Chapter Text

Disclaimer: This is a work of fiction. The names, characters, dialogue, opinions, companies, organizations, trademarks, places, events, religious/mythological elements, or facts appearing herein are either the product of the author's imagination or are used within the framework of fiction to construct the narrative. Any resemblance to reality is purely coincidental.

Content warning: This is an essentially erotic story. I don't mean it's a consecutive succession of gratuitous sex scenes, but rather that the idiosyncrasies of the main character, who serves as the central plot, compel it to do so. There are also other elements woven into the story that could be considered "controversial" for the more squeamish readers and difficult to assimilate, such as gender fluidity, explicit violence, religious and/or political satire, etc. You have been warned, and if you don't wish to continue reading, it's understandable. 

Translation with the help of Google Translate: This story has been edited in English thanks to simultaneous translation by Google. I am a Spanish speaker and I have a very basic level of English, almost always only for reading and never when writing, so I ask that you excuse me for any grammatical and other mistakes that I will surely make. 

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Synopsis: The last thing Taylor expected was that the prank ritual performed at the ΣΚΒ (Sigma Kappa Beta) fraternity's final ceremony would actually summon a sexy, sassy, sensual succubus… and transform him instead! Will he give in to his lustful urges? Can he turn back to normal? Will he discover the truth behind his metamorphosis? The Hell Week takes on a whole new, spicy meaning! 

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A DARK CALLING IN WHISPER 

Whispers in moonlight,
She dances through dream and flame
Lips like cursed honey.

Candles flicker low,
Foul words on lips like smoke
She steps through the veil.

In shadows she waits,
Whispers weave through moonlit dreams
Flesh yields to desire.

Crimson lips entice,
His heart beats like distant drums,
A pact sealed in breath.

Midnight's breath, he bows,
Offering warmth to the night,
Fleeting flame consumed.

Whispers in the night,
Shadows weave a twisted form,
Desire takes flight.

Crimson lips entice,
Glimmers of a fractured soul,
Bound in her embrace.

Dreams shape to her will,
Softly, she reshapes his fate,
Lost within her sway.

Moonlit whispers sigh,
Gentle shadows take their form,
Men become desire.

Silken night enfolds,
Masculine fades, grace emerges,
Hearts beat in stillness.

In dreams, they entwine,
Lost in realms where wishes breathe,
Seduction takes flight.

In twilight's embrace,
a whisper pulls at his heart
shadow softens light.

Her gaze, a promise,
darkness weaves through tender hands,
he surrenders, lost.

Body gives, soul swells,
flesh entwined in ancient night
the dawn fades away.

In twilight's embrace,
Reflections shift like soft mist
New blooms in the dawn.

Whispers of the past,
Old dreams draped in silken hues,
A self reborn, fiery.

Once a sturdy oak,
Now a willow bends with grace,
Life redefined, whole.

Whispers in the night,
A shadowed heart now ignites,
Fate sealed with desire.

Silken touch divine,
In darkness, lust entwines lives,
His soul drawn, resigned.

Under moonlit sky,
Transformation's fire burns bright,
Passion's final breath.

Author Unknown 

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Chapter 1: Pledge 

The harsh light of the late morning sun barely penetrated the thick curtains that had been installed in the auditorium specifically for the ceremony. Through the hazy shadows of the last embers of the braziers, one could make out the silhouettes of many bodies, some semi-naked and others completely, lying scattered and tangled throughout the immense room.

The sage leaves and incense, offered as a holocaust, failed to completely mitigate the sweet scent of tequila mixed with spilled lemon juice, the acrid smell of marijuana, and the most pressing note of all, which permeated the air completely: the torrid, cloying, and disturbing aroma of sex. 

One of the nude figures, the only female, who could be guessed from the soft curves of her profile, raised her head from among the tapestry of limbs (arms, legs, and other erect protuberances) that had been poorly woven onto the carpeted wooden floor.

"Fuck, fuuuck!" Taylor muttered, her voice slightly strained, her gaze glancing around the room, her mouth still pasty from all the times the other fraternity members had cum inside it.

"Uuuugh!" She stifled a moan (which could have become a shrill scream) by covering her mouth as she felt one of the seniors gently licking her nipple, still groggy or half asleep. 

She wanted to quickly push him away, but her arm was half asleep from the weight of the fraternity brother using her torso as a pillow. She also froze for several precious seconds when she realized that her hand was firmly gripped on an object that felt both strange and terribly familiar. 

It was very long, warm, cylindrical, and turgid, but at the same time pliable. 

When her mind connected the dots and concluded that she was clinging to Cody's cock (she recognized him then and there, not by what she was touching, but by the faint light that revealed his face) like a sailor might cling to the last life preserver on a shipwreck, she began to slide quietly out from under him, freeing him from her grasp first. 

She stumbled a little as she righted herself, but it was more from sheer physical exhaustion than from the undertow rattling every neuron in her brain like maracas at Mardi Gras.

Taylor could barely feel her legs, which had taken on the consistency of Jell-O or a jellyfish washed up on the beach, and her disorientation grew worse as she rose like a flag at half-staff. She felt the abnormal gravity of her bare breasts tugging at the scorched skin, and though she tried to ignore it, she couldn't. 

She raised her sleepy hand to her chin, which seemed almost dislocated after all the exertion she'd undertaken the night before, and then tentatively felt her head, hoping the hallucination would continue. What she found was a sticky stain stuck to her temple that nearly made her gag in revulsion. 

In the quiet of the room, the only sounds she could make were the snorts and ethereal snores of all those men. When she checked her back, it looked completely normal... 

"Normal?!" Taylor mused with a slight snort of resignation. 

Well, at least she no longer looked like a freak straight out of a Halloween erotic show. 

As she walked toward the exit, dodging unconscious bodies and condoms stuffed like slippery mines, she saw her underwear discarded in a corner. 

She picked it up in a display of innocence that was immediately condemned. 

She had not emerged unscathed, and several suspicious splashes soaked her cloth.

Taylor didn't know what to do... wash it, disinfect it, exorcise it, throw it in the trash, or just burn it? In the end, she decided to simply throw it behind her back without bothering to look where or to whom it fell. 

She finally reached the room where the rest of her clothes (and her smartphone) were resting in a locker, the spring morning light piercing her eyes like red-hot pins in that deserted, well-ventilated room. She had to bite the bullet when she saw that her old grunge pants didn't fit her, and she grabbed a pair of oversized sweatpants that were sticking out of another locker, without bothering to think about which of the people sleeping in the auditorium it belonged to. Her T-shirt was too tight and uncomfortable, but when she could barely button up her baseball jacket, her composure nearly broke. 

Taylor tried to deny the reality of what had happened on every level, like when she caught a glimpse of those whitish stains on the corner of her lips in the locker room's full-length mirror and told herself it was just toothpaste.

Although she rubbed the dried spurts of cum with the sleeve of his jacket before hurrying out of the Sigma Kappa Beta Fraternity house. 

There were no signs in the front yard of what had happened in the immense house several hours earlier; birds were chirping, bees buzzing over the flowers, wide open like lovers, and a gentle breeze cooled the rising May temperature. 

Because while, unfortunately, she wasn't the first or the last girl to flee in that manner from a similar place like a soul pursued by the devil, Taylor Reece had never been, until last night, a girl in HIS life. According to what was clearly written on his Wisconsin driver's license, currently resting in one of his jacket pockets, Taylor was 5'11", 135 lbs., had O+ blood type, had a birthday on September 21st, was 19 years old, and above all... a MALE!!! 

He had to stop dead in his tracks, his brand-new, peach-sized, soft breasts jiggling uncomfortably and indecently in front of his car as he realized that if the police stopped him at one of the checkpoints they set up to hunt down drunk drivers leaving the university campus, he wouldn't be able to give an explanation without looking like a lunatic headed straight to the asylum. 

