Nov 16 2014

A Review of The Love Of A Succubus by Lady Sakimura

The Love Of A Succubus by Lady Sakimura

The Love Of A Succubus by Lady Sakimura

The second of two works by an author, they being their initial steps into writing in English… and about Succubi.

In the first review last week I mentioned that work felt like it had been put through a translator and little editing seemed to have been done. Regretfully this second work has the same issues as the first, save for one important point which made it better than the first if only slightly…

  • Title: The Love Of A Succubus
  • Author: Lady Sakimura
  • Length: 15 Pages
  • Publishing Date: March 10, 2014
  • This work at

The work tells of:

The follow-up story to Sucker For A Succubus. In order to satisfy Morgan, his new succubus partner, Eric becomes a half-demon. Things don’t quite work out as planned, however, when he finds that she is only interested in his fresh, nourishing blood. Will she ever know the true meaning of love? Enjoy this short story by award-winning Japanese doujinshi author, Lady Sakimura. This is her second story in English.

Eric decides that he wants more of his relationship with Morgan and after telling her so, she turns him into a demon as well. And things go downhill from there rapidly.

Like the first work, I found this work very hard to read because the text reads as if it was directly translated from Japanese to English with no editing which would make the sentences read better or to make the story better. The words are clunky, the thoughts are scattered and the storyline reads like a comic book that has been turned into a story with the dialog being taken directly from it.

As for plot, this work has one, and it actually is a good idea, but the way the story is told, what happens to Eric and Morgan is just handled wrong. I want to feel emotionally attached to what happens at the end of the story, but to get to that point there is a lot of moments where I just could not find a way to really care about what was happening.

There is, again, a lot of blood, some horror scenes that are typically anime in scope and the appearance of another character, literally out of the blue, serves really no purpose other than to push the story towards a conclusion that I didn’t enjoy.

One and a half out of five pitchforks.

Difficult to read, odd situations and story, at least several more editing passes would have helped overall. Proofreaders might have been a good idea to help both of these works be more than they are.



Nov 15 2014

A little bit different Succubus art in progress YouTube…

One of the things that I like to find in art of Succubi is that there is a touch personality in the characters created… Not just that they look like every other Succubus, that they have a look, a style an image that is much more… I found one and it really is quite different and unique…

And if the video does not show on the Tale, try this link:

The finished art is quite striking I think…


Love her hair, a neat little smile of mischief that looks quite right on her too. Overall a lovely piece of Succubus art that I really adore…


Nov 14 2014

A Review of Beautiful Dead Girl by Robert Palmer

Beautiful Dead Girl by Robert Palmer

Beautiful Dead Girl by Robert Palmer

Mystery stories are interesting things. It is the journey that matters in them more than the moments themselves. It is the flaws of the characters and their world that come to mean more than what just the words themselves say.

The process of finding the answers, both for the characters and the reader is what either makes or breaks these kind of stories… and sometimes it’s a question of the questions that remain that makes one pause at the end and… wonder.

It is the story of:

A dark and dreary supernatural romance that bridges the gap between life and death, Beautiful Dead Girl was originally published online at (now defunct.) The short story opens the door into the troubled life of crime scene photographer Jimmy Trundle as he discovers the love of his life . . . face up and naked in an alley.

Jimmy Trundle leads a troubled, harsh life, trying to survive in the big city. He attends a crime scene and finds himself haunted by the victim he sees there… and then she begins to haunt him in return.

The story that is told about Jimmy shows that the world he lives in is a harsh one, that his life has seen moments that have beaten him down over time. The pains he suffered and still does are there to be seen very clearly and in them comes questions about events in his past that really aren’t told of, but are important to his character.

Things turn towards a darker corner when he is called to photograph a crime scene for the police. But soon after he finds that the woman he photographed haunts his thoughts. And then she comes to see him… several times. The line between this woman, Eva, and Jimmy’s reality become blurred and mixed as the story progresses towards it’s inevitable conclusion.

Is Eva, the woman that haunts Jimmy, a Succubus? For the most part she very well seems to be. Her actions, what she does to Jimmy and the conclusion of the work all seem to point out that she is one. She never appears to be one with horns or tail, but her raw sexuality and how Jimmy reacts to her seem to, again, say that she is. There isn’t really any one point in the work where it is clearly said that she is a Succubus, but in my mind I can see her being one.

To the story itself the author created a very vivid world that I found enjoyable to read. Jimmy has his flaws, but also his better side and the work gave time to both sides which made him a better character. The people that he came into contact with had their own faults, flaws and quirks which added a lot of atmosphere.

The characters are very good, the settings and scenes are well written and told. The only real problem with this work is that it needs one more editing pass to correct a number of tense errors that tripped me up in my reading. Not all of the answers are given, there are many questions at the end untold. But the work does film noir really well I thought and as a whole I enjoyed the story for what it was. A mystery and a question. It does need to be, I think. about ten pages longer if for no other reason than to clean up some of the questions left behind… But then, in film noir themes, not all of your questions are answered are they?

