Major General Stewart Peter Bate was in that hinterland between sleep and wakefulness when the succubus cloud drifted into his tent. He took her for a dream. A nice dream.
Her gaseous form coalesced into a fluffy white cloud floating above his camp bed. A pale white face appeared in the midst of it. While clearly a beautiful face, with large, exotic eyes and delicate, high cheekbones, in some respects it was also a cruel face. The angles and contours of her elegant face were impossibly perfect, but also sharp. There was little warmth to her aside from a pair of sensual bee-stung lips that were as red as freshly-spilled blood.
Drowsily, Bate watched those luscious lips pucker up and exhale perfumed smoke into his face. That was nice. Smelt nice too. It reminded him of a fancy perfume a classy-looking lady had worn at one of the fancier functions he’d attended with the top brass. He never did get her name.
“This is a nice dream,” Bate murmured sleepily.
The floating woman exhaled another cloud of perfumed smoke into his face.
“Yes, sleep,” the succubus cloud said.
There was a strange echo to her voice, as though Bate was hearing her both through his ears and directly in his mind at the same time.
“I’ll give you pleasant dreams.”
Bate closed his eyes.
Wait, this was already a dream. How could he fall asleep if he was already asleep and dreaming? Was it possible to dream within a dream?
The succubus cloud gave an erotic sigh. She blew more air in his face.
“Delicious wet dreams.” She spoke as though one of her hands—her fingers—were already in her sex.
Wet dream was about the right of it. They happened whenever a man spent too long away from home, hearth and wife.
Bate hadn’t even been away that long. It was something about the air of H-space—some kind of taint that slithered down to a man’s balls and made them itch.
Pale white hands emerged from the cloud floating above Bate. One hand caressed the side of his face. The other took hold of the top flap of his sleeping bag and peeled it aside.
Bate didn’t mind. When a man was away from home and stationed out in desolate country, a nice erotic dream was one of the few pleasures open to him.
The succubus cloud blew on Bate’s exposed chest. Her breath tickled through his chest hairs and kissed his nipples. Her face—and those luscious lips—moved down. Her warm breath filled and overflowed out of his navel. Her hands fondled first his chest and then his abs.
“So firm,” the succubus cloud flattered.
That brought a smile to Bate’s lips. He might be past his prime, but he knew he was still in good shape.
She peeled more of his sleeping bag away. She blew on his crotch and he felt the tickle of her breath through the fabric of his underwear. His manhood swelled up and made a miniature tent. The succubus hooked fingers beneath the elastic and freed Bate’s erection. He let her. This was supposed to happen in erotic wet dreams.
The succubus cloud cooed her appreciation as his manhood rose up unfettered. She puckered those moist red lips again and blew. Her warm breath spilled down his erection and tickled through the hairs on his testicles like many tiny fingers. She blew again and Bate’s cock danced for her. It twitched and bobbed through the stream of warm air like a salmon swimming upstream to spawn.
Her head moved back up Bate’s body. He felt her breaths tickle his chest and neck like soft kisses. Legs emerged from the cloud and he felt her inner thighs squeeze and rub against his outer thighs. Her arms slid underneath him and her hands roamed all over his back. The rest of her didn’t seem to be there. He felt air whisper against his skin, but nothing tangible—no breasts, no midriff, no sex.
The whispering breaths were all around him. His camp bed and sleeping bag fell away as he was lifted up. Now he was floating… floating in the center of a warm, fluffy cloud.
It didn’t feel weird at all.
It was a dream.
Dreams were supposed to be weird.
“I will give you wet, delicious pleasures,” the succubus cloud said, “but I need to take a little something from you first. It won’t hurt at all.”
Bate felt an odd prickly sensation all over his body. It felt a little bit like being bitten by a blood-sucking insect, but with none of the irritating itchiness that followed such bites. It was followed by an equally odd drawing sensation. Bate wasn’t bothered. Floating up here in the cloud with a beautiful dream girl whispering sweet nothings to him, he didn’t have a care in the world. It was like he was wrapped up in warm cotton wool.
