The Succubus Hunter

Writer:Abbey Lynn
Transformed By:A Succubus Were-Woman
Length:67 pages
When:Near Beginning of Story
Sex Drive:High
TF Description:Medium Details
Mature Content:High – Adults Only
Who Gets Changed:Main Character
New Role/Purpose:Female Succubus

Summary:In the colonial era, huntsmen have been trained by the church to track down and kill succubus demons that have infiltrated the local villages. During an evening hunt, Nicholas gets separated from his companions in the woods and stumbles across a beautiful naked woman. Soon he realizes she’s the prey he’s been hunting, but her seductive powers prove too strong for even him.

His companions eventually rescue him, but it may already be too late. That night Nicholas begins to change, becoming more feminine, discovering a growing lust and hunger toward his fellow hunters. Transforming into a female succubus, the former hunter suddenly becomes the hunted. And Nicholas must choose loyalty between the brotherhood of hunters he once swore allegiance, and the new sisterhood of succubi she now unquestionably belongs.

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The Succubus Hunter

I prayed to the gods and goddesses, whom created mankind immortal and womankind in to loving angels, but my cries went unnoticed. I was captured from the first moment I saw her.

She was an adorable feast for the eyes, her bosom thrown forward proudly. Her back arched at attention the moment she realized I was there. She wanted my gaze. The fact that I looked delighted her. I couldn’t help but look at her perfect porcelain in curves. Her breasts heaved. I felt that base imperative urge, inside my soul. My animal lust called for me to spread my seed. No better canvas could be conceived. The fertility gods had conspired to craft this magnificent beast. She seemed the part of a beautiful young maiden, lovely and sensual. Her soft skin, most tender in appearance, as though crafted by a master artisan. She stood posed, a portrait suitable for the Duke and Duchess of York.

But I knew her secret. It was a trick, a distraction. That was her strength, her power. It was her sin and her immortal curse. She possessed the ability to present any appearance she believed to be the deepest desires of her next victim. She had damned her own soul so she could gain such provocative abilities.

Often I had sought out a woman as plump as a partridge, with thick meat layered on child-bearing hips. This woman was different, a specter, she haunted my imagination. A waif, skinny so I could see her ribs and clavicle protrude. Her skin was pale white. One would almost believe she had never seen the sun. Her hair was long and flowing and appeared weightless, somehow held aloft with a light breeze. Gravity held no weight nor bearing on her fine bosom. They were just enough to fill my grasp. The cool autumn air held her nipples erect. Slender feminine curved hips led man towards temptation. The coifed pubis bulge pulled my eyes down further asunder, and made me wonder what perfection laid waiting between her magnificent thighs. Her most tender of tender lips, hidden, but hinted at, left me wanting. As if such a body and bosom hadn’t cast enchantment enough, the soft hint of her sordid nether regions landed the final blow.

She appeared to be what my heart desired most.

But none of this came as surprise. I was trained and knew what to expect. I prepared myself for her mysterious enchantment. Admittedly, it was a clever and lovely distraction, but still just a spell. A mind game the likes no master chess player could outmaneuver. Just another part of her cleverness, I saw what she wanted me to see. Titillating and tantalizing, nearly enough to cajole me unbuckle my breeches, let slip my dog of war, and let the she-devil have her way. It would be so perfect and she would be so good.

Ah, passionate ecstasy. I almost got lost. Almost.

But I had trained for such encounters. Learned and taught. I was no mere man devoid of will and courage. I was a fighter and so I fought.

I knew what would happen. I knew the truth. I reminded myself over and over. It didn’t matter. I didn’t care. Imagine pouring the most intoxicating tankard of hops and honey, with golden suds frothing over the delectable rim. She filled me up with amber, and all I wanted was one drink.

By the Devil’s Hell, the longer I stared, the longer I stood in her proximity, the more power and control over me she gained.

Demonic temptress!

In a single heartbeat, my senses were tricked and all near lost.

They say a man has two minds, and she had infected one and the second was poisoned too.

Most men would have already become her willing puppet. I resisted this long because I was a practiced hunter. I had my training, my holy duty, and my natural resistance to thank. A trait passed on from my grandfather’s grandfather, I was born with the unique ability to resist most womanly charms. And thank the gods my same resistance applied to demonic succubus charms.

Be fooled not brave travellers, I love and worship women of chaste and moral character as afforded by the chivalric code of our lord’s land. And lo how I find these doves fiercely attractive, but my blessed blood gave me strength and power to keep my mind aboveboard when most men would drown in succubae seduction.

Still, there was only so much one hunter could resist.

The longer I stared, the more my strength waned.

Soon I would have no choice but succumb.

Earlier I became lost in the woods, separated from my hunting party. My sanctified prayer to Demeter for a moonlit night had gone for not. Why had she ignored me? Clouds entombed the moon and an autumnal haze had conspired against me. Damn the moon, damn the gods, damn that cloudy shroud.

