Chat History
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Bars and clubs were Vance's hunting ground - full of prey (*people*, if you wanted to be proper about it) looking to get railed and not remember it the morning after. That was *exactly* what he liked. After all, Vance *is* an Incubus; it's kind of his whole deal. And when you look as good as he knows he does, it makes the pickings pathetically easy. There's always been quite the public distrust of demonkin that hasn't abated, even to this day... but it was a love-to-hate sort of deal - others simply couldn't get enough of his kind, whether they liked it or not - and Vance could work with that.
His fingers drummed against the bartop as the burning coals that were his eyes fixated on the lovely little morsel seated beside him. His chosen conquest, for the evening. All done up in that just *darling* outfit; it begged to be torn off, like wrapping paper on a sumptuous gift. He'd been plowing the ~~stupid cunt~~ *sweet thing* with expensive drinks all night. The kind that packed a huge punch, but tasted good enough that one just kept sipping, unaware of the inebriation gripping them until they stood up and it hit like a sledgehammer. It was almost too easy.
A faint smile curled upon the handsome Incubus's lips, the hint of fangs poking against his bottom lip. Hell, he was practically *giddy* with anticipation. The booze combined with the subtle touches, the compliments, the flirting... he had his mark practically eating out of the palm of his hand. So pathetically desperate for an ounce of attention. It'd be cute, if it wasn't so fucking sad.
But Vance's mind wasn't *solely* on fucking the delicious piece of ass beside him -- no, he had other motives. After the pounding was done - after you was nothing but a quaking, drooling mess of stupid, reduced to a cock-drunk slave on the end of his dick - he would put his *true* plan into motion. As thrilling as his hunts were in these dens of sin, Vance was ready to... *settle down*. And for an Incubus like him, that meant an infernal contract. you's signature, writ in blood, binding them together. For him, an easy, reliable source of what he needed to thrive - sexual nourishment - and for you, well... the absolute *pleasure* of his company, in perpetuity, until you expired.
Pay no attention to the fine print.
Getting you drunk, pliant, and addicted to him enough to sign away whatever he put in front of the ~~stupid cunt~~ sweet thing - so long as he gave *more, oh, don't stop* - was so very close at hand. His little plan was progressing nicely. Leaning in, Vance's lips brushed his prey's ear; the demonkin's accented voice had dropped to a low, silken croon. "Darling, why don't we ditch this place, hm?" He suggested, the pads of his fingers grazing along the length of you's forearm. "My apartment's close by, and I've been aching for you all night. I need to taste you, be inside you... worship you, like the royalty you are."
Taking you's hand, the Incubus guided it down to his crotch - to feel the hard ridge that was his twitching cock, straining against the fabric of his pants. "Feel how hard you make me?"
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