stood in the vestibule and stared down at her phone, wondering what to say to Whitney’s text. She hadn’t responded the night before, because as soon as she saw the text she felt immediately pathetic. Not only because it had been so long since she last ‘went back’ to someone, but also because she had evaluated the night leading up to their escapades and had found a terrible truth buried in the haze: Whitney was genuinely nice, and genuinely caring.

Which was all well and good, because nobody hates getting doted on, but it also meant that Holly had been a real bitch by leaving in the morning. For some odd reason, she felt mad at Whitney for it all.

She composed text after text in her own head, blaming Whitney for making her feel bad. How dare you show up in my dream last night, how dare you pollute my brain with thoughts of your kindness and your demeanor and your body. How dare you somehow make me oversleep and feel so body-sick and make me so pathetic. This is my world, and I’ve spent far too long cultivating it to let you show me how little it really is.

She didn’t respond. She was too proud, or afraid, or ‘something’, and so she stuffed her phone back in her pocket and got ready for Friday at Savemore.

Black jeans knelt down to meet the pristine white floor as Holly surveyed rows and rows of boxed macaroni and cheese. The intense feeling of the morning had dissipated, and she was feeling like herself again by the time work began. Even though she was feeling better, she was occupied with thoughts of picking up some booze on the way home, avoiding Oasis and therefore the possibility of running into Whitney.

Of course, she mused with a secret smile, Whitney would probably be nothing but polite if they met again. She had been so cordial before, it seemed as though Whitney didn’t know how to be any other way. Holly had told Sam that it wouldn’t have worked out anyhow, since they were both people-pleasers and all. Sam laughed a single snort and shook her head, but didn’t offer any further comments.

Just then, out of the corner of her eye, Holly swore she could see Whitney walking past the aisle entrance. f*ck, she thought, I can’t let her see me here, I—

“Excuse me! Do you work here?” The voice was shrill, the cadence quick and expectant. Whoever this was, she sounded absolutely pissed. When Holly turned to look up at the customer, she was faced with bottle-blond hair and overdone makeup, and the nasty scowl plastered along the lower-half of this middle-aged soccermom’s face. Holly wondered how big a mouth could possibly be while still maintaining such thin lips.

Standing, Holly’s eyes were at the level of the mouth again, and she traced the outline of lipstick up past the lipline and onto the woman’s muzzle. It was a nice try, she thought, but there’s no hiding it. After she brushed herself off, Holly pointed to her name badge, which instead of ‘Holly’, said, ‘Ms. Darling’, and mumbled an affirmative.

The customer seemed unimpressed.

“Yeah, okay. So, Haw-lee, I was here yesterday. Now, I don’t usually come in because I like to do the mobile delivery order stuff, but lately the service on that has been terrible.”

The comment seemed to end there, which left Holly puzzled. She had just opened her mouth to ask what the issue was when the customer continued in her shrieky, condescending tone.

“Uh huh, so I actually had to come in here yesterday and I ask someone where the boxed stuff was,” Holly glanced around her at the boxes of pre-measured pasta and mixings, hundreds of boxes in perfect little rows, each with their own brand name and catchy slogan printed on. She opened her mouth and was interrupted again, “I was told that they were in Aisle 17, but I went there and I couldn’t see them there. Now, you can probably tell I’m a busy person. I just got off work and I have kids, and I don’t have a lot of time where I’m not working, you see, so I expect my time to be valued pretty highly, right? So like I said, I don’t really come in here, but I was in and I got told Aisle 17… Okay? Is this Aisle 17?”

Holly knew it before she looked at the sign at the aisle’s entrance. The two of them were standing in Aisle 18, a single aisle away. Holly shook her head, “No, this—“

“That’s right, and I didn’t have time yesterday to run around your store like a chicken with its head cut off. I needed to hurry, and it’s not very good service to get told the wrong f*cking aisle, so that just… Ruined my night!”

Holly was shocked that such a suburban specimen of modern humanity would stoop to saying ‘f*ck’ out loud in public. The woman seemed uncomfortable saying it as well, as if it was an uncomfortable necessity. ‘f*ck’ to this woman was like a topical ointment, something you don’t bring out in front of others unless it was urgently needed. Holly tried to stop herself, but she smiled a little anyway.

“Are you smiling at this!? So you think it’s funny that my night was all… Messed up!?”

Holly raised a hand to excuse herself and apologize, but before she knew it the customer had pushed her backward. Holly stumbled, eyes wide with shock and mouth open inelegantly as she sat back against the hard shelves and boxes of macaroni and cheese.

