A feral gleam shone in the black pebbles of her eyes. The pointed tips of two long incisors rested on the plush pillows of her lips.

Nic took his hand off her hips. His succubus's tail looped up and slithered against his palm. Nic remembered a time when he'd handled a live snake back in school. His succubus's tail felt like that-cold and smooth. He wrapped his hand around it and gave it a gentle tug.

"Harder," his succubus said.

Nic did as she asked, gripping her tail and giving it a hard tug. The soft walls of her sex contracted around his cock.

"Harder!" A low growl now, like a feral animal.

Nic gripped harder and gave it a strong yank.

His succubus trembled and yowled like a cat in heat. Her vagina clenched spasmodically around him and his cock was flooded with warm wet cream. It bubbled up out of her pussy in a thick froth. Nic added his own cream to the mix as the undulating motions of her vaginal walls triggered his own orgasm. His succubus pushed back against him as he plunged deep inside her and he felt the soft pressure of her ass against his crotch. The motions of her vagina settled into gentle rhythmic tugs, almost as though she was milking his semen out of him.

Nic gave a startled grunt as a second ejaculation burst from him. This time it felt less like a spurt and more like a steady stream of blissful pulses. Her sex drew his semen out of him as though it was a mouth sucking it up through a straw.

Nic felt a little unsteady on his feet. He started to slump forwards.

Okay okay, so this was payment. Definitely a cost.

Her vagina continued to milk him with muscular tugs. Nic drooped until he was resting on her back, between her folded-up wings. His succubus took his hands, pulled them around and pressed them against the soft hanging swells of her breasts.

Nic continued to pump semen into her warm body. Where was it all coming from? Surely his balls didn't hold this much. He thought he might have been on the verge of blacking out when her irresistible fleshy suction finally stopped. His succubus tilted her head back.

"All charged up," she said with a breezy grin.

Thank fuck for that, Nic thought. He'd been starting to worry she might not stop until he crinkled up like an empty juice carton. He still felt a little unsteady as she led him to bed. He lay in her scented arms and drifted off to a sleep disturbed by penumbral dreams.

Nic woke up to his succubus fucking him. He was on his back and she straddled his crotch. Her body moved with sinuous grace and it didn't take long for her to ride him to another ecstatic eruption.

A morning snack, she'd said.

Only it wasn't morning. Again Nic had slept until deep into the afternoon and even that extra sleep hadn't been enough. It took a couple of strong coffees to wash the tiredness out of his system.

He was beginning to realise her attentions, as pleasant as they felt, were definitely detrimental to his body. A few more nights with her and he suspected he'd end up a prematurely-aged wreck.

Thankfully he didn't need a few more nights. Tonight would be enough.

The Dutchman was one of the new breed of poker pros that had emerged with the boom in online poker. He'd made some money at one of the kids' card games-Magic: the Gathering or Pokemon or something equally nerdy-and moved onto poker because there was more money. Nic knew a few like that. He didn't rate them. Totally predictable, they were little more than calculators on legs that played purely to the probabilities. Boring little robot nerds. No style at all.

At least the Dutchman had some personality.

"Haven't seen you in a while, Irish," the Dutchman said as Nic walked into the poker room at the back of the Szeremeta Casino. "You come to ship us more of your money again."

Unfortunately the personality was of a cheeky little cunt. The Dutchman didn't fit the boring little robot nerd stereotype at all. He was brash and arrogant and not that nerdy-looking either. He looked like the less popular member of a boy band that had moved onto poker once he'd put on enough years for the tweens to grow tired of him.

"Not this time," Nic said.

The Dutchman noticed Nic's succubus and Nic was happy to see his cocky facade was briefly cracked, enough for Nic to glimpse a little envy in the other man's eyes. It didn't last long.

"I see you've come into some money," the Dutchman said. "I hope she doesn't charge by the hour. It's going to be a long night."

That was another skill the Dutchman had picked up from his stint in the children's card games-trash talking. Nic ignored the barbs and took a seat at the table. The other players were more reserved. Nic recognised some of them from the various late night poker shows that had grown in popularity on the smaller television channels. Nic wasn't intimidated. He'd seen their play on TV and it had seemed loose to him. Someone had told him that was deliberate, that they didn't want to scare the whales away from the more lucrative cash games like this. It didn't matter either way. Nic had his ace up his sleeve.

