Busses Suck

Hello, my name is Randy. I am a survivor of a demon attack.

Yes, you read correctly. A demon attack. Let me explain:

It all started when she got on board my Greyhound bus. She was tall, blonde, busty, and wearing all leather, right down to her knee-high pumps. The studs on her eyes said trouble and the one on her tongue—something she casually flashed my direction—told me she was dangerous.

She took the pair of empty seats next to mine and I could feel her looking over toward me periodically. I didn’t dare look her way. She smelled of roses and incense, the telltale scent of a succubus.

Although I tried my best, I could not stave off sleep forever. This connection was just another part in what had already been twenty sleepless—and otherwise uneventful—hours of busing.

I awoke to find her undressing me, bending forward, to try and, well, all I will say is “suck” the life from me in a manner most fitting of a demoness that preys on sexual energy.

Like I said, I am a survivor of a demon attack. I won’t go into detail as to how I managed to escape that encounter with my life, but I will say this: never before have I been so glad to have had to pee.