Succubated!

Micki sat up, suddenly wide awake, adrenaline flooding her body. It was still and dark, pre-dawn light edging around the corners of the curtains. She was in a familiar place, back in her own bedroom in the rectory at St. Andrew’s. Memory spilled in: she’d returned here at Susan’s suggestion, late last night.

She rose from bed and walked to the bathroom; she entered slowly, terrified to see her reflection in the darkened mirror. Was she a monster? Disfigured, her features flowing like wax, or incongruous pieces mashed together? She didn’t feel strange, but she had to be sure. Micki turned the light on and stared at herself.

A stranger stared back, an unfamiliar but beautiful stranger. For a moment, Micki couldn’t tell if it was really her in the mirror or if she was staring through a portal at someone else, some alternate version of her. This was not the same person she’d seen reflected before falling asleep; nor was it Yael’s reflection. Somehow, her features had blended; there was a hint of Father Michael, or perhaps what Micki remembered Michael had looked like as a handsome boy, mixed with Yael’s cute features, tuned for seduction.

Micki touched her face, feeling the smoothness of the skin beneath her fingertips. For a moment, not quite feeling like it was her own skin, she felt as if she wore a mask made of the finest silk or soft vinyl, molded to each precise contour of her muscle and bone. Then something adjusted about her nerves, her sense of self, and she was touching warm, sensitive flesh, round flushed cheeks.

There was no damage or distortion; her ordeal with Yael had remained in dreams. She ran her hands along every part of her face: her forehead, now high and with a hint of widow’s peak; her nose—a little sharper than Yael’s; her cheeks were rounder and flushed pink as though she’d been running or was blushing. Micki’s lips were plump, her lower lip fuller than it ever had been.

Her cheekbones jutted out slightly just as Yael’s did, giving her features an aristocratic cast, and her jawline was strong and defined. Less cute and bratty, she thought, more of a woman. Her nose was sharp like Michael’s, her ears a bit too large. Above each temple, at her hairline, the flesh around her horns was still healing into soft curves, and her eyes were still uncanny, yellow with horizontal pupils.

Micki kept staring at herself as if evaluating someone she’d just met. Father Michael was gone; this girl had a certain beauty that Micki hadn’t known existed inside of the former priest. She gasped in relief, coming to terms with the enormity of it all. She was someone else now, a woman none of her friends or family would recognize. An unknown person who looked nothing like her photo identification. She couldn’t really impersonate Father Michael at all anymore: now she was Micki Belmont.

Micki took a deep breath to calm herself down. There was no turning back; she knew that. She had to live with this new reality for—for however long she existed. Concerned, she wrapped her arms around herself, folding her elbows over the soft swell of her breasts.

Another pair of arms wrapped themselves around her torso as well, crimson red with long black nails. In the mirror, she saw Yael lean around her shoulder. “Not bad for a beginner,” Yael said. “Not the easiest look for a succubus to work. We can always remodel later.” Micki just stared, their yellow eyes regarding each other. We look like we could be sisters, Micki thought, and perhaps that’s the closest thing to the truth.

Yael continued, running her fingers up and down Micki’s arms, the part of her that had changed the least. “You won this round, and I couldn’t be prouder, though it certainly won’t last. You’re nearly a succubus now… and my dear, I think you may need to feed soon!”

Micki was about to ask what Yael meant, perturbed, but the demoness had ducked out of sight. She turned to find no one there, as usual.

Then she heard footsteps in the hall. Someone else was in the building; that was strange so early in the morning, before dawn. Was it Father John, or another priest visiting from elsewhere? One of the homeless people who sometimes came by for help—who ended up staying for more than food and drink? She slipped a light robe on, cinching it around her curves, and opened the door of her bedroom.

Down the hall, the door of the guest bedroom closed. Father John? Micki felt like a trespasser in her own home and waited long moments, listening for any further sound. Nothing. Perhaps she should knock on his door, to tell him she was there. She crept down the hallway toward his room. His door stood half-open, so she nudged it and peeked inside.

