Welldark

My morning wood had been taken care of twice over. A wonderful start to the day that could only have been bettered by two additional events. Number one was a shared shower with my girlfriend. An affair of kisses and cuddles, but no further lewdness. Even if I had managed to work up the necessary vigour for a third round, I was certain Esther wouldn’t have let me. Taking the excuse of cleaning her to rub up and down her curves was enough entertainment though. There was just so much about her to squeeze.

Number two was coffee. It was instant coffee and it was tasty. I drank it black, unwilling to dilute its awakening capacity. One would think that two rounds of morning sex got the blood pumping enough that caffeine was no longer a necessity. Such a person would not know about the depth of my addiction. Only extreme excitement, such as the first day on Welldark, was enough to overpower that particular need.

Between sips of my coffee, I prepared our breakfast. It was a new month and I had a fresh influx of money from the allowance and from my wage from the service job at Café Served. Part of this money had been invested into the cheese omelette currently frying in the pan.

 Practically every morning, I did this job. Esther was not particularly happy that I did it so often. To stop me, she would have needed to enter the kitchen before me. While we usually took our showers together, we never left the bathroom together. By the time I was dried up and ready to leave, she had barely started her hair-taming routine. That gave me plenty of time to cook.

A bit too much time, as I had learned. If I started cooking immediately after I left her to her desperate quest to gain control over her luscious mane, the food would be cold by the time she got to the table. Because of this, I had about an hour in the morning to kill in various ways. Typically I went through a light workout and read. There was plenty of learning to do and I had a clear mind after the preceding morning activities.

When it was time, I prepared breakfast. On days I didn’t feel like cooking, I just threw bread, toppings, milk and cereal on the table. In all honesty, it barely mattered. Esther wolfed down anything and everything within reach. The submissiveness and agreeability displayed during morning sex was entirely forgotten. After spending upwards of an hour on getting her hair in order, the usual crankiness of her hunger was in full effect. The calories burned during our erotic entanglement only worsened that.

The lesson I had learned early in our relationship held true: do not talk to a hungry Esther. Wait until she either slowed down or addressed you first. Otherwise, stay quiet, make no sudden movements, and never, ever mess with the hair.

Because my Queen was a woman who hated owing anyone anything, on days I prepared breakfast, I was often treated to either home cooked lunch or dinner, depending on what we had time for. Because I, her King, was a man who loved treating her, I returned the favour on the days when she prepared breakfast for me. That was, typically, Tuesday and sometimes Sunday. Tuesday, both of us could sleep in until around nine. I graciously accepted that as the gift from every last god out there that it was. Esther saw it as an opportunity to wake up at the same hour as any other day. Consequently, even her hair routine allowed her to get into the kitchen first.

We still found the time for morning sex on those days, I just snoozed off afterwards. A two hour sleep extension after pounding a bombshell like Esther into the mattress was heavenly.

While Esther’s repayment always came in the shape of a meal of her own, I often opted for an alternative: massages. One of the many absolute truths in the universe was that women with sizable chesticles desperately needed someone to work their back at least once a week. As much as I enjoyed touching her, this was actually about her enjoyment first. Her spine did require frequent relaxation. Food could be bought practically everywhere, but a proper back rub was something she had to entrust me with. No one else was allowed to see her naked back.

Thinking about this and many other things, I lifted the bottom of the omelette. The cheese had melted, the bottom was a light brown, and therefore it was as good as I could make it. I cut it into two halves with the spatula, which landed on separate plates on the table. I was fine tuning the arrangement, when Arlethia and Willt decided to grace me with their presence.

“Look at it, our butler made us breakfast,” Arlethia remarked. The succubus moved towards the table, mischievously reaching for the plate. I slapped her hand. She pulled back with a giggle and an overplayed protesting sound. Then she fell onto another chair.

Arlethia was a demonette dominated by the colour red. Her hair was red, her skin was red, and her pupil was a red slit sitting in a black iris. Shades between different areas made it easy enough to differentiate and prevented her from appearing too monochrome. This was especially notable around her dark red lips and, as I knew from a years past school trip incident, her nipples. Today, she covered herself with a dark, oversized shirt and hotpants.

Like all succubi, she had a thin tail and horns that curved backwards. My personal theory was that succubi had these horns for two particular reasons: one was to protect their hair during cat fights and second was to serve as handles while they used their mouth. Since succubi were born with a natural inclination to extract male reproduction fluid in order to raise their energy levels (Arlethia described it as a better version of coffee), it would have made sense that they developed the features to make the process more enticing for both parties.

I did have to doubt that Willt was the kind of person who took full advantage of those love handles though. The young warlock, and Arlethia’s childhood friend turned boyfriend, was of a slender figure, particularly for a man. This was especially notable with how short and curvy Arlethia was. His hair was long, brown, and straight for the most part. Often, he could be seen with circular, red tinted glasses. Today, he opted for just circular. He wore a shirt with the logo of a metal band. The exact name passed me by. If the random assortment of jittery lines was supposed to spell it out, they failed to do so. At least his jeans were normal.

Willt sat down next to his girlfriend and added, “He isn’t on shift at the moment.”

“Oh, that’s an idea,” Arlethia hummed and tapped her feet on the ground. “Maybe we should come hang out at the bar later.”

“You might serve to break up the monotony as I serve in the Café Served,” I responded, while sitting in eager wait for my Queen. “Maybe Esther will get you a discount. She’s bartending.”