“You know, I never come in here and I wanted to find someone to talk to about how awful the service is so that they could fix it! I just wanted to help you improve your dumb little store but obviously I ended up talking to some stupid, powerless peon who can’t handle taking anything seriously!” Holly was dumbstruck, staring up at the woman with a mixture of leftover laughter and confusion. The way the soccermom moved was so unnatural to her as well, moving in and getting too close to her face before reeling back and standing just a bit too straight. Holly gave up on trying to respond, and the woman continued as she began to leave hurriedly, “I’m never coming back here, you stupid f*cking bitch! Learn to do your job instead of sitting around with your thumb up your ass and your stupid mouth open!”

Holly was aghast, staring in disbelief as the customer stomped her Toms down the aisle towards the exit.

“You should thank the people here for hiring you, it’s nice that this place gives out so much charity!”

Holly sat, and at the same time as the customer rounded the corner, Same was at the other end of the aisle, jogging over.

Holly was shaken for the rest of the day, and Sam’s promise that whoever that was would never be allowed back in the store did little to quell the real issue lying dormant within her brain: for just a moment, under a minute, control had been completely relinquished from Holly. Nobody in their right mind would side with the bitchy soccermom who had assaulted her, and she knew better than to take an outburst like that personally on any level, but the fact of the matter was that Holly had been put into submission against her will. It had racked her.

That night, Holly thought for a long while about going to Oasis. The thought of seeing Whitney again was as alluring as it was terrifying, and even as she envisioned the blond goddess’ flirtatious smile, she just as soon felt those fingers around her throat.

That comfort, that alluringly mysterious haze that existed around Whitney, all of it disappeared as soon as she tried to get Holly to submit. There was a fear there, buried deep. Holly scheduled her days by the hour, her meals ahead of time, her affairs were singular instances and incredibly well-contained, but that didn’t stop Whitney from trying to put her in her place. It didn’t stop Suburban Soccermom from pushing her down in the aisle and spouting out petty, fetid little insults at her. Perhaps the only way to gain control over that final chaotic aspect was to find a way to understand dominance within submission. Maybe—

Her phone buzzed in her pocket as she brought the bottle down from her lips. Peach schnapps on her couch in her underwear. It was another text from Whitney.

“Just checking in. How ya doin?”

Holly swallowed her groggy, medicinal mouthful of liqueur and responded.

“Rough day. Sorry about disappearing yesterday. I had stuff going on.”

She whispered ‘bad liar’ out loud to herself, drowning the shame of responding to Whitney at all with another swig.

“Sorry to hear that, Doll. You wanna tell me all about it face to face?”

Holly’s heart was in her stomach, but her eyes were already scanning the floor for her jeans.

Chapter 4

Chapter Text

Holly’s Uber driver was silent the whole drive, the radio of his Honda Civic playing lofi just a bit too softly.

Holly always preferred to be in the driver’s seat, to be in control, but she had forfeited that by getting just a bit tipsy before venturing out to meet Whitney. She had gathered a cute outfit for the occasion, faded jeans and a crop-top sweater she had made when she decided she wasn’t sentimental enough about college to let it get in the way of a cute trend.

The car was just a bit too cold, AC huffing gently outward from the vents at her feet and body. Her nipples were hard against the fabric of her sweater, pressing gentle points into the surface of the fabric, feeling sensitive again like they had that same morning.

Eventually, she was back in front of the downtown highrise, blushing a little after stumbling gracelessly out of the seat. She nodded, and fumbled her phone out of her pocket to give the driver five very courteous stars for driving her a fair distance in the nighttime.

The apartment building’s doors were all wood, finished well and stained dark. Holly’s own was a clunky metal, painted over in white. She smiled softly at the idea of luxury and knocked three times.

After a moment had passed in silence, with Holly staring down the well-lit hallway to her left, the front door opened and Whitney stood in the frame. She seemed a bit skinnier then somehow, despite only a few days having passed since their last meeting. Holly’s eyes traced their way down her body to where the fabric rested against Whitney’s midriff. She thought about whispering something obscene, but was quickly interrupted by Whitney’s hands caressing her cheeks.

“Darling, you’ve been drinking. Do you do that a lot? I’ve seen you a few times at Oasis…” Whitney’s voice was so soothing, punctuated by a soft southern lilt that hid itself until each sentence was nearing its end. Holly was entranced.

