Succubated!

CHAPTER FOURTEEN: In which a convalescence is interrupted by advice given in exchange for unusual payment.

Michael lay flat on his back in a hospital room; the attending physician had given him an intravenous shot of something that made him feel like he might float away from his body. He felt strange: dizzy and disoriented, with an acrid taste in his mouth. Too many people had hovered around him, and they kept talking to him about things he didn’t understand. But now it was quiet.

Susan sat propped up in the next bed, semiconscious now but with her head bandaged thoroughly. Both were stable, thankfully, but the pain and dizziness hadn’t gone away. He kept having to refuse offers to remove his clothes or change into a hospital gown. The last thing he needed was some doctor trying to figure out why he had breasts, a clitoris, no vagina, and a hairy scrotum with two testicles. I could claim to be intersex, I guess? But this all just feels so… off. Like I’ve slipped through a portal into some new reality, disjunct from my home; a world where I’m now someone else.

Father John had come by, full of consternation, concern, and caring. After assessing that both Susan and Michael were stable and recovering, he’d reluctantly rushed off to deal with repairs at the parish. Michael couldn’t blame John for not staying. After all, his altered body was mending with surprising speed despite multiple bone fractures, contusions, and a concussion. He was in pain, but it felt as if the fractures were knitting back together already. Perhaps this is another facet of “succubating,” as Susan calls it.

“Ayup! You can thank me for that,” came Yael’s voice. Michael looked over at the window, and there she was, lounging in the reflection, wearing white hot pants and a flowing white robe, which hung loosely around her slim shoulders. She sucked on something, then pulled it from her lips with a hollow sound: a cherry lollipop. “A fraction of my energy is always circulating in your body now,” she explained, “and that means you heal fast. Can’t say the same for your girl over there,” and she gestured at Susan.

Michael looked over. Susan had her eyes closed and seemed to be asleep. The remorse he felt when looking at her was almost unbearable. I can’t believe I encouraged her to go down this path, into depravity and danger. What kind of shepherd am I? What kind of mentor?

“Gross, dude,” Yael said. “Why do you keep doing that? Save your abuse for Mastema, dumbass—not yourself.” She rolled the lollipop across her tongue. “You’re not the one who beat her black and blue. That was his pet golem.” The succubus turned, as if gazing through the window. She was beautiful: long dark hair like curling silk, delicate features and an even complexion the shade of burgundy wine. Her lips were a brighter red, presumably from the illusory cherry candy she slurped away at.

She winked at him, reflected, like a teenager flirting with an admirer. It was an impish gesture that made him wince. “You’re lucky that nasty demon hunter happened along. What a piece of work; wiped that golem right out.” We owe Cassandra some thanks, he realized. She must have brought them to the hospital, he’d realized earlier. Still, there had been no sign of her when he’d become more aware of his surroundings.

Yael smirked; Michael wasn’t sure if it was because she knew he owed her one, or simply that she enjoyed seeing him flustered. “Helping you heal wasn’t all I did,” she said with a sly grin, wagging the lollipop at him. “I gave you Mastema’s name. That’s a valuable tidbit about a demon, his name. Really, I don’t know how he expected not to be recognized—barging in and taking up residence in some old church geezer. Oops… pot calling kettle!” He scowled in response, then heard a cough from behind him.

“Michael, what are we going to do about Father Boudreau?” asked Susan. She’d opened her eyes; they were bloodshot and puffy, as if she’d been crying. She scooted to the edge of the bed, twisting uncomfortably, and Michael suddenly remembered that she’d suffered from scoliosis as a child.

Michael did his best to ignore Yael and turned to Susan. “A demon named Mastema has possessed him, apparently. And, well… you spotted the two golems, although an unexpected benefactor dealt with one of them for us.”

Susan nodded slowly. “I’m sorry I didn’t realize it sooner.” Her voice was quiet and small. He could tell she felt guilty. “I heard you say Mastema…? it’s not a name that’s come up in my research. How did you learn his name?”