He brought his hands to his head, tangling his fingers in his long, oatmeal-colored hair, as for a moment he gave in to despair... Then he let out a short breath of relief and reached for his phone. 

Fortunately, he had Uber among his apps. 

Around midnight last night…

The vertigo kept Taylor in a state of tension that rivaled unconsciousness, preventing him from closing his eyelids and stopping his gaze from contemplating that gruesome panorama.

He wasn't entirely sure if it was a delirious dream, but from his perspective, he seemed to have become glued to the dark ceiling of the auditorium like a helium-filled balloon from a children's party that someone had released, while below, the members of Sigma Kappa Beta gathered around the creature that had emerged from the black mirror by shattering into a thousand pieces, just as he found himself inexplicably catapulted to the ceiling. 

Taylor could barely feel his body, as if it were comfortably wrapped in cotton, so the lucid dream theory gained points over the other alternative. 

"Wow! What a mind-blowing experience!" Brad Pearson exclaimed in frank surprise, recognizing him by his voice despite his mouth being muffled and his face shrouded in the shadows of the hoods of the blood-red shrouds. He carelessly leaned closer to the creature, which hissed like a cat at the unexpected touch of his gloved hand over its leathery wings. The creature turned its face toward Brad and purred when he carefully helped it remove its shroud after removing his red satin gloves, which had been pierced by the wings sprouting from that eruption of flesh. "I don't know how much you paid this prostitute, but she's earned it. What a well-crafted disguise! It looks real!" 

But Taylor wasn't fooled. 

There was a name for this creature with bat-like wings, a wriggling snake's tail, and sharp horns on its head: Succubus. He'd only seen her in video games, manga illustrations, and tabletop role-playing games, but there was no doubt she looked an awful lot like her. 

"Shit!" Taylor thrashed helplessly, sprawled on the ceiling like a turtle on its shell destined to starve to death in the desert, feeling the touch of Brad's hands as intensely as if he were down there, and understanding that this was the second option. 

The succubus had stolen control of his body and, in some inexplicable way, had transformed him to resemble exactly the image he'd glimpsed through the black mirror, dimly lit by his candle. 

When the succubus stood completely naked, gently folding her wings like a theater curtain, revealing the full beauty of her (his?) body without any shame and in all its glory, an exclamation of awe and veneration reverberated among the other attendees like the ringing of a bell calling to prayer. Even Taylor caught his breath (if he really felt like he had one) as he gazed at the most beautiful woman he could ever imagine before his ethereal eyes.

The grandfather clock in the main hallway chimed unexpectedly in the silence, striking twelve. The succubus smiled maliciously as it finished chiming and, taking a bold step with her bare feet, leaned close to Brad, grabbed him by the neck, pulled down his mouth cover, and planted a vise-like kiss on his stunned face.

Taylor bit his lip in frustration, in a vain attempt to deny how his new fraternity mate's tongue wasn't also delving into a knot of passion inside his mouth. He wanted to close his eyes to deny it, but it was worse, because he felt it more intensely by depriving himself of that sense and sharpening his sense of touch. 

He, too, felt a high-voltage current run through his entire body when Brad's hand hesitantly grasped the succubus's breast and playfully massaged the succubus's nipple with his thumb until it became prominent and hard as a button. A torrid, suppressed moan escaped Taylor's lips, hers firmly pressed against his. Brad continued tracing circles and other shapes across the succubus's skin with his gentle caresses, inexorably igniting and destroying all the scruples of the young man whose body had been stolen. 

He longed for more, he didn't know from what, but he didn't care anymore. 

He wanted it not to stop. 

He slowly closed his eyelids, reveling in the experience while Brad's other hand, like a pioneer explorer, traced the succubus's dangerous and tempting curves down to her waist, searching for his desired, dark object of desire hidden between her passion-burning thighs.

Unconsciously, Taylor twisted his knees in anticipation and opened his legs slightly, lying still floating above the ceiling, as if wanting to help his fraternity buddy in his task. 

But the succubus had other, more ambitious plans, and with a giggle, she broke off the kiss. 

"Let the party begin!" the succubus declared to her entire audience, her voice as soft as velvet, as she abruptly pulled away from a thrust. Taylor suddenly tasted blood as she licked a drop from Brad's cut lip. 

Unexpectedly, she looked up at the ceiling, right where Taylor was floating, and moved her lips in apparent silence. 

"You're going to enjoy it too," she heard the succubus's voice whisper on her shoulder, sending a shiver of anticipation down his spine, like an ice cube on sunburned skin.

Eight days ago…

Taylor didn't think he would take the news so badly, but he remained unfazed with his arms crossed defensively as he stood in the middle of the campus room, enduring that sermon.

"Get bent!" Rhys Fisher, his roommate since they started in September, grumbled sullenly. "You said you didn't want to join one of those fraternities full of snobs and rich daddy's boys who thrive off everyone else with their blatant nepotism. And now…! Now you want to walk right into the lion's den?!" 

Taylor's attempt at maintaining a decent poker face was in vain. His friend could already smell the problem and suspected that this incomprehensible decision had something to do with his sociology class project on isolated groups and their interpersonal dynamics. 

"Don't make a big deal out of it, Rhys," he apologized, maintaining a cordial tone, suppressing a smirk. "Look at it this way, you'll be able to go a week without me bothering you around here. You no longer have to put up with me coming in late at night with a hookup and having to sleep in your car, or me rifling through your things without your permission." 

His roommate hesitated, leaning back in his gaming chair in a position that resembled a clumsy imitation of the Thinker statue. He was mostly upset that Sigma Kappa Beta hadn't asked him to join as well. Even if they'd rejected him later, he didn't appreciate being excluded so blatantly. 

But he gave Taylor a brief glance, who had both charisma and people skills, and figured it would be like adding Cinderella's ugly stepsister to the party. 

"Fine! Go to Hell!" he relented, ceasing his nagging. 

Taylor's self-effacing smile spread across his face like a torrent of water. 

"It's just going to be a week of drunkenness, hazing, and having a good time," he said with a roll of his eyes and a shrug. "What's the worst that can happen? 

To be continued…

AUTHOR'S NOTE:

About the rating estimate
Accompanying each episode title is a rough content rating in the form of a devil emoji, indicating whether there's more porn or more plot. 

👿 
Plot-heavy, very few sex references or dirty jokes, more thoughtful dialogue. 

😈😈 
Some sex references and naughty situations. 

😈😈😈 
Sex references and hints, adult situations in part of the episode. 

😈😈😈😈 
Explicit sex, references, or hints in most of the episode. 

😈😈😈😈😈 
Pure, hardcore sex throughout the entire episode.

Constructive comments, bookmarks, opinions, kudos, and observed typos are always welcome.

Chapter Text

Chapter 2: Enclose 

It took Taylor three desperate attempts to unlock his phone until he remembered the correct pattern, which he barely used anymore, since facial recognition couldn't work with his current appearance. 

His index finger still hurt from the tiny cut on the tip where the summoning mirror had cracked into a thousand pieces, so it took much longer than usual to call for a pickup service, and his nerves were on edge. 

"Please!" the boy mercifully prayed to whoever the hell it was under his breath, while repeatedly kicking the ground with his sneakers. "Don't let a pervert or a rapist come here! I'm just getting a regular Uber!"

By some strange irony in all this madness, his sneakers were the only items that still fit him exactly the same as they had the day before. Despite being literally in his own shoes, he didn't feel that way at all.

Every inch of that soft, rosy, delicate peach skin felt alien and disconcertingly sensitive to any touch; even the slightest touch of clothing seemed overwhelming.

His thoughts unexpectedly slid like water down a drain to the previous night's events, leaving him unable to ignore those... 

Come on, baby, do it. Hah! 

