A Succubus Who Can't Even Tout for Business

Who would've thought a religious facility wouldn't be all solemn piety? There ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠were quirky cafes to draw in pilgrims and visitors, portraits of past saints, statues of other goddesses, and shops selling blessed trinkets. We had no need for combat prep, so no holy relic shop for us. Instead, we headed to a bustling cafe where people came and went.

No one sat on the outdoor terrace—probably the chill—and most folks inside were enjoying drinks and snacks or taking paper cups to go. For this succubus's survival, I'd have to wait outside in the cold, I figured.

"Eve, have you tried the coffee here? It's so good."

"Uh... yeah..."

Ah, so this is coffee. Was that the intro spiel? It reminded me of my newbie office drone days chugging energy drinks, so I gave an awkward smile. Still, just sharing the name didn't mean it was the same drink. Lucky that language worked here after crossing over—someone watching over us must've thrown in that convenience.

Everywhere we went, the same rote clerk greetings. I eyed the signboard.

By the time I read that far, I turned to Laila, suddenly uneasy about the stockings hugging her legs.

"Laila... not yours, right?"

"Hehe, I can tell exactly what you're thinking. Of course ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠it's a joke. Those are all gimmick names for fun. See? That stocking steeping the tea—it's not one you wore."

True to her word, the stocking with tea leaves inside was brown. Hanbyeol had only packed me black ones, so definitely not mine. Fair enough—worn-out stockings get used to wrap soap bars or as sink filters to let water through but catch food scraps. If it's unused stockings, that noise marketing might have a niche somewhere. Maybe some past saint favored brown ones.

Still, the idea of brewing tea in stockings someone might've worn killed that option for me. And the Pope-blessed cake? No thanks—even if in stock. Not after what that bastard did.

"How about the holy water-infused coffee, then... What do you want, Laila?"

"You're buying for me? So merciful. But I gotta go seduce some guys right outside. Rain check?"

"Suit yourself. One holy water-infused coffee, please."

"Right away. For here or to go?"

"For here."

"Cash first—50 silver."

The young clerk smiled sweetly as she took my order. I pulled the wallet Hanbyeol packed from the little bag tied to my garterbelt by my tail, counting out exact silver. Her eyes went wide.

"Are you Ivy?"

"Uh... you know me?"

A player? Or FSM church staff? No hostility in her tone, so I didn't worry too much. Still, strangers recognizing me sparked that paranoia. Did I do something wrong? Spot something off about me? Occupational hazard.

She beamed, taking the silver. "How could I not? Everyone says if she's bound and using a black tail instead of hands, it's Ivy. Heard you got hanged by that Pope bastard but still wide-area healed everyone else. We were sweating bullets. If players had lost ground then, church players would've been stuck here forever."

A player, then. I nodded shyly at the praise for my part.

"I could only heal, that's all."

"Ugh, we got ordered to target heals only on paladins—'player heals count as aiding the enemy.' Even if we wanted to heal players, one slip-up and the healers got dragged off for torture..."

So that's why heals only hit church side. Max-level players probably tanked fine without my oomph. Players aimed to subdue, not kill—murder's a crime. No heal logs, so they rounded everyone up. Priests are plentiful; just swapped in fresh ones.

"Must've been rough."

"Not as bad as you. Two days straight torture, then the scaffold? Those scum... Good thing Hanbyeol gave the gropers a taste of their own. Oh, this is on the house."

She loaded a tray with coffee and cookies, hesitating. My bound arms—could I even carry ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠it?

"Want me to bring it to your seat? Heard saints can't unbind even sitting..."

Whatever twisted the rope rumor, it felt like free-arm days were receding. Other priests showed off bondage by making slaves or underlings tote stuff. Bad trend for me, but flashy—maybe followers liked legal bossing around.

A sigh bubbled up, but my tail balanced the tray perfectly. I swallowed it and explained.

"She says she'll handle it. Just the thought counts. Thanks for the cookies."

"Thank you! Come again!"

The warm welcome felt nice. Laila eyed the cookies, so I offered one—she snatched it. Plenty left anyway.

We claimed a table despite the chill. "Wait just a sec," Laila said, strutting to the street center. Bragging she'd hook a guy in under five minutes.