Michael nodded towards the dark glass of the window, the reflection illuminated by the bright hospital lights, Yael’s lounging form clearly visible… to him, at least. “I can’t claim it was any insight of my own. Yael told me.” The succubus looked predictably smug.

Susan peered at the window, clearly not seeing what he did. “She’s here now? May I ask her some questions? I mean, other than ‘could you please leave my friend Michael alone and find a host somewhere far away, like Mars?’”

Yael smiled; it was a broad grin that suggested she’d been waiting for this moment. “Of course, dearie. You may interrogate the demoness as much or as little as you like—though I recommend respect for your elders.”

Michael relayed the gist of what Yael had said, if not the exact language, and Susan nodded. “O… arouser of the body’s thirsts… please tell us what you know about Mastema?” She didn’t sound very confident.

Yael shrugged. “Mastema is a demon of contempt and rage. He’s been around since… oh wow, before me, probably. He has no consistent physical form of his own, since he prefers to exist as a kind of… hmm, an ambient manifestation of the righteous, judgmental anger of others.”

Michael continued to play “telephone,” relaying Yael’s words since Susan couldn’t hear or see the succubus. Susan nodded, thinking. “I see. So, it’s likely Father Boudreau created a malefic ingress through genuine disillusionment with the church, thus ended up possessed.”

Yael’s eyes glittered like diamonds in the dark; she was smiling. “Exactly! Clever girl. Mastema is both feeding on and reinforcing those feelings, while slowly cutting off the old priest from his old life. That’s probably why he’s keeping the golems around, that and—”

Michael held up his hand and asked, “Yael, isn’t there any way you can make yourself visible, or at least audible, so that Susan can talk with you? I’m glad that the two of you can, er… collaborate like this. Despite our unresolved differences? However, it would be easier if I wasn’t trying to translate.”

The succubus’ smile faded. “I can manifest, but it will require energy. Energy I’m also already spending on healing you, through no choice of my own. Susan Miller, are you prepared to provide recompense?”

Before Michael could pass these words along to Susan, the young woman nodded, her brown eyes large with wonder. “I heard her that time! Um… I will not sign any contract, nor do I pledge myself to you. Any payment is purely for coverage of costs and implies no further bond. Given those conditions, I will provide recompense.” Michael blanched, about to protest, but Yael’s throaty laugh cut him off.

“Good girl!” the succubus said. “Now let me see what I can do.” She vanished; then they both saw a faint shimmering in the air near the window. A moment later Yael appeared, wearing an old-fashioned nurse’s uniform, complete with a white cap and heels that fit neatly over her hooves.

“Aren’t you a clever little one, with your specifications and cautions?” Yael walked over to Susan, lifting a chin with her finger. The girl gaped up at her first full view of the succubus, astonished. “Mikey dear,” purred Yael, “I think we should keep her. Can we keep her?” Susan’s cheeks flushed, and Michael recalled his own first sighting of the demoness with a twinge of regret.

Her presence is overwhelming, he told himself. His face felt hot, and his fingers twitched; he wanted to say something but couldn’t find the words. He just shook his head.

“Of course we can!” Yael kissed Susan on the cheek, then leaned down and whispered into her ear: “My sweet Suzy-Q! I have plans for you, too.”

Susan swallowed nervously. “For now, please tell us… does Mastema have any weaknesses?” she asked. Yael grinned and rubbed her hands together.

“Oh, indeed yes. I don’t mind sharing; that old fly-cloud is neither friend nor ally. To put it fairly, he hates most other demons. Was trying to pass himself off as an angel for a while… but really, he has little physical prowess. That’s why he goes around with summoned bodyguards, see? You’ve seen how to deal with those… well, if you have an acrobatic whip-wielding hard-ass on hand, a hunter trained since birth to assassinate demons.”

Yael rolled her eyes dramatically, produced a cigarette holder and lit a smoke, tapping it on the rail of the hospital bed. Michael winced, trying to remind himself that it was illusory, just part of Yael’s provocation of human rules.