The sudden ringing of her cell phone jolted Taylor's shaken body like an electric shock. She nearly collapsed to the floor from the nerves that overwhelmed her. She looked at the number and almost breathed a sigh of relief when the identifier showed her the name Rhys Fisher and his Comic-Con selfie smiling next to a girl dressed as Seven-of-Nine. Almost... 

La-da-dee-da-da-dee-da. 
On the stere-ere-ere-ere-o. Hah! 

Taylor's bruised finger hung in the air, a few hundredths of an inch away, neither answering nor hanging up. He COULDN'T decide either way. He couldn't tell his roommate what had happened, or what he'd become. Not because he was absolutely certain he wouldn't believe him, especially not over the phone with his high-pitched, feminine voice, but because it embarrassed him... in a way unlike anything he'd ever experienced. 

His head swirled with everything that had happened since he'd walked into the ceremony room last night, and his heart pounded, hammering in his ears like a compressor. 

Let those speakers blow your mind. 
Blow my mind, baby! 
Just let it go, let it go, here we...

The song cut out abruptly, and Taylor's heartbeat seemed to shift from breakdancing to staccato. Taylor let out a breath and looked around again, searching for the Uber the app said was nearby. 

Seconds later, WhatsApp pinged with a new text, which Taylor read quickly: 

Rhys:\> Are you done with this frat house nonsense? 

He typed out his reply, his hands shaking, too: 

Taylor:\> Yeah, I'm leaving the house. I need to see you now. 

He didn't notice the strange urgency he put behind his words. He didn't want to, couldn't, elaborate, not while he looked like this, but they were true.

His roommate's unexpected and caustic comebacks sent him into a spin as he charged like a machine gun: 

Rhys:\> Did something bad happen? 
Rhys:\> Is it what I told you… 
Rhys:\> I told you to bring plenty of lube, all those Greek letter guys are really just snobby ass-fuckers with the smoothest manners. 
Rhys:\> Is your ass looking like the Japanese flag? 

Taylor began to shake all over, between the nerves of his unique condition and Rhys's close-to-correctness. A nervous chuckle escaped his teeth, an ominous warning that something had gone wrong inside him.

Honestly, Taylor thought if he'd just been sodomized, he'd have been relieved compared to what he was going through. The members of Sigma Kappa Beta had fucked him in every way he could think of, and more. 

Taylor:\> I’ll tell you everything when we meet, I’m on my way.

 He added the last part when he saw the Uber approaching around the bend in the street and felt a glimmer of hope that eased his discomfort, despite his still queasy stomach. 

Rhys:\> I’m not in the room, I’ll be there later.

 Taylor:\> Okay, buddy. 

He still had a lot to think about regarding how to approach the next conversation he had ahead of him, and this little extra time was perfect for him. 

Last night… 

The succubus gleefully toyed with the ties of Brad’s shroud for a few seconds, seemingly undecided whether to untie the knot completely or try to strangle the almost six-foot-six gym hunk with it, constricting him until his face turned blue and he stopped breathing. Taylor could feel those wild, conflicting, almost uncontrollable urges running through her hands and through her fingertips. Finally, the fine red satin garment fell to the floor with a dull thud that boded ill.

Brad’s bare, athletic torso was on display, like a chiseled statue from a master fresh out of the sculpting studio. The succubus purred at the sight and pinched her upper lip to hold back a gasp of glee and delight. Every muscle in his pecs, lats, and abs was clearly defined and developed for her delight; not even an anatomy illustration was that obscenely precise. 

With her fingertips and nails, she probed the interstices and was enthralled by the strength and drive his formidable physique seemed to promise. Taylor felt the succubus's groin growing hot and moist, even though she pretended to hide it by crossing her legs in front of the other fraternity members, as more and more sycalyptic thoughts assailed her like flashes in her mind, emanating from her. 

When she reached the elastic band of his pants with her explorations and groping, the succubus raised a suggestive eyebrow, tacitly signaling her demand that Brad remove the garment. Her alabaster face held a look of defiance that would make even the boldest man tremble, but the hunk smiled confidently and with a quick tug, pulled his pants down to his ankles, with a forceful, elastic genuflection, revealing himself without any pretense. 

His semi-erect cock began to harden and firm under the succubus's scrutiny, who gazed at it with the same eagerness as a child in front of a newly opened candy store.

She glanced around out of the corner of her eyes, a sly smile forming on her lips as she watched the other members of the fraternity shed their crimson ritual robes and strip down to their underwear.

Her gaze focused on the figure who had officiated the ritual, still standing in front of the altar, holding that old, pitch-black book wide open. Her eyes glued to the darkened hood, trying to make out who it was. 

I'm bringin' sexy back... Yeah!
Them other boys don't know how to act... Yeah!
I think it's special, what's behind your back? Yeah!
So turn around and I'll pick up the slack... Yeah!

Suddenly, music began to play from the room’s speakers, breaking the succubus’s concentration. She lost sight of him for a split second, and he was lost in the sea of ​​bodies that grew ever closer around her like a wall of flesh. 

Taylor felt the succubus's deep irritation rumble in her gut, but the rhythmic beat of the music began to break through her inhibitions like links in a chain under the intense flame of a blowtorch. Her dance was a masterful seduction that captivated everyone present, unable to look away as she displayed, offered, and then concealed her charms from each of them.

With a beckoning gesture of her index finger, the succubus pulled Brad to her side. He roughly grabbed her shoulder and turned her so that her back was resting against his rock-hard torso. She wiggled her ass playfully, his firm erection brushing against the base of her tail, sending waves of vibrations racing up her spine.

What the fuck? Taylor flinched as he pushed off the ceiling and began to descend lower and lower. 

To be continued… 

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Musical disclaimer: The song on the phone is a snippet of 'Pump It' by the Black Eyed Peas, and the song that plays after the invocation is 'Sexy Back' by Justin Timberlake.

Constructive comments, bookmarks, opinions, kudos, and observed typos are always welcome.

Chapter Text

Chapter 3: Hide & Suck 

As the rhythm of the music stirred the hearts of those present, the atmosphere in the room filled with desire and anticipation.

The succubus in Taylor's body leaned back into Brad's embrace, feeling his warm breath on her neck that melted her from head to toe. He could feel the other fraternity brothers approaching, their lust-filled eyes burning into his flesh.

His body responded instinctively, arching into Brad's touch as his hands began to explore his new form with an almost primal hunger. Brad continued pressing and stroking his erect member against the succubus's warm skin, as she writhed and moaned like a naughty kitten being fondled. Taylor floated weightless and unable to correct his course, inching closer as the succubus's pounding heartbeat pounded through his body, further inflaming what had been his by birth.

He was able to sense the succubus's intentions before she made her first move. She closed her eyes in ecstasy and with a discreet little jump of her heels, she almost stood on top of Brad so that he could penetrate her with a single thrust, but the hunk quickly withdrew, preventing her from impaling herself (and preventing Taylor from shouting a warning about her intentions, which would have been completely ignored by those present), leaving her in an uncomfortable position, on edge and completely disoriented.

The succubus looked at him over her soft, curvaceous shoulder, displaying a mixture of desire, curiosity, and the most exacerbated frustration.

Brad Pearson gave her a wide, sly smile before truthfully answering her implied question:

"I'm so sorry, Babe," he began, showing her something in his hand that jiggled like a shiny new quarter between his knuckles: an unopened silver condom packet. Not one of the condoms the other fraternity brothers had placed next to the enormous punch bowl of blood-colored Margaritas. "You look amazing, for God's sake! I swear you're the best thing I've ever fucking seen... but I have one simple rule: I never do it without one of these involved. You see, my parents are pretentious jerks who don't want any of my bastards running around, but they're very, very rich pretentious jerks, and I'm not going to gamble away their juicy family inheritance no matter how hot you look naked."

