Dan was a nice guy, no question about that. There was just too much of an age gap, I think. He was eleven years younger than me, and as for my wife? Pfft. Don’t even ask.

We met him on Tinder. The bio clearly stated our terms: they could do whatever they wanted, whenever they wanted, provided I A) gave my consent, and B) was allowed to watch.

There was some leeway with those rules. A load of guys need time to grow comfortable around with the situation, in which case they were free to invite my better half to their place, alone. Provided it was done with open and honest communication, obviously.

The day Dan finally worked up the nerve to come over, we had wine, chatted for a bit, and then got down to business. My wife’s a real tomcat, let me tell you. Once or twice Dan attempted to unlace her corset, which she discouraged with a slap to the hand.

I could have SWORN a beautiful relationship was blossoming. But then he started with the needy messages. Dan would ask my wife to a movie or invite her to the bar, so he could introduce her to his friends. We shared a hearty laugh over that one.

In fairness, he was barely into his twenties, and naïve about the world. We thought a simple clarification of the boundaries might solve our little conundrum. It didn’t.

Throughout the night, Dan would call her to complain about his poor physical and mental health. Six doctors couldn’t figure out what was wrong, apparently. He quickly lost forty pounds and took on a greyish hue.

After the sixth straight night of interrupted sleep, we decided this couldn’t go on any longer. We had to permanently close the book on this relationship. Normally, we’d string the process out over the course of a year or two, but this guy was just the worst.

We drove to a motel on the outskirts of town. Along the way, I watched them make out in the back seat. My wife gave Dan’s lip a little chomp, drawing blood, which he seemed to enjoy.

We paid for the room in cash and checked in under a fake name. Inside, she threw him onto the bed, and as she keeled forward, undoing her corset, he babbled incessantly about how much he loved her. Until her undergarment slid off, and she flexed her bat-like wings, which stretched from one wall to the other.

She was on top of him in an instant, her now pointed tongue extending further and further out of her mouth. Casually, I strolled outside to the soda machine. Even I didn’t want to watch the next part.

Just then, my phone buzzed with another Tinder match. While Dan screamed inside the cramped room, I sent the first message, pretending to be my wife.

It’s hard work finding consorts for a succubus. But somehow, we manage.