“Uh huh.” That was all she managed, stepping forward and wrapping her arms around Whitney’s thin waist. She could feel the way the curves of her body gave way to her wide hips, now encased in a pair of soft cotton joggers.

“Why don’t you make yourself at home, Hon,” Whitney stepped back to let Holly in, depriving her of the warmth of her embrace. Holly, slightly rejected, considered just how drunk she had gotten. It was just tipsy at her own apartment. Had the anxiety of returning to Whitney somehow ramped down her tolerance? Had it just taken longer than usual to hit peak? She wasn’t sure why she felt so… removed.

That had always been the one true draw of alcohol to Holly. She had conducted herself well in college, but drinking as often as she did offered a kind of very safe release. She wasn’t impulsive, there was no giving in to the intensity of emotions (aside from some very smug joy, on occasion). It was like a softer form of what she needed most from Whitney, a submission.

“You know…” Holly muttered as she walked with Whitney to the bedroom, “You called me Darling before. That’s actually my last name… Holly Darling.”

Whitney gave Holly a soft smile, gazing down with tired eyes and gentle laugh-lines as she kissed Holly’s cheek. Aside from that, there was no real response, while gave Holly pause.

“Isn’t that fu—“

In an instant, Holly was falling back onto the bed. There were those sheets again, that window from which she had seen the sunrise and never the sunset. There again, too, was that feeling of having been shoved. Pushed back. Here it felt more like she had been swept deftly off her feet. Whitney stood above her, eyes leering lovingly at her body in the gentle low light of the bedroom.

And then there were fingers. Fingertips, more correctly, working their way up Holly’s chest, onto her bare neck.

“Holly Darling, you didn’t let me do this last time. You were just so eager to stay in control, weren’t you? You need that power to feel safe, and I found that so sad,” Whitney leaned in close, low over Holly’s form. Holly could feel the older goddess’ breath against her skin, against her neck, slipping into all the little places those possessive fingertips didn’t rest.

“I wasn’t comfortable with it, but I still needed you,” Holly’s words were coming out soft and short, like every breath had hitched in her throat on its way out. She sounded desperate, and more than that, she sounded scared.

Whitney just smiled, and the lights of the bedroom faded into that deep darkness which removed all color from any figure Holly could make out. Once again, there was just contours, topography, the abstract of their bodies. She felt Whitney’s gentle fingertips start to drift further south, abandoning their place at her neck.

And then, somehow, it got darker. And darker. And eventually, there was nothing but sleep.

Chapter 5

Chapter Text

When Holly awoke, she was almost nude.

There were her breasts, her slight tummy, and her fuzzy mound, but she knew at once that she wasn’t completely naked. It was disconcerting, waking up without a hangover and still feeling that groggy haze in the morning light. When had she ever been one to sleep in? And to do it two days in a row…

She tried to pull her hands down from above her head, but they wouldn’t budge. She shook the mess of brown hair out of her face and strained against the pillow to see upwards: handcuffs were wrapped around her wrists. Not just handcuffs, though, soft pink mitts kept her hands flat, too cushioned to ball into fists.

She looked down again: there were soft leather cuffs wrapped around her ankles, encased around the ankles of a pair of frilly pink socks.

Holly was perplexed. She didn’t remember the prior night beyond just meeting Whitney at the door. There was something hazy blocking her mind from pulling up any memories past the doorway. Had she agreed to this? Even if she had, there was no way she would have let Whitney keep her locked up overnight. She pulled at the chains, grunting gently.


The response was a set of muffled, languid footsteps beyond the bedroom door. Approaching… Then fading in the distance. Holly pulled again, rattling what little slack had been afforded her chains. It was useless to try and break free, spread eagle and in need of something more than coverage.

Soon enough, the door opened, and in the doorway stood a goddess bathed in amber morning sun rays. Whitney was smiling, hair and makeup immaculate. Those tired eyes nearly hid under the formal swoop of her blond hair, done up in gently waving curls.

“Good morning, Holly,” Her southern lilt was in full swing, as though she had been hiding it the whole time and was just barely beginning to reveal the truth of herself to her lover. Holly whimpered, lips quivering. Whitney simply nodded in response, stepping forward gently in a pair of white click-clack heels and a dandelion-yellow sundress. Was that, Holly wondered to herself with eyebrows furrowed in desperation, an apron wrapped around Whitney’s waist?

“Good morning…” Holly figured that more than anything, it was a polite impulse, “I uhm. I thought last night was really fun, and it looks like your day’s already started… If you could undo my cuffs, I don’t want to intrude, it was really nice letting you dominate last night and all, but—“

Whitney interrupted with a polite, mouthy laugh. Lips pursed, eyes closed, she leaned down and kissed Holly’s neck.