"TOO MANY WORDS!" the succubus thought with a burst of lacerating irritation, narrowing her eyelids and sharpening her gaze menacingly. Taylor was overwhelmed by the thought, which reverberated in his head like a powerful subwoofer from a stereo turned up to full volume.

She did a ninety-degree turn and settled herself sideways against his muscular body, sculpted in the gym over so many years, extending her delicate right arm forward, as if trying to protect herself from Brad's proximity, although at the same time, somewhat vulgarly, she sought to keep him seduced by playfully hiding her voluptuous breasts from him.

Her left hand, however, had other plans. She reached out and took Brad's wrist, guiding him toward her thighs. When contact was made, she felt a surge of pleasure Taylor hadn't known before. Her body reacted like a yo-yo on a string, arching her back at Brad's touch.

The room spun, music pounded in her ears, and the scent of lust and sweat permeated the air. Taylor felt his own body betray him, heating up as the succubus guided him into uncharted pleasure ground.

The succubus's hand slid smoothly down Brad's torso, her fingers dancing playfully over his abs before gripping his cock with a sudden intensity that seemed to suck the oxygen out of the room. Brad opened his eyes in wide surprise. The other fraternity brothers watched, rapt by the spectacle unfolding before them.

Taylor could feel all their gazes on her, the weight of their desire an immeasurable force in the room that negated everything else. It was like being at the center of a tornado of raw, male lust. With Brad's cock in her hand, the succubus began pumping him, her movements slow and deliberate, teasing him with each thrust so that he responded in turn, masturbating her.

Each thrust sent waves of pleasure through Taylor's usurped body, and despite the horror of her situation, she couldn't find a way to deny that the sensation was intoxicating.

The room blurred as the music grew more dizzying, throbbing in time with Brad's heart, which pounded against the succubus's shoulder and in her hand.

The succubus leaned down and kissed Brad's neck sweetly, gently grazing his skin with her teeth. He moaned, his body begging for more. She knew exactly what he wanted, what he needed. With a wicked smile, she slowly knelt down, marveling at Pearson's formidable musculature as she traveled, her tail twitching excitedly like a dog with a bone.

The room fell silent, the music fading into the background as Brad's breathing became shallower and faster. The succubus's hand never left his penis as she took it into her mouth, her lips wrapping around it like a warm, velvety vice.

Brad rolled his eyes and let out a throaty moan. Taylor felt every inch of Brad's member sliding into the succubus's throat, the stretch and the heat, and she struggled to stop herself from gagging.

Taste of your lips, I'm on a ride
You're toxic, I'm slippin' under
With a taste of a poison paradise
I'm addicted to you
Don't you know that you're toxic?

The succubus was in complete control and apparently had extensive experience in such endeavors, her tongue swirling around Brad's penis in a hypnotic dance that made him gasp and sweat.

With Brad completely absorbed and distracted by the succubus's skillful mouth, Taylor couldn't help but notice that the room had changed around them. The fraternity brothers had formed a circle, stripping and masturbating at a frantic pace, their eyes fixed on the erotic scene.

One of them, a hook-nosed blond named James Mitchell, stepped forward and whispered something to Brad. The succubus looked at him with a mischievous question in her eyes, her cheeks still puffed out by his penis, and Brad nodded enthusiastically.

Taylor saw and felt the succubus's body being pushed onto all fours, her eyes glazed with a longing that was no longer her own. The music grew louder, and the floor vibrated beneath her knees as she felt the heat of two more bodies approaching from behind.

James and another fraternity member, Cody Garreth, positioned themselves on either side of Brad. The room was filled with the scent of arousal and anticipation, and Taylor's heart pounded with the succubus's longing.

Cody moved closer, his cock erect and demanding, sheathed in a condom. The succubus looked up at Brad with a mixture of arousal and defiance, her mouth still wrapped around his member.

She could feel Cody's hand groping her, caressing her thighs, the force of his touch sending a shiver through her that Taylor had never experienced. His fingers slid up, reaching her wet folds, and without warning, he plunged his thumb inside her, making the succubus gasp around Brad's cock.

The temperature in the room seemed to rise as the three found a rhythm, their bodies moving in sync with the bass of the music.

Brad took the opportunity to take a momentary breather, pulling out of her mouth with a wet pop. He looked up at her, his eyes narrowed with lust.

"Ready, baby?" he smiled, and the succubus's eyes sparkled with excitement.

Taylor's mind raced, trying to comprehend the situation and escape this hallucination with unconsciousness, but her body wasn't responding the way he wanted it to.

The succubus nodded eagerly, and Brad slammed his cock back into her mouth. Cody held her hips and, with a grunt, thrust into her from behind, filling her completely.

The succubus's body tensed like piano wire at that thrust, and Taylor felt the pressure and the heat as if it were his own. The sensation was unlike anything he'd ever felt, and the succubus's pleasure washed over him in unstoppable waves.

Mummy don't know daddy's getting hot
At the body shop, doing something unholy

The music started with another song, the bass thumping like a heartbeat to the rhythm of the depraved dance taking place in the center of the room.

He lucky, lucky, yeah (ooh)
He lucky, lucky, yeah (ye-yeah)
He lucky, lucky, yeah
He lucky, lucky, yeah

The succubus's moans were muffled by Brad's cock, but her body, writhing in pleasure, spoke volumes. She began to back away from Cody's thrusts, urging him to go faster, harder, deeper.

Brad tried to take her by the horns, wanting to guide their movements with a firm, controlling grip, but the succubus gave him a warning look so sinister and suggestive that he immediately moved his fingers away from her head. She firmly gripped Brad's ass, squeezing one cheek to control the rhythm of that virile battering ram that was going deeper and deeper between her lips.

The sight was too much for James, and with a grunt, he came, spraying his semen onto the succubus's face, mixing with the saliva coating Brad's cock.

She didn't flinch, her eyes never leaving Brad's as she swallowed him whole, taking him as deep as she could. The room was a cacophony of grunts, sighs, and the damp, muffled rub of flesh on flesh.

Taylor felt used, a mere vessel for the succubus's insatiable desires, and his body responded in ways he never imagined possible.

To be continued… 

. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

Musical disclaimer: The songs featured are 'Toxic' by Britney Spears and 'Unholy' by Sam Smith and Kim Petras.

Constructive comments, bookmarks, opinions, kudos, and observed typos are always welcome.

Chapter Text

Chapter 4: Deepen 

The succubus's body began to tremble as her orgasm approached with each of Cody's thrusts. It was as inevitable as watching a tsunami crest on the beach. Tension settled over her, and her folded wings began to tremble slightly.

She moaned low around Brad's cock as a spur for him to finish as well, her throat vibrating with each guttural sound that seemed to bring him over the edge. The hunk watched her with a mixture of awe and excitement, his hips moving faster and faster until he finally exhaled. 

With one last deep blowjob, Brad climaxed and ejaculated profusely, his hot, thick semen like lava from an erupting volcano spurting out, filling her mouth with his masculine essence. 

Taylor felt that heat spread through his body, a surge of pleasure and arrogance from the succubus, her delight becoming his own in a twisted symphony of shared senses. 

It was as if a switch had been flipped inside his he hadn't known was there, and for one brief, terrifying moment of pure clarity, he enjoyed it. 

He enjoyed it fully. 

But as soon as the brief, overwhelming orgasm passed, reality crashed down on him. This was NOT his body; these were NOT his desires. He was trapped, forced to endure this succubus's unbridled carnival of lust. 

He watched in horror as Brad stepped back, his chest heaving, and another frat brother took his place (he was so disoriented that he couldn't put a name to that shadowy face, though he knew he'd been introduced to it that week), his erect cock aimed for the succubus's mouth, which she accepted with genuine enthusiasm. 

As Brad withdrew, he gave Cody a look of camaraderie and nodded. Cody took the hint instantly and picked up his pace, gripping the succubus's hips so tightly that Taylor could feel the bruises forming from his finger prints. The surprised succubus tried to throw her head back, but couldn't break away from the fellatio, so she whipped her tail and wings around in the air.

