Lilith Ashtarte (4)
“Ugh... my head...”
Lilith hauled herself upright, clutching her throbbing skull. The splitting pain felt exactly like having her period through her head. Honestly, the only difference between the two was whether the ache sat in her top head or her bottom head.
Granted, down there didn't really qualify as a "head" in any technical sense.
But then again, men called their dicks the second brain, so didn't pussies deserve roughly the same distinction?
The fact that thoughts like that were floating through her mind meant the alcohol hadn't fully worn off yet. Which, come to think of it, explained why her head hurt this much in the first place.
“This is why you're supposed to pace yourself... Just watch, I'm never touching a drop again...”
A regret, a resolution — one of countless ones she'd made over the years. The problem was that none of them had ever stuck. Smirking bitterly at herself, Lilith glanced around the room.
“...So where the hell did this little shit go?”
The human she'd met for the very first time just yesterday — the one she'd gone and adopted that same day — was nowhere to be seen.
Kang Hanjo.
A human bearing a name that, if you weren't careful, could easily be heard or misread as "Fucking Huge Dick." Which was exactly why she'd just gone ahead and bluntly declared his dispenser stage name to be Strong Cock. The man who'd been absent — along with the absurdly massive dick he carried between his legs, every bit as impressive as his name.
“Ungrateful little bastard... Shouldn't you be waiting on me hand and foot with cold water the second I wake up?”
Granted, the paperwork had never actually been filed, so they weren't legally mother and son. But a verbal contract was still a contract. The law might not recognize it, but in the eyes of decency, she was his mother, period.
And more than that — she'd fed him three bottles of Elixir, a substance so rare that money alone couldn't buy it, and even passed down a pseudo-secret succubus art called Level Drain. All things considered, she'd been a far better mother to him than his birth mother, who'd apparently abandoned him practically at birth.
And yet this little shit had gone and vanished without a care in the world for his new stepmother, who'd drunkenly thought of him enough to drink with him and was now writhing in her hangover.
“A goddamn fuck-machine with nothing but a big dick...”
Cursing under her breath, she pushed herself up anyway.
She'd put away a monstrous amount overnight — which meant there had to be something that needed letting out. Whatever people said about her being one of the Twenty-Two Heroes, she hadn't transcended the realm of living things. So naturally—
In other words: she had to pee.
Some people looked at succubi, lamias, and vampires and muttered about demons and whatnot, but that was all complete horseshit. The races that had lived in other dimensions were mostly just ordinary species from those worlds. True demons — the abstract, conceptual kind — had never actually been discovered.
At most, dragons like that damned bitch came closest to the abstract, conceptual something that people imagined. And even dragons, in the end, belonged firmly to the realm of the living.
Of course, among the many species officially recognized as people by the World Government, it wasn't that no race existed outside the domain of biology — but those were a vanishingly rare handful, so they didn't count...
The point was, even a being like Lilith couldn't escape her basic biological functions.
So she was just sliding off the bed, headed for the bathroom, when—
“...Why does something feel... off?”
Mainly, down below.
The moment she rustled out of the covers, the cool air rising from beneath felt far, far too... breezy.
As if she had nothing on under her skirt at all.
“...No, that can't be right. I definitely put something on.”
Apart from the circus act she put on whenever a new batch of dispenser candidates came through, she had no taste for exhibitionism whatsoever.
Among the requirements for becoming a dispenser, one mattered above almost everything else: whether a candidate could achieve an erection — no matter what species the client was, no matter what pressure was bearing down on him.
If you couldn't get hard, you obviously couldn't finish the job, so it went without saying.
And on the days when she personally oversaw the examinations — whether because of her reputation as one of the Twenty-Two Heroes — it was one hundred out of one hundred: the humans and orcs who shuffled in claiming to be candidates wouldn't get hard to save their lives. They'd just tremble like leaves and wash out. Which left her no choice but to put on that little show.
Because roughly one in a hundred would lose his mind completely.
The idiots who'd come lunging at her, trying to bury their rock-hard dicks in her right then and there.
She'd subdue those idiots with ease, then use magic to wring them dry until their balls were utterly empty, confirm whether the life-force in their semen met the standard threshold — and only then, if a candidate survived all of that, could he officially become a dispenser.
Frankly, at first she'd wondered whether all of that was really necessary. But after several rounds of verification, one thing became undeniable: it was the only method that worked. She'd had no choice.
And since their memories got wiped afterward anyway, it hardly mattered. They couldn't remember a thing, so there was no shame in showing them whatever she pleased.