His succubus did her peek-a-boo thing and energy crackled across Nic's eyes. She leant in close enough to give the lobe of his ear a little nibble. Her warm breath tickled through his hair.

The dealer, a pretty young Polish girl with long black hair dealt out the cards and as before Nic saw them as clearly as if they'd been dealt face up. He smiled. This was going to be as easy as taking candy from a baby.

And it was easy. It didn't matter how good the other players were, their feints and bluffs were all completely irrelevant when Nic could see straight through them to the cards sitting on the table. It was simple. He danced out of trouble when they hit a better hand and dropped haymaker bets when they didn't.

It gave Nic especial pleasure to squash one of the TV celebs, Dave 'the Octopus'. He was a tubby man with a face like a bleached moon and wore tiny round spectacles that seemed too small for his face. The Octopus had ace-queen suited, but after a garbage flop Nic had the slight lead with a lowly pair of fours. The Octopus kept raising to bully and Nic kept calling. The last card turned over a king and The Octopus bet big as though he had another in hand. Nic saw he was bluffing and came back over the top. The Octopus called and saw Nic's winning hand of a pair of fours. There was a faint flicker of emotion in the other man's face-a slight raising of the eyebrow.

The Dutchman, not involved in this hand, was more expressive. "Wow Irish, that took some big balls."

Nic's lips turned up in a shark-toothed smile. "What can I say, I had a feeling."

He scooped all the chips in the pot.

The Octopus sat in his seat. The baby-smooth skin of his forehead was crinkled as he studied Nic. It looked like various gears and cogs were whirring behind his pudgy mask. He put up a hand before the dealer was about to deal the next hand.

"Sorry gents," he said. He looked again at Nic. "I'm going to call it an early night."

The Dutchman looked surprised. The Octopus still had over half of his original stack left.

"Sure, no problem," the Dutchman said.

Nic had a gloating smile as he watched the other man pick up his chips and leave the table. So much for Mr Big Shot Poker Pro.

The game carried on and Nic kept winning.

"Saint Patrick must be looking out for you on his day, Irish," the Dutchman said, although he pronounced it the Dutch way-"Sint."

"Luck of the Irish," Nic said as he scooped up another pot. "It's about time it changed in my favour."

"And it can just as easily change back," the Dutchman said. "That's why I don't believe in luck. She's too fickle a bitch." He gave the table a rakish smile.

Tonight Nic should have been beyond the influences of Lady Luck, but she turned on him regardless. How, he couldn't explain. His succubus's magic should have placed things beyond chance. Yet as the night wore on Nic's gains began to slow down and then start to become losses. The other players turned into stone. Getting chips out of them became as impossible as wringing blood out of a boulder. Whenever he was ahead he couldn't find anyone willing to get into a pot with him.

Nic tried to play looser in order to get some action. He tried chasing straights and flushes in the hope of securing a big pot. They just wouldn't come in, and when they did come in the other players were able to get away cheaply. On other hands he started ahead, but had to duck out himself as the river card made the other player's hand. His chips started dribbling away.

"Clock's gone past midnight," the Dutchman said. "Looks like Sint Pat has gone to bed."

Nic scowled at him. The Dutchman had nothing this hand, just a lousy pair of tens. Nic had ace-king, but neither an ace nor a king had shown up and Nic had to throw them away. Another bite out of his depleting stack.

A couple of hands later and Nic saw an opportunity for revenge. This time he needed no ace or king, the aces in hand came ready paired. Now if only he could get some action.

The Dutchman obliged, putting in a button raise with a paltry ace-eight. Nic called, along with two other players. He really hoped the flop would hit an ace so he could wreck the cocky git. It didn't, but the nine, two and six didn't help anyone else either. The hand was checked all the way to the Dutchman, who promptly raised. Nic, still playing possum on his aces, called while the other two players dropped out. He had the Dutchman right where he wanted him. Even if he picked up his ace, it would just result in him walking right into Nic's three of a kind.

The turn wasn't an ace. It was a seven of hearts. Nic checked and the Dutchman raised.

The seven was a little irritating, Nic thought. It did give the Dutchman a potential straight draw. Better to make a move now, he decided. He raised back over the top, pushing all of his remaining chips into the centre.

The Dutchman sat back and sighed.

"Damn," he said. "I had a feeling you were slow-playing something big."

He studied his chips and the cards on the table.

