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.

Nov 10 2014

Sparkly Horn Horror Part II By TeraS

Sparkly Horn Horror needed some additions to what I posted a couple of weeks ago as Part Two. And so I have been poking at things a bit, trying to make this part of the story a bit better, if possible—certainly a lot more verbose, at least …

If you’d like to read the first part of Sparkly Horn Horror, you can find it here on the Tale.



Sparkly Horn Horror
Part II
By TeraS


The scene in the Realm Library was one of organized chaos. The staff all understood what they were looking for, though some of the younger ones didn’t honestly believe that Tera was serious about things until she crossed her arms over her chest and then started tapping the sleeve of her jacket with a finger—a clear sign that she was on the edge of being disappointed. That shocked them into taking the work before them very seriously.

The Queen was very clear that they all needed to search the Library, and that they had just under two hours to do so. They didn’t need that long to come up with an answer: Miriam’s computerization of most of the card catalogue took care of the heaviest searching. So it was in short order and with some worry that she approached Tera’s office and knocked on the door frame. “Your Majesty … um … Tera? There’s nothing. I can’t find a reference to this … thing … anywhere.”

Tera was sitting on her desk in thought when Miriam spoke. She nodded and ran her fingers through her hair: “I’m not really surprised. It is something that my parents would not have wanted to become common knowledge in their time.”

“What do you know about this?”

She looked at Miriam and smiled: “Only the stories that my Mother and Father told me. Keep in mind that, to me, the stories were the sort of thing that was meant to frighten little me and make me go to bed.”

Miriam giggled: “I can’t see you being a problem child, Tera. That isn’t at all like you.”

Her Majesty allowed herself a bemused smile in return: “Well of course not. Perish the thought.”

Miriam walked just inside the door and closed it behind her, fidgeting with her hands as she asked: “Tell me one of them, please. Maybe it will give us a clue or something.”

“Keeping in mind that I haven’t the storytelling ability of my parents …”

The yellow-tailed librarian shook her head: “With respect, I doubt that. I’ve seen you telling stories to the young.”

Tera tucked a lock of hair behind one ear: “Right … Seriously, I’m nothing compared to them. To be honest, I have been mulling over the stories in my mind and none of them are really specific. But then they are children’s stories, so there are a lot of bogeymen in them to scare and not a lot of facts to hold onto. The one that I remember the most is one my Mother told often.”

Miriam looked at the clock and then at the Head Librarian: “And?”

Tera had a faraway look in her eyes as she spoke: “It came from the dark and touched the lost, the seeking, the needful. One by one they all succumbed to the hungers they held in check, waiting. A wave of what was came across the lands, unstoppable by those who were. All seemed lost until the moment when the lost were found, and then the battle was won, save for those that were never to be found. The lost were taken, never to be seen again.”

Miriam was quiet for a time, then said: “Not really all that useful, is it?”

Tera shrugged: “Remember that all stories have some truth in them. There is an answer in there; we just have to figure out what it is.”

The strawberry-blonde succubi nodded and looked out the door at the library: “Well, the answer isn’t where we can find it.”

The brunette pushed off from her desk and walked towards the door, taking Miriam by the hand as she did so: “Then we look in the places that aren’t meant to be found.”

Miriam stumbled a little as they marched through the Library and then started to walk down the spiral staircase towards the Grotto and the Special Collections far below. “Tera, there’s nothing down here that we haven’t cataloged and indexed. All of the Collections were checked, and your friend in the Grotto hasn’t any idea of what’s going on. I asked.”

“Miriam, I know this will come as a shock, but there is one part of the Library that you have never seen and were never meant to.”

Miriam came to a stop on the stairs and watched as Tera continued on her way: “Hang on a second. I know every inch of the Library. I know this place intimately.”

The Queen didn’t stop as she called out over her shoulder: “Oh, I’m sure of that. You and Irving do have the most fun late in the evenings, don’t you?”

Miriam’s blush was redder than red and her tail turned just that little bit more yellow than it usually was, even for the most strikingly yellow of all of the yellow tails in the Realm in at least a hundred years.

“Come on. Not mad at you. I mean, Keith and I have had fun in every room of the Castle … twice? No, no … more times than that. I’ll have to check my diary when I get home.”

Miriam shook her head and replied in a sing-song voice: “Not listening!”

