Strongest Incubus System

Damon remained seated for a few seconds after making the decision, his gaze still firm, like someone who had already closed the matter internally before even speaking. Then he simply stood up, unhurriedly, slightly adjusting the sleeve of the clean clothes Cherry had provided.

”I’m going now,” he said directly, as if commenting on something trivial.

Cherry, who until then had maintained that controlled and calculated posture, reacted unexpectedly. Her body relaxed slightly, and her gaze shifted for a second, as if that answer wasn’t exactly what she wanted to hear.

”...already?” she asked, in a lower, almost restrained tone, but clearly dissatisfied.

Damon glanced sideways, noticing the change.

”What did you expect?” he retorted, without aggression, but with his natural skepticism. ”I invited you, I decided, now I’m going.”

Cherry crossed her arms, but this time it wasn’t a posture of control.

It was... a tantrum.

Small.

Subtle.

But there.

”I thought we could spend some time together,” she murmured, pouting slightly, something completely out of character for her usual calculated demeanor.

Damon stopped.

He turned slightly to face her.

And now—

His expression was one of pure distrust.

”...what do you mean ’spend some time together’?” he questioned, narrowing his eyes slightly, as if trying to understand if he was being provoked or if this was serious.

Cherry looked away for a moment, but didn’t back down.

Damon continued, without losing his direct tone:

”You already have those maids wearing lingerie like last time,” he commented dryly, clearly remembering the previous situation. ”If you want company, it doesn’t seem like you’re lacking options.”

Cherry grimaced slightly.

Clearly bothered by the comparison.

”It’s not the same thing,” she replied, crossing her arms more tightly. Damon raised an eyebrow.

”...isn’t it?”

She shook her head, now looking directly at him again.

”No,” she repeated, more firmly. ”I want a real man.”

Silence.

Damon stood still for a second.

Processing.

Not with shame.

Nor with an exaggerated emotional reaction.

But with genuine confusion.

”...and at what point did you decide that I am that ’real man’?” he asked, without irony, really trying to understand where this was coming from.

Cherry opened her mouth to answer—

But hesitated.

Something rare.

She looked away again, taking a deep breath once before speaking more quietly:

”...the smell.”

Damon frowned.

”What smell?”

Cherry bit her lower lip lightly, visibly uncomfortable admitting it, but without backing down.

”Yours,” she said. ”It’s... too good.”

A pause.

Short.

”...it feels like an aphrodisiac.”

Silence.

Damon didn’t answer immediately.

He just stared at her.

And now—

His expression changed.

Not to surprise.

But to understanding.

”...ah,” he murmured, more to himself than to her.

Cherry crossed her legs slightly, shifting her weight from side to side, clearly restless now.

”I’m... kind of affected,” she admitted bluntly, but also without looking directly at him this time. ”Excited.”

Another pause.

”And that’s not helping.”

Damon let out a small sigh through his nose, running a hand over his face for a second.

Tired.

But now perfectly understanding the pattern.

”...so it’s not personal,” he said, more as a statement of fact.

Cherry shrugged.

”Maybe a little,” she replied, without completely denying it. ”But mostly that.”

Damon was silent for a few seconds.

Thinking.

Connecting the dots.

The same reaction as Lily.

The same physical response.

The same partial loss of control.

He looked at Cherry again.

More attentive now.

”...you’re managing to hold on,” he observed.

Cherry nodded, though with some visible effort.

”Yes,” she said. ”But that doesn’t mean it’s comfortable.”

Damon tilted his head slightly.

”...I understand.”

He didn’t move immediately.

But he didn’t give in either.

The situation was clear to him now.

And unlike Lily’s—

Cherry still had control.

Enough.

”So you can handle it,” he concluded bluntly.

Cherry grimaced.

”...I can,” she replied reluctantly. Damon nodded.

”Then hold on a little longer.”

Simple as that.

No room for interpretation.

He turned his body back toward the exit.

”I have things to take care of.”

Cherry didn’t wait for him to actually turn his back.

Before Damon could take another step, she moved with supernatural speed, grabbing him by the shoulders and throwing him back with brutal force. He flew across the leather sofa, hitting the cushions with a dull thud, the air escaping his lungs. Before he could recover or process the violence of the movement, she was already on top of him, kneeling on his hip, pinning him in place.

Her eyes—now with two small, pulsating, intense pink hearts where her pupils should have been—shone with a light of their own. The system, in a metallic, androgynous voice, echoed in the room, though no one else was there:

[Sex Frenzy Activated]

Cherry’s long pink hair fell like a curtain, partially obscuring her face, but not those hypnotic, abnormal eyes. The calculated, controlled expression had completely disintegrated, replaced by a raw, insatiable need.

”I really want to have sex,” she said, her voice hoarse, laden with an animal urgency that left no room for negotiation or reason.

Her hands, once so precise and restrained, went straight to the buttons of her own blouse. She didn’t open them—she ripped them off. The buttons flew, hitting the floor with small tics. The blouse was opened and thrown aside, revealing the black lace lingerie underneath, but that didn’t last either. The bra straps were pulled down forcefully, the lace giving way with a soft snap. She tossed it aside, her breasts now completely exposed.

Without pause, her fingers went to her own pants, unzipping them and pushing them down from her hips along with her matching panties in a single impatient movement. She shed her clothes, kicking them off the sofa, standing completely naked on it, her pear-colored skin glistening in the ambient light.

