Welcome to Incubus Tales: A Thousand Words by Hushicho. In Noctemberg, it is always night. Dhiar, proprietor and gay incubus, welcomes you to Phantasies, a very special shop. Sensuality is more than just Dhiar’s stock in trade, it is his raison d’être. NSFW.
A new chapter appears every Thursdays. This week is Chapter One.
1st Night—Dhiar est Amoureux
“Uhh! Yes! Yes!”
The bedsprings made little sound, durably-crafted and well-maintained. They had to be; Incubi always demanded it. “A bad bed,” the saying amongst them went, “means never fed.”
Dhiar, the Incubus in question on this bed, was in fact enjoying quite a feast. An exceptional figure even for his kind, the form he had chosen was well-built and smooth, with hematite-black hair and eyes of deep, dark garnet.
As a demon, his skin always bore a sort of reddish tint to it. At this moment, however, the hint of pink had deepened to outright rose, his muscles gleaming with a sort of matte sheen as he thrust, again and again, into the other man on the bed.
It always seemed ironic somehow, Dhiar reflected, to fuck the delivery boy. Especially if it’s pizza. Something about engaging in a stereotype—or was that archetype?—amused the Incubus. Not that he had ever avoided a liaison for that reason alone; plumbers, delivery boys of all types, stable masters, schoolteachers, bakers, acrobats, mimes, lords (with ladies watching)… he had enjoyed them all. Fucking, being fucked, fondling, stroking, licking, nibbling, sucking, bobbing, quaking with ecstasy, dripping with sweat, muscles flexing, balls bouncing…
His mind worked its way back to the present. This lad turned him on: on the cusp of true manhood, a fit body from running around the city all day, a shaggy haircut and just enough stubble on his chin to make him look a bit roguish. There couldn’t be any trimming done, with the peppering of chest hair and the fluffy bush nestling around the base of the erection that slapped against the younger man’s body with every motion.
It was likely that, in this city, deliveries were planned with at least an hour’s destination time in-between, even if they were next door to each other. If he had not decided to open Phantasies, Dhiar mused, he would have been a delivery boy. There was no end to the variety of people, from one area to another. Boroughs, levels, circles… it largely depended on who told the story as to the specific term used. Even those of the same kind or in the same area were not necessarily similar. Even those of the same blood, the same lineage, the same line might not remotely resemble each other. It was exhilarating.
Noctemburg gripped Dhiar, compelled his joie de vivre. It was here that his shop Phantasies first opened its doors. It was here he felt so completely at home. And, though not particularly a city one might consider safe or secure, it nonetheless felt like home.
Its cavernous spread lay beneath the surface of the Earth, beneath the streets that mundane humans walked and considered themselves masters of, beneath their notice and yet so far beyond anything most of them could imagine. The spires of the taller buildings stretched up, falling short of the ceiling. It loomed over the city like a protective dome, and Noctemburg stretched for miles in every direction.
Naturally, doorways led to and from the surface world. Trains even ran between the two places. It wasn’t a matter of being secret, or invisible, or any of those things. It was a matter of being completely pedestrian about everything, which made the dullards believe there was nothing at all noteworthy about the sparkling woman with iridescent wings who just ducked in an alcove and vanished completely from sight.
Anyone could go to Noctemburg. But only the truly special settled there for any length of time.
A series of moans vibrated up from the delivery boy’s chest, dipping dangerously into the realm of whining, his stomach coated with the thick, white proof of his excitement. Dhiar slid out with a shiver, gasping as he managed to add to that, a snowy splash on the golden brown hairs between the lad’s legs.
“Ooh,” the Incubus whispered. “Bonus.”
It took remarkably little time for clean-up, and soon Dhiar was alone again in his shop. He didn’t bother to put on any clothes. In this city, there were plenty of places where people went in expecting nudity. The shop already boasted a rather large wall of phallic-shaped toys, what was one more penis between friends?
He lounged in the chair behind the counter, half-curled into the capacious space piled with cushions and blankets. Even if temperature shifts meant anything to him, he could wallow naked there indefinitely.
A sigh escaped his lips. The boxes were not putting themselves away. It was really almost enough to make him dread the weekly deliveries, but the sex was too enjoyable. He would have to see if he couldn’t put on some of the old Incubus charm and somehow finagle his way into getting the young man to lend him a hand next time.
For that matter, a few of the other fellows had made eyes at him. The Incubus tilted his head back a bit, going over their faces in his memory. He had explored every detail visually. He wondered how long it would take if he really turned on his charm.
Eventually, the thought of having to do it later nagged at Dhiar’s mind for long enough. He pushed to his feet and crossed the room, stepping between drapes and shelves and into the back room. This was not the room where he lived—he made his home in the loft upstairs—but it was the place he gave the most of his guests appreciative service.
Accordingly, this was the last place he had seen his clothing. With Dhiar, clothes tended to scatter to the winds whenever anything started. He couldn’t always remember where he’d cast them, and naturally he couldn’t be expected to know where they might fall after they left contact with his skin. If rushed, he made a kind of spectacle, clothes exploding off in every direction.
“Ah! There we go.”
It was a start. He tugged his boxer shorts on, the black ones with little cartoony red devils. They had so amused him when he saw them in the catalogue. Little red devils, that’s what humanity assumed he was.
He got the attitude right, for one.
* * *
Impatient to find out What happens in Dhiar’s shop? Get the entire book direct from Circlet Press!
About the author: From an early age, Hushicho held a special passion for storytelling. Throughout his life, he has worked in numerous media and various places in the world. He is the author of the long-running Incubus Tales webcomic, upon which this serial is based.
Welcome to the intriguing city of dreams, Noctemberg, where it is always night, and to Phantasies, a very special shop run by Dhiar, proprietor and gay incubus. Sensuality is more than just Dhiar's stock in trade, it is his raison d'etre. In Incubus Tales: A Thousand Words, Dhiar meets new loves, rekindles relationships, and bring his special brand of sexual healing to lovers and readers alike.
Also available in paperback!