v1 CHAPTER THIRTY: (18+) In which thoughts of transformation drastically alter a working relationship

When Michael stepped back into Susan’s apartment, the lights were off. As he stepped inside, two slender arms wrapped around him. He yelped in surprise, but the scent and touch were familiar.

“Michael!” It was Susan, of course. Relief washed over him. “My favorite liberation-pleasure-theology sermonizer, best boss and radical priest. Have I not been such an indispensable assistant during your trials and travails?”

She’d caught Michael off guard. Susan treated him more like a roommate and best friend these days than a senior figure in her life. “Um… yes? Of course! I doubt I would have survived these past weeks without you, Susan. But I’m not your boss anymore. After that sermon… it may be some time before I return to the church, if ever.”

Susan heard the sorrow in Michael’s voice and tightened her arms into a hug. They embraced each other for several moments until they broke apart. Susan pulled herself up onto her toes and kissed his nose softly before stepping back again. She’s being so… affectionate, thought Michael, and I can’t say I dislike it.

Susan wore a black dress—a simple shift with thin straps and a flowing skirt. She looked charming, but also as if she had dressed for seduction. “What’s… going on?” Michael felt a flush spread across his smooth cheeks.

“I promise I’m not trying to have my way with you… I mean, not exactly. I have a huge favor to ask. Now that you’re not my boss, as you pointed out.”

Michael raised his eyebrows. “A huge favor? Don’t sound so worried about it—you’re making me suspect you need to borrow a large sum of money or something like that!”

“This is going to sound awkward,” she warned. “Especially after some of earlier… mishaps? Um, okay!” She took a deep breath. “Would you please transform me?”

Michael stared at her with a blank look. It was only yesterday that they’d been discussing how risky the use of his emerging succubus powers had been, and whether Maria could navigate her new life.

“What do you mean?” he asked carefully. “Are you sure? Because if you’re thinking that—”

“No, no!” Susan interrupted. “I’m sorry, that came out all wrong. Listen… this isn’t like with Maria. She didn’t expect it. I want to understand… the possibilities. More than that, I want to become. I believe in the words you said today. I want to discover what my own next stage is.”

Susan took a step back, walked partway across the living room, and spread her arms. “I have this crazy feeling… like I need to know, more than anything. Because that’s just it—I don’t know what I really want… I don’t think it’s changing my gender, or becoming a succubus, or anything like that. It’s more as if there’s something I’ve been trying to discover, if that makes sense?”

Michael sat down on the couch. “You’re serious. You really think you can handle it? I don’t even know… we don’t know what could happen.” Still, his heart was beating faster as he thought about it—about her.

Susan nodded solemnly. “I can face whatever it is. Whatever’s inside of me.”

Michael hesitated, thinking through all the ramifications. Then he spoke. “Susan, and you’re saying that you want to… you and I…”

“Yes. I want us to fuck.” Susan stared him straight in the eye, frank as ever, with that same hungry look she’d fixed him with in the past. “No excuses. As you said, I’m no longer your lay assistant, and you’re not my priest. The only plan I have now is… to explore change. That, and we’re already pursuing this path for you. A path of pleasure. You must know by now that I’ve felt… more and more attracted to you, Michael. Ever since this began.”

Michael did his best to meet her intense stare. “I mean… yes, I suppose so. Despite my own… history, I’ve felt the same way.” There’s something about Susan, he admitted to himself at long last. Something that makes me… vibrate. Not the same attraction I’ve felt for men, but something that feels… right?

“I’ve put some thought into this since yesterday.” Susan’s cheeks flushed with color. “I have everything ready in my bedroom. For the two of us… and to amplify your power, or at least that’s my theory. I hope to draw down the energies to assist us.”

As she walked past him out the door toward her room—her steps light and graceful—Michael felt a rush of warmth pass through him. It was like a jolt of electricity. Anticipation and dread, excitement and a feeling like he was on some sort of threshold. Could he really do this? Would it be safe? Did he dare?

He followed Susan into her bedroom. The curtains were open, and the window raised; moonlight shone in from outside, casting shadows across the room. In the dimness, the bed lay fresh with crisp sheets and pillows. On the wall above hung a portrait of the Virgin Mary, but Susan had drawn sigils in paint in a halo around the image.

In the middle of her room, Susan had cleared a space of about six feet square on the wooden floorboards, and inscribed a ritual circle, pentacle and all. There was a chalice full of wine in the center, and an array of candles arranged at the five points around the circle. Nearby stood three bottles of clear liquid in glass containers, which Susan arranged in a triangle.

