"Hello, hun," I begin, and the magical woman scoffs. This will be a hard chick to crack, but all do, whether I have to force or not. "Why are you out on a hot day like today?"

"Why the unwor are you talking to me? You're obviously a man-whore, and I'm not interested," she spits, and I'm utterly stunned. I've never had such a harsh response. But I smile, combing my ginger hair with my fingers.

"Why would you think I'm a whore? I'm no such thing," I claim, and she stares at me with drooping eyes. "Come on; I'm just curious about you. You're a magic user?"

"Yes. Of course, I am. The eyes show as much, so why ask?"

I'm sick of this already. This bitch is... Well, a fucking bitch! Oh, I'd love to have her against my body. The image is so sweet. So, so sweet. A hard one to crack indeed, and this torment I feel arouses me greatly.

"Perhaps I'm a fool," I sigh, and she exhales. "I can see an emptiness in you. Are you lonely?"

Her teeth clench, and she slams her fist on the table. But I don't even flinch, and I could tell it would happen based on her adjustments in her seat. "Thanks for ruining my night, player. I don't wish to deal with your kind, so leave me alone. You even dared to chatter with Ceia before me," she insults, and my mind races. I suddenly consider hooking up with a prostitute, but I enjoy the cruelty of this woman. Denying my body turns me on for whatever reason. Maybe since it poses a challenge.

I'm assuming Ceia is the waitress, and if so, Ceia comes over while I smile at the magic user. I pay no attention, and she sets a glass of thick red liquid to my side. I gulp my saliva, picking it up while continuing to silently gaze at Magenta, which I just came up with since she hasn't enlightened me with her real name.

"Why do you still stare, Ten?" she impatiently asks, and I place my lips on the rim of the wine glass while tipping it slowly.

"So, you remembered my name. But you never said yours, so what should I call you?"

Magenta snickers, brushing her short, blonde hair back. "If I tell, I'll have to keep talking, but you'll keep bugging either way. I'm Osalie." She giggles. "And I can't forget a name as sucky as Ten. Why a number?"

My nerves go up. I dislike people commenting on my name. But I figure I can explain the reasoning, as she may open up. But first, my tongue craves this wine.

I prepare for a taste, drooling excessively from the sweet tinge leaving the wine. And once it hits my taste buds, oh my gods. I fill with bliss for the lightly sweet yet savory wine, and if I could drink this for eternity, I'd be an alcoholic in a snap of my fingers. Warmth sits in my stomach, but it also spreads up to the back of my throat. This isn't like kisses from angels of the overworld. It's more like sex with a demon of the underworld. It's experienced, and it leaves one begging for more. And like demon sex, it's purely pleasurable. It's as if drinking is a sin, but I can't help my lustful self from indulging.

Almost moaning from my joy, I decide to take a break from drinking and set the glass down. I glance at Magen- Osalie, and she's gone back to gazing at her glass. Her hands are on her cheeks while her elbows rest on the counter, and she appears as if she's about to cry. Great, two emotional women in one night. Chicks can be so draining... and hot when in tears.

"Cheer up, honey. Sad women have pretty eyes, but it's hard to see the miserable glint," I lie, as I enjoy the despair. She looks at me, shaking her head to avoid losing tears. "Hey, I'll tell you about my name. Would that make you feel better?"

She faintly nods, so I smile and prepare my story. I start off with a sip of wine, shivering with delight from the full-bodied flavor. But that likely appears strange to her. However, that doesn't matter. I refuse to deny my body its right to react.

"Well, it's obviously the number ten. But the reverse of my full name belongs to my... brother. My full name is Ten Zero-One, and my brother is Zero-One Ten. We came up with these names as children. My real name is... unimportant to my life," I say, and she laughs purely. I'm trying to figure out how to explain the reason for my number name.

"You left out the important part. What does ten mean to you?"

"Well," I begin, deciding to lie ultimately. "It's because, as children, I could count all my fingers while Zero-One couldn't. He could only count to one, but he labeled his thumb as zero for whatever reason."