Someone lay on the bed, under the sheet. A large man, soft breathing making his chest rise and fall. Micki inhaled, drawing his scent into her lungs—a fragrance of leather and cologne. She knew that smell.

Micki approached the bed and, acting on some instinct, sprung onto the footboard, perching there like a cat. She raised her head to take in every detail. He wore boxers and a T-shirt; the latter was a little too small, stretched across his broad chest, a cross necklace on top. A thin sheen of sweat covered his face despite the cool air in the room.

“You are awake, aren’t you?” she said.

His eyelids opened, and he blinked against the bright light seeping in from the hallway. He looked dazed, only seeing her as a silhouette—then seemed to startle with recognition. His expression changed from confusion to relief, then back to confusion. “Michael? Is that you…? What’s happened to—”

Micki shifted, letting the moonlight fall across her features. His face went slack with surprise when he saw how much she had transformed since the sermon she’d delivered: her hair, her face.

He sat up with a quick motion. “Father Michael… if that’s you, are you still… who are you? Who’s in control?” He grabbed for the cross on his chest.

Micki gave him a sad smile. “It’s still me, John. Listen to my voice.” It was low, husky, though she was subconsciously trying not to let her vocal cords rumble. “She hasn’t evicted me yet. I just… you can see for yourself. I look different, since about fifteen minutes ago. Maybe I’m someone else now.”

He nodded once and rubbed his eyes. They were red, as if he had been crying. “I told you I believed in your core. No matter what you look like, Michael. You’ll find your way through this somehow. Get back to your old self…” he hesitated, “… if that’s the plan anymore?”

She laughed, somehow relieved to hear him talk about getting back to normalcy. As if they’d be sweeping up the nave together next week. “I suppose it’s a possibility. The exorcist from the Vatican has arrived, Monsignor Thomas Spencer himself. Maybe… maybe he could just change me back to Father Michael Belmont.” She knew it wasn’t true. She’d never let that happen, not now, and was only trying to reassure her friend. She toyed with one strand of her hair. It was now a deep black like Yael’s hair, but without the curls.

John shook his head. “It’s not just a possession anymore, is it? It’s not just… a succubus taking you over, it’s you… You’re…”

Micki shook her head, not knowing what to say. Did she have the words for it at all, for possibilities still so new to her mind? A succubus, a demon, a woman, a temptress. Yes, those were the words. But they weren’t everything. She felt like she was on the cusp of something big; like she was on the verge of becoming something quite new. Something greater than herself, perhaps something powerful enough to stand toe-to-toe with Yael herself.

John sighed, seeing the emotions play across his mentor’s features, both strangely familiar and unexpectedly beautiful. “You can never step back in time, my grandma always used to tell me. You can only go one way, into the future, no matter how you wish otherwise.”

Micki nodded. That made sense—and it also meant that there was nothing to be done about it unless she agreed to exorcism, to step off this path. Even that would be forward in a different direction.

John’s thoughts apparently had proceeded along the same lines. “What happens if we don’t let him exorcise you?” He asked. “What would that even do at this stage? Erase your current self? I wouldn’t want you to be… wouldn’t want to…” He was struggling for words as well.

Micki shrugged. “I am no longer Michael Belmont. I don’t know if he exists anymore, so I don’t know what exorcism would remove. Just Yael, playing tug of war with me for this body? Sure, that’d be great. Me, as I am now…? I don’t know what I want anymore. To be… a succubus? This body, John… it comes with many powers, hungers…” She looked at him again, and then averted her gaze, blushing.

John leaned forward, sitting up in bed, and took her hand. “There’s only one question that matters. It’s about what you truly want in your heart and soul. Are you happy? If you’re not, what would it take?”

Micki smiled, her eyes a little wet. She knew just what John was asking her—a gentle, ministering question. What did she really want? Was she happy? Did she like her new body? Did she like her new power? The touch of his hand was like the tactile equivalent of a delicious smell. She felt her tail uncurl.

