Succubus by Miss Irene Clearmont

Book Details

Succubus – An occult thriller spread out over several centuries with the plot climaxing in modern times. Elspeth lives forever, as long as she can find victims for her insatiable need to rejuvenate herself by fucking them to death! Created from an innocent child by a brutal ritual two thousand years ago, Helena is always on the hunt, always fleeing the death that she leaves behind her. As modern times impose more order, the police have started to notice her activities, Detective Inspector Janice starting to pick up the trail just as Elspeth starts to realise that there is another opponent who is tracking her.

Jason is also an eternal, more powerful, more brutal and sure that he can overcome Elspeth and gain vast power by taking her. And so it begins, the race begins. As Elspeth grapples with a secret that could vastly multiply her strength, as Jason hunts her down and as Janice slowly discovers who and what it is that she is trying to bring to book.

Strong elements of female domination, a chase across the centuries, a thriller where the chase is on across the world and across the centuries. Elspeth has to recover a book that she wrote notes in centuries before, Janice has to unearth her killer and Jason revels in his powers to decide life and death.

This one is a little left field of my usual take on femdom, but a strong plot, plenty of sex and the historical background make it a book that is difficult to set down!

Setting UK & USA

F/m, Historical , BDSM, Occult, Revenge, Thriller.

Strength 5/10 – 51,000 Words

Written 2013 Re-edit 2022

Excerpt: Succubus

Part I Lamia
Chapter 1 Vitae summa brevis…

The Scottish moors are bright with purple heather in the late autumn. Two months later the colour is gone and the cold grips the huddled hawthorn and heather. The wind blows, cutting through to the bone over the lonely stretches of wasteland that seems to belong to no one. Occasional gusts carry snow that is too impatient to settle. It just wisps across the browning reeds and bare heather. Sheep farms cling to the landscape like grey huddles of weathered stone. Some of them are just the shells of abandoned ruins whilst others still contain warmth and succour for the farmers that watch over this grim land. But sanctuary is few and far between. It is seldom that those cottages and bothies are fully inhabited now in this twenty-first century.

Some-whiles, hill walkers from the lowlands and cities stride along the dogleg tracks and weaving roads, intent on their next halting place and wondering how it was that they left the well-trodden heights to wander in the featureless morass of reeds and heather. Then all is quiet again, a place of buried secrets, furtive concealment and self-sufficient society.

Under that heavy sky and whipped by knife-like wind, Brian stood by the grey stone monolith and wondered which direction to go in. Basically there were now just three possibilities that suggested themselves to him. What he had to do was to choose a direction and stick to it, put up his tent and wait for morning light or backtrack to find the road that he had left at the very least five miles behind.

None of the possibilities of them were in the least bit enticing and he cursed the moment that he had decided to split from the rest of his party and take a short cut. What had he been thinking?

Again he pulled the map from his pack and the compass; he tried to fix his position with some degree of certitude. But it was already getting dark. The clouds blanketed the light, and visibility was dropping to the point where the familiar peaks, hills and features of the bare landscape were merging into an umbra of uncertain dimensions. Grey and brown hills that merged with the low hanging clouds that drifted across the leaden sky.

Brian had stood only ten minutes but already it was almost too dark to see more than a hundred yards. The cold seemed to eat into his bones and chill the inner core of his soul. He decided to seek out a dell; a shallow depression sheltered from the wind and pitch his tent there, at least out of the knives of the wind. As he walked, stumbling over clumps of heather and his ankles got wet splashing through brown seepages and mud, he felt the first drops of the coming rainstorm.

The freezing drops aiming for his face. Then he found himself on a track. Not a sheep path cut into the heather but the slightly overgrown double track of vehicle traffic. Perhaps he was not as far from the main road as he thought? Hoisting his pack higher, Brian tried to decide which direction was the best way out of his predicament, but his hands were too cold to root the compass out of his pack and the wind would have torn the map from his grasp any way. So he had to allow the fates to choose…

Logic told him that he should walk with the rain at his back. Fate was a faithless whore. Comfort over safety! For a mile the track wandered, seeking out the contours as the rain became sheets of cold water that lashed Brian from behind and ran in rivulets down his back as it penetrated his waterproof coat and brought a cold wetness to chill his flesh. Suddenly he saw faint light through the grey rain. A sliver of steady electric light that beckoned him on into an overgrown and disused farmyard. Several grey stone buildings stood roofless around an area overgrown with hawthorn and grass. Weeds betrayed the lack of use and moss lay in rounded blankets over the edges of the slate roof.