Lying was my best choice of the day. The truth is, Zero-One and I were twisted children. Both of us could count way further than ten when we reached two years of age. We've had an interest in learning since we left the womb, and I can't help but know more. I don't read as much as I'd like, but that's beside the point. It's hard to find books that aren't religious texts anyway, but I like Denaz's verses. Though the cult of Denaz is particularly entertaining, that's not strange considering he's the god of the undead. Those pendants send chills down my spine each time I lay eyes on them, and that's not important currently. Or likely ever.

As intelligent children, Zero-One and I tended to stray from other boys and girls, and we merely wrote to each other for hours. But we got along too swimmingly. We were just so similar, and we understood each other without bringing up anything. Soon, the notes we wrote became drawings. And the illustrations turned to shreds. Then those scraps ended up as animal crafts we ripped apart in boredom.

Curiosity sparked in both of us after the death of paper animals; we wished to see the insides of real ones. That shouldn't be odd, as we desired knowledge. Perhaps two eight-year-olds obsessed with death appears morbid to most, but it was ultimately innocent. We buried all the frogs and salamanders and cats and... other corpses. We even held little funerals. My, we had a good time while drinking wine we stole from our parents at these celebrations of death. My mother invariably had alcohol on hand and an inebriation that caused her to act irrationally, but I don't wish to think of that. I sort of miss Mother and all her vile love.

Children began to mock Zero-One and me for our childish killing games. We shouldn't have shared. Our parents soon got involved when they discovered our land of mutilation: our small patch of forest where we attached cut open animals to trees. We needed to observe, and we wrote our findings in journals, but it seemed sacrilegious to leave the mess like that.

After, Zero-One and I had it rough. Mother... punished me dearly, and Zero-One fell victim to harsh bullying. I gained bruises on my arms, and he received black eyes and cuts. It wasn't too bad, but it turned sour when we realized something; we are different. Our differences split us up, though we are physically stuck together, and our last decision as friends was to keep the names of a competition we held when we were nine.

The winner: Zero-One. He's number one, and I'm stuck with ten. He killed five hundred one ants in his half an hour, and I murdered five hundred. I keep the name of Ten Zero-One, our score, but he holds the title of best.

That story would likely give this woman a heart attack, so I rather my counting lie. Though, it may be idiotic considering we aren't illiterate fools.

She smiles. Good, it worked. Gods, my heart beats so fast. I love women with a fiery passion; my insides are char at this point.

"He's right about thumbs. They aren't fingers. You should be Eight using that logic." I smirk. Of course, I know that. Why else would I bring up the thumb in specific for being zero? But I made myself appear unintelligent.

"Right. The fact must have slipped my youthful mind," I merrily reply, finishing the last of my wine to my dismay. That was the best fucking drink I've ever consumed, and it's all gone. My mood sinks, and I frown while mourning my alcohol and gazing at the empty glass.

"Was it that good? The drink, I mean. You look as if you're at a funeral," she jokes, and her face is a lot more chipper. Her eyes have almost completely lost the sorrow I saw. Fickle woman; they all are.

It was like sucking the tit of a succubus. Saying that would certainly get me into trouble. It's better if I don't. Though, succubus breast sounds delicious right about now. "It was like sucking the tit of a succubus," I blurt with pink cheeks, numbed by my fantasies. Shit, what the unwor did I just say?

Hey, hottie. Tenny, please strip me. I hear in my head, smirking in reality.

Don't mind if I do. My body grows hot, and my pulse accelerates from my dirty thoughts, but I continue anyway.

In my mind, my hands slide against the smoothest ass, and it's nice and plump. After groping, I reach the top of a black laced thong, grinning while I push it down a succubus' curvy thighs, and then her soft feet. When I shoot my body upright, I turn her around and stare with an open mouth at the demon I've created.

Thin stomach, sweet ass, soft lips, a sexy pair of leathery wings. Then those curled horns at the sides of her long, black hair. She's gorgeous. And those lustful, slit-shaped, cherry blossom pink eyes. It makes my chest burn. But I'm the proudest of the abnormally enormous bosoms I fabricated, and I embrace her to feel the warm spheres press against my naked chest.

