v2 CHAPTER THIRTY: (18+) In which deferred urges spill into torrents of sensation.

“Dear God, the look on her face when she saw me!” Una laughed and winced at the memory, a casual movement of her arm nearly sloshing wine from her glass.

“I know.” John shook his head. “I thought I was going to lose it when she started talking about prenatal yoga.” Una slapped her thigh, clad only in a ruffled white dress that spread around her on the immaculately made bed.

“Still,” the priest continued, “It’s easy to laugh about it a week later, but I was pretty nervous. Shit, I thought you were going to flip your wings out, fly across the street and dive-kick those fools.”

Una took a sip of wine. “And I thought you were going to make us wait until Aidan had a black eye, or worse. How are he and Reem doing?”

John snorted. “Those two? Fine. And I’d be surprised if they aren’t sneaking off to make out by now. Reem’s talking about taking a placement test and applying to college, although there are some bureaucratic hurdles.” He stretched, leaning back in the hotel’s ornate desk chair. “Speaking of that day, what about you? I was worried when you up and disappeared.”

Una lay back, her body a contrast ripple of red flesh and white fabric across the bottom end of the bed. “When Mrs. Phillips showed up, I figured she was a better weapon of love and kindness to defuse tensions than a parish priest turned succubus.”

She shrugged. “And I saw what she was doing, moving in front of me so that woman wouldn’t keep staring. So I followed her lead. It’s unpleasant to feel you have to stay out of sight, but...” Una gestured around them at the well-appointed hotel room. “There are some perks to privacy, obviously.” She gave John a sly smile.

“Obviously,” he agreed. Una felt thrilled to spend time with John Hayes in street clothes rather than a priest’s garb; he wore a crisp white shirt and khaki slacks that complemented his dark skin. He’d neatly trimmed his beard, and she couldn’t help but admire how his biceps strained against the sleeves of his shirt.

“I’m sorry I haven’t seen much of you this week,” she said. “Still... so much to think about.” Una waved her hand at the ceiling, as if brushing away bothersome pests, then rolled to face him, preferring her empty glass. “Fuck all that, though. This is our date, and we’re going to enjoy it!” She grinned, feeling the wine’s effect already.

John nodded. “I’m glad we finally made it happen.” He stood, walked over to the bed, and sat down beside Una. She felt a thrill of desire run through her center as he reached out and brushed a strand of hair from her face. “I’ve missed you,” he whispered. Una shivered as his fingers traced a line down her neck and across her shoulder.

“John, I...” she breathed, but his lips cut her words off. John’s tongue slipped into her mouth, and she tasted the wine on his breath. Her hand found its way up his shirt, feeling the hard muscle of his stomach and chest. John’s fingers played at the straps of her dress, then slipped underneath them, caressing her left breast with gentle strokes.

A knock sounded at the door, and the two separated abruptly. Una sat up, adjusting her dress. “Room service!” called a muffled male voice from beyond the door.

“Be right there!” John called back. He gave Una an apologetic grin, then rose and went to the door. The succubus covered her mouth to stifle a giggle, then tiptoed into the bathroom to hide behind the door.

“Ah, Mr. Damon, is it?” Una heard the server greet John, his voice audible as soon as John cracked open the door. “Where would you like me to set this up? Near the television, perhaps?”

“Yeah, that’ll do.” She could imagine John’s awkward expression as he stepped aside to let the server in, along with a rolling table piled with covered trays. She peered through the crack between the door and the frame and glimpsed a lanky man in a busboy’s uniform.

Doing her best to move silently, Una unzipped the side of her dress and shimmied out of it, then stripped out of her underwear as well. I hope John likes surprises, she thought, and pulled out a flimsy piece of silken mesh.

Outside, she could hear a clatter of silverware as the server arranged food on the table. “Are you expecting a guest tonight, Mr. Damon? I could have another chair sent up.”

Una suppressed a snicker at John’s flustered response. “Oh! Um... no. No thanks, just feeling hungry. A lot of work to do tonight.” She slipped one hoof through a leg hole in her new lingerie, then the other, and began pulling the garment up.

“Of course, sir. I’ll make sure you’re not disturbed. Hopefully, the two ribeye steaks you ordered will see you through, but the kitchen is open until eleven if you need anything else. Anything at all!” The bellhop’s tone sounded faintly knowing, but without judgment. Una slid her arms into the bodice and fumbled with the zipper in the back.