Tera looked over her shoulder: “Not coming either.” Crossing one landing, she added: “Point is that there are some secrets which you aren’t meant to know until the time is right. Perhaps this is the time when you are meant to.”

She watched Tera come to the bottom of the stairs and then wait for her. When the younger librarian arrived, the red-tail explained: “There is a part of the Library that only the Head Librarian can open. It isn’t meant to be a place where anyone can get in, because it holds the most cherished secrets of the Realm.”

Miram nibbled on her lip: “Like?”

Tera took Miriam’s hand and led her towards what appeared to be a solid wall of red stone, roughly cut into, unfinished, and seemingly out of place with the rest of the Library. Miriam recognized it, though she really hadn’t paid much attention to it before.

“Like how old I am?”

“Okay. Seriously, Tera.”

“I am being serious. Okay, I admit that it is not the most vital secret, of course, but it is one of them.”

They stopped just short of the wall and Miriam asked: “So? Now what? Does it open or …” The rest of her sentence was swallowed by a flash of purple light which surrounded the two of them and, in the next moment, they weren’t there any longer. Miriam found herself gripping Tera’s hand tightly in a place which seemed to be no place, with nothing around them at all. There wasn’t even a glimmer of light around them, and Miriam couldn’t see a single thing.

“… something?”

“Welcoming, isn’t it?”

Miriam’s answer was an uneasy sounding: “Your Majesty …”

“Just wait. It has to wake up.”


“Yes, “It.” This might take a bit. It hasn’t been woken in a very long time.”

“How long is long?”

“Not since I became Head Librarian. There hasn’t been a need to trouble it, to wake it from its rest. This is not the sort of thing one does simply out of hand. It does not like being bothered for the sake of trivialities.”

Miriam’s tail wrapped itself around Tera’s waist as they waited. The red tail did the same, drawing Miriam a little closer to her: “Hopefully it is in a good mood.”

“Great. I hope Florence is okay.”

Tera gave her a hug: “I have faith in her.”

Florence, meanwhile, had been hunched over her desk back at the hospital long enough that her back was beginning to complain loudly to her about it. She had gone over what little information Miriam had found, and it was very little indeed. Worse still was that the reports of what she was facing were, to be blunt, so superficial that they were next to useless.

She swiped the glass of her desk and looked over to where John was still pacing: “Time, John?”

John stopped and looked at her in what appeared to be irritation: “Will you be specific? Really, Florence, you must learn that skill.”

She leaned back and sighed: “How much time until I am infectious?”

“Assume approximately one hour. I have deducted some time, as your exposure time cannot be accurately calculated.”

She looked at him with a slight smile: “Who’s the one that keeps talking about being specific, again?”

John’s glare was surprising. If he had been real, Florence might feel hurt by it.

She rubbed her right horn and looked at the blue flakes that came away in her hand: “It’s rather insidious, isn’t it? Can’t really be sure I am or I am not. So, have to assume that I am.”

She considered her hand, rubbing the flakes between her fingers: “We don’t even know the actual transmission method, or if there is a means to resist it.”

John walked up to the desk and glared: “Really? Your mind must be dulling. Are you only thinking of sex already?”

She stood up and glared right back: “Fuck you, John. I’m all here, and I’m not looking to have a cock up my ass or to be eating out someone.”

Florence thought he actually looked angry as he replied: “You will, Florence. And soon it will appear in your thoughts based on what legends say. At least you had the sense to get away from those in the isolation ward.”

She looked down at her desk and sighed: “What is their condition?”

John turned away: “At the moment they are both rutting away. I believe that they each have reached orgasm at least ten times in the past hour; possibly more. The stamina of those in the Realm is legendary, after all.”

She considered this: “Okay, if this is specifically tied to what we are, then we have to assume that our sex drives are compromised, which isn’t much of a stretch. And what do you mean exactly by ‘rutting’?”

He was short and to the point: “The definition of ‘rutting’ in animals notes that rubbing of horns upon trees and so forth is common. They have been doing so in their captivity.”

“Which means that the flakes are being spread throughout the room, and it follows that anyone entering that room would then be contaminated, or, if protected, their protection would be, and, if that gets out, then it spreads.”

“Precisely. But also, the added material in the air speeds up their own transformations.”