The room remained silent and motionless for an awkward moment, all eyes fixed on the succubus's all-fours figure, wondering how realistic the costume they'd thought was a mere prop actually was, and then Cody tightened his grip on her waist, not caring about the matter in the slightest, and continued pumping. 

The sound of skin against skin filled the room again as Cody's hips moved energetically with the cadence of a steam-powered locomotive, each impact sending a jolt through her that Taylor could feel deep within her. The succubus's tail wrapped around Cody's leg, tightening its grip, and she felt her own orgasm finally coming.

The succubus rolled her eyes and let out a scream that was muffled by the unknown cock. The succubus's body convulsed intensely, like the crack of a whip. The room seemed to shake, and Taylor's mind was lost in a whirlwind of pleasure so different and overwhelming it was almost painful.

Her mouth tightened around the erect member, her tongue stroking the underside with a speed that almost defied human ability and technique.

Taylor could hear Cody's hips bucking against her ass and the wet tapping changing rhythm, losing the atavistic vigor that had possessed him so insanely. It was clear his orgasm was approaching, and she could feel it in every nerve ending with anticipation. 

The succubus gazed at Taylor's floating, spectral figure for a moment, a wicked smile on her lips, as if they were sharing a secret known only to the two of them. 

And with one last powerful thrust, as if to finish, Cody climaxed, coming wildly, his cock throbbing deep inside her. Taylor felt the heat flooding the tough condom, swelling like a jack trying to split her in two. 

The succubus's eyes shone with excitement, her pupils dilating with desire as Cody withdrew in ecstasy, and another brother took over with his fresh, burning cock, hard as a sword's steel in a latex sheath, groping her ass cheeks and admiring her curvaceous figure from behind. Her moans grew louder, her body moving like a rutting snake, writhing and undulating beneath his hesitant grasp. The auditorium had become a blur of flesh and desire, and the air was thick with the scent of the arousal of every member of ΣΚΒ (Sigma Kappa Beta).

Taylor felt a strange mix of childish fear and mind-numbing euphoria, his mind reeling from the intensity of the moment as he descended inexorably. He was beginning to understand that the closer he was to the action, the more connected he would be to his body, and at the same time, the more accelerated his approach would become.  

He couldn't break out of this vicious cycle, in every sense of words.

Meanwhile, the succubus took the cock of another brother within reach in her right hand so she could masturbate him at the same time. She knelt deeply inside the newcomer, who was fondling her tail from behind, as if checking if it was real. The sensation was indescribable when she received him inside, entering through an unexpected and much more sinister path, a mixture of pleasure and pain that resonated in Taylor's soul. 

The succubus delighted in their desire, using their lust and their basest instincts to bend them to her will. Her movements seemed to become more erratic and wild, but in reality they were calculated and precise. 

The anonymous hand of a fourth brother, with no face that really mattered, unexpectedly descended from her side to caress her breasts just as Taylor hit the ground, his thumb gently brushing over her sensitive nipples.

Each clumsy touch sent a wave of pleasure through Taylor's transformed, rewired, and overstimulated body, her senses heightened to an unbearable level.

Each hard thrust into her anus sent shock waves down her spine, making Taylor feel like an old, worn-out sock that was constantly being turned inside out to decide which side was best. 

"It's about time you joined in the fun!" Taylor heard the succubus's thought, clear and sharp as a newly polished window, along with a playful giggle that rattled inside her skull, filling her heart with despair. 

Taylor's transformed, possessed body was no longer a blank canvas for pleasure, humiliation, and sordidness, ready to be rudely defiled; each new sensation of that long, long night promised to be a perfidious glimpse of the panorama that awaited her. The succubus was the master artist, still sketching out a work of unparalleled lust. 

Back to the present... 

The music playing on the Uber's old and anachronistic boom box wasn't enough to calm him down. Taylor's left leg wouldn't stop trembling against his will, even though he tried to stop it by grabbing his knee, pinning his against the seat. 

The girl was bad 
The girl was dangerous 

I never knew 
But I was living in vain She 
called my house 
She said "you know my name" 

"Are you sure you're okay, miss?" the Uber driver asked Taylor for the umpteenth time, a man in his fifties with ebony skin and cheeks so speckled with freckles it was almost as if she'd been plowed. 

And don't you pretend 
You never did me before 
With tears in her eyes 
My baby walked out the door

She's so dangerous.  
The girl is so dangerous

He continued to watch him with a genuine air of paternal concern for her haggard appearance. His hair —no, her long, feminine hair —was dirty and matted, flattened in places, and his face still bore several telltale marks.

Not to mention the clothes that clearly didn't seem to fit her full, voluptuous figure. Taylor would have been upset if she'd called the police. 

But he didn't have to worry. 

His pleas hadn't fallen on deaf ears, and they'd brought him, from wherever he was, a genuine, almost biblical Good Samaritan. 

The young college freshman assumed he probably had a daughter his own age, and it had struck a chord in him, like pressing a key on a piano. If Taylor had had his usual masculine appearance, he wouldn't have bothered to inquire about her condition with such concern and candor. 

He would have rudely shouted a warning to her to use the paper bag he'd placed in the seat pocket to make her vomit when he saw she was feeling unwell, instead of politely offering it to her, as he did, noticing her feminine figure without a hint of malice. 

Although it wasn't necessary in the end, Taylor feared WHAT he might have expelled if he had, and the heaving in his stomach yielded nothing incriminating by the time he reached her destination. 

"Thank you very much," Taylor muttered, still unable to trust his vocal cords and throat, before opening the door and getting out of the car as he pulled up to the front of his dorm. 

As soon as he saw him disappear into the distance down University Avenue, he gave the driver top marks. He may have had the worst taste in music in history and a serious stomach problem with all that silent, lethal flatulence, but the strong air freshener masking the stench of his farts had also lessened the stench of sex and marijuana that Taylor was wafting all over his still-sticky, molasses-like skin. 

"I need a shower right now," he thought, sniffing through the neck of his shirt and suppressing a gag reflex. By a stroke of luck, he ran into almost no one on the way to his dorm. 

The only person he passed was scrolling on their phone, not paying attention to their surroundings, though he thought he heard them pause before turning the corner in the last hallway. 

To be continued… 

 . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .
Musical disclaimer: The song playing in the Uber is 'Dangerous' by Michael Jackson.

Constructive comments, bookmarks, opinions, kudos, and observed typos are always welcome.

Chapter Text

Chapter 5: Drift 

Once relatively safe behind his bedroom door, Taylor collapsed to the floor, landing on his buttocks, feeling the weight of his new form pressing against his soul as well as the tightness of his tight clothes.

For the briefest moment, a strange and unsettling silence reigned within and around him, calming him completely in that curled position. But that moment of Zen-like illumination shattered when he breathed more deeply than he could, feeling the unfamiliar curves of her breasts against his chest and the bones of his ribs.

After pulling himself up off the floor, Taylor nearly ran to his room, his heart racing and his thoughts racing, as he heard one of his neighbors' movements in the hallway through the door. He hadn't felt this vulnerable since what he thought would always be the most embarrassing night of his life, when his mother caught him watching porn on television.

From his nerves, he could barely reach the handle, shaking; he finally opened the door and slipped inside, hesitating whether to lock it or not, wrapped at last in the safety of the familiar room like an old, warm blanket he missed.

He took a deep breath, trying to compose himself, and looked around.

It was exactly as he'd left it: the bed unmade, only slightly made up; dirty clothes strewn across the floor around the large wicker basket he used to practice shooting basketball in; and a faint smell of the last fast food meal wafting through the air from the wrappers next to the computer.