“Mineral water from the holy spring at Mt. Tabor in Galilee; salt water from the Phoenician star pool of Kothon on the isle of Motya; and purest Russian vodka blessed at Easter.”

“This… this is quite elaborate.” Michael blinked, peering at every detail.

“It is all for you, my dark mistress,” intoned Susan, a strange look coming across her face. “This is your temple and sanctuary tonight.” She turned to face him fully. “We must begin soon, though. The moon is high already.” Her tone was soft but firm. “Will you help me find my way? Please? With your eyes? Your hands? Your tail?” She almost licked her lips in hunger as she spoke her pleas.

“Yes,” said Michael. “But how do you want to—” and she held a finger to his lips.

“O my lady of secret pleasures,” said Susan, “will you tend to this one, your servant, as Michael or Micki?”

Michael swallowed hard. He knew the answer, but still sensed a barrier of fear to overcome. “Micki.”

“Then let us start there,” said Susan. She kneeled on the floor. “If we are going to become our true selves together,” she purred, “first we must clothe and anoint you.”

Michael let out a deep breath and took off the first layers of his bulky disguise.

***

Before long, Susan had prepared her demi-succubus once more. Micki looked at herself in the vanity mirror. This time, she wore Susan’s long blonde wig, with makeup that accentuated her features in a way that made her seem… otherworldly? White eyeshadow, and dark lipstick, with a smattering of glitter. She wore only a garter belt, a corset, and white fishnets on her arms and legs, exposing her nearly hairless pussy. In the cool air flowing in from the night sky outside, her nipples hardened on her pert breasts. In contrast with Micki, Susan looked simple and unadorned, with no makeup.

“Are you ready, young one?” Micki asked. Somehow, simply being dressed and made up helped her feel so much more confident, in charge.

Susan nodded. “I am.” She kneeled in front of Micki and poured three glasses, one from each of the bottles. They shared a sip of each; the vodka first, strong and burning, chased by the cool holy waters.

“I offer myself to this moment, upon this altar,” intoned Susan, tilting her head up. She closed her eyes, her lips slightly parted, and pushed her simple dress off her shoulders, letting it fall around her. Susan was naked underneath; she cupped the softness of her breasts in her hands, pushing them together to form a deep valley. Micki felt a strange tingle begin at the back of her skull, moving forward to her horns and sliding in a rush of tangible sensation down her spine to her tail, which twitched restlessly.

Micki moved forward until her mouth was less than an inch from Susan’s. Their lips met; their tongues intertwined. They kissed gently at first, but then Susan pulled back and climbed onto Micki’s thighs, straddling her. As Micki stared up at Susan’s beautiful face, she could see every detail of her own face reflected in Susan’s eyes. Susan’s expression was unwavering and focused.

Micki felt a thrill run through her as Susan ran both hands over her barely clothed body. She leaned in and inhaled deeply as Susan’s fingers traced the line of her collarbone and slipped under her chin to pull her face towards hers; their lips met again. Micki moaned softly when Susan’s tongue slid into her mouth. When Susan finally released her from the kiss, Micki gasped for air and blinked slowly to regain her composure.

“I want you inside me,” Susan murmured. Micki gave Susan a glowering look and stood up.

“Who is the dark mistress here? And who is the servant? Answer me, you insatiable and insolent slut.” Micki was a little shocked at the words coming from her own mouth, as if they’d bubbled up from some secret place within her.

Susan laughed lightly but did not deny it, and her eyes held a hint of enraptured fear. “Yes, my lady,” she said with a bow of her head. “I beseech you once again, as your assistant: let me offer you my pleasure, as your sustenance. Please… I need you to fuck me, mistress!”

As she said this, Susan lifted one leg in the air and held it with one hand to show Micki her cunt, which was already glistening with moisture. Micki wasted no time taking advantage of the situation. With one hand gripping the base of Susan’s thigh tightly, she used the other to push aside her labia with one finger and slide another finger deep inside her pussy. She pressed her thumb against Susan’s clit and rubbed gently while thrusting two fingers deep inside her dripping wet slit.

“Oh, yes!” Susan cried out as soon as she felt Micki’s fingers. “Th—that’s it.” She shifted her ass in rhythm with each thrust of Micki’s fingers, bringing them deeper into her pussy. Micki breathed raggedly, her excitement mounting. Her tail twitched, instinctively wrapping around one of Susan’s ankles. She wanted to escalate—to milk Susan to orgasm, to drain every drop of Susan’s delicious juices. But she also knew she’d have to slow down to enact the elaborate ritual Susan intended.