Looking was one thing. Memories that were destined to be erased, after all, never "wore out," so to speak.
This time was, you might say, an exception — the one being to whom she'd shown her pussy and then not wiped his memory.
In that respect, Lilith could be considered remarkably chaste for a succubus.
Not that she needed to be chaste or anything else, given she was a virgin.
Of course, the clothes she usually wore were fairly revealing. But even that had its reasons. It was, at its heart, purely a matter of image.
The Empress of Sluts.
The succubus among succubi.
Dressing to match the image she carried — nothing more than playing a role.
She had no other choice. She was the one who represented the millions of succubi living in this world.
If it ever came out that she — the Empress of Sluts, the queen among queens of her kind — had never once been touched, it wouldn't just damage her personally. It would shake the standing of succubi as a whole.
“Oh, so she's nothing special after all, huh?” The mere whisper of such an image would be more than enough to send every overreaching bastard in this chaotic world into a frenzy.
Back when the nonsense that succubi couldn't tell semen from milk went viral online, there'd been plenty of humans who poked fun at succubi and got their teeth kicked in for it. Of course she worried.
...Granted, she herself had genuinely believed milk was semen when she was a child. But that was strictly a childhood thing, so it was an exception.
Anyway — the point was that the image she'd built, born of her racial trait of Level Drain, the power to steal a partner's strength through sex and grow ever stronger, combined with her freakishly potent succubus abilities, was nothing but a performance. She personally harbored no perverted exhibitionist tendencies. Well, not entirely a performance — she did actually like the clothes she wore day to day.
But that was that, and this was this.
Enjoying the costumes her image demanded was one thing. Being a pervert who wandered around with no underwear was a completely different animal.
But then...
Why... did it feel so empty down there?
No — no, it wouldn't be. Lilith. Do you even know how old you are? You had a few drinks and just... did that?
Right? Lilith.
I— I believe in you?
With that thought, she slowly slid her hand up under her skirt — and caught nothing.
The panties that should absolutely, unquestionably have been there were nowhere to be found.
“Lilith...!!”
Shaking with the shock of being betrayed by her own self, Lilith trembled violently. No — why? Were my drunk habits really that bad?
No, it couldn't have been that bad. If it were, she'd have quit drinking ages ago.
“Ah.”
And then it came back to her — the things she'd done in the middle of the night.
Stark raving drunk, and then riled up even further by that brat Kang Hanjo running his mouth, she'd flung her panties off without a second thought. That much she remembered.
What came after was an even bigger disaster.
What she'd done while perched on the bed after tossing her panties aside went far, far beyond the range of "well, I suppose that could happen."
The pussy? Fine. She'd shown it to him already, so no harm done.
That much she could write off as a modest service rendered, considering he might one day succeed her and grind himself half to death in her place.
He wasn't the type to go blabbing about it to anyone, anyway. Sure, his memory hadn't been wiped this time — but he'd already gotten an eyeful long before that.
So up to there, she was fine.
Most of all, hadn't they already made that agreement?
With a boy she'd found herself oddly taken with, for reasons she couldn't quite explain. If it really came to pass that he succeeded her — then, she'd promised, she would grant him anything he asked. Even if what he asked for was her own body, she'd sworn to give it.
Unless he was a eunuch, there was no question he'd want her body.
And he was no eunuch. If anything, he possessed exceptional virility even among the rigorously screened ranks of dispensers.
Which meant, naturally, that when that day came... it would happen. Without a doubt.
Looking back now, she still couldn't fathom why she'd made such a promise in the first place.
Well — she had liked him, that much was true.
Unlike the other dispensers, unlike every candidate she'd ever seen, there'd been precious few who could look her straight in the eye — that look in their eyes — even under her crushing presence.
And more than that — power, strength, and lust.
He was the only one whose eyes had burned with such raw, honest, aching desire for all of it. For her own desires, too.
That was why she'd taken him as her successor — her child, in name.
But why, then, had she gone as far as that promise?
No matter how notoriously loose succubi were as a species, even they didn't do that between parent and child.
Even if there was no blood between them — even if they were strangers by birth—
'Well, it's not like they don't do it at all. They just don't do it out in the open. Dig around and you'll find plenty...'
There was no such thing as "never" in this world, after all.
And not to brag, but it was true that succubi were loose and lecherous.
Still — wasn't that a completely different conversation from this?
Weren't these two things in no way, shape, or form the same thing??
The only reason she could dredge up was that it would surely motivate him — that he'd work all the harder for it. That was it. That was the whole of it.
