v1 CHAPTER NINETEEN: (18+) In which a new predator makes an alluring, surreal debut.

When Michael opened the top drawer of his dresser, it was full of women's clothing—silky blouses with lace trim; short skirts; garter belts; stockings. Besides the underwear Susan had bought, there were several other pairs of panties. Had Susan filled the drawer? Had all this been here earlier? Well, of course, thought Michael, how else would I be able to get dressed every day? A girl’s got to have a good selection of underwear.

He pulled out a thong and slid it on; it nestled snugly against his crotch and ass, like a second skin, sliding between his cheeks. Then he found a pair of lacy thigh-high stockings that fit perfectly, the seams running in a straight tight line up the back of his legs. The rest of the deep underwear drawer was equally sexy: frilly lingerie, garters, bras, bustiers, corsets, and more.

He selected a red, plunging bra and then, from the closet, a dress that he hadn’t noticed before—a silky black number with embroidery and lace that was cut low enough to reveal his modest cleavage, and high enough in a side-slit to show his sleek thighs.

When he looked back into the mirror again, he saw that he'd changed completely. His hair had darkened from brown to black; his face had become even more delicate and feminine, with the cuteness of a teenager mixed with the knowing look of an experienced woman. Michael touched his lips and felt soft female flesh beneath his fingertips. Standing there in the lingerie, he was a vision of sultry desire; a woman any hot-blooded admirer of ladies would thirst after.

“Can’t forget to doll myself up,” he heard himself say in a breathy whisper. On the dresser was a case of makeup: lipstick, eye shadow, mascara, rouge, nail polish, and a tiny brush like one you might use on your eyebrows. He grabbed everything and headed into the bathroom. As he applied the cosmetics, he could hear music playing faintly somewhere nearby—the sound of a piano and strings.

On went pale foundation; pink blush on his cheeks; a dusting of deep blue eyeshadow; red lipstick with a hint of dark purple liner; charcoal-black eyeliner; black mascara; and long nails painted black with silver glitter. Then he pulled on the black satin dress, which fit him perfectly.

When he came out of the bathroom, he saw himself in the mirror again, completed: a beautiful young woman wearing a black satin dress and thigh-high stockings, her hair falling around her face in graceful arcs. Not a princess, but the kind of woman who hunted her prey in the night.

Her face was made up to be even more womanly than before, but there was something else about it now, too—a haughtiness that seemed almost arrogant, or at least very sure of herself. She stepped into four-inch heels and looked down at herself; she wasn't used to them yet, but she could manage.

She smiled at the sight of herself in the mirror. "I'm beautiful," she said again. "And I think I’m going to have a lot of fun." Michael was watching himself—no, herself, she was a woman—she watched herself as if outside her own body, seeing herself open the door and step through it onto the balcony of a dark, crowded nightclub that had somehow replaced the rectory.

As she stepped down the stairs, then walked across the dance floor towards the bar, she could feel every eye on her: men's eyes staring hungrily at her breasts; women's eyes ogling her ass. She knew she should be embarrassed by all this attention, but instead she felt like she'd been waiting for someone to see her this way. She flaunted it, rocking her hips back and forth as she walked, letting the skirt of her dress ride up to expose her thighs at the slits on either side.

When she reached the bar, a man stood next to her, offering drinks. He was dressed in a tuxedo with tails, white gloves, and a top hat. When he took off his hat, she saw that his head was perfectly bald. The pale skin of his head was tattooed with an arcane sigil on top, and ringed with small spikes that looked like bone, rather than metal piercings. "What can I get you?" he asked. She ordered a martini; when it came, she sipped from it—the drink was sweet and strong. It made her tongue curl.

The club was full of people dancing to loud music. Men were trying to catch her eye. Women were whispering as she passed. She adjusted her hair, letting one strand fall in front of her right eye. Then she adjusted her bodice, exposing a little more of her cleavage. As if drawn in by this, another man approached her: tall and handsome, in a ribbed black shirt open at the neck.

"Can I buy you a drink?" he asked. "I'm Tom." She smiled; she liked him immediately, for his trapezoidal torso and his quick smile. She shook her head but took his hand and led him to the dance floor instead. Their bodies moved to the music, and when he held her close, she could feel his heartbeat through his thin shirt.