"Let me guess. Kings? Aces?"

Nic said nothing, kept his face completely blank.

"Damn, damn," the Dutchman said. He counted the chips in the pot and then the chips in his stack. He shifted position in his chair. Sums and calculations whirred behind his bright eyes. He tapped a finger against his lower lip and frowned.

The dealer politely reminded him he had to make a decision. The Dutchman nodded his head.

"I think you're a big favourite," he said. "But there's too much already in the pot. Guess I have to hope to get lucky."

He called and turned over his ace-eight. He nodded when Nic turned over his pair of aces.

Nic would have rather he folded, but it was probably still good for him. He was a massive favourite and it meant he'd be able to double his chips back up again.

The dealer turned over the ten of clubs, completing the Dutchman's straight.

The other man's frown turned to a broad grin. He put a finger in his mouth and made a popping sound.

"Looks like the fisherman got swallowed by a shark," he said.

He turned and high-fived one of the other players.

Nic slumped back in his chair.

No. No. No! How could it happen again?

It felt like the floor had fallen away beneath him to reveal the roiling abyssal expanse of a black hole. The gravitational pull took hold of his body and crushed him to the floor. He saw the ten of clubs lying on the table as if watching this all in crisp, high definition. The card lay on the green felt like the death card turned over from a tarot deck. The only other thing he saw was the empty space where his stack of chips had been.

"You're looking a little green, Irish," the Dutchman said. Then his tone became more sympathetic. "Hey, let him get some air."

Still in shock, Nic was numb to all feeling as the Dutchman and another player helped him over to the fire exit. Nic stumbled outside into a service alley behind the casino.

What had just happened?

He slumped against a wall and spewed vomit over the bricks. In his head he replayed all the major hands of the night. What had gone wrong? Was there something he could have done differently?

He turned and saw the succubus standing in the centre of the alley. She had a hand on her hip and cold rage radiated from her form. In the sky above her a white moon glared down.

"Are you going to let them get away with this?" she said.

Nic didn't know what to say. Even though she had horns and looked like a devil, this was the first moment she'd seemed truly fearsome.

"They cheated you," she said. "Are you going to let them get away with it?"

Yes, they'd cheated him. They must have manipulated the deck. That's what had happened. How else would the ten of clubs have shown up like that. Again.

He shook his head.

"What can I do?" he asked.

"I'll tell you what you can do," the succubus said. She pressed a cold metallic object into his hand. "You can go back in there and get your money back."

Numbly, Nic looked down at the object in his hand. It was a gun. He wondered how she'd managed to sneak that in past security, or even where she'd concealed it. Her lime-green dress hugged her curves like a second skin.

While not an expert, Nic had some familiarity with guns. He'd fired a few at ranges out in Eastern Europe. He checked the magazine and saw the gun was loaded.

Yes, they'd cheated him. And now he was going to get his money back.

"Rebuying?" the Dutchman said as Nic re-entered the room from the fire exit.

Nic's answer was to brandish the gun. The other players ducked for cover. Joviality fled the Dutchman's face.

"You cheated me," Nic said. "I want my money back."

The Dutchman looked back at Nic with clear blue eyes. For once he looked his true age rather than the boyish persona he projected.

"Everyone knows my game is fair," he said.

"No, you cheated me. That's the only way I could have lost."

"You lost because you played badly," the Dutchman said. "It was your decision to stay in on that straight draw even though the math didn't add up. It was your decision to slow play those aces and let me back into the pot. Bad luck or cheating had nothing to do with it; you made poor decisions and people who make poor decisions always lose their chips in the end."

"Shut up!" Nic said, jabbing the gun in the Dutchman's direction. "I need that money," he said, more plaintive now. "My niece... she needs twenty grand for an operation."

"Twenty grand?" the Dutchman said. He was not moved to sympathy. "You were up more than that at one point tonight. You could have cashed out then."

Nic said nothing.

"Even if I did give you the money back it wouldn't go to your niece. I know your type. You'll find another 'sure thing' to lose it on. Your kind always do. You're a loser, Irish."

"Give me the money!" Nic yelled.

"No."

The Dutchman refused to be intimidated. Still staring at Nic, he walked close enough for the gun barrel to be pressing against his forehead.

What was wrong with him? Nic thought. Nic had a gun. Why wasn't the Dutchman frightened of him?