She was breathing heavily, the hearts in her eyes pounding in sync with the accelerated beats of her own heart, which Damon could feel through the contact of their bodies. She wasn’t asking anymore. She wasn’t negotiating anymore. The Frenzy had taken control, reducing her complex desires to a single, powerful, overwhelming impulse.

She leaned over him, that unique, intoxicating scent of Damon—which she now identified as the trigger—enveloping them like a thick mist. Her hips pressed against his, and her hands went to his waist, desperately seeking his belt.

”Now,” she ordered, her voice a mixture of command and plea, as the Frenzy burned away any last vestige of patience or civility that might have remained.

Cherry didn’t hesitate. The order had been given, and the Frenzy knew no subtleties or preliminaries. With a swift, decisive movement, she unbuckled Damon’s belt and unbuckled his pants, pulling them down with a force that almost lifted him off the couch.

The contact with the cold air was sudden, but insignificant compared to the heat emanating from her. Her eyes, with their pulsating hearts, didn’t leave his face for a second, studying every micro-expression while her hands touched him with a fierce possessiveness.

Then, without ceremony, she knelt on the floor between his legs. Her hands enveloped Damon’s already fully erect member, and a hoarse sigh escaped her lips—part triumph, part relief. His scent was more intense here, pure, intoxicating.

She didn’t lick him, she didn’t kiss him. She drowned him.

Opening her mouth wide, Cherry swallowed him whole, going deep into her throat in a single fluid and indecent movement. A guttural groan vibrated against his skin as she held her breath, her lips pressed tightly against the base. Her eyes, tearing slightly from the reflex, closed for a second of pure ecstasy before opening again, their hearts racing.

She began to move with a relentless, voracious rhythm, up and down, her head bobbing with frenzied energy. One of her hands gripped his thigh tightly, her nails digging into his skin, while the other buried itself in her own pink hair, pulling it back in a mixture of pain and pleasure that arched her back.

The sound was obscene, wet, and syncopated, filling the silence of the room along with her muffled, panting moans. Saliva dripped from her chin, mingling with sweat and precum. She didn’t try to be graceful or seductive. It was pure animal need being satisfied, a hunger that needed to be appeased now, and she was choking on purpose, contracting her throat with each descent, seeking the most visceral reaction she could elicit from him.

Her gaze, when it met his, was one of total possession. She was drinking him in, consuming him, and every moan, every tremor she managed to provoke, fueled the frenzy that consumed her from within, making her bolder, more insatiable, more indecent.

The sight was deliberately offered, a raw display. Cherry pulled herself up, letting Damon’s member slip from her mouth with a wet pop. Saliva and precum formed a silvery thread that broke and fell onto his abdomen. She didn’t care.

With her knees still firmly on the floor, between his open legs, she leaned back, supporting herself with her hands on the sofa behind her own thighs. She arched her back exaggeratedly, raising her hips, offering Damon’s eyes a completely unobstructed view of her vulva.

It was, indeed, a striking sight. Her outer lips were full and symmetrical, a paler pink than her nipples, moist and glistening with her own arousal. And, like a unique signature, the small triangle of pubic hair that adorned her was the same vibrant, shocking pink as her neatly trimmed, soft hair.

She parted with her fingers, stretching the thinner, pinker inner lips, revealing her swollen, throbbing clitoris. A trickle of clear lubrication ran and dripped onto the sofa upholstery between her legs. She was completely soaked, and the sweet, mossy scent of her sex mingled with his unique, intoxicating scent, creating a heavy, animal aroma in the air.

Damon, still lying on his back, observed the scene with an expression that had shifted from initial confusion to cynical, resigned acceptance. His eyes scanned her body, her obscene posture, her explicit offer. A corner of his mouth curled into something that wasn’t exactly a smile, but an ironic acknowledgment of the situation.

”Well,” he said, his voice a little hoarse, but containing a dry, sarcastic thread. ”At least the view is good. And you seem... enthusiastic.”

He raised his hands in a slight gesture of surrender, his dark eyes fixed on hers, where their hearts still pulsed with an otherworldly light.

”You’re already in control, aren’t you? With this... frenzy.” He tilted his head toward her. ”Then do whatever you want. Just get this over with quickly.”

It was permission. Not a passionate invitation, but a pragmatic acceptance of the physical and supernatural reality unfolding. He was trapped beneath her, his body reacting involuntarily to the visual and chemical stimulus, and Cherry was clearly beyond the point of being contained by words.

It was the cue she needed. A low sound, somewhere between a laugh and a growl, escaped her throat. The hearts in her eyes seemed to shine more intensely.

”Whatever I want,” she repeated, her voice hoarse and laden with promise. ”That’s right.”

She didn’t move to mount him immediately. Instead, she released one of his hands and brought it to her sex, rubbing her fingers against her already soaked lips, collecting the moisture. Without breaking eye contact, she brought her wet fingers to her mouth, sucking them with indecent slowness, a deep moan vibrating in her chest.

”I want everything,” she murmured, her lips glistening. ”And I’ll have it.”

Finally, she moved. She placed her hands on his hips for balance and then, without any hurry now that she had his tacit permission, aligned the tip of his member with her slippery entrance. She held her breath, her eyes half-closing in anticipatory pleasure.

And then, she sank.