Oh, ecstasy—she could smell his scent—his sweat, his cologne, his musk—and when she moved her head closer to his, she could feel his breath on her skin. Tense with eagerness, he put his hands on her ass and pulled her close, pressing her breasts against his chest. She could feel his hard cock pressing against her belly.

“You're so goddamn hot,” he whispered in her ear.

“I know,” she said. She was going to have her way with this one. Devour him.

They danced together until they were both breathless, then went to a table where two other men sat. One of them was wearing a dark suit and bow tie; the other wore only boxer shorts, revealing his pale torso like a sculpture carved from marble. The woman—Michael, was that still her name?—poured herself a glass of champagne. She raised it high into the air as she toasted the three men sitting with her. "To my new friends!" she said.

The men were enraptured by her beauty and charm. They all wanted to talk to her, make her laugh, be near her, put a hand on her thigh. She tolerated it. They wanted to fuck her, but none dared make a move before Tom did; he had claimed her first. Tom leaned across the table and kissed her, then boldly put his hand between her legs. He stroked the folds of her labia through the triangle of her thong, which made her gasp; he felt her pussy spasm beneath his fingers. “You like how that feels?” she asked, “I’m getting so wet for you.”

The nightclub was still full of people, but she stood up and took off her dress. Her breasts were small handfuls, but perky, with long nipples. She was shaved completely bare except for a tiny triangle of pubic hair above her pussy, slightly exposed by her thong. She unrolled the stockings from her thighs and ran his hands up her smooth legs. “Tell me what you would do to touch this body further,” she commanded, standing over Tom.

Tom looked at her; she could see desire in his eyes—but not just desire for her: a deep longing to possess something beautiful, powerful, and strong. He gasped out a breath, the force of his longing shuddering through him. "You are so beautiful,” he said. "For you I'd kill my own children. I'd sacrifice every one of my belongings, my house, my job, everything. I'd do anything for you. You are the only thing that can make me happy."

"That's right," she said. "Now take your clothes off." Tom was wearing a black silk shirt and white pants. She watched as he undressed himself with trembling hands. When he was naked, she reached out to stroke his cock. It was a decent size but not too big; it had a thick vein running along its length. She took hold of it in her hand and started stroking it. As she did so, Tom moaned softly. He closed his eyes and leaned back against the wall behind him. Then he opened them again and gazed into hers.

“Would you kiss your friend here?” she asked, indicating the man in his boxer shorts. “Kiss him for me. I like watching boys make out.” The other two men—the one in the tuxedo and the one who'd been sitting next to her on the dance floor—were both staring at her body now, wearing only the tiny bra and thong. They were drinking her in with their eyes.

When Tom kissed the man in the boxers, she felt the thrum of power. Soon, they were making out in earnest. She grabbed one cock in each hand, feeling how hard they were; she squeezed them together until the cocks met and rubbed against each other. She took them both in her mouth, licked them slippery with her saliva, and stroked them together as the men caressed each other. The nightclub’s pounding music played on, but it was as if nobody else was there, nobody who mattered.

She turned around so that everyone could see her ass, and bent over the table to give them a good view of her round cheeks. Then she pushed her thong aside and lowered herself towards Tom's cock. He groaned when he saw it: a perfect cunt, just waiting. "How does this feel?" she asked him as her thigh grazed his shaft. “Do you want it?”

"Oh mistress," he said, still gazing into her eyes. "Please, please. I’d do anything." She moved her thighs slowly up and down his shaft, squeezing his cock with her thighs; then she lifted up and suddenly slid back down again, wiggling. He moaned, and she sighed with relief. It was good to feel a hot man between her legs. She pulled away from the table—but not far enough to leave any space between them. Then she bent over, presenting her ass to him again.

"I want you inside me," she told him. "I want to feel your cock deep in my pussy." He got on his knees behind her and pressed his cock against her sopping wet slit. Then he thrust himself inside of her, filling her completely. He gasped, a wild look in his eyes, and she felt the unmistakable pleasure of his meat slowly ramming into her. As he did so, she beckoned to the next boy. “You, in the boxers,” she commanded imperiously. “I want your cock in here too. Stretch me out, both of you.”

