v1 CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN (18+): In which a party has left glitter, new organs, and new careers in its wake.

Michael was working in the rectory office, trying to finish some paperwork. It felt good that they were opening the church again; perhaps things could get back to normal. A knock came on the door.

“Come in,” he called, trying to sound pleasant. A young woman entered and sat down, folding her hands in her lap. A long swoop of black hair, cut asymmetrically, obscured one side of her face. She wore jeans and a sweater and looked away from him, gazing off to one side. Michael did not recognize her, but smiled and offered her a cup of tea.

As she sipped at the hot drink and relaxed a bit, Michael took a better look at her. She was very attractive, but there was something not quite right about her demeanor; was she shy, or secretive?

“Do I know you from somewhere, Miss?” he said. “What’s your name?”

She blushed and looked away from him. “Micki,” she whispered. “My name is Micki.”

“Micki?” The name was familiar; why couldn’t he place it? There was something else about this Micki—something off, as though she wasn’t quite present with him. “That’s funny,” he remarked. “My name’s Michael, and they used to call me Mickey when I was a kid.”

“I remember,” she said. Her voice took on a different tone: softer, with a hint of sadness.

“Now tell me,” Michael continued in his most avuncular, priestly tone of voice, “what brings you here?”

“I’m sorry.” Micki shook her head. “But I need to talk to you about something important.” She reached across the desk and grasped his hand; then she pulled him forward, Michael letting her draw him closer until their faces were almost touching. “I need to confess,” she murmured.

Michael frowned, trying to draw back. Her grip felt firm, black nails against his skin. “All right, please go ahead.”

“I want to be like you,” she said.

Michael laughed nervously. “Like me?”

“Yes.” She nodded eagerly. “You’re so strong and holy and brave! I wanted to be that way, once. What’s more… you have something I need. You have a body.”

Michael stared at her blankly. “A body?” He didn’t understand what she was talking about. Then he remembered: a succubus was loose in the church! He tried to pull free from her grip but found himself unable to move. Micki leaned closer and pressed her mouth against his lips. Their mouths touched and stuck, as if glued together.

Michael could smell her breath all around him like roses and cinnamon; it made him dizzy. She inhaled, and he was abruptly tumbling, then falling into darkness, through the layers of his dream, and he remembered. It’s me, he thought. I’m Micki. I’ve already devoured Michael.

***

Michael sat up in bed. It was a strange bed… where was he? Then it all came back. He was in Susan’s apartment, but this wasn’t the guest bedroom. He lay in a queen-sized bed with a fluffy comforter beneath a wall littered with posters and artwork: this was Susan’s bedroom.

Susan lay collapsed, eyes closed, on top of the comforter on the other side of the bed. She was naked save for a tiny G-string that displayed the entirety of her perky ass. Had she been wearing that last night at SUBMISSION? Or did she swap underwear at some point?

Michael felt like a truck had run over him, exhausted and sore. What time was it? Where were his clothes? He looked down at what he was wearing: a pajama top that he didn’t recognize—one of Susan’s?—a pair of lacy panties, stretched over his new sex and… the tail that now sprouted from his backside. As if responding to his thoughts, the tail perked up and wiggled: the thing had a mind of its own.

Then it hit him—he had been someone else at the sex party. He—she—had called herself Micki. As if there was a second succubus. But no… Micki was him; he was her. Not a succubus, but a part of himself, becoming realized. Partly a performance, but also a deep truth, an anima. His female side, but also a transformation; like a snake shedding skin… at least for that night.

Susan was snoring softly. He looked in the mirror. He was still wearing Micki’s wig, the chin-length swoop of dark hair askew on his balding pate. Makeup was smeared across his face: thick black eyeliner and mascara, lipstick smudged on his lips. His beard stubble was gone too, leaving his skin smooth.

He ran a hand across his cheeks, his chin: no trace of stubble or mustache. His whole body, save the top of his head and a tracery of lace-like pubic hair, was completely hairless, without as much as a follicle. He hadn’t even noticed this change happening last night amidst all the other madness.

