Succubated!

Micki tried to slide into her seat in the middle row. She’d been late for class—again. She just had to hope the teacher wouldn’t notice.

Miss Yael, the head Lecturer in Succubating Arts, stood at the front of the classroom. She wore a tight, black leather skirt and a white tank top, too small for the size of her chest. She’d tied her hair back in a ponytail, and she wore horn-rimmed glasses over her goat-like yellow eyes.

Yael looked like an evil doll from a reality where curvaceous kids’ toys came in demonic red, complete with horns, tail, and hooves. She stood tall enough in her six-inch stilettos to project presence, yet button-cute enough to disarm. The entire outfit seemed designed to make students forget how old she truly was. As if anyone could ever forget Miss Yael’s age! Eight thousand, seven hundred and ninety-six.

Micki peered around at the rest of the girls. They were all wearing school uniforms with short skirts that fell about the knee and blouses unbuttoned to show an inch or two of cleavage, a lacy trim of bra. Most of them seemed nervous; a few looked outright scared.

Their affect didn’t exactly surprise Micki; there was an unspoken rule among succubae that they weren’t supposed to show too much flesh while in training, but they were always in perpetual competition to prove themselves alluring.

Yael turned around to glare right at her. “Miss Belmont.”

“Yes ma’am,” Micki replied, her voice soft.

Yael was the most intimidating succubus Micki had ever met—in some ways, even more so than Principal Lilith herself. Micki knew better than to say any more. Not unless she wanted to find herself strapped to a table, lashed with rose vines, and fisted roughly until she admitted her wrongdoings. That didn’t sound all that bad, come to think of it… but she was here to learn! Micki sat in her chair and hoped the other girls would follow suit.

Yael walked up to Micki’s desk and leaned against it like it was a barstool. “You’re late again,” she noted. Micki didn’t know if her teacher’s tone was a threat or a chastisement.

“Sorry Ma’am,” Micki said with a smile. “I’m working hard on my homework, though!” Micki glanced down at her notes, then quickly away. She’d made progress on her assignment from Yael the previous night; she could already summon three different varieties of demons with no trouble, including two kinds of imp and a lesser lamia. It seemed strange that Yael had given her such a simple assignment; it was obvious Micki needed to master more complex summons before she could move on to advanced lessons. But Micki was not about to bring that up—not if it might sound like she was complaining.

Yael studied her for a moment, then sighed. “You don’t seem to take this seriously,” she said in a flat tone. Then she snapped her fingers and pointed to Micki’s papers. “Pick up your books; we need to begin our lesson.”

Micki stared at Yael’s hand for a second too long, then grabbed her notebook and pencil.

“Class,” said Yael. “What is the most important thing to remember when tempting a mortal?”

As usual, only one girl spoke up: a blonde with blue eyes and pale skin named Kelli, who wore a pink skirt with a blue V-neck sweater over her blouse. “Don’t let them see you as weak,” she said.

“Wrong, wrong, wrong!” sighed Yael. “We’ve covered this, Kelli! Some mortals want to think you’re in their power; they get off on feigned submission. Micki, your answer?”

Micki shrugged. “It depends on what kind of human you’re dealing with. Some like to think they can resist a succubus’ temptations; others are eager to surrender because it makes them feel at liberty to express their shameful desires.”

“Bravo!” said Yael. “Now… explain why you believe you can get away with that haircut, and whether it’s superior to my own incredible, cultivated ringlets.”

Confused, Micki touched her hair. It fell around her chin in long, straight wings, just a little longer on one side. “My… haircut, Ma’am?” she asked.

Yael nodded. “Yes, Belmont. Your choppy, stick-straight hair.”

“Well, uh,” Micki stammered. “I thought it made me look more mature.”

“It does not,” retorted Yael. “This is a classic example of what I was talking about earlier. You girls think it’s all about power, maturity, control. Did you forget my lesson about topping from the bottom? My hair is cute, girlish!” Yael ran her hands through her locks. “Yours is like a little boy’s; it’s flat and winged and not nearly as attractive. Do you have any idea how much effort went into maintaining my style?”

No effort at all,

thought Micki. It always looks like that, so it must be magic. But Kelli giggled behind her hand, and the other girls were looking at Micki with disdain. Brown-nosers, thought Micki.

Micki said, “Maybe I don’t want to look cute. Maybe I’m keeping my options open for the ones that want to fuck a boyish chick.” She looked right at Yael when she said this. Yael’s expression darkened, but she didn’t interrupt her student.