“She’s already been promoted to running the bar?” Willt asked.

“Assistant bartending,” I corrected myself and let out an overplayed sigh. “A true shame of epic proportions, that after so much time has elapsed, we are still not trusted with the sole oversight of the bar. Alas, the tips must be split, between us two and whoever else appears, in our splendid establishment.”

“Dude, relax, you’ve only worked there for two months,” Arlethia pointed out in her dry tone.

“I practically run the establishment.”

“Then why do they put Esther behind the bar and not you?”

“Because my beloved is- a purely rational being that deserves any raise she gets,” I playfully interrupted myself, when the Queen of my heart entered the room. Her hair was bound into the typical low ponytail. The strands that were spared the confinement framed her face in their usual wild fashion. A pair of particularly long ones fell all the way to the round rise of her chest.

More of her hair was loose than before, compromising the stern order she had imposed on herself. A few weeks ago, I had voiced my preference to see her hair a little wilder. Since then, she had gradually eased off little by little on the intensity of her preparations. Sadly, she had stopped before she freed that wonderful streak that always settled between her eyes. I was certain I would see it at some point. The chaotic make of her hair always won against her methods of binding it.

Truthfully speaking, I could have lived with her doing nothing but the basic brushing to the wild mane that was her natural display. Stern as she was with herself, she refused to leave the house in such a state. She ran a hand over her hair, making sure everything was in place. Towards the tips, reaching down to her lower back, the wild and uncommon texture of the strands was apparent. Each strand appeared to have a mind of its own, waving wildly, running criss-cross, and fanning out all at once, creating a gorgeous mess.

Once the lady of my desires, now the lady of my happiness, would have appeared as an example image for the word ‘understatement’. This was because any single word attempting to describe her beauty would have come short of being adequate. Although she was of a naturally pale complexion, Esther spent enough time outside to give her smooth skin a mild tan. Her eyebrows and nose were swung elegantly, the cheekbones of her heart-shaped face combining nobility with cuteness, and her amber eyes focused on me with great amusement. They say that the eyes are a window to the soul and as much as I loved hers, I still had to say that her ruby red lips were the most attractive feature of her angelic face.

Today Esther wore her casual outfit. Despite the warm weather, this included a long-sleeved shirt. It fit her snuggly, stretching around her large breasts and then narrowing to properly fit her waist as well. The lower edge of the white fabric covered the start of the yoga pants that so fantastically clung to her wide hips.

Esther’s hourglass figure was enticing in every way. Between her thick thighs and gorgeous face, my only complaint about her looks was the lack of jiggle in the chest area. None of that could be faulted to her body. The clothes made her breasts appear a cup size smaller than the true dick-enveloping massiveness they had. She was wearing a bra, plain and simple. An accursed, jiggle-preventing, squishiness-blocking bra. I much preferred the natural, mild slump of her firm chest and the jiggle. Matter of fact, having lived in Hell for many years, I was of the thorough conviction that bras were a creation of a demon not even demons would tolerate. They existed solely to make men unhappy and have women study arcane measurement tables.

Esther nodded to herself, a gesture that would have made her tits jiggle under proper circumstances, and stopped inspecting her hair. Instead, she directed her eyes to me. “What did you wish to say, my Karitas?” she asked, while approaching the table.

“A great many topics and words whirl around my head at any given time, my dearest and only Queen, among which…” I stopped myself, as she sat down and glared at me, the amber of her eyes just slightly rising into the domain of the sulfuric yellow. My tendency to elongate my sentences with flowery descriptions was one of those things she did not appreciate about me and without an impending orgasm or a full stomach to appease her, she did not tolerate it.

I liked my extrapolations and I wouldn’t forego them entirely, not even for her. The perfect couple did not truly exist and every pair of sapient beings did have at least small points of conflict. Knowing when to escalate a problem into a discussion and when to give in was the core of any harmonious relationship. As such, I interrupted myself, cleared my throat, and then answered her question.

“Your militaristic attitude got you banished behind the bar because it’s easier on the customers,” I told her the truth. I hadn’t meant to hide it anyway, I just thought it’d be funnier if I made it dramatic.

Esther pressed her lips together until the gorgeous red was entirely drained from them. Without answer, she turned to the omelette. Her pupils narrowed down, her jaw relaxed, and her entire body language shifted. The sight of the cheese covered breakfast sufficiently distracted her from her irritations. I quietly poured her a cup of coffee and turned to my own half of the omelette.

Willt was trying to get up, but the hold of his girlfriend’s tail around his wrist prevented him. “You already gave me breakfast, I’ll get you yours,” she whispered, loud enough for everyone around the table to hear it. He blushed, looking over to Esther and me. The lady of my love did not care, solely focused on devouring her omelette. I did chuckle and bit my tongue.

I would never understand why Willt still got so easily embarrassed when discussing lewd matters. Growing up in hell and among succubi, one would have thought that he would have been overexposed to such things. Sometimes, I did wonder if he secretly enjoyed being teased like this. There was no way Arlethia kept doing it so consistently if it led to fights in private.

“Why are you so embarrassed about getting sucked off every morning anyway?” I verbally poked at my longest friend. He blushed just a little bit harder. Two months ago, such questions in Esther’s presence could have given him a heart attack. “You have a hot succubus girlfriend, most guys would kill to be in your situation.”

“Was that a compliment, Karitas?” Arlethia shouted from the kitchen.