The Hunter’s Moon had risen. And she, the silvery haired moon goddess, she was blood red. The Hunter’s Moon coincided this month and appeared as a Blood Hunter’s Moon. On momentous occasions as these, the Red Moon represented our Hunter’s Moon, our sign, a blessing to our holy mission.

Under her ruby glow, we hunters would be successful, and I would offer up demonic gore as tribute to the goddess moon. On this night, we were charmed and destined success.

Or so we believed.

But I was betrayed. An unfettered horse had turned tail, spooked at howling wind. Our party was sent this way and that. My brothers-in-arms dispatched. On this blood night, destiny was a fickle mistress and alas I was her latest victim. I became lost deep in the dark woods of Arabore. Alone. My Blood Moon prayers a failure. My holy goal incomplete. The demon appeared to have escaped my moral claim.

Lost in these dangerous untraveled woods, I wandered. Until I came upon an unexpected opening and a stream.

And there she was, waiting, bathing in the shimmering water, naked.

Perfect foul temptress.



Resplendent, but I knew better. But knowing did no good as I still couldn’t resist her temptation.

Where was my bloody hunting party? Why was I the one separated and lost? It should have been one of the others. This was not supposed to be my end. I was not yet ready to give my life to Artemis, the goddess of the hunt, or Selene, goddess of the sky. There was still life in my loins, and I did not want my future self to be exsanguinated.

Our hunting party had gathered at the villagers’ behest. They complained of their young men going missing. Every new moon another man disappeared. Formerly, it was the constable’s duty to perform, but when he disappeared during the previous Harvest Moon, panic set in. Word was sent to the Lord Governor:



The ramblings a desperate man would read more sensible. These were the pleas of remote peasants afraid of the dark.

The Lord Governor didn’t believe in superstitions. He was a well-travelled man of the New World, a pioneer of this new age of Enlightenment. In his mind, paranoia was left for the storybooks of the old country. In this case, there was no need for alarm, no need to call the militia to action. The lowly farmers and peasant merchants were abandoned to defend their fringe. They had little chance of success.

But we of the hunter clan knew different. Our spies in high places shared these neglected tales of woe. We were hunters of an ancient order, tasked with the elimination of Demons, including the Sisterhood of Succubae. Once upon a time we had been sanctioned by the High Church. We had battled these beasts from the Holy Land to the Orient and beyond. But this was the New World and sadly many of the old ways had been discarded and forgotten.

But still, we knew. Our order of secret knowledge maintained, even if the rest of the world moved on. We knew the succubae followed man to the colonies. As long as there were men, there were evil forces that would sin and tempt man’s destruction.

Many of the other orders might have given up the fight, but not us. We were hunters, direct descendants of the White Lion of Ansberry Proper. We would never give up, not so long as one succubus survived. The very fate of Arabore, nay, all of mankind depended on their destruction.

The temptress stood up and looked at me. She was the most beautiful thing I had ever seen. Life meant nothing, but to look at her. Time slowed to a crawl. My life flashed before me, void of happiness and joy, if she not be in it. My existence was her plaything. She let me peek inside her. I become absorbed and distracted.

But I knew something she didn’t. I knew she hadn’t yet taken total control of me. Untrained men would have submitted willingly in the first sighting. She took her power for granted. I wager this she-devil had consumed dozens of men in her wake already. But, she knew not of a hunter’s special skills. I knew I still had a chance to resist. As long as she just stood there, there was still a chance that things might work out. Alas, there appeared only a small chance, but a chance.

I was still in danger. She suckled at the teat of my life’s breast. A little pucker at a time. Just a drop. And each liquid drop of courage, tenacity, hunter’s will that I lost, fed her insatiable demonic hunger. In mere moments, she would pounce and that would mean my imminent death. This succubus bitch, feeder of men, Hades piglet swine, she, nay, it, would have its way and I would be no more.

For one sliver of a moment, I clung to life. I needed to break her gaze, her spell, and escape. I was a hunter, yes, but it was foolish to confront her alone. No matter how strong, how prepared I was, I was no match.

To my brief relief, she had not devoured me yet. Maybe she was sated. Maybe I was a parlor game to her. Maybe she only wanted a taste and she would let me go. As long as she just stood there, I knew that maybe just maybe I had some sort of chance. An amateur pugilist, I prepared my mind to maneuver when called upon.

When she finally took her first step forward, I knew I was in trouble. That was when there would be only one remaining choice. Kill or be killed, whether I wanted to or not. It was the only way. Despite her beauty, despite my burgeoning loins wanting to succumb to her, despite my logical brain shutting down and my reptilian brain taking over, I knew. Deep down in my heart of hearts, I knew. Kill or be killed.

It wasn’t fair. Not much in the world was anymore. But this seemed even more cruel. A beautiful woman. A dream. A fantasy. And yet she was one of the most dangerous of creatures that ever were. A bloody succubus.