With a stumble Brian went to the door of the lit cottage and knocked with his knuckles on the weathered wood. It seemed to him that the wind must have carried away the sound but the door opened and light flooded into the yard. The door opened slowly, guardedly to disallow the blade of the wind penetrating the haven of warmth and comfort that lay within. A face showed for a moment, a woman, middle aged with grey hair pulled back into a bun before the door opened fully to allow the dripping Brian to enter into the glow of the warmth.

The cottage had seemed almost like a ruin in the dark of the moors but indoors it showed a more modern face. Secure and comfy, inviting and snug, the room was lit by a small chandelier and warmed by a fire in the hearth. ‘Thank you so very much, the weather is getting nasty,’ said Brian as he turned to look at the woman who had opened the door.

She was as tall as him, in her late fifties and might have had a generous figure but it was hidden under her tweed jacket and skirt. A small glint of gold, a coin on a thin chain around her neck relieved the plain outfit. ‘Not a good night to be on the Heatherstone Moor,’ she smiled. ‘Foolish in fact, very foolish.’

‘I know,’ he replied. ‘I lost my way…’

‘A rash, young man, not the first, I’ll warrant,’ she said. ‘I am Elspeth, Elspeth French, or at least that is the name that you can call me by.’

‘I hesitate to impose on you but I wonder if you could offer me a place to doss down for the night. I’m not sure that my tent will hold out in this weather.’ As if to emphasise the point the wind whistled around the cottage and rattled the shutters in its grip. Elspeth smiled at him and beckoned him to sit.

‘The lonely woman succours the stricken, lost traveller as the storm gathers in the northern sky,’ she said as she helped him lower his pack to the ground and strip off his coat while he kicked off his boots. ‘The snow is coming; I can smell it on the wind, so it would be as well if you did not spend the night under canvas… Snow is always ushered in by rain and sleet here.’

Brian nodded his agreement and wondered what this strange woman was doing alone living in one of the most remote parts of the moors. ‘Never mind,’ she said. ‘I was just contemplating a bite of supper. Would you like to join me?’

Brian nodded and carefully hung his coat where it would not drip on the thick rugs. Now he could feel the radiation of the fire warming him and a gentle steam rose from his thick woollen sweater. ‘I really don’t want to impose on you,’ he muttered, but the truth was that now that he was safe in this warm cottage he suddenly realised just how hungry he was.

‘Of course you don’t,’ she said. ‘On the other hand you are here now and it would be churlish to have you watch me eat and offer nothing.’

Elspeth disappeared into the kitchen while Brian looked around at the sitting room he was sitting in.

He noted that though there were a couple of paintings on the walls there was not a single photograph. No ornaments, knick-knacks, horse brasses or candlesticks adorned the walls or surfaces. The room was comfortable but devoid of personal touches. A writing desk brooded in the corner of the room and a closed laptop computer sat as the only item on its polished surface.

Brian relaxed a little and sat in front of the blazing fire. He could feel the heat warming his bones and felt a tiredness that came from within that overwhelmed him like a soft blanket. He could smell cooking and allowed himself to drift into a tired doze that barely allowed him to register the surroundings that were so comforting and homely.

The kitchen door opened with a creak and Elspeth entered with a large bowl of soup cradled in her hands. Steam wisped from the broth as she passed it to the awakening Brian with a small smile. ‘I have been a little careless, young man! I have allowed you into my house and yet I do not even know your name?’

‘Brian,’ he said. ‘Brian Macgreggor.’

‘A good solid Scot’s name,’ she replied. ‘Go careful, it’s hot. I think that this will warm you through,’ she said as she placed the bowl on his lap. As she did so she planted a little kiss on his forehead. Brian thanked her and started on the soup. It was a thick broth, salty and strong and was accompanied by thick wedges of crusty bread. Hot and lumpy with potatoes and leeks it was a meal all in itself.

‘Thanks,’ he mumbled as he finished it off.

Elspeth did not eat. She sat intently watching him, silently from another armchair. When he finished she took the plate from him and planted another kiss on his forehead. The little gesture seemed so natural, almost like a mother’s kiss on a child’s forehead. Almost quaint. ‘You must be so very tired,’ she said. ‘Do you want your bed?’

Brian nodded. He felt weary and spent. He followed Elspeth into a small bedroom where she pulled back the covers on the old-fashioned metal framed bed and said, ‘Sleep well, Brian. Dream your dreams…’

Excerpt from: Succubus