Ravar’s heart froze in his chest. He settled for perching one hip on the desk edge, right thigh crossed over left, called for his visitor to enter. As an afterthought he cast his gaze about for his cigarettes, found them.
Something tightened about his crotch, making him gasp, shaft throbbing as blood rushed, beating a pulse in his ears.
The door on the far wall opened, a plump female face showing in the gap, one ginger curl falling free.
“Professor Ravar? Are you busy?”
Busier than you can know, girl… he thought.
He waved her in. Sasha Corvousier came in, masses of ginger hair following after her, shimmying a body used to richer food than his. Her twin, Frederick Corvousier, trailed behind.
“Just finished off some pages for the Printing Guild.” he said, smiled. About 20 odd, they both had sincere and wide freckled faces, “What do you need?”
“We were wondering if you could shed some light on a quote?” she ventured.
He frowned slightly; his arousal was growing, cock pulsing steadily with his heartbeat, trousers a confining prison.
“Which one?”
“The quote you said would be on the exam? About more things in…uh…philosophy.”

He undid the bandanna, put it on the desk, picked up a pack of cigarettes and lit one, exhaled smoke, using the movements to disguise the bulge, leant forward with elbow over his lap.
“Well, what do you think it means?”
“I th-”
Frederick cut his twin sister off, moving out from her shadow.
“That Horatio takes things for granted. That no matter what he can think of, there’s always something else out there.”
“Good. Logical. You, Sasha?”
She hummed for a moment.
“I think my brother’s right.”
“Okay. I sense a ‘but’ there.”
“Yes. Buuut…I think it’s bigger than that.”
At the word ‘bigger’, the strongest throb yet made his cockhead rub on the trouser fabric, and he pretended to have caught hot ash. His hand jerked back and his face twitched. Neither student seemed perturbed.
“I think,” Sasha continued, “that they’re saying whatever mankind can think up, there’s always going to be darker things out there, not just on earth but under heaven too, and we’ll always be ignorant.
But who’s right, Professor Ghoran??”

Ravar felt the desire increase, a flush begin in his neck. And Sasha Corvousier of all students; pretty face, matronly plump body, that unruly mass of ginger hair… He fanned his cheeks with a piece of note paper, cigarette bobbing between his lips, squinted against the disturbed smoke.
“Guess what? You’re both right. It’s open to interpretation. Whatever you want to apply, can be applied. Understand? Good.”

Thus reassured, the siblings departed.
Ravar lunged to the door, shot the deadbolt. Rapidly consulting his mental arrangement of appointments, he came up with nothing.
Scuttling back to the leather chair, he dropped into it. Now the chair was home to a fever, one that had to be dealt with. He put the cigarette in the ashtray, saw his hands were both tremulous.
Shaking his head, face flush with apprehension, he lifted the shirt, tucked the hem under his chin, trembling fingers undoing the belt and trouser fly.
His cock sprang out of its confinement, belt buckle clanging against the chair arm. He let out a long and shuddering sigh to see his surprise visitor.
Normally a few inches long when soft, his prick was rock hard, pulsing, thick veins criss-crossing over 7 inches of erection. The head poked pink and purple through foreskin forced back by arousal. Reaching down, not yet ready to touch it, he cupped his testicles, examined them. The size of large golf balls, he felt cum stirring in them like yoghurt churned by a farm-girl’s hands.
“Ahhhhh…” he breathed, grasping the base with one hand, teasing back the foreskin.
So it was time.
How could he have not realised? That the succubus visitations had been occurring randomly should have been his first clue. The last time, over a week ago, there’d been muddy claw-toed foot prints on his floor.
Fingers stroking up the throbbing length, he groaned softly, realised that it was far larger than during the previous two July’s. He’d need the thigh strap, to fasten his member to the inside of his thigh. Sweat rolled down his forehead, dripped onto his pulsing shaft. It twitched, bucking in his hand, as a drop slid down the side, making him aware of the extreme sensitivity.
This was the year, the year it would all come to fruition. And the month.
Gods, how could he have missed the month?? Silently cursing, Ravar slid the trousers down to his knees, took a spare thigh strap from his desk. The binding was difficult, precum leaking steadily in little rivulets and making the work slippery.
He’d need the cleverly worked sheath with its drip container, if this was any indication; last time cum had spilled like a thick, hot waterfall of cream down his leg without warning.

Bells started ringing outside, a rhythmic jangle of deep bass and treble from big gold bells. He’d just finished buckling the strap into place when the ringing tone awoke late understanding in the melting pot of his head.
Bells for the Lady Marquesa… His cock pulsed in rhythm with the gold rings, warm fluid seeping down to his knee. He slid down, back arched, barely hearing the squeak of the leather as tingles of pleasure ratcheted through his crotch, expanding out over his entire body.
Ring Ring Ring
Surrender Surrender Surrender
Her voice called with the golden rock of the ringing bells, husky and lascivious, commanding and imperious, the very essence of femininity distilled like spirit vodka.
Brown skin flushed, Ravar understood that it would have to be now. Before anything else. He kicked off the trousers, doffed the shirt, let both lie on the floor. He grabbed a wad of tissues from the desk, dropped them in his haste, scrambled to move them out of the way, trousers somehow trailing after him. He snapped off the strap buckle.
Down on the floor, coolness of stones under knees, one questing hand stretched and grasped in sudden need for a suitable container, a proper receptacle, anything.
Ring Ring Ring
Surrender Surrender Surrender
He found an empty inkwell, placed it on the floor, hips humping a firmly gripping hand.
It did not take long.
In seconds his cock gave a first pulse, hot creamy cum spraying out to spatter the floor, his hand, his thighs. He focussed, drawing on his will, thrust his hips downward through the cock bucking jets, cockhead pressed painfully into the cold glass after the third spurt. Hand stroking up and down across the lower inches, he worked all the cum out, milked himself. Ravar sighed, feeling the tension of the last however-long depart, body relaxing, chin on chest. His chin jerked upward, once.
Ring Ring Ring
Surrender Surrender Surrender
Another sigh on trembling thighs. Clean up was going to be annoying, but he had most of it, very little wasted. Only some of the hardness had dissipated, cock still throbbing, the need to release diminished, though the desire to stroke was strong.
Breath rasping out in harsh gasps, he bent to the task with the tissues, smelling warm cum and tobacco smoke, wiping up himself, the floor and-
Ring Ring Ring
Surrender Surrender SURRENDER
Another spurt jetted long, splashing hands, shirt and trousers. He cursed, another two gobs rising thick up inside, pressure releasing, emerging as dribbles.
It was going to be an interesting month, indeed. He continued his cleaning, thinking of a change of clothes, that he had to go to the temple straight after dropping off the carefully written pages.
The Temple of the Lady Marquesa.