As he stared at himself, Michael noticed something strange—the tail seemed to have grown. It had been about two feet long when he woke up this morning. Now it must have been three feet, almost as long as it had been last night. Just as in his encounter with Peter—or Maria, rather—it seemed to grow and shrink, engorge and deflate, and as he shook off sleep and thought about his body, it was getting longer and stronger. If he could only figure out how to control the cursed thing! Maybe if he tried harder?

He concentrated. Tail, point upwards! The thing obeyed like a trained dog, lifting its tip straight into the air. It was like having another limb; it felt awkward at first, but once he got used to it, the tail added balance and stability to his movements. He stood up from the bed and walked around in a circle, testing his new appendage. Tail, wrap around my waist, he thought.

The tail wrapped itself around his waist, like a plump belt. Michael couldn’t help laughing. A belt of flesh, with an obscenely bulbous tip? Then he had another idea: was the tail prehensile? He pointed the tip of the tail towards the door and willed it to curl around the handle. As soon as he did so, the tail squeezed tighter—it was strong; it almost hurt to grab something so tightly. And then suddenly it snapped open again, releasing the handle.

Michael peered at the tail. It was slippery looking, as if lubricated or oiled, like the smooth skin of a snake. Its tip was bulbous, something like the arrowhead shape in drawings of devil tails, but all the way around, as if a flat arrow had spun on a potter’s wheel. The shape was not quite as bulb-headed as a penis; it was longer and more tapered, like some dildos or butt plugs he’d seen, or the head of a snake.

As if it had heard that last thought and become excited, Michael’s tail—or was it Micki’s?—began to coil and caress his crotch. It was like a hungry tongue licking him; he could feel the warmth of it through the thin fabric of his panties. He shuddered with pleasure but tried to fight down any arousal. No time for that now! Down, boy! Down!

Susan stirred and sat up, rubbing her eyes sleepily. “Oh… hey there, cute stuff. Wow… that’s new! And uh… looks like it has potential?” The tail turned its tip like a cobra sensing new prey. She gave Michael an appraising look. “Do you think you can control that thing?”

“I don’t know,” he said, still staring at the tail in fascination. “I’m trying.” The tail clearly had intentions of its own, snaking onto the bed, almost pulling Michael as it slid towards Susan. He grabbed it by the base—the thick end where it attached to his body—and held it back, though it seemed to have a mind of its own; it kept curling around and snaking up Susan’s legs. Michael let go of the tail and watched as it coiled around Susan’s ankles, grazing her bare feet with a tickle.

“My god!” she exclaimed. “This is so weird! But it’s cute, and it wants to play, hmm?” She reached down and stroked the shaft of the tail gently. The motion of her hand across it felt as smooth as the tail looked. Then she ran her hand along the top of the tail, from head to tip. Michael shuddered. That felt a little too good for something that was inclined to move on its own, whose position he couldn’t control. Susan chuckled.

“You should see your face, like you’re in heaven—or hell, perhaps? You must have really gotten up to mischief after I lost track of you last night!” Michael remembered now: Susan had left the party while he’d been… occupied with Maria. Mistress Kelli delivered her message, saying she was with some “play partners” and that they’d meet back at home. Michael struggled to recall everything from the night before—there was something else he was forgetting.

His tail tried to squirm into Susan’s mouth, and although she pulled away with a gasp, the tip slid across her lips; Michael could feel himself getting intensely aroused. Not again, he thought. Not so soon, I haven’t even—oh, what the fuck am I doing? He took a deep breath and tried to calm down. If only there were some way to restrain the tail! Maybe if he concentrated hard enough on making it stay put?

“Sorry—sorry!” he said. “Maybe I can make it stay.”

Susan giggled and watched the tail curled up against his belly, as if hugging him. That was certainly better, and more obedient, than trying to penetrate Susan’s mouth, so he didn’t push it away. The tail swirled around his waist again, but then in a surprise move, burrowed its tip directly between his nether lips. Michael gasped; he had never imagined that would happen. This feels like it might be a problem, he thought.

The tail slowly wormed itself inside of him. He tried to will it out with all his strength, but it was no use: the tail seemed determined to go where it wanted. It nestled inside of him, quieting, filling him.