If Susan felt ruffled by Yael’s behavior, she managed it the feeling by taking notes. “So… he’s a demon who must be outwitted rather than out-fought, I take it? Strong defenses otherwise? Do you know what his weakness is on the intellectual front, in terms of the integrity of his persona?”

Yael thought about this; her eyes went half-closed. “No. If I knew what he sees as his strength—what he thinks makes him more like an unfallen angel, in the Throne’s regard—then we might use that against him. I’d imagine bringing him down with lust, but you know…. I’m a little biased in that direction.” She pulled open the shirt of her uniform and extinguished her cigarette on the scarlet flesh of her own left breast, giving a loud moan of anguish as she did, but smiling throughout the self-torture with a cheeky grin.

Susan stoically ignored the show. “You’re not wrong, O temptress; lust could be a good start, if not lust of the flesh.” Susan said. “Hmmm… or hypocrisy, perhaps. Contempt for others arises from self-superiority; that’s one way to look at it.”

Michael nodded. “He hates others for being phonies, hypocrites. His philosophical walls might crumble if he confronted the hypocrisies of his own position. Still, I’m confused… Boudreau’s resentment, and the seething rage Mastema cultivated it towards, deals with the failings of lay and ecclesiastical community in the Church. In response, he’s turned a venerable priest… to betray his vows for a demonic existence? It’s too obviously a hypocritical contradiction.”

Yael rolled her eyes. “Look who’s talking. Didn’t you try to choke me out in a park because I’m a parasite trying to eat your psychic insides, or whatever? And now you’re coming begging for help. Help us fight the mean bully demon of contempt, mommy!”

Michael drew breath, taken aback. Yael was right, but he had never been one to claim his own imperfect human ways were consistent, morally perfect, or free of flaws and hypocrisy. He looked over at Susan, but she was writing notes hurriedly.

“So, is there anything else we can do?” Michael asked her. “Anything we haven’t tried yet?”

Susan stopped scribbling and gave him a sad smile. “Well, there’s that staff that they sent us from the Vatican vault. We never even managed to pull it out.” She nodded to the corner, where the cross-topped staff sat with their other belongings. Michael sighed. Neither of them was a combatant. He was terribly hesitant to bring Cassandra back into this situation, but at least she might be capable of wielding such an instrument.

Yael sat cross-legged now; her voice sounded like it came from a distance. “If you have any experience with magic—any at all—you know the power of words. Words are more than just sounds; they’re symbols, which hold meaning. The right words will shatter Mastema’s facade.” She shook her head, black ringlets cascading around. “Ugh! You’re making me think too much. And I’m fading away. Time to pay up, Miss Miller.”

Susan nodded gravely. She stood and unbuttoned the top fastening of her hospital robe.

Michael held up his hands. “Susan! What… what are you doing?”

“What does it look like I’m doing? I’m paying my recompense.” Susan dropped the robe, now clad only in simple gray bikini underwear. Her breasts swayed like ripe, floating peaches as she rose; a purple bruise mottled the left breast.

Susan bowed deeply to Yael. “I assume you wish me to perform some kind of service in your name, lady. My body, and only my body, is yours to command for a short while, but then it shall be mine again, and only mine.”

Yael stood; the nurse’s uniform had likewise fallen open, revealing nothing underneath but her voluptuous form. Her fat nipples were a mirror of Michael’s own enlarged nubs, but in the darkest shades of red. “Correct, little mouse. This is the payment you owe me for services rendered: a brief use of your body and will. Now come here and let me see you.”

Susan stood up, and Yael motioned for her to turn. The young student, despite her bruises, glowed with the health and energy of youth. Clothed, she had always seemed younger than her age, but Michael could see that her naked figure was more womanly than a casual glance might suggest. Her hips were wide, but not distinctively so, and her breasts full enough to be soft without being heavy. Her collarbones were sharp, like those of a thinner girl, but the rest of her body was contoured with feminine curves everywhere he looked, from her belly to her thighs to the high swell of her ass.