“Come on!” Susan slammed her thighs against Micki’s arm. “Faster! Faster! Come on, come on!” She grabbed the top of Micki’s head and pulled it roughly into her breasts. Micki responded by rubbing her fingers harder and faster into Susan’s cunt, which made Susan cry out louder than ever before. Suddenly Micki felt something warm and slippery sliding between her body and Susan’s, pressing insistently into the other woman’s ass. Her tail, trying to get in on the action.

Susan shuddered and gasped a quick series of breaths, arching her back so that her buttocks lifted from the floor, her asshole gaping open. Her tail, slick as ever with its own convenient sheen of oil, slipped into Susan’s anus. Her junior assistant, the woman who was now her lover, moaned in pleasure as she received the thrusts of Micki’s fingers and her tail, working in concert to stimulate her.

“Th—that should be enough for the first part,” gasped Susan, pulling away from Micki as if with a tremendous effort. “Into the ritual circle, O my lady of Night’s Desire.” As she spoke these words, Susan crawled into the center of the circle she’d inscribed, prostrating herself in front of the bed and then rising again, cradling the chalice of wine in both hands.

Micki went to kneel beside her friend and followed her gaze, up towards the painting of Mary hanging on the wall above them. It was then that she noticed something she hadn’t seen before; Susan had drawn lines, in some dark pigment, downwards from the base of the portrait into a flowing arc that narrowed and expanded again, with a circle on each side and a spiral shape at the bottom.

Susan drank from the chalice, then passed to Micki. She took a sip—an earthy vintage with a metallic tang—and looked at the vessel she’d drunk from. With surprise, she saw the same symbol inscribed on the metal cup: an hourglass shape of many lines coming together and separating, a circle pressing in on each side of the narrow part, all meeting in a spiral near the base of the goblet’s bowl.

“What… what is that symbol?” asked Micki.

“That is the holy sign of the Great Mother.” Susan spoke matter-of-factly as she rose to her feet once more. “And the wine, of course, represents the sacred blood of her loins. An image from long before Christ presented his own blood to his followers.”

Next, Susan brought out a large wooden box and placed it on the ground between the painting and the ritual circle. From it she took a small brazier comprising a brass stand and bowl, as well as a pile of herbs: dillweed and mint (“For cleansing,” Susan recited) lavender and sage (“for healing,”) and lastly wormwood and hyssop (“for protection.”)

“Take these,” instructed Susan, handing Micki the herbs. “Put them into the brazier.” Next, she held up a bundle of thin sticks wrapped together like kindling, and a long lighter. “Ignite the fire; it should burn steadily for around five minutes.” Micki did as instructed, without question; the smoke floated around the room, but drifted out of Susan’s window, impelled by a small fan in the frame that Micki hadn’t noticed. Does Susan do this kind of thing often? Micki wondered.

“Now position my body in the circle,” said Susan. “My body and its pleasures are your sacrifice, so place me however you like.” Micki took hold of Susan’s arms and legs, spreading them wide apart—legs splayed out to either side as if striding, torso turned to one side with her head thrown back, towards the wall and the brazier. She stood to admire her work. Susan looked magnificent lying on the floor in this position, with her pale skin glistening from sweat in the candle.

“Yes,” hissed Micki. She felt strange, and almost failed to recognize her own voice, or the reasons she spoke. “This will do. You have done well.”

Giving in to impulse, Micki bent down and reached out with two sharp fingernails. It had been a day since she’d cut them, and once again they’d grown sharp. She ran her nails across Susan’s belly; she felt the soft flesh give way beneath and listened with a thrill of pleasure as Susan moaned. Micki continued running her across Susan’s abdomen until she found a certain spot that caused Susan to wail even louder than before.

Micki smiled and pressed her sharp nails inwards until she heard felt a slight wetness well beneath them; she had pierced Susan’s skin. “I’m just leaving a little mark for you to remember me by,” she said.

Susan gazed up at her friend, her former mentor, with more than a little fear. Any trace of the kindly priest she’d known had evaporated, replaced by this strong-featured woman with a dangerous smile, yellow eyes with such strange pupils, and a bit of Susan’s own blood dripping from her fingertips.

“Don’t worry, pet,” said the demi-succubus. “Mommy will make it better.” Her voice was still husky, low like Michael’s, but had gained a sly cadence and a hint of a throaty growl. Micki bent forward and kissed and licked the wound on Susan’s belly, exhaling into it with a forceful gasp. Susan felt a surge of energy lance through her stomach, into her chest and groin. She let out a long, low moan, feeling her cunt vibrate and shake with the pulse of power.