Three and a half out of five pitchforks.

The work needs one more editing pass to correct a lot of tense errors. But getting past that there is a very good film noir type of story here that tells a very good story. It could be much longer, we could learn more about Eva, which would be my preference. But as a whole it tells a gripping story in itself.



Nov 13 2014

Succubi Image of the Week 357

There is an artist on DeviantArt that I have been wanting to commission for quite some time. Now, as of yet I haven’t been lucky enough to have that happen… But. They have drawn Succubi before and this week on the Tale I am going to share one specific image that I think is very yummy by far…

Succubus in Hell by DrewGardner

Succubus in Hell by DrewGardner

This is called Succubus in Hell and is by the artist Drew Gardner. You can find the original page I found this work on here and Drew’s site on DeviantArt can be found here as well…

Drew’s description of this artwork is really quite fascinating to me:

While trekking through Hell, this succubus grew tired with her companion staring at her naked body, so using her witchy powers, drew in the darkness from her surroundings to form magical garments.

I think that really speaks to the way Succubi look at things sometimes. By that I mean eventually they do tend to roll their eyes a bit and then think… So, how can I ramp things up a bit? Really that’s exactly what she is doing here if you think about it. The only thing she’s managed to do is make absolutely sure that whomever is with her will be tripping over their feet looking at her.

I like that her “clothing”, more like tattoos really, frames her body shape really nicely. Really the only thing I miss here are her tail and her horns, but I can overlook them for the delicious sensuality that she unashamedly expresses here.

One of the best images of 2014 I think by far…



Nov 12 2014

You would have to be daring to wear this costume…

Daring Devil Lingerie CostumeI wonder why it is that the more racey, for bedroom play at least. costumes seem to take the trashiness level of costumes to a new height. Is it that difficult to create a costume that looks nice, fits well, and most of all doesn’t make you feel silly to be wearing it?

This is called the Daring Devil Lingerie Costume and it comes with the bra, the ruffle skirt with an attached thong and red sequin pasties. The horns, pitchfork and stockings as well as the shoes, are not included.

It usually sells for $40 US and sometimes is on special for $30.

When I look at this disaster, the first thing I think is… Why would someone wear this when a really nice lingerie set with a pair of horns and some sexy shoes would work so much better?

For that matter, why is it that no one has tried to create a costume like that by now?

Getting back to this mess, it just screams trashy to me to the extreme. Actually it says something a lot worse than that but I won’t reveal those thoughts I think.

There is no possible way I can think of to make this better or save it from itself. I cannot see myself wearing this for the simple reason I can imagine my Eternal looking at me and asking if something was wrong.

Because my Eternal… Knows.

Zero pitchforks out of five.

Not worth looking at, not worth spending money on. By any stretch of the imagination…




Nov 11 2014

Remembered, Never Forgotten

It is the tradition here on the Tale for there to be a moment to remember on the 11th of November those that have given their all. This year the day is more to the fore because of the events that occurred on Parliament Hill in Ottawa.

There is an image, one that has been seen far and wide that brought this work into my thoughts… It might not say enough, but it says something at least…


Remembered, Never Forgotten
By TeraS



The place is quiet, still, calm.

Two dogs wait in silence together.

They lay upon the path he walked.

Turned to watch, anticipation in their eyes.

The day arrives, his return expected.

A return never to be, they not knowing this.

But they wait, watch, remember.


The place is quiet, still, calm.

A family gathers in silence together.

They stand by the fresh grave where he lays.

Turned to grieve, memories in their eyes.

The day is too soon, too unexpected.

A return never to be, they still not accepting this.

But they wait, honour, remember.


The place is quiet, still, calm.

A nation gathers in silence together.

They stand by the monument where he stood.

Turned to honour, promise in their eyes.

The day is more powerful, meaningful.

A return never to be, they still not understanding this.

But they wait, pause, remember.

Nov 11 2014

Heartfelt By TeraS

On this day I celebrate my heart. I know that he expects nothing on this day. I know that he knows what he means to myself and my Eternal and this never has to be said. I know that. I do. But sometimes the words that can be said are not quite enough or cannot say all of the things that we want them to.

But the words are nonetheless…



By TeraS


To be called one’s heart is a very special thing. These are two words that are not said casually, offered at a whim, or said for just any reason. They matter. They speak to a connection: perhaps knowledge that is known, but cannot quite be explained.

There are tales about souls knowing one another. Perhaps one sees another from across a room, on the other side of a field, or through the electronic ether. There’s something in that moment, that instant, where eyes glance, words are spoken, or a line of text appears on a screen that opens one soul to another.

With that comes … a feeling … that you know the other … somehow … that there’s something familiar, comforting that allows you to say hello, offer your hand freely and without fear. As that realization comes, it also follows that the parts of yourself that you keep close, hold to yourself, and never quite share finds their way to the surface and they come from you.