She looked at the little pile of blue flakes on the desktop and the floor around her: “And I’ve been rubbing my horns absentmindedly.”

“Yes. But it seems not to be speeding up your changes. It may be that, once infected, a host must be exposed to others who are infected for there to be an additional effect.”

“Well, that’s something to consider. Isolating the infected in time could slow down the spread.”

“It does not provide a solution. It only buys some time, if any of that is of value in this crisis.”

Florence was normally a calm, thoughtful individual, and the growl that came with her words was surprising: “Of course it is, you idiot.”

John walked to the edge of her desk and shocked Florence when he yelled: “Focus! Now! Get control of yourself!”

There was confusion in her eyes as she stuttered: “I … I … That is …”

John wagged a finger at her: “The drifting of your thoughts is a clear sign of danger. You must focus on the problem. All else is immaterial.”

She thought for a moment, then sighed: “Let me see them.”

“This is not advisable, Florence. You do not know what the effects would be.”

She laughed bitterly: “I know that if I am in the room with them I’m doomed. I need to know how far the two of them are. At least then I’ll have a clue what’s coming.”


She slammed her hand on the desk: “Dammit, John, stop fighting me! I have to know what to look for, what the signs are, or at least know more than I do. You aren’t helping me at all! You’re being a pain in my ass, and I’ve just about had enough of you!”

John’s scowl was piercing: “Very well.”

Across the room, one wall shimmered as an image came into focus. It was of the isolation room where Adam and Deborah were trapped. If someone else had been viewing the image they might have assumed that what they were looking was wasn’t an actual hospital, but rather more likely the set of an adult movie. Deborah was bent over one of the gurneys in the room, completely naked, and Adam was right behind her. Florence idly remembered that Adam had a lot of stamina, and yet, somehow, he seemed to have even more than she remembered.

The sound was off, but it was clear that Deb was screaming her head off in pleasure with every thrust that Adam made. She seemed to be looking into the camera, her eyes deeply purple instead of the normal grey that Florence remembered. She couldn’t see John’s eyes, but she assumed that they were every bit as purple.

For a moment she wondered why they both looked odd, and then it struck her. Their skin was as purple as their tails—in its own way very erotic she thought—and then another thing about the image hit home: they didn’t have feet; they had hooves.

She walked around her desk and approached the screen … to have a better look … not because there was a dampness between her legs … nor because her breathing had become deeper … nor because her eyes had slightly glazed over … nor because her nipples were achingly stiff as she rubbed her fingers over them.

Standing in front of the screen, she traced one hand over Deb’s face and remembered the feeling of Adam’s cock thrusting into her own sex, recalled how he brought her to the edge of climax over and over again until finally he pushed her over the edge. Her other hand slipped between her legs, a fingernail stroking … slowly … She licked her lips and the thought came that she needed to go to them … needed to be sandwiched between them … needed to be fucked by them both.

That would be so deliciously hot, Adam pounding himself into her while she nuzzled her lips against Deb’s sweet pussy. A seductive smile passed over her lips as she imagined the scene.

She imagined herself on her hands and knees, tongue lapping at Deb’s folds, Deb’s legs spread wide while she licked and tongued Deb. She felt Adam as he pressed his shaft against the folds of her cunt. A moment later and she easily took him when he thrust his way into her. Her lips bounced against Deb’s pussy, her tongue being forced in and out as Adam fucked her roughly, animal-like. It felt so right, so hot that she wanted to be completely absorbed by the heat that was building up within her. Florence crested as her fingers slipped inside, finding that one spot that made her cum and cum so hard that her toes curled. Her knees failed and she fell to the floor as the pleasure ripped through her.

She cried out in lust: “Oh, fuck me!”

Her mind began to lose focus as the fantasy slowly took over ever-deeper parts of her psyche. The thought came that she didn’t need her intelligence, her soul, who she was. None of that mattered, for all she needed was her so-fuckable body … nothing else. Giving in would be wonderful and forever …

The sound of an air horn blasting in the room shocked Florence out of her daydream and she screamed in surprise at the interruption, turning away from the image of Deb and Adam as she started to yell at John.

John stood there, the horn continuing to wail, his arms crossed as he mouthed something, but the noise was so loud that Florence couldn’t hear a word.