His eyes stung and threatened to spill over with the first tears, so he sniffed at the wetness in his nose and rubbed his face with both hands to steady himself. He realized he didn't have time to waste on nostalgic thoughts and wallow in his past life of a week ago. He gathered all his toiletries into a bag (his favorite shampoo, his moisturizing body wash, his deodorants and aftershave, along with his razors and shaving cream) without pausing for a second to think that he really wouldn't need it all and headed straight for the bathroom he shared with his friend Rhys.

He removed the clothes that seemed stuck to him like an alien second skin, not daring to focus his gaze on the mirror. However, he couldn't help but let his eyes rest on the peremptory outline of his new breasts and the ominous concavity of his crotch.

A vision that still seemed surreal to him.

The transformation into a succubus had left behind a sexually intense landscape that captured his full attention; as he gazed over the sensual curves and lush valleys of her new figure, he found it both terrifying and fascinating.

His hands, now more delicate and gentle than before, moved hesitantly over his skin, not daring to touch it, with surprising grace and firmness. He turned the hot water on full blast without entering, waiting, and letting the steam saturate the shower stall.

Taylor took a deep breath and stepped into the heated space, feeling the cool tiles beneath his bare feet in stark contrast to the stifling haze he found himself immersed in.

Without a moment's hesitation, he stepped under the shower, and the warm embrace of the torrent washed away the sticky residue from the night before, as if the water itself were the gentle caress of a lover.

He closed her eyes and took a deep breath, trying to block out the overwhelming sensations (like the warm water cascading over her new, succulent skin, sending a shiver down her spine), focusing only on the task at hand.

Clean up all that filth!

He grabbed his sponge, and the roughness of the material against his skin sent a shiver down his spine. He began to lather the sponge, feeling the lather gather between his fingers and the bubbles pop when he pressed it. The strong scent of mint and citrus notes of his body wash stirred him. He'd done this hundreds of times in his life... except now it wasn't exactly the same.

Finally, he couldn't resist the truth any longer. He looked down; her voluptuous chest rose and fell with each breath. His eyes widened in sudden shock at the prospect. He took another deep breath, trying to rationalize his situation and process the sensation of having heavy breasts, sensitive to the touch of water droplets.

He reached out timidly, hovering over the new skin, and touched the softness of her breasts with the tip of the rough sponge very lightly, like the brush of a bird's feather as it falls to the ground.

He didn't notice anything.

"It's no big deal," Taylor said through gritted teeth after a stifled chuckle unexpectedly bubbled up from her throat.

Emboldened, he dared to do more; he ran the sponge over his breasts without restraint. The sensation as it scraped his nipples sent an electric shock through him that nearly knocked him to the cold, platelet-covered floor.

"Fuck!" he nearly screamed. His mind reeled as he realized he would feel everything far more intensely than ever before in his male body. Part of him wondered if this was how women must live their everyday lives, or if it was just the dark magic of the transformation that had occurred last night.

His determination drowned those doubts.

The hot water stung his eyes and washed away the unborn tears, mixing with the sweat and bodily fluids that had clung to his skin.

His hands, now more delicate and small than before, moved with surprising speed and grace, caressing the curves and valleys of his new figure with much greater gentleness and care, while he lathered with the sponge that seemed to feel like a ball of steel wool.

The copious, abundant foam slid over Taylor's unfamiliar contours, and he couldn't help but shudder at the sensitivity. It was as if every nerve ending sang in a cacophony of pleasure and pain; every touch and drop, even every bursting bubble, was resonating within her.

He washed for the next ten minutes as if his life depended on it, feeling every inch of his new body with a strange mixture of curiosity and disgust, scrubbing at the dried sweat and semen stains that patchily covered his skin. The warm water felt heavenly, a balm for his frayed nerves, and he let it cascade over his face, hoping it would help him think.

And He had a lot to think about...

Taylor didn't know how that cheap ritual had ever worked. From what he'd heard, the final induction ceremony into the Sigma Kappa Beta fraternity was some kind of cheeky joke they'd cooked up during a private Halloween party. Back in the '80s, '70s, or even '60s, when it was founded.

It all began with an absurd play on words between the brotherhood's initials and the creature of darkness they tried to summon with a Ouija board one fateful night in late October:

A succubus.

In reality, what was happening was that they secretly invited a prostitute dressed as a devil (instead of a Victoria's Secret Angel) into the house to fuck with the members in exchange for a lot of money.

All the paraphernalia the young man had seen (the red shrouds with hoods that hid faces, the black candles that barely illuminated, the Latin chants, and the strange ceremonial steps around the black mirror that left him disoriented) served the sole purpose of making it easier for the prostitute to surreptitiously hide among the men until she could make her spectacular appearance, stripping naked.

Ethically and morally, it was very wrong; Taylor knew this and had no intention of participating in the orgy, no matter how much peer pressure he received.

Point.

That's how it had to have happened.

Although all these details SHOULD have been kept secret, the fraternity's senior brothers had revealed them to the newbies throughout Hell Week, explaining that they didn't have to get involved if they didn't want to. The hoods and gloves that served to camouflage the prostitute and mask the participants also protected the anonymity of those who wanted to retreat to the safety of their rooms.

"No pledge would be rejected after midnight," Taylor had been told, not understanding the double meaning.

As the warm water pounded him rhythmically with its drumbeat, his mind suddenly turned to all the memories after the grandfather clock had struck. Taylor felt a sudden, intense arousal that swelled his insides and pushed aside all rational thought. He dropped the sponge and began to feel his burning, inflamed skin with his fingertips.

He tried to resist, to bind himself to the last vestige of his mind that followed the dictates of reason, but that impulse grew much stronger and more intense, driving him to explore her new form, to delight in the sensations of her delicate, new hands running over her curves and sensitive nipples.

To be continued… 

Constructive comments, bookmarks, opinions, kudos, and observed typos are always welcome.

Chapter Text

Chapter 6: Reflect 

The crescendo of pleasure grew with each caress, each touch becoming a choral symphony of sensations. Taylor's overheated body reveled in the new sexual surge; his mind was a whirlwind of conflicting emotions as the water cascaded over his feminine body.

Despite the horror of the situation, the intense excitement was palpable, an irresistible lure that grew stronger with every moment. His fingers danced over her skin, tracing the curves and contours that had once seemed so alien and unsettling, but which he now recognized almost as his own, with such energy and eagerness that they seemed to have a mind of their own.

His hand slid down her smooth, flat, peach-skinned stomach, reaching the base of her legs, and he gasped as his fingers brushed her pubis. The sensation was strange, but undeniably his. He moved lower still cautiously, shivering as he touched the soft pink folds between her matte hair. He felt a strange mix of fear and curiosity as he probed this uncharted terrain, like a cartographer in the middle of a jungle surrounded by unknown dangers.

His breath hitched as he pushed his hand deeper between her legs; the softness and wetness contrasted sharply with the roughness of the sponge beneath his feet.

He could feel that and much more, everything even.

His heart raced as his fingers sloshed in and out, in and out, throbbing like a wild stallion galloping through the fog of his thoughts as he approached the precipice of ecstasy.

He felt his body, now like hers, shudder and convulse, a silent scream caught in the throat of his confused identity.

The orgasm engulfed him like a tempest, a storm gathering force in his abdomen, threatening to consume him. Droplets of water sting his eyes like tears of pleasure and pain, a cacophony of sensations that merged as he reached the peak of climax.

The world around him seemed to fade away, replaced by a blinding white light that filled his vision and a wave of pleasure that resonated through every nerve ending in her skin and insides.

The reality of that orgasm hit Taylor like a sledgehammer of pleasure, his transformed body writhing under its force. He'd never experienced anything so profound, so overwhelming, his mind a whirlwind of emotions that seemed to tear him apart inside and out.

It was as if every particle of his being expanded into infinity, seeking something beyond its reach, only to be pulled back with a sudden, exquisite jolt, like the implosion of a star, of pleasure that left him trembling and breathing heavily.