The coffee smelled great. But watching my tail stretch for it, then seeing the pink liquid inside... I couldn't bring myself to sip.

Why's coffee pink? Fantasy world—colors differ. Blue blood races, walking trees... fine. But this shade felt familiar.

Public bath mix of bath salts or oils reacting with my juices... Nah, couldn't be. But the match made it awkward—like drinking ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠my bathwater coffee-scented.

Suddenly, a thick sweet undertone tickled my nose, burrowing to my chest. Odd feeling. Memories of Iris fawning over me in that tub each visit—body tingling happily again?

"Nngh... color's off. You drink it."

Tail tilted its end curiously, set the cup down, and dunked in. No spill despite heat? The pinkish translucent liquid vanished instantly—tail slurped it up. Still fluffy dry, never wet. Unlike my panties that screw me over, tail grabbed a cookie next.

It'd absorbed all that mystery pink, so I took the cookie.

"One for you. Let's share."

Paying it forward felt right. Tail-end nodding eagerly was kinda cute—I chuckled.

Ten minutes past Laila's five—no bites. Tout failed hard. Rumors spread: follow Pope's succubus lackey, end up gelded... No cleric'd risk it. Priests never liked succubi anyway; players knew she was mine now. No excuses.

"Hey, handsome bro. Wanna have some fun?"

"I'm married."

Player-looking guy blew past her lure unscathed. Laila gnashed teeth at his back, hitting another in plain clothes.

"Hey, sturdy bro. Hot time with me?"

"No money yet."

"Don't need money."

"Nah."

"..."

Targeting buff guys—her type?—but endless rejections pushed her to skinny ones.

"Hey, pretty boy, one round~?"

"Young thing whoring out? Tsk tsk."

"Cute bro, got time?"

"I'm gay."

"Fuck, what's my problem?!"

Laila exploded, stomping mid-street. Eyes venomous—passersby sidestepped. She whipped glares at dodgers, then slunk back, bending to whisper eye-level.

"Pretty sis... got time? Chat with me?"

My gut wrenched violently. Womb-shaking quake, pussy aching sharp—I hunched in panic.

"Haaah! What'd you do...!"

"Weird. Charm's fine, but..."

"Laila, dispel it...!"

"Just makes you horny for me a bit—fades soon."

No it didn't. Her voice honeyed sweetly; couldn't look away. Heart pounded to tackle her; pussy soaked. Panties' nubs activated, of course.

I slumped over the table, muffling moans and whimpers.

"Urgh... hnnngh... sob, nngh..."

"Whoa, cumming? No touch?"

"Nngh... Laila made me wet, relic..."

"Ha. What now? Hang on—I'll soothe you at home."

Too late—I twitched, glaring hazy resentment. Laila actually panicked, sitting to check my face.

"Done...?"

"Hngh... sob..."

Tearful shame; she flustered hard. Public orgasms tallying up—maybe passersby'd think pain-twitch. No screams, held it well—no lewd slut rumors unless insiders. Had to be.

Else I'd bite tongue dead.

"Ha, first blank succubus day ever. Fine, today's curse. Calm down, I'll take you home."

Bit guilty, she patted my back. Fireworks in my head faded; leaked juices down thighs to ass—tail cleaned. Clothes dry—lucky.

Laila returned tray/coffee; I blinked, fighting blurry vision.

Too many peaks lately—ease up? Or sleep debt. Nap at home?

"You okay? Face looks rough."

"...No more charms. Ever."

"Didn't expect this. Gets you off that fast?"

"..."

"For real. Sorry."

First sincere apology from her. Thought pleasure-blind, but conscience exists. Made sense: starving, tried others first—not milking me. Starve longer, might poke me. Help her?

Patched by her, I offered aid. She worried: "You sleeping with guys for me?"

"No, crazy? Just legs."

Tell Daesik—send horny guild guys her way. Better than solo tout; they'd overlook succubus if hot and fuckable.

Vision clearing, I rose—Laila supported. But I twisted from her homeward pull.

"Hm? Somewhere to be?"

"Said I'd help. Finding guys for you. Know some."

"Mercy even for me... Won't forget—repay in bed."

"Don't say creepy shit people'll overhear..."

Laila clung closer than before. Didn't want succu-whore vibes—tried edging away, but she stuck fast.