Susan looked over her shoulder at him. “What do you think, Father?” She asked casually, as if used to being appraised.

Michael felt a twinge of guilt, remembering how he had given in to Susan’s suggestion of oral sex just days before. He looked at her solemnly, somehow caught up in the ritual of it all, but still resisting. “Susan, wait… what defines the duration of a short while? Are you sure this is a good idea?”

“It is,” said Yael, brooking no doubts. “Now come here, girl.”

Susan approached the demoness; her face flushed red with excitement or nervousness. She met Yael’s gaze, but addressed the priest. “Don’t worry, Michael. A short while isn’t an arbitrary duration… I’ll explain later.” Then, her eyes still fixed on Yael: “I am ready.”

Yael nodded slowly. “Then say after me: ‘I offer myself to Yael, the Queen of Night my liege.’”

Susan repeated the words. Her eyes seemed to glow, just slightly.

Yael smiled a wicked, fanged smile. “Very good. Tweak your own nipples, please.”

Susan obeyed, kneading at her breasts with one hand. Michael watched, fascinated by the way her fingers moved across her skin, sliding up and down, pinching and squeezing, tugging on her nipples until they were hard little points. Yael took hold of one of them and gave it a gentle squeeze.

Yael gave her next command. “Pleasure yourself. Make yourself wet. I know you have a fondness for sex, and I want to see what you can do. How fast you can get yourself soaked?”

Susan did as she was told; she moaned softly and rubbed herself between the legs—her fingers moistened quickly—then she squeezed her clit with two fingers, stroking it rapidly. Michael could see her breathing increase, and her pulse in her throat.

Somehow, he could sense how she felt turned on, and why: the very idea of being used as a tool, of sacrificing herself for someone else’s purpose, aroused her. No wonder she jumped into this eagerly, he thought. It’s about helping Father Boudreau, but she also likes it.

“Lock the door and take the priest’s robes off.”

“Hey, wait just one moment,” Michael yelped. “I didn’t agree to this. I’m not the one who’s—”

Yael raised a finger to his lips. “You have no say. You are my host, and I need no contract with you. Susan Miller, lock the door to this room. Draw the curtains, dim the lights and strip the priest.” Susan bowed, her attitude respectful and obedient.

She went to the hospital room’s door, which Michael noticed with horror stood just slightly ajar. She slid a chair into place to block it from the inside. Then she flicked the lights off and walked over to draw the drapes shut over the windows. Now only a single dim lamp lit the room from where it sat on the desk. The room darkened.

Susan stood in front of Michael, regarding him with an unreadable expression. “Are you ready, Father? May I remove your clothes?”

A disturbing tension crept up Michael’s back. “Susan, if you’re determined to do this, I won’t stand in your way. But it’s best if I don’t take part. She’ll only use the energy to transform me further, you must realize.”

Susan nodded and turned back to Yael. “Dark mistress, the priest refuses.”

The demoness met this response with a scowl. “But you may not refuse me. You’ve promised me recompense and sworn to me for a time. On your knees, whelp.”

Immediately, Susan sank to the floor, kneeling between them. “My queen, my mistress. I swore to you, it’s true. But I specified that my body, and only my body, are yours to command. I may not command another’s.”

To Michael’s surprise, Yael let out a barking laugh. “So you know how to play the Faustian game, hmm? I’m almost amused. Almost. Well then, I shall address myself to my host.” The heat of her gaze swiveled to Michael, and he felt his breath catch under that baleful stare.

“Mikey, you and I have had plenty of fun bickering and playing tricks on each other. But now I want to see you and Suze here. She owes me a favor… and if she pays promptly, I might help you further in your quixotic little feud with Mastema. But if you don’t cooperate, I’ll have her pay me back in a much less pleasant way.”

Father Michael Belmont’s upper lip quivered. “You wouldn’t…. what are you threatening her with?”