John thanked the server and tipped him, closing the door. A loud giggle pealed from behind the bathroom door, and John raised an eyebrow before speaking in a loud whisper. “Saints, woman! He’s still in the hallway. What’s the point in pretending you’re not here if you’re going to give yourself away?”

The door of the bathroom swung open with a bang. A barely clad succubus, with one scarlet hand over her mouth, stepped into John’s view. Una wore a black and white bodysuit, a provocative one-piece of sheer mesh and lace that left little to the imagination. Tiny triangles of opaque fabric covered her nipples and the curves of her sex, while white straps crossed her bare midriff and wrapped around her thighs.

The overall effect was striking; white strands of fabric and black mesh contrasted with Una’s rich burgundy skin while hugging her every curve. Her breasts nearly spilled from the scant fabric of the bust, while the tip of her tail curled coyly over one shoulder.

John looked Una up and down, his eyes widening at the display. “Holy shit,” he gasped. She preened under his astonished gaze. “I feel seriously overdressed for this occasion.”

“Maybe I could help you fix that, Father?” She walked forward slowly, one hoof at a time, relishing the sensation of her breasts bouncing gently in the suit’s scant cups. Una leaned forward, her hands grasping his shirtfront, and planted a kiss on his mouth. She felt his cock stiffen against her lower stomach and murmured wordlessly in approval.

“What about dinner? It’s getting cold,” he asked, sliding his hands down her sides to cup her ass through the thin fabric.

Una chuckled. “Which would you prefer? A prime cut of steak or a juicy piece of this?” Her ass bounced invitingly when she smacked it.

The answer was obvious, and quickly forthcoming.

***

On the far side of the slender island of Manhattan, Maria walked by the river, growing dangerously bored. She’d meant to go for a run and have an early evening before tomorrow’s modeling gig. Instead, she’d been so distracted by errant thoughts that she’d put on a slouchy shirt and a skirt over her running shorts and bra.

After realizing she had altogether too many layers on, Maria switched plans and took in the glow of sunset on the rippling waters of the Hudson. Now the sun had vanished, and somehow it was past midnight already. What’s wrong with my brain? I keep thinking about everything and nothing—Cesar and Bill, whether I should call Susan for a little roll in the hay, whether I could control these powers...

She’d walked all the way to Riverside Park before turning back south, and now lingered near the lights of 14th Street. This was the meatpacking district, although all the old slaughterhouses had long given way to trendy bars and nightclubs. In another life, she’d gone out clubbing and drinking here with buddies from investment banks and charmed dates with flashy expenditures of her stockbroker salary.

Now Maria felt a pang of jealousy mixed with nostalgia as she passed the line of fashionably dressed revelers waiting to enter an exclusive club. If she squinted, she could almost recognize one or two of the bouncers from the old days, though she’d never paid much attention to them when she’d walked these streets as a man.

She couldn’t deny her desire for those days again, to have money and power and people bowing to her wishes. Now she couldn’t even go in and have a drink; she knew what Una and John would say, how they’d look at her with disappointed resignation. Maria made a face as she imagined it. Maria, you don’t know what havoc your powers could wreak, Maria, can’t you exercise some self-control?

Turning a corner, she saw an unexpected but familiar sight: the sign of the Lowlights, a Chelsea nightclub that had closed over a decade before, back when Maria was still flashing a fake driver’s license. At its prime, the Lowlights had been a hotspot for queer hipsters and partygoers. Its dim interior boasted DJs, karaoke nights, and a weekly drag show. Maria had spent many a happy Saturday night dancing and grinding on the crowded dance floor. Now it looked like it had returned... after a fashion? The poster read “One night only! Welcome to Lowlights Reanimated!”

Maria cursed inwardly when she glimpsed two figures she recognized standing in line—Vahini and Shrike, both regulars at SUBMISSION and other queer dance parties she’d frequented. Some people get to have all the fun, she thought. While Maria is busy being the Good Girl, following all the rules. She gritted her teeth, determined to walk on. To her surprise and relief, Vahini had spotted her and was waving, beckoning her to come join them.