The man obeyed; he came to Tom’s side, and grabbed her hips and held her tight while Tom fucked her. They positioned themselves, one above and one below, and pressed their cocks together and into her. They were both moaning like animals, their cocks rubbing against each other.

She looked at the two other men watching, their expressions slack with amazement. The one in the suit had removed his bow tie and was unbuttoning his shirt. Now he stood next to her and put his hands on her shoulders. “Yes, you can have some too, don’t be impatient,” she said. “But you’ll have to fuck me in the ass.”

They all moved, with Tom underneath so she could straddle him with her ass still in the air. The boy in the boxes obediently contorted himself to have access to her cunt as well; and then she lifted herself so that her asshole was exposed for all to see, spreading her legs wide apart. She lowered her sopping cunt onto Tom's cock again and rubbed her juices into the crack of her ass.

She wanted three cocks inside of her all at once, and she was willing to take control of however many bodies she needed to make that happen. Tensing, she sent out a pulse of will that made all three men shudder with desire, their thoughts overcome by their need to please her. The third man stood over her and bent his ramrod-stiff cock down to slide it into her asshole.

They were all gasping and grunting; she felt completely stuffed with dick, impaled and unable to move. Everything was happening to her, but also by the command of her iron will. She wanted more, unbelievably. She had to have more. Another man, a fourth man, was moving to where her head was flopping as her body was pounded; the bald man in the top hat. He unzipped his fly, and a barbed, dark-skinned cock popped forth.

It was a strange, inhuman organ, but she hardly cared. Michael began slurping at it, rolling her tongue around its length, and soon it too was plunging into her, fucking her face, filling her throat. Now there were four of them fucking her at once. With a strange sensation, like having wires attached to all of her fingers, she took control of their bodies completely.

She felt her own jam-packed cunt, but the sensations of their cocks as well; she felt it when Tom and the boxer-clad boy thrusted together into her cunt and the other two men began moving their cocks in and out of her other holes, using every orifice. It’s going to happen, she thought. I'm going to give these guys an orgasm together. Now.

Then she felt it; a rush of energy from the bald, demonic man. It was a burst of pure lust that made his body shiver with pleasure. At the same moment, she had another surge of power. She could feel all four of them now, and each of them was reaching toward her as if trying to reach inside her—or perhaps to be invaded by her. Then, she could sense something else too: the presence of Yael. The succubus was here with them in the room. Her consciousness was very close, like a shadow or a ghost.

As she was about to let go and release the pent-up sexual energy from everyone at once, Michael heard a voice in her head; a whisper of warning that stopped her for a moment, even as her body was shaken with the force of so many cocks thrusting. “Michael, stop! Don't do this! You don't have to become her. There's still time to change your mind."

At first, he didn't know who the voice belonged to, but then he realized it must be Susan. He looked over, between a hip and thigh, and saw her, standing in the entryway. He saw Susan staring at him in horror, two cocks in his pussy, one in his mouth and one in his ass, writhing and impaled like an obscene torture victim on poles of flesh. He couldn’t stop. It was too late. He sucked, and squeezed his vaginal muscles and his anal sphincter, and heard the men cry out, their bodies shuddering.

"No!" cried Susan. "Not yet! Please—not yet!"

But Michael had already taken all those the bodily functions; she could feel every twitch of Tom’s cock as it shot its load into her pussy. And she felt the other three men cumming too: the bald man, the boy in the boxers, and the man in the dark suit all came hard inside of her, filling her up with what felt like gallons of semen, bursting and leaking out of her.

Drink it in now, came the sibilant whisper from the darkness inside Michael’s mind, Yael’s whisper. It is yours for the taking. Michael was seized by a terrible hunger, not for food or even for sex, but something more primal. The energy in each of these men that had welled up and overflowed at the moment of their orgasm, just waiting for her to savor it. She was like a starving animal; she needed to feed—and so she would.

Michael inhaled, and something like smoke emerged from each of the four cocks. Michael drew it in, sucking on four streams of vapor that intensified into four ribbons of energy. Somewhere, Susan cried out again, but Michael was absorbed, absorbing, her heavy-lidded eyes glowing with unholy light.

The men writhed again, though not with orgasm this time, but something far more painful. Their bodies were contorting and twisting as if they were being ripped apart by invisible claws. They screamed in pain.