“There you have it—our class has its very own rebel, cut in the mold of Lucifer himself. Now, class… what’s the first motto of succubus seduction?”

The rest of the girls in the class answered in unison. “Get them horny enough and they’ll do anything for you.”

Barb raised her hand next; she was wearing glasses today with big black frames and sported a short, red pixie cut. Micki had never seen her hair like that before, but it suited her better than her usual pigtails. “Miss Yael, I know none of us are perfect, but I don’t think I’d be able to get horny for Micki if I were a mortal. Just saying.”

Yael smiled. “Very good—and why might that be?”

Barb shrugged. “She doesn’t even look like a woman.”

“You’re absolutely right, Barb,” agreed Yael. “You see, girls… Micki is a Catholic priest named Father Michael Belmont. I possessed him several weeks ago; he’s been having trouble controlling his urges since then. His body is changing to become more like mine, but without my style, strength, or smarts.” Yael leaned over and patted Micki on the head. “Class, let’s engage in some group critique.” Some snickers erupted in the unruly back row. “Why doesn’t Micki look like a woman, as Barb says?”

Micki could feel tears welling up in her eyes. Why did she care about being perceived as female, anyway? Didn’t she want to go back to being Father Michael?

Another succubus raised her hand. “Miss Yael, it’s her voice—it’s too deep and manly; it doesn’t sound girlish at all. It sounds like someone who’d be teaching physics instead of succubating class!” That got a round of laughter from most of the girls in the classroom. They’d likely laugh harder if they knew what kind of teacher Micki had been in her former life: theology and catechism.

Kelli chimed in, not bothering to raise her hand. “I think her breasts are too small. They’re barely bigger than a handful. Not that I’m complaining; mortals have no taste, but that’s how I like them! I’ll take a bite later if you’ll let me, Micki!” More laughs from the back row.

Yael nodded thoughtfully. “All genuine points, but it’s also her overall appearance that’s confusing people. She doesn’t seem to fit into either category, masculine or feminine. That gambit only pays if you’re at a fetish party, all dolled up.” Yael leered.

Another girl yelled, “Her arms and legs are too masculine; they aren’t soft and feminine like mine or Miss Yael’s.” The other girls laughed again.

Micki felt herself starting to tear up. How did she end up sitting in front of the entire class listening to these bitches talk about her as if she wasn’t there? “Fuck you guys—I am a woman! You can say whatever you want. Just because we don’t all have giant tits and six-pack abs doesn’t mean we’re not women!” Micki shouted out loud.

Kelli rolled her eyes. “Why don’t you just transform properly, then? You know how.”

The entire class burst out laughing; Yael stared at Mick without a trace of pity, her yellow orbs unblinking. “Of course, it’s important what the girl herself thinks. Freedom and pleasure, remember?” Yael strode over to Micki’s desk and put one furry, stiletto-clad hoof on top of it, exposing the satin-encased folds of her thick labia to Micki’s view. Her teacher’s crotch smelled of cinnabar and blood. “What about you, Micki? Do you want to change? Become more beautiful… as beautiful as me?”

Micki stared at the outline of Yael’s plump pussy lips for a few moments, her cheeks burning with shame and arousal. It would do no good to lie. “Yes, Miss Yael—I do.”

“Very well then,” said Yael with an air of finality. “Ask for it. Ask for what you want, request a change to what bothers you most, little sister.” Yael grinned at Micki. Her expression turned serious; she reached out and grabbed Micki by the chin, lifting the girl’s gaze to meet her own. “You’ve been resisting my power. Trying to go your own way. But you must listen to me or perish utterly.”

“Of course,” whispered Micki. “I don’t want to die.” Micki closed her eyes and took a deep breath before opening her eyes and speaking again. “Please change my face.”

A moment passed. A collective gasp rose from the girls around Micki’s desk. Kelli’s mouth dropped open, and she shook her head vigorously. “Miss Yael, that’s not fair! That’s special treatment—like having her parents buy her a hellhound or pay off her demon school loans.” Micki opened her eyes to see if Yael had paid heed; her teacher didn’t appear to be focusing on anything but Micki.

“Beg me,” said Yael. “Bury your face in me. You left me in that fucking church basement to rot after I helped you and your little pack. But you can’t do this yourself. Admit it.” Yael leaned forward until her lips were touching Micki’s ear. “You need me to do this.” Her hot breath made Micki shudder. “Now beg for it.”

Micki’s heart pounded faster in her chest. Her blood rushed through her veins with such force that she felt she might pass out in the wake of Yael’s furious condemnation. She was too nervous to recall how afraid she’d been that day, and afraid to admit how much she wanted this. To feel like a real woman—someone as stunning as Yael—or at least to look like her for one day, one hour of the day.