“I’m happy,” she whispered to John. “This body is amazing. I love it. I love so much about it. Sometimes I miss being normal. A lot. But so much about this form, my nature… feels right.”

John squeezed her hand gently. “Then, as much as I’m committing heresy by even saying this, maybe it’s all right to follow that path. Maybe it’s okay to become something new.”

Micki turned to look up at him. “Do you believe that?” she asked. “That it could be okay to change, even if it means I’m leaving Father Michael behind? Leaving my faith, the Church, to become a demon of lust?”

John smiled. “You know I don’t believe in only one doctrine for all people, and that my stance has been against superstition—not just the ordinary kind, but the superstitions embedded in Church traditions. I don’t think we really know what a demon is. That’s my hunch. And I trust you, of call people, will find your way to God.”

Micki laughed softly. “If it’s okay to become something new—if it’s okay to be possessed, transform—then why would I satisfy myself with this path Yael’s laid out for me? Shouldn’t I become something more in my nature, more devout and godlier… rather than a succubus who feeds on sex and desire?”

John shook his head. “You don’t have to be a succubus. Not if you don’t label yourself that way. You’re a person with a new body who has some of the same abilities as a succubus. That doesn’t mean you accept that terminology. If you really are changing in mind and purpose and body, perhaps that means you can choose to become something else altogether.”

Micki sighed and leaned forward, automatically inhaling the musky scent of John’s sweat. “I don’t know what I’m becoming.”

John touched her on the forehead with his outstretched fingers. “Then be yourself. Be Michael Belmont. Be whatever you hope to be.”

Micki closed her eyes and breathed in John’s odor yet again as he pulled her into a hug. She could feel her tail curling around John’s leg, and muscles beneath its base twitching.

“Micki,” she said. John lifted his fingers and looked down at her. Micki was looking up at him through her dark lashes, her lips parted slightly. They were closer now; she could feel John’s cock hardening nearby, instinct telling her unerringly it was there. Micki’s lips curled into a smile and her eyes opened wide. “Call me Micki.”

John nodded in a slow and serious motion. “Okay,” he said. “Micki.”

Micki’s eyes widened as she heard him say her name. “Please kiss me,” she said.

John hesitated a moment longer before leaning forward to meet Micki’s lips. Their lips touched—a soft brush of skin on skin—but Micki’s mouth parted eagerly against John’s and their tongues met in an instant. Micki moaned softly as they kissed; it was like a drug to her: sweet and intoxicating. John’s hands were all over her body: caressing her back, stroking her spine, squeezing her buttocks.

Micki broke the kiss and pushed John away from her. “Take off your clothes,” she said breathlessly. “Now.”

John stared at her unflinchingly and put his hands to the hem of his t-shirt. His expression looked intense and concentrated, as if he’d been preparing for something like this to happen, like a soldier expecting combat. Micki observed him as he removed each piece of clothing until he stood naked in front of her.

He was strong, lean. His cock hung heavy between his legs, erect and slapping against his thigh, and it was already leaking pre-cum. “I can’t say I haven’t thought about this,” he said, his voice hesitant. “Ever since I saw you… in the clerestory.” She recalled how his seed had spurted across her face that day.

Micki licked her lips and moved closer to him. Her hands slid across his chest and stomach and cupped his balls gently in her palms. John groaned and pressed his hips into her hands.

“Are you sure… sure you want this too?” he asked her.

Micki nodded; her eyes darted back to his cock, unwilling to wait any longer. She ran her tongue along its length—from base to tip—licking it clean of pre-cum and tasting his salty flavor on her lips. John twitched in her hand. He was panting in a staccato rhythm now. Micki wrapped her fingers around his shaft and pumped it gently. John moaned loudly. “Oh, fuck yes! Micki.” he gasped. Her eyes fluttered as she dropped her robe to the floor.