“Michael,” Susan said in a soft voice. “Don’t worry about me. With this kind of bargain, she can’t actually—”

“Silence, servant of mine!” Yael snapped. “Ugh. It’s so hard to find good help today, even as a temp. You talk too much, little smart-ass. Now, think carefully, Michael. I’ll give you until the sands empty this glass.” She raised a fingertip, and a miniature hourglass of ivory and bone appeared, with grains of sand already falling.

The breath rose and fell in Michael’s chest, and he tore his gaze away from Yael and Susan, looking out the window. He’d already crossed the boundary between assistant and lover with Susan, but Yael’s hellish involvement was another story. Clearly, the succubus wanted to advance the changes in his body, and with it, her readiness to evict him into non-existence.

Reasoning, revulsion and frustrated desire warred urgently in his heart. Is there a reason to appease Yael? Convince her to spare me somehow? Is there a reason for me to explore these feelings further, now that I’ve come so far?

It’s a gamble, he thought. We may learn something, gain some leverage. At the cost of another change. But what do I care? My body has become a strange land to me, but… His thoughts failed him, and he looked up to see Yael staring at him with a bemused expression. Michael couldn’t deny the strange pull of attraction, growing in him like a seed, desiring this change even as his immortal soul revolted at the idea of becoming like her, and becoming her prey.

“Susan,” he heard himself saying. “Is this the right thing to do, strategically? For our whole situation, including Father Boudreau’s safety, and my own problems?”

“You may answer, and answer honestly,” said Yael. She perched herself on the edge of the windowsill, drumming her long black nails with studied nonchalance. The last grains of sand fell into the bottom of the illusory hourglass, and it vanished.

Susan took a deep breath. “I believe it could help, yes. I can explain later. And… we can afford it, in your case. If you’re all right with it.”

Michael’s heart pounded loudly against his ribs, terrified, but excited at the same time.

“All right. I’ll take my clothes off.” He was suddenly very aware of the tight shirt and compression bra flattening his new breasts to his chest, of the absence of his former genitals in his underwear.

Susan shook her head. “My mistress of the hour has commanded me to do so. Please, allow me.”

Despite swearing no oath, Michael felt like he’d lost control of his will and body too, swept up in currents he’d jumped into with no idea of where they might lead. He stood and allowed Susan to remove his clothing—his pants and underwear, then his compression shirt. His tight bra proved the most difficult to remove, but Susan stretched and twisted it deftly, exposing Michael’s small breasts to the air-conditioned coolness of the room.

How strange, thought Michael. Three pairs of breasts, and one is mine; the lemons resting on either side of my breastbone, next to Susan’s ample peaches and Yael’s heavy grapefruits.

Susan stood again, bowing to Yael. The succubus inspected them both; the slight grad student wearing simple underwear and a strangely calm demeanor, and the middle-aged man with unnaturally smooth skin, small breasts incongruous on a broad chest, and nothing between his legs but a clitoris above his swinging scrotum.

Yael tapped her lips. “My servant,” she addressed Susan, “I would like to provide my host here with some pleasure. What would you suggest?”

Susan frowned, thinking for a moment. “Well, the priest is still recovering from his injuries, so it might be best if he simply rested. I would be happy to give him a light massage.”

“That will not do!” Yael snapped. “You know that very well, student of demons. The priest needs to feel every sensation of his new body, and I want to partake. You won’t weasel out of this; you know my domain too well. Get on your knees and caress his body with yours. Please pay expert attention to his breasts, those nipples—fashioned after mine, don’tcha know? Then we’ll get to what’s down below.”

Susan nodded with a strange professional obedience. “As you wish,” she said. She kneeled beside Michael’s bed; her hands moved to cup his breast, but she stopped.

“Is this all right, Michael?” He hesitated and looked her in the eye. She seemed calm—or like she hoped to calm him. He nodded, and suddenly her fingers were warm against his skin. She squeezed gently. He exhaled, a sharp burst of breath. She began to knead and stroke his chest, massaging the flesh like dough.