“Wow,” said Susan. “Just wow. You have your own vaginal plug. Does it vibrate?” As if it had heard Susan, the tail began to quiver and shake, in time with her words. Michael groaned; he could feel the vibrations through his whole body. Susan giggled. “Stop that, little tail!” Miraculously, the tail quieted. “Ooh, she said. I think it recognizes my innate authority. I’m pervert senpai.”

Susan stretched, arching her back. The effect on her breasts was like watching a cat’s back lengthen—they bobbed and pushed up towards the ceiling. She seemed to be entirely unselfconscious about exposing herself to Michael’s gaze.

“This is so weird,” said Michael. “I have a vagina. It’s filled with a tail—my tail. My assistant’s body is covered in—is that glitter?—and we’re lounging around naked. If you’d told me a year ago, a month ago, that this was going to happen… I would have thought it the most ludicrous scenario possible.”

Susan looked at him with wide eyes. “It’s okay with me if it’s okay with you. If not, I can give you some more privacy. But honestly, when I’m not working with you at the parish, I’m pretty carefree about this stuff.

Michael nodded. He was still getting used to all this change. He’d long questioned his sexuality and even his gender, struggling with balancing his differences with his calling, and perhaps that was why he’d agreed to Susan’s suggestions. Still, when he thought they’d be exploring his feminine side, he hadn’t imagined having a tail or being able to transform to match their secret desire. Pleasure was seductive enough, but power? That was intoxicating; and terrifying. Michael could imagine himself losing control over what was happening.

“Just don’t let go,” said Susan. “Not until we’re ready for it.” Michael realized she was talking about the tail. She got up and ran her fingers along its base again, and then along the tip, which was now poking out from between his legs, having pulled itself out of Michael with a slight “pop” that made him shiver.

“So… last night was some night, eh? Should I call you Micki now?” asked Susan.

Michael shook his head. “That’s not really me. Not yet, anyway.”

“Then who are you? What do you want to be called?”

Michael thought about it; he didn’t like any of the other names that came to mind, so he just shrugged. “I’m still just Michael. The whole point of this is to hold on to my sense of self even as it changes, right?”

Susan nodded. “I guess that makes sense.” Then she paused, looking at him carefully. “But what exactly does ‘Michael’ mean to you?”

Michael sighed. He’d been trying to avoid thinking about this—but if he was going to transform into a succubus, he had to know why. It would help him understand his own motives and desires. Maybe the answer would also help him control the transformation?

“Right now,” he said, “it means that I’m me, and I decide how my life should proceed, including changes to my body. At my pace. I was Micki last night, but Micki is not really a succubus either, is she? She’s not a separate personality. She’s just me, exploring. And that’s all right too. I guess my gender is… fluid, for now?”

Susan smiled; she seemed relieved by his answer. “I’m very proud of you for doing this exploration, Michael. You have my support, no matter which direction those fluid feelings go.”

“Thank you,” Michael sighed. “That means a lot, and I don’t know what else to say.”

“You don’t have to say anything.” Susan had one hand on Michael’s tail, stroking up and down its length, just below the tip. “Except maybe to tell me… how does this feel?”

“Oh… unhh,” Michael managed. “Very good, maybe too good? It’s kind of like when I used to touch myself, masturbate, but different too.” The tail writhed in Susan’s hand, and she gripped it more firmly, and reached around to clutch one side of Michael’s ass with her other hand. “More… spread out, not as hard… but Susan, I think I could come if you keep doing that, and… and I…” He was panting now.

“You’re so hot now, Michael. It’s hard for me to restrain myself.” Susan’s grip relaxed slightly. “But you seem like you have a lot on your mind? I don’t want to seduce you at the wrong moment, even if you’re turning into a supernatural seductress yourself.” Michael gulped. “What else are you thinking about?”

Michael hesitated, his thoughts and feelings in a whirl. “Trying to control this new appendage… what happened last night, and that I need a shower after all of everything. I’m sorry about crashing on your bed, I barely even remember—” but then he remembered.

He’d brought Maria back with him. There was another naked girl in his bedroom.