John’s eyes drank her form in, widening at the sight of her tail. He reached out to touch it; Micki slapped his hand away playfully and stepped back from him. John frowned but didn’t pursue her. Instead, he took hold of his own cock and held it, continuing to stroke it.

“I need… your mouth,” he said. Micki obeyed without hesitation—she was eager to taste him again—and she kneeled to press her lips against the head of his cock. Micki’s tongue darted out to taste more pre-cum, the delicious fluid leaking from the slit of his cockhead.

John grunted and pushed harder into Micki’s mouth. Micki’s eyes flew open as he forced her to take more of him into her mouth than she had intended. She gagged, then relaxed and swallowed him down. Micki’s throat was tight and warm; it felt like a velvet glove around John’s cock. She found the sensation oddly soothing. No gag reflex for a succubus, she thought briefly.

John’s hands gripped her hair tightly and held her head steady while he fucked her face. Micki’s lips stretched around him, and her cheeks hollowed in pleasure as she sucked on his cock and balls. She moaned. It was everything she’d dreamed of since this man had walked into her parish. She couldn’t deny that; the guy was a handsome stud. Father Michael had wanted him, to his shame. She wanted him for her glory.

His hips bucked suddenly, and Micki choked on John’s cock, too big for her to take without some flinching—but she recovered quickly and continued to suck on him. John let go of her hair and grabbed her by the shoulders instead. He thrust into her face like a piston; Micki’s eyes rolled back in her head as she struggled to breathe through her nose. John’s grip tightened on her shoulders, and he pulled her close to him so that her breasts slammed against his chest. Micki whimpered into John’s flesh as he pounded her face.

“That’s it,” he growled over her. “Whether you want to be a succubus or… something more, you can sure… suck cock.”

Micki did as she was told and sucked on him with all her might. John moaned, and suddenly his hands were firmly around her waist, her ass, his cock slipping out of her mouth. She wasn’t a small woman—her limbs and frame still the size she’d been for years—but John lifted her up so that her feet dangled above the ground.

Suddenly he was wrestling her onto the bed, pinning her beneath him with his weight; his cock was still hard and throbbing and dripping with pre-cum. Micki giggled and squirmed beneath him like a cat—the feeling of being trapped was unbearably delicious—and she arched her back so that her pussy rubbed against his thigh. He was so strong, even compared to the demonic energy flowing through her. It was an incredible experience, being restrained by this man who was bigger and stronger; it almost made her forget everything else.

In wrestling, she had advantages he didn’t. Micki’s tail reared up behind her, long and thick with its arrow-like bulb waving. She wrapped it around John’s neck and pulled him closer to her until his face was inches away from hers. She pulled forward hard and kissed him before biting down gently on his lip, drawing a taste of blood. “Maybe I am just a succubus,” she hissed. “Maybe I want to drain you, priest.”

John’s eyes widened in surprise, but he said nothing—he couldn’t speak because Micki’s tail had wrapped itself tightly around his throat, not quite choking him. Instead, he reached down to grab her by the waist, but she slid under him, the length of her tail allowing her to move without releasing her coiled grip. John tried to grab her arms, force her away, but she was too heavy for him to move easily. With a surge of unnatural strength, she pushed against the footboard and mattress with her feet and flung him onto his back, straddling him.

Micki leaned forward and kissed John again. The kiss didn’t have the sweetness of their first lip-lock; instead, it was full of hunger and need. Their tongues wrestled together, and John moaned into her mouth as she raked her long nails over his body. Micki’s cunt left wet trails across John’s muscles as she moved over him, grinding; his cock was rock hard. She’d seen him fully naked once before, accidentally surprising him after a shower. Though the memory had stayed with her because of his size, she hadn’t realized how much larger he’d be when erect. His cock bobbed insistently between them as Micki explored his body through the pressure of her fingers, her labia, her clit.

John’s abs, his thighs, the tight curls of dark hair, his incredible inguinal crease: she wanted it all. Is there anything hotter than two priests fucking? she thought. If she was being completely honest, it was a secret part of why she’d gone to seminary. Now, the idea of taking a priest like this was so exciting to her that her pussy clenched again and again.