His heart pounded in his ears, and his clit throbbed with abrupt need. He could feel Susan’s breasts rubbing against his stomach. She leaned forward and kissed him lightly on the mouth, then suckled his neck. Susan moved his body against his, stroking his thighs with hers, placing her foot lightly against his instep. A wave of dizziness passed over Michael, but he resisted the urge to drop to his knees or lie down. That would only escalate things further.

Yael’s voice broke into his thoughts; the succubus seemed to have read his mind—or perhaps she could hear his heartbeat, drumming a rapid staccato. “Very good,” she said. “I can taste it. Now, Susan, use your fingers to penetrate his ass. Go slowly at first, don’t rush it.”

Susan obeyed after a nod from Michael. With a finger slick from her own juices, she pressed her index finger between his cheeks and pushed inward. It felt like she was pushing through a tight rubber band. When she reached her second knuckle, she stopped. Michael was gasping for breath, just letting it all happen to him, as if he couldn’t resist or protest. She looked up at Yael. “This is how far?”

“Not too much farther,” Yael said. “Find that little button.”

Susan placed her other hand on the top of Michael’s buttocks; he shuddered as she slid it over to rest on his hip. Then she pushed her fingers in again, this time with more force. Michael grunted and moaned in discomfort. I won’t stop her. I agreed to let this happen, so I can do it. Her slender, short-nailed fingers stroked and soothed inside of him, until suddenly—

“Oh!” Michael cried out. It was as his body had seized control from his mind, lancing him with a spear of pleasure. His back arched like a bow, and then he fell backward onto the bed. Susan crawled over to him and took his clit into her mouth. She sucked hard. Michael groaned, a wavering sound, and thrust his hips upward. It felt so good, but his arousal was strange. There was no stiff erection, no wet pussy, only his clit and his balls, and Susan lavished both with attention.

Yael purred. “Yes, you know what to do. You would make a fine succubus.”

Michael felt himself rising to the surface; the pleasure was too intense to be denied. “Susan,” he gasped. “I’m going to come! Oh god!”

Susan looked up at Yael. “What should I do?” she asked.

“Just keep sucking. Don’t stop. Hmm… stroke him between the balls. Push inwards there, into his pubic cavity. There should be room now.” Susan nodded, her eyes looking glazed over with an intense feeling.

What is Yael talking about? Michael wondered, still reeling from the intense pleasure. Room where? In me? He could feel his clit twitching—or maybe it’s not mine at all. Maybe I have her clit now; is this what Yael’s clit feels like?—and for a moment he wanted to push Susan away. But if he did that, she might leave him alone with this terrible hunger, the need to devour, be filled, writhe and moan… I want it. I crave it.

“That’s right,” Yael said. “Now go faster. That’s good. Push in.” Susan’s fingers were stroking him between the legs, running across the smooth sensitive skin of his scrotum. With no cock, the space usually filled by engorged tissue was empty, and Susan pushed at him there, making him feel an aching need for something, to have something inside of him, penetrating him there, where no orifice existed… not yet.

“Yes,” Yael said. “That’s perfect. Now—”

“No!” Michael yelped. “Wait, please!”

Susan stopped immediately. Michael lay panting on the bed. He tried to sit up, but found himself unable to move. “I—if I come like this. The energy… you know what she’s trying to do.”

Yael shook her head. “Keep going. Bring him pleasure.”

Susan hesitated. “Dark mistress, he asked me to stop, and I—”

Yael growled. “Do as you are told!” She pointed a finger at Michael. “Coward! I know the shape of your desire.”

Michael gritted his teeth as the need for release built within him. I don’t even know how to masturbate with a body like this one, he thought. But I know I need… and I need it badly. Then he made eye contact with Susan and nodded. “Go ahead. I can handle it.”

What will Yael do to me next? The possibilities flitted across his mind, but he focused on Susan. She’d started this infernal bargain, but they’d finish it together; he didn’t want her to bear any guilt of carrying out Yael’s commands without his consent.