“Oh yeah,” said Micki, staring at Susan’s exposed pink vulva and gently teasing her lips with the tip of one long fingernail. “You like that? You’re all wet down here, dear… swollen with need.” Before Susan could answer, Micki slid down to her knees and began lapping at the sticky fluid between Susan’s legs.

Micki’s tongue moved swiftly along Susan’s smooth outer labia until it came to rest on her clit, which was throbbing and engorged. She teased the bud for many long moments with gentle flicks of her tongue until it grew even more erect and stiff. Susan, thrumming with need, arched her back violently, pushing her hips upwards as though trying to reach for something; something that was just out of reach.

When Micki’s tongue slipped inside her pussy, it felt different from anything she’d experienced, anyone who’d ever gone down on her. The tongue of a succubus was dexterous and fast, but also seemed to swell and probe inside her, reaching and rubbing against every part of her. Her feeling of tightness was incredible; the walls of her pussy felt like they were clamping onto Micki’s questing tongue, trying to coax it further, demanding more.

Micki pushed her tongue in and out of Susan’s pussy—first slowly, then faster and harder as the pressure built up like a wave, a wall threatening to burst under a tide. Susan was gasping for breath now, feeling as though she might pass out from sheer pleasure. Then suddenly, there was a burst of heat deep within her belly, accompanied by an intense burning sensation that seemed to shoot outwards and fill her whole body. Susan came, for only the first time that evening, shuddering with the sudden cessation of her need.

But Micki was far from done with her.

As Susan caught her breath, Micki reached across her to turn her body; as she moved, Susan saw that she’d coated the demi-succubus’ face with her juices. With surprising strength, Micki flipped Susan over and moved her knees so that her ass lifted in the air.

Micki leaned forwards and whispered into her ear:

“Speak the truth, girl. Do you deserve a spanking? For all that you’ve done?”

Susan nodded her head yes, unable to say a word.

Without further warning, Micki slapped her cheeks sharply with both hands, causing her to let out a loud cry. She repeated this action several times until she saw tears form at the corners of Susan’s eyes.

With Susan still on her knees, Micki pulled her partner’s legs further apart until she’d stretched Susan’s labia to their full opening in front of her. With her thumbs pressed firmly against the insides of each thigh, she began rubbing and sliding, making sure not to miss a single inch of flesh.

She was careful not to hurt Susan, but the feeling of being stretched apart, pulled in both directions, was both painful and created an intense awareness of vulnerability; Susan felt as if she were drowning in sensation. Eventually, when she thought she had gone too far, Micki stopped and released Susan’s thighs from her grasp. Then she grabbed hold of them again, but this time with her teeth.

Micki bit down hard on each inner thigh like she was biting into a piece of steak. With careful ease, she left her tooth marks on both sides of the pale skin. Once finished, she gave them both a good lick. There must be something about a succubus’ saliva, Susan thought in a corner of her mind that wasn’t shaking with pleasure, that soothed you, or simply made it so you didn’t care about the pain. Then that and every thought got lost, drenched in the flicks of Micki’s tongue up her labia once more, flicking across her clit. By now, Susan’s pussy was dripping juice across the ritual circle.

“You’re lucky my fangs haven’t come in yet, pretty one. Or would you like me to pop them for you?”

Susan shook her head no—but didn’t say anything else. Her mouth hung open in a daze of pain and pleasure. Micki stared into those dark brown eyes—those intelligent orbs that were normally filled with curiosity and excitement, now completely rapt with an altered state of mind, glazed over with lust.

Micki kneeled once more and lowered her face towards the girl’s crotch. As soon as she got close enough, she breathed in deeply and smelled the musky scent of Susan’s arousal: the sweet smell of her wet pussy mixed with the unmistakable odor of fresh blood. Both the blood I drew, Micki thought, and her own recent menstrual blood? So that’s what she’s painting her walls with, flavoring the wine. Naughty little sorceress, thought Micki, unsure if she was accessing her own knowledge or information leaking into her from Yael’s vastly more ancient mind.

Instinctively, Micki’s tail slid forward, at the ready, and began to wriggle into Susan’s cunt. Around the thick flesh of her tail, Micki’s tongue roamed, lapping at the girl’s clit and asshole by turns, restraining Susan with both hands as she jerked and bucked.

