The only lesson humanity learns from history is that humanity never learns from history.
Just yesterday, Nainai had watched her meal vanish before her eyes due to her own stubbornness. Yet today, she miraculously recreated the exact same disaster.
"Don’t disappear! Wahhh… Give it to me! Please, I’m starving!"
Like chasing a wind-snatched kite, Nainai lunged and crashed onto Fusiming.
Pride? Principles? Rabbit-not-eating-near-its-burrow morals?
None mattered to a starving soul.
"Wahhh, I was wrong! It’s my fault! I shouldn’t have been picky!"
"Desire! Give me desire!"
"Please! Wahhh… I’ll do anything!"
Nainai’s frantic, muffled pleas dripped with desperation as her hands scrambled over Fusiming’s body.
Like a squirrel frantically digging for nuts in a tree hollow, the little succubus whimpered and fumbled for nonexistent food.
Her amethyst eyes had melted into heart-shaped pools of lust. A drunken flush painted her porcelain cheeks.
One flick of her tongue, one roll of those glazed eyes—and she’d achieve peak *ahegao*.
The "last burst of vitality" buff had faded. Nainai was now deep in her final, chaotic frenzy.
Her mind was pure mush. She likely had no idea what she was even babbling anymore.
These lines wouldn’t feel out of place in the filthiest doujinshi.
Yet Fusiming, her sole audience, wasn’t listening.
Why?
Because… true to her title as a *Succubus*, Nainai’s body was simply *too* perfect.
Her petite frame radiated a mature, intoxicating allure—a paradox that felt utterly natural on her form.
She looked like she’d stepped straight out of a best-selling, five-star rated adult manga.
(An indecent comparison, yes—but undeniably accurate.)
For her height, her modest yet pillowy chest pressed flush against his stomach through two thin, damp layers of fabric.
Fusiming’s hands hovered awkwardly in midair, unsure where to land.
This forbidden closeness with an eternally youthful loli succubus carried a sinful thrill potent enough to level buildings.
The sensation shot through him like scalding spring water—from toes to temples.
If it were just this, he might’ve held on.
With the discipline of a monk who’d survived thirteen levels of abstinence forums, mere physical contact shouldn’t shatter his resolve.
But as Nainai spiraled deeper into heat, her body unleashed its ultimate weapon: a thick, peach-scented pheromone fog.
This intoxicating musk could weaken even Xu Yingsnow—a straight woman.
How could Fusiming, a man who secretly craved Nainai’s body, possibly resist?
No one could withstand this Eden Fruit of temptation.
"Not good… this is bad…"
The soft friction of her body against his, layered with that cloying, honeyed scent, fused into an invisible hammer.
*CRACK.*
It shattered his thoughts under the lightning’s glare.
His mind drifted into uncharted haze.
No up, no down. No left, no right.
Only blinding white—and a single pink silhouette filling his vision.
Pale skin and cotton-candy hair blended like a strawberry shortcake, impossibly tempting.
His temperature soared. His throat turned to desert sand.
He felt like a wanderer who’d trudged hundreds of miles under a merciless sun.
Every drop of moisture had evaporated. His throat clicked dryly, swallowing nothing.
This thirst radiated from his core—a craving no water could quench.
Only the source could sate it.
Nainai’s touch had reignited the embers within him.
His soul now yearned to relive last night’s euphoric explosion—the bliss only *Corruption Essence* could deliver.
It surged through his veins, threatening to burst from every pore.
Fusiming trembled. His fingers curled and uncurled.
A primal urge drove him to press his hands against the little succubus—to feel silk softer than the finest satin.
To slowly, carefully devour this defenseless delicacy before him.
Her feverish body was a ripe peach, dripping with unseen sweetness beneath its fragrant skin.
To quench his thirst, this fully prepared little succubus was the ultimate feast…
Swallowing phantom saliva, Fusiming didn’t notice his own unraveling composure.
His body remembered the dopamine-fueled pleasure from their last encounter.
What had been a quiet hum now roared into a tidal wave.
He’d fatally underestimated Nainai’s fully bloomed allure.
This temptation seeped into his bones, awakening something long buried within him…
*Huff… puff…*
"Wahhh! Desire! It’s back! Wahhh… my desire…"
Tears of joy bubbled from Nainai’s eyes as she clung to Fusiming’s waist, cheek pressed to his defined abs.
Her smudged pink eyeshadow only deepened her allure.
Her tears soaked through the already-damp fabric on his stomach.
Her tail shot straight up!
Eyes wide with ecstasy, she watched the extinguished pink flame reignite on his chest.
Brighter. Hotter.
In her senses, its glow outshone even the lightning tearing the sky apart.
Her entire world narrowed to that fingertip-sized flame. Thunder? Bone-chilling wind? Nothing could distract her.
*Hers.* She’d never let go.
No one would take it.
"Hehe… my desire ❤… gulp… hehe…"
She drooled and wept, giggling like a child who’d finally gotten her dream toy.
Mesmerized by the flame, she never noticed the terrifying change in the black-haired man beneath her.
A wildfire of raw *hunger* blazed in Fusiming’s silver eyes, hidden under dark lashes.
His rigid features twisted. Lips peeled back. Sharp canines glinted. Crimson light flickered in his pupils.
Like a shadowy beast straining to burst from its human cage.
He looked less like a man—and more like a rutting animal desperate to mate.
Thankfully, his tight trousers restrained his arousal.
Otherwise… well. Some scenes stay unwritten.
Thunder boomed like war drums.
But the deafening roar couldn’t reach the two lost in their own chaos.
Amidst the lightning flashes, the shadow on the wall revealed something new sprouting from Fusiming’s damp black hair—
a pair of sharp, curling…
"Bigger ❤… this isn’t enough… I need more. *More*…"
Nainai purred, licking her lips as if she could taste the flame through his skin.
She delayed devouring it—a child savoring a long-awaited treat, afraid it might vanish after one bite.
Her tail coiled around his calf, writhing. Her thighs ground against his rigid, burning frame.
Blissfully unaware, she’d become lamb on the butcher’s block.
Fusiming’s hovering hands had turned into Venus flytrap jaws—
poised to swallow the defenseless little succubus whole.