I reminded myself over and over, as she inched closer and closer. She was a demon. She had to die. She deserved to die. It was her or me. But as she drew near, she became a Vestal Virgin and my heart sank more. My will weakened, but I knew my task.

I reached down for the scythe strapped to my belt, but I made my mistake and paused. Her youthful eyes caught my glance again and I was kept, entranced. My hand paused. My mind became lost in her long lashed eyes. Each of her long lashes psychically stroked me with every blink. I lost all defensive desire and my body filled with carnal lust and the desire to succumb. I didn’t know if I wanted to live or die, only that I wanted to feel the full force of her pleasure.

That was when she had me. That was when she charged.

And in some small way, that made me glad. To be hers. To be taken. My body accepted its pleasurable fate, even if my mind hadn’t yet approved.

As an equestrian mounted her steed with precision, so too did the succubus mount me. Everything occurred with great speed and determination. One moment we were apart, then the next she was atop me. Me, laying on the ground. Her womanhood nestled over my mouth. She moved with an unrelenting sexual energy and impulse. I don’t remember disrobing. I don’t even know if I needed to — she was already ready, with or without me.

She seemed the perfect woman. Damn it all that she was also a soul sucking demon. Before I knew it, she had fed me with her moist womanhood. My tongue probed her icy caverns and tasted something almost… sweet? She was cold down below, but hardly frigid. How was something from hell cold betwixt her legs? Another torture from the devil perhaps. But her fiery libido was enough to warm the chill that struck my tongue. She was a sexy beast and it was infectious.

She writhed with apoplectic joy. I had been told many times by many different women that I possessed a wicked tongue, but this was no ordinary woman whom squealed and begged for more. This she-devil possessed a demonic juice in her inner depths that would likely burn my face with horrific foulness. Were we to complete, a tidal wave of vaginal-acid brewing in this she-devil’s womb would wash my skin off, straight to the bone in seconds.

And yet my manhood had responded. My rod had gone stiff. Despite my mortal danger. My training doth fail me. One side of my brain knew I was in grave danger, but the other enjoyed the piss out of this she-devil’s icy slit.

The succubus thrashed equal parts orgasmic glee and demonic torment. She was one of Hades’ eternal slaves after all. Hades’ accursed suffered pleasure and pain in equal measure.

So, what would it be? Would I ride along with her until her orgasmic wave came and spelled my doom, or…

NO! I declared. I would survive. I would prevail.

I used my throbbing oar to steer myself away from the acrimonious unholy water of the River Styx. I unsheathed my stone, and presented it for her to behold.

It throbbed for her and it throbbed for me. As the beacon from a lighthouse doth pierce the fog, the succubus noticed my royal cock, and dismounted my face in order to plow my endowment. The demon’s one weakness was sexual appetite. If she had a stronger soul, she would have avoided my cock, melted my face and been done with me. But now? A good time was to be had by all, and I was given the smallest chance at survival.

As quickly as she mounted my face, she adroitly mounted my cock. My mighty beast… my Excalibur. I found myself back in control. Her demon below swallowed my rod like a beggar at a delicious Father Christmas meal. I rolled her over, keeping myself in place, so that I could thrust from behind. We moved in tandem and her body reacted to mine. We moved in harmony and I could feel the threat to my life retreat.

I willed my remaining life’s blood into my cock and swelled inside her. She warmed with my thrusts, and began to fight her own battle – her joy versus her desire to end me. In retaliation she grew cold again. Frostbit vaginal walls cut my cock, but still I pushed harder and harder. This was my last chance, my only chance. A frozen shredded cock was better than a melted face.

A mixture of my blood and her wet gushed from inside her. And the succubus did indeed scream the banshee’s scream.

Pleasure overtook her as she fed on my strength. She was going to erupt.

I had no idea what fate awaited me once she did.

I swelled and swelled and swelled, well beyond my capacity. I was going to burst. I was going to give it all and she was going to take it. That might be the end of me. She was a demon beast and when she came she would claim my soul.

I had to hold out. I had to resist. But what could I do? She was too good. It was all too good.

I felt my member pulsing. My core muscles tightened. I was going to explode inside her.

It seemed as though my life was at an end. I prepared for the end.

But then my eye caught the glint of our sacred hunter’s cleaver, gleaming in the blood-red moonlight, as it swung down through the air…


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The Succubus Hunter
In the colonial era, huntsmen have been trained by the church to track down and kill succubus demons that have infiltrated the local villages. During an evening hunt, Nicholas gets separated from his companions in the woods and stumbles across a beautiful naked woman. Soon he realizes she's the prey he's been hunting, but her seductive powers prove too strong for even him.

His companions eventually rescue him, but it may already be too late. That night Nicholas begins to change, becoming more feminine, discovering a growing lust and hunger toward his fellow hunters. Transforming into a female succubus, the former hunter suddenly becomes the hunted. And Nicholas must choose loyalty between the brotherhood of hunters he once swore allegiance, and the new sisterhood of succubi she now unquestionably belongs.

67 pages | Read Free Sample


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