She walked up to him and swept her hand through the air where he stood and then the horn stopped … and there was silence for a time before John spoke again.

She saw his lips move, but the words weren’t being heard over the ringing in her ears. Shaking her head, she yelled at him that she couldn’t understand him. What followed was John ranting about something she couldn’t hear, but whatever he was saying meant something to him. He pointed at her, slammed one hand into his other, and, strangely she thought, he seemed to have an expression that, on someone else, would be called “terrified.”

As her ears cleared, she caught a few words here and there, but they didn’t make any sense. Something about being stupid, about putting … someone … in danger. Finally her ears cleared as he said: “Why the hell can’t you listen?”

“I’m listening now. What the hell were you thinking?”

His expression became neutral as he spoke: “You were not listening to me, you were entirely focused on the scene and nothing else. It was clear that you were slipping away. Obviously, your sexual drives are higher than normal for you to be turned on so quickly.”

She shook her head: “No shit. Anything else you learned from my stupidity?”

“Clearly, the outcome of this syndrome is to turn those of the Realm into what they were before: creatures of sex and nothing more, both physically and mentally.”

“Again, no shit.”

John waved his glasses at her, and she wondered why it was that he needed glasses, being that he wasn’t real: “I believe the term is: ‘The shit has hit the fan,’ and the fan’s on high.”

Florence turned away from him to brace herself against her desk: “Five hours. Then I’ll be there, too.”

John just continued to glare as he put his glasses on: “One hopes not, and …”

The pause made Florence turn to look at him, but in the midst of doing so, another voice echoed in the room: “Um … Doc? Where’s Adam? And what’s going on?”

Standing there in the room was a pink tail with green hair and a confused look in her eyes.

“Oh shit! Abby …”

In all of the rush to try and figure out what was happening Florence had forgotten that the rest of the hospital wasn’t quite empty. Abby, the pink tail who was a hypochondriac and had a doctor fetish a mile long, was trapped, as well. Florence had forgotten about her, and now she was likely infected as well.

Abby had a confused look as she asked: “Doc? You don’t look so good. There’s something wrong with your horns and … umm … wow … you’re really horny, too … I mean … wow!”

Neither Florence—nor John, for that matter—had a response to that.

Nov 09 2014

A Review of Sucker For A Succubus by Lady Sakimura

Sucker For A Succubus by Lady Sakimura

Sucker For A Succubus by Lady Sakimura

One of the things that I have been aware of is that Succubi in many parts of the world, especially Asia, are seen to be more vampiric than anything else. Personally I don’t tend to enjoy that view of Succubi, but quite a few people seem to. I found two books by an author that are said to be their first works in English and I decided to have a look at them. They will appear today and next Sunday on the Tale as well.

The thing about both of these works is, unfortunately, the author needs some help in their English to make their words better than they appear to be.

  • Title: Sucker For A Succubus
  • Author: Lady Sakimura
  • Length: 13 Pages
  • ASIN: B00IW8H49W
  • Publishing Date: March 8, 2014
  • This work at

The work tells of:

The wildly popular Japanese doujin author makes her English debut in this funny story of forbidden lust, in which the sexually frustrated Eric inadvertently summons a beautiful man-eating demon called a succubus from the nether realm to his house. The tables turn on the succubus, however, when a coincidence forces her to become Eric’s slave. This is her first story in English.

Eric finds a book and summons a Succubus named Morgan who wants to eat him… literally. But she appears on a day when she must grant his wish… and the story goes on from there.

I found this work very hard to read for several reasons, but the overwhelming one is that the text reads as if it was directly translated from Japanese to English with no real understanding or editing of the words to make the sentences read better or to make the story be comprehended 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.

There really isn’t any sort of plot as well, mainly going from one sex scene to the next, the characters alternating between sex and suffering for the most part. There ls lots of blood as well which I didn’t care for, though the reason for it made some sense at least.

Somewhere in this work there is a story, but it is overwhelmed by too complicated situations, explanations and situations that kept making me pause and try to figure out what exactly was going on. I do understand this was the author’s first story in English, I do understand they had an editor. But honestly I have to wonder if there was all that much editing for how odd the story reads.

One of five pitchforks.

Just very hard to read, the writing was just… off. Overall it isn’t a bad story idea, but honestly it reads very much like the story was put through a translation program and that hurts things as a whole.