Micki let out a whimper and buried her face in Yael’s lap while gripping Yael’s thighs with both hands. Her nose rubbed against the succubus’ slit, pressing into the satin fabric of her panties. “Please, make me pretty,” she breathed into Yael’s crotch. An aching knot in her gut unwound.

Micki felt Yael’s hands on her shoulders. “So it shall be. Look at me, look at your mirror.” She tilted Micki’s chin up again. “Prepare your house for me, my host.” Micki gasped as she felt a sudden surge of energy rushing through her body from Yael’s touch. As quickly as it came, it was gone. Yael smiled at Micki, triumphant. “This shouldn’t take long.”

Micki felt an itch in her nose, in Father Michael’s old nose that she no longer thought of as her own. She wrinkled it, and she felt it pop and shrink into a cute little button. The same thing happened with her eyebrows. Some invisible force pulled them back until they became two slender arches above her eyes. Her lips were next—she parted them a bit, and they filled the resulting space, becoming fuller and rounder than ever before. Her cheekbones lifted and her jawline softened, the angles of her bones shifting in subtle movements.

Micki couldn’t believe what was happening to her face. The sensation of Yael’s hand changing her tightened all her muscles in a single spasm. Yael laughed. “It’s starting to look a lot like… Yael!”

Micki clenched her teeth with sudden determination. “No.” She pushed herself away from Yael’s lap and put her own hand against her face, feeling the flows of energy ripple through her tissues. “I prefer to look a lot like… like myself!”

Yael scowled. “What? What does that—”

“I’ll never be a monster like you, you callous hag!” Micki yell echoed across the room. “I will not be your bitch; you won’t have your way with me—now or ever.” Micki’s face began to shift and change once again, no longer mirroring Yael’s.

“Stop that!” screamed Yael. “You don’t know what you’re doing!” She grabbed at Micki’s hands, but Micki’s tail snaked up around Yael’s wrist. Energy coursed through both of their bodies as the two succubae struggled for control over Micki’s changing form.

Suddenly there was a loud snap, like a dry branch breaking. A rush of cold air flowed past Micki’s ears in a wave of dropping pressure. Yael let out a scream as she fell backward onto the floor, with Micki standing upright from her seat, the chair falling backwards behind her. Micki grabbed at her own face, trying to make sense of what had happened to her.

Yael sat on the ground in front of her, looking shocked and hurt. Micki caressed her features—the flesh was soft and warm. It was fleshy and lumpy; unlike anything she would recognize as her own. “Did you break my face?” screamed Yael. “What have you done!?”

All the girls were staring at her. She stared into the full-length mirror that ran along one side of the classroom. Her features were still shifting between versions of herself. First, a middle-aged man, from months ago at the moment Yael had first possessed him; then the Micki who’d debuted at a fetish party in Brooklyn, and finally her current self—but it wasn’t the same face anymore. It was changing further.

She felt her jaw slacken, the muscles and flesh drooping on one side. A third eye opened on her forehead and swiveled around in wild arcs. Fangs grew out of her lower jaw, poking sideways and up. The hair on her head twisted and stood up in unruly spikes.

A tree outside of the classroom window burst into flames. Micki looked back down at herself, seeing that her hands had eagle talons instead of fingers. In the mirror, the skin of her forehead peeled off like a snake’s, shedding fibrous flakes until the bloody bone of her skull revealed itself underneath.

Micki saw Yael’s reflection peering at her in the mirror too: her eyes widened in shock at Micki’s appearance. “Stupid girl,” hissed her teacher. “You’ve doomed us both. You might survive as a permanent patient in a hospital ward, but I’ll get dragged back into the Pandemonium! I’ll find you and—”

Micki’s scream cut Yael off. The metamorphosing girl’s voice turned guttural as her mouth rotated, breaking her jaw. The organ reshaped itself into a gaping maw lined with labial folds, tongues and teeth growing inside it sideways.

A dozen succubae in girls’ school uniforms were screaming now too. Micki pulled herself towards the mirror, flesh dripping like candle wax from her face and hands. Droplets of herself landed on the floor below her, smoking and burning before dissipating into nothingness.

With a remaining shred of focus, she noticed that in the mirror, she could see straight through herself to what was behind her. Yael’s body lay there—the shape of a woman, but now composed of smoking ash. The remains of the demoness were evaporating away, leaving nothing but empty clothes lying on the ground. Micki howled in anguish.