Michael could hear them now, faintly at first, then louder and louder until it drowned out everything else: screams of agony and terror. But she didn't care about their suffering. All she cared about was her own pleasure. Their bodies were changing, draining of their male sexual energy. He saw their forms change; watched as their muscles became softer—and smaller.

The man in the tuxedo went limp. His cock slipped from Michael's ass, leaving behind a gaping hole that glistened with cum. As the other three men fell away from her, too, she dropped to her knees on the floor, drawing in their energy, leaving them progressively smaller, weaker. Michael could see how much of their energy she’d already sucked up into herself.

Tom looked like a young girl, shivering in oversized clothes. Soft and wide-eyed, she looked like she was going to cry. “What’s happening to me?” she yelped, in a soprano voice, grabbing at her chest, her crotch, as her shirt slipped off her narrow shoulders.

The boy in the boxers had been reduced to a crying child, sitting naked on the floor, rolling on it side and clearly finding it difficult to move. The man in the dark suit was bent over, shaking. His skin was papery, dry, the bones and tendons standing out against mottled marks. As Michael watched, he became shriveled husk, an elderly wreck of his former self, his hair and nails falling away.

Of the fourth man, the bald man with the strange cock, there was no sign. The other three groaned and wailed. Michael noticed but could not bring herself to care. She was feeding.

Yael appeared beside her as her perfect succubus body thrummed and stretched with the influx of energy. “My gift to you, daughter. With this power, you could do so much. Enemies? You could destroy Mastema and his followers. You could have your own army, your own cult. All these petty worries I can feel plaguing your mind… you could leave them behind, and just harvest these mortal fools.”

Michael turned to look at her—at the copy of his own girlish face that was even more inhumanly perfect, too precisely curved and angled, too beautiful, and in a deep red shade. He reached out and touched her cheek. Her skin felt warm, soft, supple. She was beautiful, adorned with the horns and fangs of a demoness, her tail lashing eagerly.

Yael smiled at him, gazed into his eyes. Those eyes were not like hers at all, Yael saw. They were the pale, blue eyes of Father Michael Belmont. "No," he said. “Absolutely not.”

***

Michael Belmont had long been a connoisseur of the unrealized homoerotic fantasy, so the night’s dream was not his first about having sex with multiple men. It was, however, the first time he had awakened with a throbbing in his vaginal canal and anus, as if his orifices had truly been stretched out, not simply used roughly in a dream.

He had denied Yael’s temptation in the end. On the other hand, before that, he had wallowed in extreme debauchery—which he had to admit, had partly been fueled by giving into his own carnal desires. The sexual energies involved had still transformed another part of his body.

He ran his hands over his body to find that his ass was now bigger and rounder than ever; like the rest of his figure, it was plump and full, but also firm. His stomach lurched. He had already become so womanly, and every night seemed to take him a step further. He rose and looked over his shoulder into the mirror. His already widened hips, now supplemented by additional flesh, pulled his ass into the pleasing shape of a heart-shaped bottom.

He could feel the extra weight he carried: he must have gained at least five pounds overnight, and his center of balance was dramatically lowered. Turning in a circle, he had the strange feeling that the areas that would be covered by a bikini were someone else’s. The band of his body below his shoulders, where his breasts rested, along with a second band below his stomach and above his thighs, were the perfect picture of a fit young woman. His hips and ass, pussy and breasts, were still so incongruous with his masculine face and gangly limbs.

There was something else. As he turned back slowly—yes! There was a tracery of pubic hair on his formerly bare vulva, as if it had to be broken in before growing. A thin, downy coating that seemed to be growing into a pattern with two spirals. Like the tail of a fish? Or a ram’s horns? He didn't know what to make of it.

Shaking off the fevers of the night, he showed and dressed quickly in clothes that would do his utmost to hide his changing body. First, the compression bra and t-shirt. Then, the grey bikini briefs Susan had given him yesterday, although they strained to cover his new girth—they were too small for him now. Finally, he put on a pair of loose cotton pants. They hid most of his legs and covered the bottom half of his ass.

The top was too tight, though. He needed another layer. Yet he did not want to wear any more clothing than necessary; his skin was sensitive, raw. He pulled on his priestly cassock, thankfully shapeless, trimmed his nails to a masculine length, and put on his wraparound sunglasses. Ready to face the world, one more time.