The water cooled as the boiler ran dry, but Taylor didn't care. He was lost in the throes of his newfound sexuality, a part of himself beyond control still demanding more. He slammed the open palm of his hand against the shower tiles, the sound echoing in the small bathroom almost like a slap.

"STOP!" he screamed inwardly, but his body felt like it didn't belong to his. His other hand slid down, venturing down her stomach once more, but he balled it into a fist and pulled it back with difficulty.

Taylor's mind was a jumble of desire and disgust. He had always considered himself straight, but his body, transformed by the succubus's summoning, neither knew nor cared about those limitations nor the same taboos.

He felt the urge to succumb to that dark, hidden curiosity, discovering new heights of pleasure in the seductive, deep folds of her new feminine form.

Stepping out of the shower, the cold air hit Taylor like a right hook to the face, snapping him out of the trance he was in. He reached for the largest towel available in the closet, and instead of scrubbing his skin dry (as he would have done with his sturdy, tough, and solid male body), he slowly pressed the fluffy cotton to dry the moisture bit by bit, piece by piece.

He'd learned her lesson after overdoing it scrubbing in the shower with the sponge; that skin was like a giant scratch-off ticket. Taylor couldn't overdo it... or he'd pay the consequences.

Due to force majeure, it wasn't big enough, so he wrapped the towel around his waist instead of around his breasts, as he had seen women do.

It took a lot longer to tie another towel around her hair like a turban (Taylor had never had hair that long in his nineteen years, enough to practice), and when it came undone and almost fell off, he decided to throw it away, metaphorically speaking, and placed it behind his shoulders, thus covering his breasts as he fell forward, while her hair dripped like a clepsydra marking time.

drip-drip, drip-drip, drip-drip.

Before leaving the bathroom, he dared to contemplate his image in the fogged-up mirror, wiping away the condensation caused by both the steam from the hot water and her recent burst of arousal with the back of his hand. The reflection in the glass pane was a stark reminder of what he had become. He examined his body with a combination of genuine interest and desperate unease.

Taylor struggled to grasp the reality of his new form and analyze it coldly, with a clinical and methodical eye. He tried to ignore his body's ineluctable reaction to that image, the accelerated beat of her heart at the sight of his new curves outlined beneath the towels, and the sensation of his skin electrifying at the heat of his own gaze. But instead of feeling his penis swell with a rush of blood, his nipples were erect, peeking out like two small sentinels of his inner torment through the towel. And where his legs met, the stifling dampness and heat returned without a drop of the shower.

He focused on the part of his face, and when he realized he couldn't recognize himself, he was able to disengage from those lustful thoughts and twist his way away. Taylor was reminded of that typical phrase stenciled on the passenger side mirrors: Objects in mirror are closer than they appear.

Taylor's eyes searched the succubus's face for any feminine resemblance to her twin sister, Jude, that she could use as a reference, like a small North Star.

It was a truism, but he'd always assumed that if he'd been born a woman instead of a man, he'd obviously resemble Jude. But there was nothing, not a single trait, that connected her to his genes or anything remotely familiar on that level.

His cheekbones looked much fuller and more defined as he forced a smile to show off his white teeth, and his chin had the seductive, just-right tilt that Jude never had.

The arch of his eyebrows was also different, more diaphanous, as if they had been drawn with the delicacy of a master, curving upward at the tips in a way that seemed to invite further gaze and eye contact.

His irises were the only thing that remained, the same light blue as his and Jude's, but they had changed. Deep down, there was something... predatory about his gaze, something that made Taylor feel like a deer caught in the headlights of an oncoming car.

He knew he had to find some clothes to wear and face the outside world, but seeing that face reflected back at him was almost like looking at a supermodel in a magazine, or an influencer featured on social media, but with the unsettling, hair-raising twist that she moved right along with him.

His features were TOO symmetrical, his skin flawless after cleansing. The face the succubus had bequeathed her had a delicate, defined nose, a feature that could only have been created by the world's greatest sculptor. The succubus's lips were very different from Jude's, which were more innocent and extended horizontally. Their natural color, a soft red like early cherries, was just as full and lush, begging to be kissed.

"Wow!" Taylor exclaimed, swallowing hard. The ominous aftertaste of semen in his mouth was intensified now that his nose wasn't saturated with the stench that had been coming off all morning, and his senses were much more alert, with the spicy freshness of the mint serving as a contrasting bouquet.

He grabbed his toothbrush from the counter and, after putting a more than generous amount of toothpaste on it, began brushing his teeth in an almost manic and compulsive manner. He had to get that taste out of his mouth no matter what. Taylor ended up brushing his teeth, even using the toothbrush on her tongue, suppressing the gag reflex that churned his stomach and gargling her mouth several times... The most terrifying thing about last night was that he didn't find it repulsive or unfamiliar.

When Taylor finished, he noticed his throat felt stronger and more determined, although it still hurt a little when he swallowed, a result of the intense physical effort he'd been through. But he no longer felt as if his jaw had been unhinged after performing all those fellatios on the members of Sigma Kappa Beta.

He cleared his throat a couple of times and leaned on the counter, palms facing the mirror. Without realizing it, Taylor realized his posture had a certain sex appeal and corrected it by tightly crossing his arms defensively. Only to find that it now accentuated the cleavage formed by his brand-new breasts. He decided to stop, because there was no way that body wasn't tempting.

"Kitty caught the kitten in the kitchen," Taylor blurted out, raising his voice higher than he'd dared all day and with diction far more fluid than he'd ever managed in his life. He noticed right away that her tone had changed noticeably; it was much softer, more melodic but not over the top, and definitely much more... feminine. "She saw Sherif's shoes on the sofa. But was she so sure those were Sherif's shoes she saw? The cheeky monkey chattered ceaselessly, chomping on chewy chunks of cherries and chestnuts."

Taylor continued reciting all the tongue twisters he knew, trying to modulate his intonation each time and get used to the cadence. he didn't sound exactly like the succubus from last night, mischievous and sensual to the extreme, and that lifted his spirits more than he thought it would.

Deep down, hidden behind that sculpted body, that face that would make an angel weep, and that delicate voice that seemed like it could lull a baby to sleep, Taylor was still himself.

"My name is Taylor Leigh Reece," he tried to make that voice as deep as he could, in a clumsy imitation of his former life. But he came across as so ridiculous that he even let out a nasal chuckle typical of him, half like a donkey's bray, half like a pig's squeal.

The brief moment of humor was cut short when he heard her.

"Oh! Nice to finally meet you!" The succubus's voice, unmistakably hers, echoed in his skull like the sound of a large, empty room.

He screamed.

To be continued… 

Constructive comments, bookmarks, opinions, kudos, and observed typos are always welcome.

Chapter Text

Chapter 7: Foreplay 

Taylor's scream was half-strangled as she watched, wide-eyed, the female reflection in the mirror raise her arms and wave her hands to stop her screaming.

"Keep calm and stop screaming like a little girl," the succubus said in a soft whisper, putting a finger to her lips to ask him not to alarm the entire building.

Taylor's heart pounded in his chest, a wild staccato that seemed to echo in his new body as he took a discreet step away from the mirror. The succubus's voice had an unexpectedly cordial tone, not as playful as last night, a stark contrast to the horror his life had become. He didn't know if he should feel relieved or even more terrified.

"WHAT DO YOU WANT FROM ME?!" Taylor managed to utter in a furious hiss, his voice still shaking from his recent shock. "ARE YOU COMING TO EAT MY SOUL?!"

The succubus's relieved laugh that accompanied his question was a haunting, warm, and seductive sound, making him want to run away from her and hug her at the same time.