Micki slid her hand down to John’s shaft and stroked him; he groaned into her mouth and dug his fingers against her scalp as if holding on for dear life. Micki smiled and slid her wet pussy along his shaft. John’s breath came faster, and he gasped into her mouth. Micki’s lips parted to whisper into his ear: “Are you ready to get fucked, Father?”

John’s eyes opened wide, and he stared into Micki’s yellow eyes. He was panting and gasping now—he could barely catch his breath—and Micki sensed he was getting close to coming. “Not yet,” she ordered him. “Not yet.”

John nodded in tense desperation and watched as Micki stood on the bed. Already tall for a woman, now she loomed over his prone form like a giant or goddess out of myth. Her eyes glowed yellow-white with reflected light as she spread her legs apart and bent over at the waist, then squatted. John’s eyes followed a dart of movement as Micki’s tail slithered across the bed towards him like a snake.

The tail coiled itself around John’s cock and balls and squeezed the length of his dick in a rolling motion. John’s eyes rolled back into his head, and he let out a low groan of pleasure. Micki’s tail was squeezing him so tightly, with one loop around his root and another just below his glans, that it felt like it was going to crush him. John’s eyes flew open, and he gazed up at Micki. She was smiling at him, rolling her hips as her tail kept squeezing and stroking. John needed to cum badly, but that demonic tail wouldn’t let him.

Micki’s tail tightened its grip on him, as if it might break him in half. John screamed out in ecstasy, then in a rage of pain and intense desire. As she squatted again, he grabbed at her hips, and they were wrestling, grappling, and slick with sweat, her tail writhing. They fell to the floor with Micki under him. Micki’s tail continued to squeeze him, though without as much intensity, while her lips found his. She sucked on his tongue and bit down on it. Then she pulled away from him and yelled: “Now!”

In an animalistic heat, he surged to his feet, and flipped Micki over onto her stomach. She rose to all fours, purring, and presented her hindquarters to him, her glistening cunt on display. He got behind her and slammed her cock into her waiting body. Micki cried out in pleasure as he thrust deep. Her tail wrapped around his cock like a persistent snake after prey, and squeezed him again—but it was worth it. He was so close to coming that it was all he could do not to explode inside her right now.

“John… make me your woman, John. I love it,” she moaned. “Take me.”

John grunted and pounded into her harder and faster. Micki’s tail was crushing him, her hips were rocking against him, trying to get him in even deeper. He didn’t care; he was so close. “Micki,” he yelled. “Micki, Micki!” She sang out a long, rising note: hearing her name was delicious, as if he was praying to her, glorying in her name instead of God’s. Energy rippled through her, from his cock into her cunt and right up to her horns.

Micki’s tail uncoiled a little, and then John felt its tip slide into his ass. It was like a knife slicing through him; it burned like fire, but it was too good to reconsider—he simply couldn’t stop. Micki’s tail was going to tear him in half with its squeezing, even as the tip probed him, twisting and questing. John’s body tensed and he exploded inside her, grunting in a series of guttural gasps. Micki howled with delight, exulting in her victory.

Exhausted, John fell to one side, his cock slipping from Micki’s vaginal embrace. She wasn’t finished with him. Curling around his body, she whispered in his ear. “Now, Father John… while the power courses in me, and your seed drips from my lips…. tell me what it is you most desire. What do you want to do, possess, become?” Her voice was both familiar and alien.

John trembled; he wanted to say something wise and true, something to express who he was. He could only manage a weak whimper: “Please,” he begged. “Please…”

“I will be gentle with you,” Micki promised him. “But tell me anyway.” She kissed his shoulder and began to move her tail back and forth inside him, slowly and gently stroking his insides. John moaned softly. “Tell me what you desire.”

John trembled beneath her touch, but at last found some strength of will and spoke. “I’m not sure.”

“What do you mean?” Micki asked. “You have desires, John.”