But over that? Over a promise that was, at most, an empty check to be cashed someday... she'd pledged away the very virginity she'd guarded all these years?
And yet, if it truly came to that.
If he grew into someone worthy of claiming to be her successor — someone who could genuinely take her place... it wouldn't be such a bad outcome, would it?
His face was tolerably handsome, his body sound and strong. And above all, his dick was fucking enormous.
She might still be a virgin, but a succubus was a succubus. A huge cock counted for a great deal on the ledger.
'His semen, too, had a flavor that suited my tastes rather well.'
She'd learned that after sending him off, when she'd taken a small taste of the sample he'd provided for his examination — and his cum had been surprisingly to her liking.
Now that she thought about it... wasn't that the first time she'd ever tasted semen raw and unprocessed?
"......"
Why did I do that?
...No. Regardless of the processing, semen was something a succubus consumed as a matter of course. Whether it was raw or not wasn't really the point.
The point was — yes, exactly —
The taste.
The flavor of a man's semen was a matter of grave importance to a succubus. Not all semen was created equal, after all.
It could shift from day to day depending on his condition — the taste of cum was a fickle thing.
And by that measure, he was, without question, a fine specimen.
The base flavor alone suited her palate, and the stronger Kang Hanjo became — the more power, the more vital life-force he accumulated within himself — the more irresistibly attractive he would become to a species like hers, one that savored and coveted semen above all things.
Just as wine matures with time, so would he ripen, vintage after vintage.
Put that way, locking in a contract while he was still a green pup who knew nothing might have been the smartest move she could've made.
But still...
No matter how you sliced it.
Even granting that possibility.
Getting drunk enough to show him her pussy was one thing. Showing him what lay beyond — the living proof that she was a virgin, with her own two hands — was something else entirely.
“...Aaaagh!! You insane woman, you absolute idiot!!”
She thrashed wildly across the bed, kicking and flailing.
An unspeakable wave of humiliation crashed over her, and she simply could not stay still.
After a long while of rolling about, Lilith finally flopped flat, spent, and heaved a massive sigh.
“Mommy.”
No matter how much of a tantrum she threw, what was done was done. There was no taking it back.
“...Fine. Whatever. It is what it is now.”
A lifetime's long enough for anything to happen, wasn't it?
First things first — she'd find the panties she'd somehow flung god-knew-where, put them on, and hurry to the bathroom before anything else.
“Hup.”
With a springy bounce, Lilith used the recoil to pop herself upright and began scanning the area around the bed.
There it all was — the wreckage of a night of reckless excess. Beer cans drained to the dregs, sprawled everywhere. Snack bags, equally gutted and discarded in careless heaps.
But — where the hell were her panties?
“...Did they slide under the bed?”
Ugh, what a chore. Still grumbling, she checked under the bed anyway. Nothing. The panties that had to be somewhere in this room were not under the bed either.
“No, seriously — where the FUCK are my panties?”
Maybe they'd rolled deeper in. She shoved her head under the bed to look — and right then, a cheerful little chime rang out beside her ear.
“?!”
A moment later came the clunk of something being set down, then the creak of that decrepit front door swinging open. And Lilith knew: Kang Hanjo, her missing-in-action brat of a son, had returned.
She'd already rationalized it to herself — you live long enough, everything and anything happens. But she still didn't want to face the little bastard just yet, and she shot upright in a panic — completely forgetting that her head was currently buried under the bed.
THUNK—!
“Ugh...!”
Lilith cracked her skull squarely against the underside of the bed. And from outside, drawn by the noise, came his voice.
“Mother, you're awake? By the way — what on earth was that sound?”
“Wait, hold on—! Just wait a second!”
She scrambled to yank her head free, but something had snagged and it wouldn't budge. She could have forced it out with raw strength, of course — but the bed would most certainly collapse into splinters if she did.
But if she didn't, and he walked in right now?
He'd be treated to the sight of her head wedged under the bed, ass sticking up in the air — a thoroughly undignified spectacle.
And to make it worse, she'd be doing it with no panties on.
“You little shit—! Open that door and I swear I'll end you...!”
“It's my house, and that's my room, you know? More importantly, what was that noise earli—”
The door burst open with a bang.
And then—
“No idea what's going on in there, but I'm making breakfast, so take your time with whatever it is you're doing.”
Click. The door swung shut again.
Only then did Lilith wrench her head free from under the bed, and lay there staring blankly at the ceiling.
“Motherfucking shit...”
It was, in all her long life, the very first morning she would describe as an utter cock-biting nightmare.