The drifting cloud started to change color. A pink tinge permeated through the billowing smoke. At first it was a delicate coloration, reminiscent of candy floss, but then it darkened and took on a reddish hue. At the same time the constitution of the cloud thickened from fluffy and insubstantial to tangible and strangely wet looking.
“Are you relaxed and comfortable,” the dream girl asked.
Bate nodded his head. He felt relaxed and floppy. Maybe a little too floppy… weak even. No, it was more like being cocooned in a big duvet and feeling so comfortable that you didn’t want to move the slightest muscle.
On top of the weakness, Bate also felt a little lightheaded, giddy even. That wasn’t bad either. It was like being in a bar with a beautiful woman after a few drinks.
“You gave me so much,” the succubus cloud said. “Now let me reward you with sensual pleasures. Let’s fuck.”
“Yes, let’s screw,” Bate murmured dreamily.
After all, what was the point of an erotic dream if you didn’t get a little wet and sticky.
Although, when he thought about it, the cloud he floated in was already starting to feel a little moist and tacky.
Then the succubus cloud began, and Bate stopped thinking about other things. His erection was drawn up and sheathed within a warm something. It felt like he’d entered a warm vagina and the sensation was so vivid it was like the dream had brought forth recollections of sex with his gorgeous wife. Except, Patricia, his lovely wife waiting for him back home, had never felt as tight as this, not even in their youthful days when both had been in the throes of young love.
And she’d never been able to do this.
As the wet sheath slid up and down it throbbed and pumped his member. The dream girl pouted and cooed her pleasure. Her hands caressed the side of Bate’s face and stroked up and down his sides. Her thighs squeezed and rubbed against him. The throbbing sensations diffused out into the cloud until it felt as though the whole cocoon was pulsating around Bate.
Hunger and other lusts glittered in the dream girl’s eyes.
“Release yourself into me,” she hissed between glossy red lips.
The cloud pulsed and a wave of pressure stroked up Bate’s erection. This dream was so intense. It was going all the way. It was going to be wet.
Bate closed his eyes and let out a moan of pleasure. His erection throbbed to the same rhythm as the cloud. A thick column of semen bubbled up his shaft and fountained up into the cloud, where it was absorbed.
The composition of the cloud changed again. The red tinge lightened back to pink, but the cloud appeared to be getting thicker, wetter and stickier. It clung to Bate’s body like a sleeping bag made of flesh.
“More,” her red lips whispered.
It felt like a soft wet sponge had engulfed Bate’s cock. The sponge squeezed and Bate responded with another shuddering orgasm. Again? Or was this the same ejaculation? Did it even matter when emptying his balls out into the smothering sponge of the cloud felt so good?
Muscles twinged in his groin.
That mattered. He was no longer a young man and this might be a little too much exertion. What had brought on this dream? Why was it so intense?
The clouds enveloping him were no longer quite so fluffy. They glistened wetly—a mixture of pinks, reds and whites—and resembled organic things that pulsed in dark nooks and crannies out of reach of the light. Bate tried to move his limbs and encountered resistance.
His brow furrowed. Was this even a dream?
The succubus cloud bunched up her bee-stung lips and exhaled a cloud of pungent perfumed smoke into Bate’s face.
“Relax. Sleep. Dream nice dreams while I empty you.”
Bate’s eyes closed. His thoughts spiraled down into a deep dream state. He was in a playground of ephemeral soap bubbles and deep, soft pillows. With him was a veritable harem of ripe, nubile and willing female flesh. Here was every female body he’d ever lusted after, secretly or otherwise. There was his wife—naked and in the prime of her youth; her friend Bate had never told her about; a girl he’d seen naked on a beach one time while he’d been stationed out in the Pacific; actresses and models that had pouted out at him from the cover of magazines; even porn stars from the blue movies Bate had watched after being stationed away from home for too long. All were here. All were his.
He lay back and let each take a turn to ride his mighty erection. They bounced on his prodigious length and girth until he’d filled their bellies with his seed. It didn’t matter how many or how long. In this dream Bate was indefatigable. His manhood was an unyielding stone column; his balls were a bottomless reservoir.