“You didn’t let me dominate you last night, silly girl,” Whitney’s voice wormed its way through Holly’s ears and into her foggy mind. All Holly could do was raise her eyebrows in confusion. The questions were unspoken, but clear between the two of them, and Whitney continued elegantly, “You waltzed into my bedroom and fell asleep. You don’t remember?”

Holly looked up at Whitney, watching her lithe figure as she stood tall and surveyed Holly. Whitney looked, Holly decided, hungry.

“You don’t remember, I know. Golly, when you got in you were swaying like a sailor, you fell asleep in all your clothes as soon as you hit the bed.”

More questions. Holly brought her thighs together in a futile effort to hide herself. She had absolutely no idea why she felt so embarrassed. Whitney watched, eyes widening slightly at the sight.

“And geez, you slept like a log in the swamp, Darlin’.”

Holly let the moment simmer, Whitney’s words and accent working their way through her mind again.

“Where are my clothes?” Holly tried not to sound accusatory, but it was difficult given her neediness and embarrassment and fear.

“No, we’re not worrying about your clothes right now. I got mine on, that’s about all that matters, isn’t it? If you wanted me to cover you up, I would happily oblige,” Holly struggled against her chains again, nodding gently. She had never woken up in chains, every little movement seemed to strain her joints against them and she needed to consciously relax herself to stop from pulling.

Whitney hummed a smile out of her pursed lips and reached down below the side of the bed, past where Holly could see, and grabbed something up from the floor. It was soft and pink, too uniform and stocky to be panties. For just a moment, Holly thought it might be a pair of joggers like the pair Whitney had worn last night. She remembered the tall woman dressed casually, her current outfit made her look like a Stepford robot in comparison.

Then, it came fully into view, as Whitney unfolded the fabric: it was a puffy pink diaper. Holly furrowed her brow again, shaking her head, “N-no, I don’t want to do any more of this with you. Really, I jsut want to go home.”

Whitney shot a sideways glance at Holly, continuing to prep the diaper before laying it across Holly’s tensed lap.

“This is what you’re gettin’, Sweet. Trust me, it’ll help you feel a bit more at home here, and you’re stayin’ so you need all the at-home you can get.”

What did that mean? Holly shook her head again and watched as Whitney’s slender hand dipped back beneath her field of vision, back to the floor. Clearly, some sort of array had been laid out of tools and toys for Whit to pick from. Holly opened her mouth to respond, ready to start shouting or spitting swears out at her captor.

Just as soon as her mouth was opened, it was closed again. Holly felt a strap wrap around her jaw, and soft, lithe fingers worked some kind of adjuster at the back of Holly’s head, just above her neck. Her mouth wasn’t exactly closed, it was occupied. Invaded, but not by anything too terribly obtrusive. She couldn’t speak, but her tongue rested against the soft plastic bulb of the gag.

But it wasn’t quite a gag. It tapered so that Holly could rest her teeth against a connector between the gag and some kind of plate. She opened her eyes again, and while she couldn’t see what was in her mouth, she knew already that it was a pacifier.

“There we go, Holly. I don’t need you getting all loud at me, throwing a tantrum. How fittin’ of your position, to throw a fit just because Mommy’s doing what she knows is best for you.”

Despite the fear migrating from Holly’s chest to her throat, she couldn’t bring herself to really ‘be afraid’ of Whitney. Whit had maintained from the beginning of this awful encounter a kind of calmness that ensured Holly that she was safe. Whitney was in control, the kind of control Holly could only hope of ever cultivating. She wasn’t authoritative, she was guiding with force. At the same time, she was graceful, unstrained by her efforts to subdue Holly.

If Holly could only have properly consented, perhaps there would have been some actual comfort in that thought. Holly strained against her cuffs, shaking her arms and legs and trying to jump her body up from the bed in quick jolts. The effort didn’t last long, and eventually her scowling eyes settled on glaring at Whitney. Whit, meanwhile, sat at the edge of the bed patiently, watching as Holly struggled. After a moment, she nodded, and kept nodding until silence had returned. Holly tried one last time, stretching her back and arching herself towards the ceiling.

In a single, swift movement, Whitney snatched the diaper off of Holly’s lap and slid it under her lower back, right in position.

