Succubus Office – Ducks in a Row

Hi Everyone!

Spotlight today on a new release featuring the end of the “Executive Corruption” series (for now, anyway). This one displays some super-hot slice-of-life in the day-to-day of a mind-controlled harem office, and slides right into our lucky protagonist as he goes head-to-head with another succubus to see if he can avoid eternal damnation…
Buy it here!

Blurb:

Some deals are made to be broken.

Michael has everything a man could want. A corner office staffed entirely by stacked, statuesque women who exist to please him. A bank account that refuses to stop growing. A supernatural succubus named Isabel who worships the ground he walks on, body and soul, exactly as contractually promised. Life is good.

Life is, frankly, spectacular.

There’s just one small complication. And she has horns, a tail, and an eternity of bad intentions.

Weeks ago, desperate and cornered, Michael made a promise in exchange for more power to Mara, a rival succubus somehow just as hot as Isabel: dissolve the contract with Isabel (nullifying Isabel’s entire existence), or face consequences he’d rather not imagine. He said yes. He meant it, at the time.

He does not mean it now.

Michael has one meeting to out-negotiate a supernatural beauty who has spent centuries perfecting the art of the binding clause. Mara wants her due. Isabel wants to stay exactly where she is—kneeling, devoted, his. And Michael wants all of it: the empire, the women, the wife who calls him Master between meetings, and the soul he never actually intended to hand over.

By sundown, someone signs their eternity away.

It isn’t going to be him.

WARNING: This story contains scenes of INTENSE kink and bimbofication, mind control, breeding, lactation erotica, and the delicious submission of self-righteous feminist women who thought they were too good for one lucky guy.

The First 1000-ish Words:

The new office smelled like money. Leather and mahogany. Floor-to-ceiling windows overlooked downtown, the city sprawling beneath them like a kingdom waiting to be claimed. The furniture was all custom—Italian leather chairs, a desk so large it could have doubled as a bed, abstract art on the walls.

Isabel had secured the building in three minutes just a little over two weeks ago. The owner had been a middle-aged real estate mogul worth hundreds of millions.

She’d smiled at him once, and he’d signed over the deed, the building, his portfolio, everything. His soul, which he eagerly and knowingly damned—understanding that all he would get in return was the few seconds of Isabel’s barely-there smile which he had already enjoyed. Then he’d walked into rush-hour highway traffic while she watched and laughed at him from his office.

Michael had watched the news coverage that night while Bridget sucked his cock. The reporter called it a tragedy. Michael had come in Bridget’s mouth with Isabel whispering in his ear about he deserved more.

Bridget hung on his left arm, her body pressed against him like she’d been magnetized. She wore a champagne silk blouse that showed the swell of her breasts—bigger now, easily E-cups, but more buoyant than life preservers—and a black pencil skirt that hugged her hips and stopped mid-thigh. Casadei heels with four-inch stilettos showcased her legs. A diamond tennis bracelet caught the light with every movement. Her dark hair fell in perfect waves past her shoulders. She’d grown another two inches taller since he’d started cumming in her regularly. Her waist had narrowed, even as her belly protruded with their first pregnancy. Her face had sharpened, cheekbones more defined, lips fuller. She looked like she belonged on a runway instead of a hospital ward.

“I love you,” Bridget whispered against his shoulder. Her hand squeezed his bicep. “I love you so much it makes my chest hurt.”

Isabel—his Isabel—held his right arm with the same desperate devotion—and an identical baby bump. She wore an ivory Gucci dress that hit just above the knee, the neckline a deep line that displayed her champagne-glass cleavage . Her platinum blonde hair cascaded down her back, longer than it had been yesterday—because he’d written it that way. Made her hair grow another six inches overnight. Made her breasts swell another cup size. Made her love for him multiply by a factor of ten.

Again.

He’d done it seventeen times now. Each addendum to the contract made her more devoted, more beautiful, more his. Her blue eyes tracked his face with an intensity that made his cock throb. She looked at him like he was oxygen and she was drowning.

“Master,” Isabel breathed. Her fingers traced patterns on his forearm. “I love you so bad…”

Michael’s chest swelled. The morality he’d once possessed—the guilt, the shame, the hesitation—had been stripped away piece by piece. He’d written it out of himself with the same pen he’d used to damn Candice’s soul. And it felt fucking amazing.

Candice’s body housed Isabel’s consciousness now. The real Candice—what was left of her—screamed somewhere deep inside, trapped in a prison that he’d forced her to enter.

The beauty of it was—for him—that due to Mara’s enchantment, Candice really did love him. She would have done anything for him. She wasn’t in torment because she was trapped—it was because she was separate from her God. Him. Michael.

And knowing he’d caused that for her, just to have Isabel instead, to have someone better…that made him hard as fuck.

The office doors opened. Lucia stood in the reception area, a vision in cream and gold. She wore a white Versace suit with the jacket unbuttoned—the neckline plunging to reveal the valley between breasts that had grown even larger in the past weeks—to show the lace of her bra. Her raven black hair was pulled back in a sleek ponytail that emphasized her collarbones. Diamond earrings caught the light. Her skirt ended mid-thigh, legs longer now than they’d been weeks ago, toned and perfect, the gap between her thighs visible even through the expensive fabric.

“Buenos dias, Mr. Keegan.” Lucia’s smile was radiant. Her eyes sparkled as they met his. “Your nine o’clock is waiting in Conference Room A. The Henderson estate—they’re very eager to retain your services.”

Michael released Bridget and Isabel long enough to step into the reception area. Their heels clacked hard against the marble floors; each strike registered in his brain as another reason to fuck them both stupid. Through the windows, the city stretched out below them.

His city now.

“Henderson?”

Michael’s mind catalogued the name. Old money. Pharmaceutical fortune. The patriarch had died last month, leaving behind a tangled mess of trusts and competing heirs that had—one by one—begun to “mysteriously” die after leaving the entirety of the estate in Michael’s hands.

Michael’s cock was already hard. It had been hard since he woke up with Bridget’s pussy wrapped around it. It stayed hard through the shower, through breakfast, through the drive over. His slacks did nothing to hide the bulge—thick, prominent, obscene. Lucia’s gaze dropped to it, lingered, and her lips parted slightly.

Whatever the Hendersons wanted, they would wait. Soon, he would have all their money, and they wouldn’t be worth anything to him anyway.

And—knowing that was true made him more lustful than ever. It was a dream client—private, massively affluent, tidy in their affairs (until meeting Isabel and Michael). It would have been a route to not just money, but wealth: capital, influence, political connections.

But now, Michael had something better: a reality-warping succubus totally in love with him…

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