You talk about things. You speak of family, of faith. You express the beliefs you hold and you accept that what you believe in isn’t a matter of ‘just because’ for that alone isn’t enough to explain. You find there is a truth in the universe, in the vastness around you, that is core to who you are. Sharing that truth, opening yourself to it, to allow that there is a soul that accepts you as you are, faults and all.

You admit your own fears. There are many of them, of course, for they are part of life, of living, of existing in this world and any other. Once, you thought talking about them, speaking about them, sharing them was foolish because, of course, no one would do the same. But you do, you give that part of yourself that you fear to show, because the one you share with can accept you for all of those fears, worries, and know them.

The moment is there, from the beginning: that instant when you know you have found your heart. The meaning of those two words perhaps isn’t as clear as you might think, or know. But, inside, you find there was something missing in the moment before … and it isn’t missing now. Where there was once an empty part of you that you were aware of, but didn’t understand, there is a warmth, a feeling, an acceptance that the part of you that you thought was lost … isn’t.

Some cannot understand what that means exactly. To try and explain what matters, why it does, and what that knowledge has changed in your life takes more words than you have within you. But you try nonetheless. You express, in as heartfelt terms as you can, what all of this means. But you also know, as the last word escapes you, that you haven’t done justice to the truth. You cannot manage to put into words what your heart means to you.

You shrug a bit as you reply, by voice, by expression, by the letters on the screen, that this person is your heart. As you speak the words, there is an undercurrent of thanks in your voice, your fingers as they dash to try to keep up with the thoughts in your mind. You want to tell, to share, to put into simple terms what this one soul means to you. All you can come up with, finally, is that this is your heart.

As the words escape you again, you feel that you have done wrong … somehow. That, in telling of how you feel, of how much your heart matters to you, you have done this one wrong in a way. Not that you have harmed her or him, no, for doing so would tear you apart, leaving your soul in tatters. You would rather suffer an eternity before letting that ever happen. You ask, always, if what you have shared is alright, if your heart is alright.

The thought is not of you, it never is. You think of the other, of your heart, every moment. You offer yourself and it is one of the happiest days of your life when your heart calls you “Dear One.” You know without a shadow of a doubt that you have to live up to that honour. That dishonouring that gift would be the worst thing you would ever do. You worry about hurting your heart, disappointing her, causing him pain.

You try to hold within you the things that would hurt your heart, causing worry or suffering, for that is not, in your own eyes, what one should do. You believe, strongly, that keeping things away from your heart, holding them away is the best thing … because. It is not a reason, of course, but it is that what you have within you. You care too much, too deeply, and you are not ashamed of this. You are never ashamed of having your heart or being his or her Dear One.

There are the moments when you are speaking with your heart when you are close to tears. There are the moments when your worries for this heart overcome you and you cannot help them as they come. They cloud your vision, the words blurred upon the screen and you pause, trying to wipe your eyes and hold yourself.

Then you see that he asks what’s wrong, how he can help, will you please share what troubles you. Of course you don’t want to, the burdens are yours. It takes time, so much time, but your heart is there, patient, allowing you to say what you wish and not judging you for being the foolish soul you are at times. You aren’t sure when it happened or why, but, eventually, you share that within you to your heart, baring your soul to them.

The words are heartfelt, every one of them bringing tears. They are things never admitted, expressed even to the ones that are close to you. They are not your heart and as such they cannot be the ones to see you in your moments, when you express your needs, your wishes, your hopes and fears. It is in these moments that your heart sees the real you, and with that comes a truth.

The truth is—and always is—that there is a reason for everything, for every moment. There is a reason, a plan that brought a Dear One to her heart. It might never be explained in this life, it might never be revealed when the time comes. It could be that the reasons are nothing more than ‘it is meant to be this way.’ It could be that this was meant to prove something more.

But, the real truth, the one shared between a heart and his or her Dear One is that, in the end, what is shared is as heartfelt as it can only be when two such souls find each other. It is acceptance in a smile, a word, a moment. It is the telling of what happened, what the future holds, and what their hopes are. It is something more than what these words here can say truly and fully as one would like them to say.

And so the words spoken, always—for that is the way things are and always will be—are the ones that speak all of these things and more.

“Hello, my heart …”

“Hello Dear One…”

And all that follows from this. All of the highs and lows, fears and hopes, thoughts and pondering. All of the worries, the things told, stories shared, love given, prayers said together and apart. All of the comfort in knowing, all of the wisdom of seeing.

All of this and more is what my heart has brought and what his Dear One has given in return. For this is the way of things, how they are meant to be and will be. The heartfelt moments. The heartfelt hopes. The heartfelt prayers. The heartfelt ache. The heartfelt joy.

For that is what my heart means to me. And it is heartfelt every moment of my life.