“Please… please fuck me.” Michael gasped out the words, and Susan bit her lip, clearly stirred. She bent to Michael’s lap and tongued him again, gently, her fingers tracing a line that looped around his anus and up to the place in the middle of his empty scrotum, the place with no cleft.

“It’s OK, Michael,” she said when coming up for air. “It will all be OK.” Michael furrowed his brow and laid back, no longer sure where his desires ended and his will began. Susan’s pace and efforts intensified.

Yael whispered, but loud enough for them to hear. “Oh, my dear Michael. You’re so delicious. So eager. Such a good girl.”

Michael groaned. “I’m not a girl. I’m not a man. I don’t know what I am.”

Yael laughed. “I’m glad to hear you say it aloud. You are my creature; that’s all you need to be.”

“No,” Michael whispered. “I’m my own creature!” Susan kept licking and sucking at his clit, the sensations unbelievably intense—but not enough. He wanted more; he wanted to feel like Yael did: full, satisfied, sated, drunk with pleasure. His mind raced. How does it feel? How would I feel?

What did it feel like to have a cock inside of her, to feel the heat of another body inside of hers, to have something pushing against her from behind, filling her, making her feel complete, shooting seed deep into her womb? Part of his rat mind recoiled, but another part—whether his repressed desire, or a strange new kink, or the shape of his body---part of him wanted to feel that pressure and fullness.

Michael arched his hips, pushing his groin into Susan’s probing fingers, into her thirsty face. Susan grew more enthusiastic, moaning as she sucked harder.

“Yes,” Yael said. “That’s it. Keep going. Not long now.”

Susan nodded. “Yes, mistress.” She resumed her ministrations with renewed vigor.

Michael closed his eyes and tried to ignore everything else but his body. He could picture it, Susan’s fingers sliding inside of him, into the slick wetness of labial folds he didn’t have, fingertips rubbing across the walls of a vagina to find the G-spot. If only… if only.

“That’s the way,” Yael said. “Don’t stop.” Michael felt himself building toward release. Just a few more seconds and he would be there.

“I’m—I’m—” he gasped. “This is too much, I need to come!” Susan obeyed, sliding her fingers again into his ass, tickling his prostate and his clit, using her other hand to push the folds of his scrotum into his body, inverting it. Michael shuddered, tensed, arched. Then his body flooded every neuron of his brain with sensations he’d never felt before; his whole body shaking with pleasure, muscles twitching, sweat exhaling from every pore. Susan’s fingers slipped out of him.

He lay panting for a moment. “I’m sorry,” he said. “I didn’t mean to… I didn’t want…”

Yael laughed. And laughed again, bending over, then arching her back with sheer, dark joy. “It’s almost as if you have no choice but to give in! Give in to yourself, to desire, to what your body wants… and to me!”

Abruptly, the succubus vanished. The room darkened and a cool breeze blew through the open window. A feeling of calm descended over Michael; calm, and relief. For a single moment, peace settled over him as if only the pleasure of sexual contact had happened. He sat up, looked down at his body, now fully healed… but throbbing strangely.

“Oh, no.” He choked the words out as the muscles of his hips and abdomen tensed. “Susan, it’s happening again!”

Susan nodded grimly. “We just did a sex rite for an ancient succubus. Let me see if I can…. oh! Michael, be careful!” Michael’s back ached terribly; he rolled over and pushed his hips towards the ceiling. They were popping, cracking… widening.

His buttocks spread apart, raised in the air. “Ohhhh! Oh Lord above,” he yelled. It was painful, but also like a long, badly needed stretch after stiffness. He rolled his hips from side to side, feeling them slide against the sheets.

“That’s amazing!” Susan said. “Look how they’re stretching.”

Michael stared at himself. His hips flared out from his waist, and his pelvis had tilted, making the small of his back more prominent than ever before; his ass cheeks were almost heart-shaped, though nowhere near as lush as Yael’s. Still, he now had a womanly pair of hips.

Susan sighed. “I’ll have to trust that was worth it. But now we’ll also need to get you some new pants.”