Her eyes widening, Maria smiled and changed her course. It’s not like I can just ignore friends, right? I’ll just say hi. She skipped up, immediately feeling more energetic than she had in days.

“Maria! You coming out tonight?” Vahini’s voice had her typical sarcastic lilt, but her round, elfin face was genuinely pleased to see Maria. Shrike gave Maria a cool, appraising look, but her nod was cordial.

“Ciao Bella! Is this a new party? A return of an old party?” Maria stared at the line of would-be entrants, moving at the pace of a turtle stuck in molasses. Another knot of friends stepped in line behind her.

“Been in the works for years, apparently,” said Vahini with a shrug. “But everyone’s gonna be here. Glad you showed.”

Maria looked down at her outfit. “I was actually just out for a run... sort of. I don’t even have my ID on me, and I’m sure as hell underdressed.”

Shrike, who as usual wore an ensemble of black canvas festooned with buckles and straps, grunted in disagreement. “Not like they’re gonna card you here. Besides, you look just fine.” They moved a step forward, and Vahini shot her goth girlfriend a look that Maria thought might have been jealous.

“Yeah, you look cute! All you magic transitioners look way too cute.” Vahini’s tone mixed irritation with approval. “Ooh, I like that shirt. I’ve been looking for something like it. And the sporty look works for you, with that hair and sneakers. Just like, take those bike shorts off? Looks weird with your miniskirt.”

Maria considered for a moment. I could just go in for one drink, then home for a decent night’s rest. Or at least an adequate night’s rest. She cemented her decision by yanking down her spandex bike shorts, flashing Shrike and Vahini a brief glimpse of her lacy red underwear before she stuffed the folded shorts into her waistband. She straightened to see Shrike’s pale cheeks pinken as she blushed, and Vahini’s mouth form an approving "oh". Her sports bra came next—once she got the stretchy straps over her arms, she slid it out under her shirt and over her hips, letting the tight bodice of her top cradle her breasts alone.

Maria adjusted her headband—working double duty to arrange her hair and hide her growing horns—then shifted her top down to stretch across her shoulders. The adjustment had the added effect of displaying more of her ample cleavage. “I’d let you borrow this, Vahini, but you’re so cute and tiny, and I still have huge man-shoulders...”

Vahini coughed in derision. “Come off it, Johannsen. You look about as manly as a goddess floating out of the sea on a seashell. Can you try to be less hot and desirable for five seconds? Us other femmes have to compete somehow.”

Maria blushed. God, I hope I’m not using my powers. That’d be an embarrassing flex. “Five seconds, hmm... I think I can try?” She screwed up her nose and cheeks, pursed her lips, and squeezed her eyes closed as tight as possible.

A moment of silence fell, and then Shrike said in a deadpan tone, “Well, we can’t expect miracles.” Maria burst out laughing, and Vahini elbowed her partner in the side, though she too was laughing.

Maria took a deep breath, then had a thought. “Wait, Vahi... you said magical transitioners? You know others besides me?” Could Cesar or Bill have showed up here? No, she thought. Why would they?

“Full body jobs like you? A couple, at least according to Gail...” Vahini paused and thought. “That wide-eyed happa cutie she introduced us to. Weren’t you at the Belltower when we met her? What was her name?” She glanced at Shrike, who mouthed “Jamie.”

“Yeah, her! And there was that swaggery butch at Sweetroot yesterday, and of course Gail herself.” Vahini counted on her fingers.

Shrike rolled her eyes. “Vahini... Gail hasn’t used any magic to transition.”

Vahini’s eyes widened. “Are you so sure? She looks way too good to be all-natural. Or hormonal, or traditional, whatever y’all are calling it now. She’s had some kind of magic work done. I’d bet you fifty bucks.”

Maria regarded her friends as they chatted. She felt the vague pang of guilt that surfaced whenever she compared her situation with the plight of most trans-femme people she knew. She’d been a closeted trans girl who’d suddenly gotten everything she dreamed of—Even Gail, who always seemed impeccably put together, had endured years of emotional and financial turmoil on her journey. Maria, meanwhile, stumbled into a single chance encounter with a succubus.

She put a finger on her chin. Vahini’s queer and cis, and Shrike’s awful private about her gender, but why not ask? “Shrike,” she said, “If you could magically change your body, would you?”