She leans her abdomen on mine as she caresses my back with her fingers, and my brain completely bursts into a flame. I take a few steps forward with her in my arms, and we fall onto a bed that seemed to come from nowhere. I can't see it, but I sense its presence. My body rocks into a better position, and I kiss her cheek passionately, working my way down her neck to her breasts. My lips reach her peachy left nipple and start to suckle, and she pleasurably grunts. But I'm shaken from my daydream and realize the situation I'm in.

First, no sexilicious she-demon is about, and I used another word that's not a word... Second, my face warped into a perverse smirk during my erotic fantasy. And third, worst of all, I'm hard. In public. I'm hard in public. Fuck, I look like a perverse bastard. I may sound like one at times, and I may have just had a wet daydream, but I'm no perverse bastard. Shit, this is bad.

I gaze down at my pants, hoping the baggy quality will save me. No. Of course, they aren't fucking helpful. Why the unwor are they tight around the crouch and not my ass? I squint, and then I realize how big of an idiot Zero-One is. He put the damn pants on backward. These are mine. Fuck.

While I'm nervously staring, I hear Magenta, whatever the unwor her real name is, scoff. My eyes shift up to her while I frown, and she's angrily making glances between my manhood and my face. Maybe she's interested to some degree?

"What the unwor is wrong with you? You are a fucking whore! Can't you keep your emotions in check in public? Seriously?" she shouts, arousing the attention of those hookers and fat men I saw when coming in. So many beady eyes watch me. Shit, I should be avoiding this. What to say, what to say?

"I'm sorry," I pathetically yelp, looking away awkwardly. What am I doing? I should be offering, not hiding! But who is she to judge me? I can't hide my infatuation well when it's at this level, but she can! It's not purposeful, so why the unwor can I be harassed about it?

"Sorry? That's it? You bastard!" Magenta picks up the wine glass she had been staring at, chucking it across the room in her anger. It hits an empty wall, shattering and causing those around me to stare intensely at her. She storms out, shooting daggers at me during the whole thing.

Well, crap. I didn't expect that to happen. And now I'm alone, and my legs rub together to hide my shame. What the unwor? Seriously. I'm just... unsure of precisely what happened. What the fuck went wrong?

Tenny, remember? I hear in a sweet, seductive voice, slapping my hand firmly against my face. Shit, the succubus fantasy. That's what did it. And then I got hard, and then Magenta saw, and then shatter and crash, and now she's gone. Right.

Okay, well. Fuck. I slowly turn to the counter, placing my head on the smooth, alcohol scented wood. My arms dangle toward the floor, and I'm limp. I wanted some time alone with a woman. It's been a solid month. Now Zero-One will get the next kill. He got the last one! Life isn't fair. My body urges to be with a woman, and this shitty occurrence shows that. I've had to entertain myself with daydreams for too long.

Ceia walks back in, standing in front of me while she gazes at the broken glass with confusion. When her eyes shoot down at me, I smile and rub the back of my head.

"What happened? Why did Osalie smash a glass and run away?" she asks with her fingernails picking at each other. I hide my abdomen in shadows from the counter, and I'm finally free of this situation. Yes, I caught a break. Screw you, Zero-One!

"She was reminded of... I'm not sure; then she had to go or something. I haven't a clue why she was so livid." It's time, so I smirk. "Five. Four. Three. Two. One. Zero. One," I mutter, the words flowing out without my control as usual. My brain feels fluffy, and I'm so glad to leave this mess to Zero-One.

My eyes flutter, and I peer up. Who is this fat pig? Wait, it's a piggish woman. Bleh, chicks make my stomach churn. Did Ten plan on putting us into a hog of a woman? Am I flirting? Where am I?

I hope you enjoyed part two! I'd love if you shared and voted!

What would you do in Ten's situation after the... Heheha... succubus daydream? Comment here —> ()