As one girl after another rode him to ecstatic fireworks, Bate decided he had to be in heaven. This dream was so perfect he wished he never had to wake up from it.
The succubus cloud granted his wish.
* * * *
1st Lt Stewart Peter Bate was woken by a cry. He recognized it as a cry of passion and his sleep-fogged mind wondered who’d gotten lucky.
Then he remembered where he was and how there was no one here to get lucky with. His eyes flicked open and he hit full wakefulness.
He heard a thump, like someone falling over.
Was that the Major General’s tent?
Bate left his own tent. H-space didn’t really have a day-night cycle. Sometimes it was light, sometimes it was dark. Currently it was dark.
In the gloom Bate thought for a moment he saw something—a cloud of white smoke?—slither out from between the open flaps of the Major General’s tent. He poked his head through the entrance and what he saw on the other side horrified him.
It was the Major General. At least Bate thought it was. The figure slumped on the camp bed was naked and so shriveled up he looked as though he had aged a century overnight. Black dots, like miniature tattoos, covered the body in a strange pattern.
No, it wasn’t a body. Major General Tom McCarrell was still alive.
Clouded-over eyes opened and stared up at a scene only McCarrell could see. Bloodless, withered lips turned up in a senile smile.
“Next,” the Major General chuckled in a voice that sounded like wind through a dry old tunnel.
The voice became a sigh and then finally a rattle as McCarrell’s eyes rolled up, his body shuddered and then was still. A little bead of milky-white fluid welled up from the tip of McCarrell’s exposed and erect penis.
So that’s how they got the Major General.
Name: Succubus Cloud
Type: Succubus/Elemental [Air]
Description: Appears as a dense white cloud with a human face and human arms and legs emerging from it. Her human features are described as being pale and unearthly beautiful.
After ingesting bodily fluids (blood or semen) the cloud becomes more opaque and appears wet or moist.
Attack Strategy: Their primary targets are sleeping men or men on the verge of sleep. The succubus cloud drifts over them and breathes narcotic perfume into their face while whispering seductive words in their ear. Drugged into a state of pliant bliss, the man believes they are having a nice, erotic dream as the succubus cloud envelops them.
The succubus cloud is vampiric. After enveloping her victim she absorbs their blood through hundreds of tiny, painless puncture wounds that resemble insect bites. The blood is not taken for nourishment but to give the succubus cloud a more tangible form. By thickening and making the cloud more solid around the man she is able to give more erotic stimulation, eventually taking him to ejaculation.
As with other H-space indigenous organisms, the succubus cloud appears to feed on sexual fluids, or rather—as I suspect—some spark of energy (soul?) they can induce us to give out during the moment of sexual climax. (The similarities with the old succubus myths are worrisome.)
Absorbing the first release of semen triggers another change in the composition of the cloud—it coagulates still further and takes on a similar constitution to flesh. At this point she is able to induce continuous, unending ejaculation in the man wrapped up in her cloud. She keeps them in a state of insensate bliss while she drains all their fluids.
Countermeasures: We have nothing.
Their bodies are as intangible as mist. Our physical weapons can’t touch them. We also can’t keep them out. Their gaseous forms allow them to penetrate our defences at will.
This is not acceptable. We need to be devoting resources to research ways—chemical, biological, radioactive—we can use to counteract the more exotic H-space inhabitants. At the moment they thankfully appear to be rare, but that’s no guarantee we won’t run into more of them in the future.
Threat Level: High.
UPDATE: Since putting this file together other soldiers have come forward and contacted me with reports of possible succubus cloud encounters. They describe the experience as a vague but extremely pleasant erotic dream followed by an inexplicable feeling of weakness for most of the next day. Examination of their bodies has revealed the characteristic puncture wounds.
This deeply concerns me.
How frequently are these night-time attacks occurring? Why are these men spared when others are drained of all life?
I can’t shake the feeling there is a purpose to this.
It concerns me… concerns me greatly.