The lanky, androgynous goth’s pale eyes flashed, and her eyebrow cocked in surprise. “Me, do the magical girl thing? Nah. I’m good.” She looked off to the side, then back at Maria. “Why, you offering? I thought your transition was an accident or something.”

“Forget her, Maria!” Vahini was visibly excited. “Yes! Yes! Please!” Her face was radiant, her almond-shaped eyes shining with eagerness.

Maria stared at Vahini, confused. “You want to transition?”

“No, silly. You said ‘change your body,’ and I know exactly what I want.” Vahini licked her lips and held her hands up, gesturing as if she held two heavy objects. “I want a magical pair of tits. Right on the D-cup mark. Natural Bs just ain’t cutting it anymore, if you know what I mean. Also, I want to be three inches taller, and... hmm, is there a way I can have a dick, but only sometimes? I don’t want to give up the lady-bits, but I do like topping sometimes, soooo...”

She looked at Shrike, who looked like someone had dumped a bucket of ice water on her head. “Oh, come on! Everyone wants a little work done!”

Shrike shook her head. “Supernatural forces aren’t your personal cosmetic surgery counter, Vahi. They’re dangerous and unpredictable.” She glanced at Maria. “No offense, but you’ve been lucky.”

Maria gulped and hoped the motion of her neck wasn’t too exaggerated. She couldn’t deny the truth of what Shrike said, but she also felt oddly righteous about the whole thing. Luck? An accident? Or was this all meant to happen?

She stared at her friends, abruptly noticing a strange shimmer in the air around Shrike and Vahini. She could almost picture faint arcs of energy flowing between them, linking their bodies. They’re so into each other, even though they bicker. She pictured Vahini’s fantasy breasts, the color of dark wheat capped with dusky nipples, bouncing around while she rode Shrike. Her own breath came faster. I could almost reach out and grab...

Shrike frowned at her. “Um, Maria? Something wrong?”

The demi-succubus snapped out of her reverie, blinking as if she’d just awakened. They were about to pass the bouncer, who was checking IDs with a blue-glowing wand. The line of people behind them jostled impatiently, and Maria stepped forward, spreading her empty hands with a sheepish smile. The bouncer inspected Maria, seemed to recognize her, and waved her in with a scowl.

Inside, the reason for the slow line became clear: the club was at capacity, packed with a writhing mass of bodies on the dance floor and at the bar. The resurrection of the Lowlights had drawn an impressively mixed crowd, with twinks in mesh tank-tops dancing alongside leather-clad dykes, young people with rainbow-streaked hair and a few women in elegant evening dresses. Maria wondered briefly if Una had shown up, but shook her head. Definitely not the clubbing type.

A wave of lust crashed over Maria as she strode into the main space, and she grabbed onto a wall to steady herself. Oh crap, she thought. Maybe there’s a reason Una doesn’t go out dancing. I’m picking up on all the energy...

Shrike appeared next to her and placed a steadying hand on her shoulder. “You okay? Gin and tonic, right?” The tall goth girl spoke close to her ear. Maria nodded gratefully and allowed herself to be led towards the bar.

In the relatively motionless press of club-goers by the bar area, Maria accepted a proffered cocktail from Shrike. The glass was frosted and sweating with condensation, and the tang of lime and alcohol met her tongue with relief.

Then she saw him: a square-jawed, muscular young man dressed in a sleeveless black shirt and tight, tapered pants, leaning against a pillar and surveying the room with a cocky expression. His hair was a dirty-blond crew cut, his features a mix of Mediterranean and other heritage Maria couldn’t place. There was a certain cruel cast to his eyes, and his presence radiated arrogance.

Whoa. His thighs are like tree trunks and his shoulders look like they belong on a marble statue. She realized she was staring and forced herself to look away. What the hell am I doing? She didn’t want to notice the young man’s powerful aura. It pulsated around him, tendrils of desire radiating towards nearly everyone nearby—but those strands looped back towards him, as if they fed on others and returned to him in stronger form. Maria shook her head in disbelief.

“You see something you like?” came Vahini’s voice beside her. Her friend glanced along the vector of Maria’s gaze, then snorted in amusement. “Oh no, are you serious? That’s Alexandros. Xander for short. Total fucking asshole, but he gets away with it because he’s a bodybuilder who looks like a Greek god.” She took a sip of her whiskey.