As Micki worked her way deeper into Susan’s body—licking her slit; tweaking her nipples between her nails; tonguing her ass—she felt a sudden warmth in her own pussy. It started low in her belly, then traveled upward through her chest into her throat like a rising tide. A rush of energy shot through Micki’s entire body as she realized she was about to orgasm, the sensations from her tail reaching her cunt in a sudden rush.

Suddenly, everything became blurry; her vision blurred with red dots dancing in the center of her eyes, obscuring the scene before her. All she could hear was the sound of herself panting heavily as she fell back onto the floor atop the circle. Susan had climbed on top of her now, grabbing her tail and fucking herself with it. “More,” moaned Susan, insatiable.

With an indefinable impulse, Micki lifted one of her hands away from Susan’s body and held it over the brazier. Within seconds, the flames grew higher and brighter, almost reaching the ceiling as they darted and flickered, the colors shifting from white to yellow to green.

This surge of magical fire drove Micki wild. Her tail pistoned faster and faster as she fucked Susan with it. She licked Susan’s nipples, and ground her clit menacingly against Susan’s crotch, their legs meeting in the shape of two Ys meshing as the tail pulsed between them. Scissoring, Micki thought. Is that the word?

Micki’s tail kept pounding Susan, and Micki could feel every inch like a super-sensitive cock. It was all so much. Too much—it was too intense; it was overwhelming. Everything was spinning and swirling; colors were exploding all around her. She couldn’t tell where she ended and Susan began anymore. She wanted to stop. Stop everything right now. But somehow, she knew it would be wrong—terribly wrong—to do that. She had to press on. Susan was wailing and ululating in a wordless song.

Micki looked down at her friend’s face as she continued to ride her tail, bouncing up and down on it like a rodeo rider. She could see tears streaming down Susan’s cheeks. They were beautiful tears. Beautiful tears that meant so much to Micki. Tears of joy. Micki threw her head back and screamed out loud as she felt her orgasm claim her again, a longer, slower roll of pleasure washing over her this time.

Micki reached over and poured the chalice of holy blood and wine over both of them, drenching their pale flesh in red. As soon as she did this, the world went completely dark except for the faintest pinpricks of light from outside the window; the lights in the room had snuffed out. Micki’s eyes closed themselves and stayed that way until she heard a voice in the darkness.

“What have you done?” said a voice that sounded familiar to Micki but was also unusually foreign. “Where am I?” Susan’s voice was strangely childlike, hesitant. Micki’s eyes opened. They glowed yellow in the darkness, marred by the black bar of her pupils.

“You are with me, Susan Sunghi Miller,” Micki said. Her voice was hollow, intoning like a soft, deep bell. “And now you must tell me your desire. Ask of me a boon but know that it must be your deepest wish. Would you have change? Pleasure? Love? Name your desire to give it form.”

Micki spoke these words—words that belonged to someone else, to a greater force than her own small existence. A tiny glimmer pierced the darkness surrounding her. One tiny candle on the altar had flickered to life. Prostrate in front of her, limbs still partly entangled with her own, kneeled Susan: soft and pale, so fragile yet so strong. She looked up at Micki with tears, and with love.

“Yes,” cried Susan. “Yes! Please let me be yours!”

“So shall it be.” Micki’s voice echoed. “Speak. Name what you want most in all the world.”

Susan’s face was rapt, with a shy smile. She gazed at Micki as if she stood at a great distance. “I want to live forever. I want to sing your praises in eternity, glorying in your presence for all time, forever in service to your will.”

Micki gasped—the words struck her like lightning, shocked her into silence. She could barely breathe as the syllables echoed inside of her head, setting up a resonance that filled her with a strange new light, a power.

For some reason, she recalled a dream she had as a child about a vast forest filled with birds singing to the moon. There were many trees there, each one with its own bird, but each bird sang to the same moon.

Susan gazed raptly at Micki, trembling as a faint glow emanated from Micki’s eyes and mouth. With a strange slowness, her friend and mentor, this newly minted demi-succubus, swung her gaze to look at Susan, but also at somewhere beyond, looking not afar but to a place that lay in no direction at all.

“Daughter of Eve,” said Micki in a voice that was even less like her own than before, a voice that echoed as if its words had been called down an ancient pipe, or through a vast cavern. “Foolish and devoted child. You may not ask this gift of the Fallen. The Tree of Life and its fruits are forbidden to you. Only the victorious gods may ordain the devas, angels and uthras. This one has not the godhood.”

The room fell into darkness once more.