He managed to shake his head. “Not like that.”

Micki smiled. “Then what sort of desires? Tell me.”

John sighed heavily. “I want to be a good man. To know what’s right, to do the Lord’s work, and to help others. Most of all, I want to make sure the people I love and care about are all right. Including you, Micki.”

Micki laughed; there was a sound echoing in her laugh like wind blowing across sand dunes. “You can accomplish all these just as you are now.” A shadow crossed her face, and her tone changed, as if some darker thought was speaking through her. “That’s not what you truly desire to become, though. You don’t want to serve God. No—you’re afraid of serving God.”

“No!” John protested. “I’m not.”

Micki nodded. “If you were not afraid, you would not hide behind a rock, the church your faith was founded upon. Rather than obeying an institution, you would simply serve Him as his messengers do.”

John gaped at her, fear crossing his face. “No… that’s not why—there’s strength in—”

“You’re wrong,” Micki countered. “As long as there’s any fear in you; as long as you believe that any force can be stronger than God; as long as you doubt the Lord will protect you—you will never be free to serve Him. You will serve only your temporal masters, the Church on Earth, not in Heaven.”

As if an invisible thread suspending her had snapped, Micki slumped against him. John turned to look at her; Micki seemed dazed, as if waking from a sleep. “What happened?” he asked.

With her words came awareness and understanding like a flash flood, washing away her confused, dreamlike state. “Oh,” she breathed. “You asked for something… something I couldn’t give you. That’s been happening more than I expected.” She quivered. “But that also means…” her back arched. “All this power in me, it’s going to transform me again… ohhhh.”

John helped her onto the bed. “What do we do?! Can we stop it?” he asked.

Micki shook her head; she looked lost. “No… no, I want this. But like I told you at services… I might need your help, as someone who knows me.”

“Of course—anything.” John pulled her into his arms and held her tight. He could feel her shaking. “Micki—” he began.

She cut off his words with a kiss, then broke away. “John, tell me how I should change… how I can become more perfect, more myself, still the person you know…”

Father John was at a loss for words. “Micki, you’re already perfect. All this stuff about changing isn’t necessary. The best thing to do is to let it happen naturally. Just let yourself be… yourself.”

“You don’t understand,” she gasped. “There’s nothing natural about Yael. If I just let it happen, I’ll just become more like her, a copy of her. I need you to tell me, guide me. Succubae are about… desire.”

John’s gaze slid over her body, trying to understand. “You mean… the parts of you that are still like Michael? Something must change?”

Her eyes widened. “Yes! Oh—yes!” she breathed. “She wants me to become more like her inside, too. So that my desires align with hers. In her plan, my desires have been the fuel for transformations, but I want to know what you desire, my lover. Tell me your fantasy. Tell me what you would have me become.” She hissed her words, her eyes glowing again with lambent, reflected light.

“Okay—okay,” he stammered. “What ought to change next is your—your voice.”

Micki nodded. Her breath quickened. John could see the hunger in her eyes. She leaned forward. “Give me your mouth,” she whispered. Their mouths pressed, and she kissed him deeply. She felt the power ripple from deep in her core, where his seed lay steaming inside of her, surging up to her larynx, tightening it with the faintest of creaks.

When they parted for air, John saw something like faint steam escaping from her mouth. Micki giggled. “That’s better.” Her eyes widened: her words had emerged in a melodious, breathy contralto, rich with sensuality, more mature than Yael’s lilting soprano. She ran a finger along her lower lip and tasted a trace of John’s cum left there—and found it delicious, sweeter than honey or cream.

“Now.” she purred. “Tell me your next wish.”

He gulped. His erection had returned already, slapping against his stomach as he moved. Micki didn’t need supernatural senses to divine his desire, and simply smiled. “I see,” she said. “I can grant that wish.” There were some advantages to generating so much sexual energy; succubae seldom had to bother with refractory periods. She wrapped her hand around his hardness and guided him to the bed once more.