“What’s he into?” She heard her own voice as she said the words, though she could already guess the answer.

Vahini looked at her sideways. “He thinks he’s into all kinds of stuff and all sorts of people, but mostly he just likes to have his ego stroked. I made out with him once, just to see—you know I’m like a Kinsey 5, right? Mostly girls, but not only. He was enthusiastic in this way where he didn’t seem to care who I was, if that makes sense?”

Maria nodded, her eyes and thoughts fixed on the muscular figure across the room. “A challenge,” she murmured to herself, and pulled her running shorts out of her waistband. “Hold these for me, Vahi.”

Vahini’s brow furrowed in puzzlement. “Sure, okay...?”

“On second thought, take these too.” Maria reached under her skirt, hooked her fingers into the edges of her thong, and tugged it off over her long legs. She handed the panties to Vahini, who gave her an incredulous look. Then Maria turned, drained her drink and stalked purposefully onto the dance floor, gyrating her hips to the music.

***

The bodysuit looked amazing on her, but Una didn’t want to wear it for long. She straddled John, her body hovering above his as he kissed and caressed her breasts, playing with her sensitive nipples through the thin mesh. After a minute or two, the fabric’s friction against her clit became irritating rather than erotic. She sat back and let John pull the straps aside, letting her full breasts bounce free.

John ran his hands over Una’s naked torso—but she wanted more contact. Leaning down, she pressed her body against his, relishing the feeling of his bare skin against hers. Their kisses grew more urgent, and John rolled over, pinning the succubus beneath him. Una gasped as his cock pressed against her mound, and she reached down to stroke it through the fabric of his trousers.

“Not yet.” John’s voice was a throaty growl. “I’ve missed this and... I want to savor you.” He lowered his head to her breast, teasing her nipple with his tongue.

“John, please...” Una whined, grinding her hips against him. She wanted the sweet friction of his cock sliding against her, the feeling of his hips slamming into hers. But John seemed determined to take his time, and the playful mood was infectious.

With a sigh, Una gave in, letting her body relax into the mattress. John’s mouth traced a trail from her breast to her stomach, and he slipped his fingers under the straps of her bodysuit, peeling the garment away inch by inch. He lingered in places, stroking her curves, kissing her thighs and calves as he exposed them. Once Una’s wetness was visible, her pussy’s eager aroma filling the room, he flicked his tongue along her labia, teasing her, refusing her direct stimulation.

The sensation was maddening, but soon Una’s frustration gave way to rolling waves of gentle pleasure. Her tail curled around his calves, then snaked its way in a rippling motion upwards, caressing his cock, cupping his balls, stroking his perineum. The priest moaned, sending vibrations through her clit. He grabbed her tail in his hands, rubbing her slick appendage against her wet folds, pressing the tip against her entrance.

Una’s gasps grew louder, and her thighs trembled with anticipation. John finally, mercifully, spread her labia and slid her tail inside her. It felt different from his cock—longer, with more give—but the shape was right, and she could feel the texture of her own slickness from both sides. Still, she wanted more.

Una lifted herself onto two of the hotel’s pillows, presenting her dripping sex for his inspection. Her tail slipped out with a wet pop, and John gave her a predatory grin.

“Come kiss me,” she said, and the priest bent in prayer, his beard brushing her inner thigh, his lips pressing against her swollen clit.

“Yes, please, John!” The heat from his mouth was almost too intense, but his tongue was soft and yielding. Una ground the lace-like tracery of her landing strip against his mouth, the firmness of her pubic mound pushing his tongue in just the right spots.

John’s eyes were closed, his entire focus on her. As he partook of her flesh, she reached down and ran her fingers through the soft, dense strands of his locks. Her tail snaked up to encircle his cock, heavy with the weight of his arousal. He was hard as stone, she realized, and saving himself for her. John’s tongue slid inside her, lapping at her wetness.

Una’s eyes widened. The priest’s dexterous tongue teased her in just the right places, reaching deeper than she’d have thought possible. She felt his broad, gentle hands cup her ass, supporting her while she writhed in pleasure.

A pressure built inside her, a trembling anticipation that threatened to sweep over her in a tidal wave. “John... I...”