“There we go, maybe it’ll be a bit easier for you to cooperate now that it’s already half-done,” Whitney did the first truly forceful thing Holly had ever seen her endeavor in: she delivered three quick, direct spanks to the inside of Holly’s left thigh, and then her right, and repeated until Holly separated her stinging legs with a stifled groan. Just as the opportunity arose, Whitney grabbed the front of the diaper and wound it up over Holly’s puss*, pressing the flat of it against the front of her waist. Holly was powerless to stop Whitney from taping up the sides of the diaper, and then it was done.

“Such a good girl, once we really get it goin’. You just take a bit of persuasion, it’s all about that nasty headspace you’re in. You’re always fightin’ for control, always trying your best to stay on top. Such a tired girl,” Whitney plunged her hand down to the side of the bed again and retrieved a wand.

It was, just like everything else had been, a soft pink color from the mechanism to the bulb. Holly shook her head again and Whitney nodded with a polite smile. Wordlessly, but far from silently, Whitney clicked a button and the wand sprang to life. In a moment, Whitney was laying at Holly’s side, nodding and kissing her blushing cheek while she pressed the bulb of the wand against Holly’s diaper.

Holly was shocked at the vitality of it. She expected a kind of dull humming sensation, but when Whitney pressed against her, the vibration of the wand came through the padding of the diaper full-force. Holly had stopped struggling with her body, mumbling needy and angry things against her paci as she closed her eyes and felt Whitney’s lipstick against her cheek again and again.

The struggle was useless, and so it was over. Holly ground herself against the vibe, closing here eyes and inadvertently sucking against the pacifier while she searched through her mind for some memory to hide within. Whitney, prescient to her efforts, intervened.

“No, Babygirl. You’re here, now, with me. With Mommy. You don’t get to run away, You just have to focus on this right now with me or I’ll never let you finish,” As if to punctuate her promise, Whitney pulled the vibrator away. Holly’s eyes opened, and she gave Whitney a pleading look. Whitney was pleasantly surprised, “There we go. That’s all you’ve got to do for me, Holly. Play along.”

Trained By The Succubus - BlackTieCasual (2024)


How many succubus are in Witcher 3? ›

In The Witcher 3, players can come across two succubi. One is in Novigrad, while the other is in Skellige. Both their associated quests are optional. Thus, it's best to complete them before advancing too far into the main questline.

What is a succubus D&D? ›

Succubi are numerous devils who have chosen to align themselves with the demons of the Abyss, many under the command of the demon lord Graz'zt, but in the whole, they are ruled by their Queen, Malcanthet. The female child of a succubus and a human is traditionally called an Alu-fiend and the male child a Cambion.

Should I save the succubus Witcher 3? ›

The room is on the second floor. After confronting that it's the succubus, you can decide to kill her or let her live, but she must leave the city, and give you something that could be used as proof of her death. If you kill her, you have a chance to get the Succubus Mutagen (needed for the Succubus Decoction).

Is the succubus harmless in Witcher 3? ›

Unlike other monsters, succubi and menads feel no desire to kill, do not crave human blood and usually do not, in fact, mean any harm at all. They are motivated by one thing and one thing only: an insatiable lust.

Is A succubus A devil or a demon? ›

A succubus ( pl. : succubi) is a female-looking demon or supernatural entity in folklores who appears in dreams to seduce men, usually through sexual activity.

What is the male version of a succubus? ›

incubus, demon in male form that seeks to have sexual intercourse with sleeping women; the corresponding spirit in female form is called a succubus. In medieval Europe, union with an incubus was supposed by some to result in the birth of witches, demons, and deformed human offspring.

What is a half succubus called? ›

In European mythology and literature since at least the 19th century, a cambion (/ˈkæmbiən/) is the offspring from the union between a demon parent—whether incubus, succubus or other type of demon—with a human parent.

What is the max succubus decoction in Witcher 3? ›

Succubus decoction is a potion in The Witcher 3: Wild Hunt that gradually increases attack power during combat, adding 1% at a time up to a maximum of 30%.

How many vampires are there in Witcher 3? ›

The Witcher 3: Wild Hunt

Of named higher vampires, Geralt can encounter up to four: Regis, Dettlaff van der Eretein, Orianna, and the Unseen Elder of Toussaint.

How many monster nests are there in The Witcher 3? ›

There are 5 monster nests on Skellige.

What is the name of the succubus in The Witcher 3? ›

In the quest, Contract: Deadly Delights, the Witcher's investigation uncovered that a succubus named Salma was responsible for the string of killings afflicting the Novigrad city guard. This came as a surprise, for succubi do not usually commit premeditated, cold-blooded murder.

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