At the sound of her voice, the priest seemed to redouble his efforts. His tongue probed deeper, and she could feel the suction as he drew her juices from her, lapping greedily. The sensation of his mouth pulling at her shifted to her clit, and an overwhelming wave of ecstasy crashed over Una. She cried out, poised on the edge of orgasm and unwilling to let it crest.

Instead, she tugged at the priest’s hair, guiding him upwards, desperate to feel his thickness inside her. John grinned and moved to comply, but the pleasure amplified by her demonic senses kept rolling across her like an electrical current climbing a Jacob’s Ladder. Una whimpered and shuddered, her knees clamped tight against John’s torso.

“Fuck me, Johnny! Fuck me, now!”

Finally, she felt the pressure of his cock against her slick opening, and the solid pressure of his body against her mound and clit. She shifted her hips, her need nearly grown painful, and slid herself down onto his hard cock.

As his shaft stretched her, her legs parted, and she felt his hips begin to piston, thrusting his dick in and out with forceful intent. His balls slapped against her ass in time with her ragged breathing. His body pressed into her with each movement, driving his cock home to send an exquisite bolt of pleasure through her core.

“Oh Jesus,” the succubus moaned. “Jesus and Mary, I’ve missed you so much, John Hayes.” She knew this feeling, this exact length of thick, muscular shaft, the way it filled her up with each thrust and curved to rub against the most sensitive parts of her insides. This is our bodies becoming one flesh...

John’s thrusts grew more urgent, and his hands gripped her thighs like an iron vise. Una’s hooves drummed against the small of his back, and the succubus cried out, the sounds of pleasure bursting from her throat, filling the room with her ecstatic cries.

“Micki, goddamn it. You have no idea what you do to me.” The words hissed from between John’s teeth, and his eyes focused on hers. “You’ll always be my north star...”

“Mmmmh!” Una felt a sudden stab of guilt, but her body refused to stop its forward momentum towards the heights of pleasure. The pressure continued to build as her mind flooded with memories: the two of them working side-by-side in St. Andrew’s Church. A moment their hands had brushed, sending unwanted sparks down Father Michael’s spine. The midnight hour when Micki had stepped into his room to find John waiting, ready to consummate the strange turn in their relationship. Flashes of the wild days and nights that followed, when they fucked with abandon.

Her flood of sensations played on like a movie, filling Una’s consciousness as John’s thick shaft filled her body. Micki and John, naked and glistening in the moonlight, entwined in the tangled sheets of a motel bed. The two of them whispering in the vestry. Micki’s hand, her fingernails freshly painted a deep blood-red, slipping below John’s waistband and extracting his heavy cock. Yael, licking her lips, somewhere in shadow. John, watching and stroking himself as Una and Maria writhed against each other.

“Hold on,” John said, and lifted her off his body with a suddenness that brought Una back to the present. She mewled in frustration, but her lover had turned her onto her belly, lifted her tail and mounted her. The angle was new and different, and Una relished the feeling of her ass pressing against John’s groin with each thrust, his cock penetrating her so deeply she feared she would lose her mind.

The priest put one hand on her back, steadying himself, and reached forward to grab her horn with the other. Una’s whole body stiffened, and she felt the base of her tail wrapped around his wrist, his fingers sliding up and down the ridges of her tailbone as his hips slammed against her ass.

“So deep, Johnny, so... deep!” Una cried, and the words transformed into a feral scream as her orgasm erupted within her, breaking across her mind in waves of blinding light and thoughtless, thundering noise. The demoness’ cunt spasmed and tightened around the shaft of the priest’s cock, and his thrusts stuttered, losing their rhythm, as his own climax approached. She felt his balls tighten and contract, and John drove his length into her with a groan, shuddering as his seed spilled into her depths.

After the aftershocks had subsided and the couple had caught their breath, they separated with reluctance. Una collapsed next to her lover, her ass still throbbing from the force of his pounding. John put a hand to his head, sinking onto one elbow at the foot of the bed.

“Micki...” his voice was hoarse with emotion. “I still love you.”

Una felt a cold, twisting pain in her gut, and she couldn’t meet his gaze. “I love you too, John Hayes,” she whispered, and the two lovers curled into each other, their sweat mixing, their breathing syncing, and tried to avoid the trepidation that hung between them. The question, still lingering in the air alongside the smell of sex: How long can we hold on to what we have now?