"No," the succubus replied, putting her hands on her hips as if jokingly offended, and then adding with her sing-song laugh, "I don't devour souls, nor drink blood, nor drain men of their lifeblood, leaving them as dry as a sack of jerky. All those gruesome things are just Hollywood clichés, to make more box office."

"Back off!" Taylor snapped, taking another step back as the succubus stood behind the reflection. He didn't want to be near the bathroom mirror; she had already stolen his body once before when he dared to touch the summoning ritual just as the succubus appeared.

"Why are you so hostile toward me, Boy?" she said, a pout forming on her lips, which carved an unusual dimple into her chin, one he swore he'd never had before. "I'm just here to talk about our new... situation. After all, I need to explain a few things to you about me and temptation."

Taylor's eyes widened.

He hadn't expected a real conversation with the creature that had taken over him. The succubus approached, leaning back on the counter and letting the two ends of the towel hang down, her breasts swinging slightly like one of those Newton's pendulums you used to see on the desks of people with money and plenty of time to be distracted by such things.

"Look, I know you're probably scared," she began, her voice as soft as velvet. "But you're the one who wanted to participate in the ritual to summon me, and now you're going to have to get used to this."

Taylor narrowed her eyes as she nervously clutched the towel around her neck, her mind racing. "What the hell are you talking about?" he snapped, somewhat confused, trying to regain some control over the situation. "I didn't know it was real!"

The succubus pressed her lips into a tight, circumspect line, rolled her eyes, and shrugged sarcastically.

"Well, you did say the incantation. And you did touch the mirror. Did you really think you'd summon a kitten?" she quipped, her eyes glinting with mischief.

Taylor felt his cheeks burn with anger. "That was a joke! I didn't expect this... this... monstrosity!"

The succubus stood up, offended, and clicked her tongue noticeably. "Okay, Boy, I'm going to overlook that insult because I know this is a tough call, and there isn't enough Vaseline in the world to get it on your... head."

Taylor felt a strange stirring in his stomach at the mention of lube, and he realized with horror that she was trying to seduce him again. "I don't want to be part of your sick games," he spat rudely.

The succubus tilted her head lazily and narrowed her eyes, as if deeply pondering his words. "Games, Boy?" she whispered soothingly after running her tongue over her lips. "I'm not playing. This is your reality now. And, to be honest, you enjoyed the show last night, didn't you?"

The boy's face flushed with a mix of embarrassment and anger as he recalled the events of the night before. The succubus had used his body to perform lewd acts with his fraternity brothers, all while he was trapped, unable to control his own reactions. He'd felt every sensation, every caress, every...

The night before...

The memory of the orgy assaulted him, a tsunami of sensations he couldn't escape. The feel of his frat brothers' firm pecs against his soft, ardent torso, the warm breath on his neck as they whispered obscene words in his ear, the softness of their skin as they moved together in sync. The sounds of the night returned: the grunts and moans, the rubbing of flesh against flesh, the wet sounds of pleasure that seemed to resonate in the marrow of his bones.

The room had been a sea of ​​writhing bodies, the candles casting flickering shadows on the walls that danced to the rhythm of their movements. The air was thick with the scent of sweat and lust, a potent cocktail that had once been repugnant to Taylor but now evoked a strange, intoxicating allure. He remembered how the succubus's eyes had glittered with pleasure, how she had reveled in the power she wielded over the men around her. It had been a scene worthy of a pornographic novel, but he had lived it, felt it, been a part of it.

The scene played out again in his mind, two men pushing into him, their eyes glazed with lust. The sensations had been intense, overwhelming, and utterly alien to his male perspective.

Then the grandfather clock struck one in the morning and the succubus pulled his penis out of her mouth, after he dumped his nasty load inside it, to announce to Taylor with a flirty smile, "Time for you to take over from me!"

I'm weak and I've gone hazy, yeah

She reached out with her free hand toward Taylor's spectral torso hovering nearby, and upon contact, his perspective shifted dramatically with a sharp jolt, like the impact of a car crash. Suddenly he was standing between the two fraternity brothers, instead of watching helplessly from the sidelines, and the succubus's dark, spectral silhouette levitated in front of him instead, grinning like a sly smile.

I'm crazy for that lady
She's chic but she's not shady, yeah
Sophisticated lady
And she makes me feel good
She's so fine

That was the height of surrealism and madness, it was almost as if Taylor had taken over from him in one of those fake choreographed wrestling matches.

Yeah!
Don't you know she blows my mind
All the time?
'Cause she makes me feel good
Like a real woman should
Yeah!
She's so mine
Yeah!

He could feel the succubus's snaking tail twisting and thrashing, and his mind tried to process the movement of his wings, which began to open and close spasmodically due to his lack of experience with such appendages. Taylor wanted to take flight and get away from the room as quickly as possible, but he didn't seem to have enough strength.

I'm weak and I've gone hazy yeah

"Watch out for those toys!" warned another of Sigma Kappa Beta's newest members, Oliver 'Ollie' Grant, who had just completed Hell Week with Taylor, still believing those leathery wings were part of a well-crafted costume.

I'm crazy for that lady
She's chic but she's not shady yeah
Sophisticated lady

Taylor stood up as best she could, still receiving the pounding from behind, and leaned on Ollie, who seemed to be helping him. But he didn't see in time how his erect cock, covered by another condom, rammed him from the front in a hug, sinking into his pussy with a quick and very rough movement. Taylor rolled his eyes in shock; the sensation of being so full almost made him lose consciousness.

And she makes me feel good
And she makes me feel good
And she makes me feel good
She's so fine

"Hang in there, Boy," the succubus exclaimed, giggling, giving the thumbs-up sign. "We'll switch again when the clock rings again, what do you think?!" she added, and before he could even reply, she vanished with a quick flap of her wings.

The sensations were intensely opposite, like nothing Taylor had ever felt. The two fraternity brothers inside him couldn't contain themselves; their completely uncoordinated and erratic thrusts took him to the brink of pain and pleasure in a macabre dance.

Taylor was like a rag doll, used by these men who had declared themselves his friends. But their desire for him, for the succubus, overshadowed any sense of camaraderie he could have supplicated.

With each thrust, Taylor felt his new body stretch and mold like wet clay, accommodating itself to them, his walls clenching around their cocks instinctively, even though his mind screamed in protest.

But as the rhythm grew more frantic, something strange began to happen. He's started to feel... good. His thoughts grew hazy as pleasure began to coil through his body like smoke, filling every fiber of his being. He felt himself getting wet, his body's natural lubrication aiding the relentless pounding.

"I only have to hold on for an hour," Taylor said to herself, counting the frantic beats of his heart pounding in his eardrums.

With that sudden surge of acceptance, Taylor lay back on his back, surrendering to the sensations. He felt the succubus's influence fade as he took control, if only for a moment. His hand rose and found the frat brother's neck, pulling him down to attempt a deep, ravenous kiss.

The taste of tequila mixed with Brad's cum, filling their mouths, a strange and uncomforting cocktail amidst the chaos. Taylor's eyes shot open, meeting Ollie's stunned gaze. Ollie froze mid-thrust, his eyes wide with confusion and a hint of disgust. Taylor realized his mistake and pulled away, his cheeks flushed with an inexplicable blush.

The succubus, however, hadn't disappeared. She was there, watching him from the shadows, a satisfied smile on her lips. "You learn quickly, Boy," she whispered, out of earshot of Taylor, who nodded in agreement.

Ollie's thrusts grew more vigorous, driven by the passion in Taylor's eyes. He leaned in to kiss Taylor's neck, his breath hot and ragged. Taylor felt the succubus's influence stir within him again, but this time, it didn't feel so foreign. He arched his neck, granting Ollie better access, and was surprised by the shiver of pleasure that raced down his spine.

Tonight I'll be your naughty girl, I'm
Callin' all my girls
We're going to turn this party out.
I know you want my body

"An hour," he reminded himself, as other brothers took over from Ollie.

Tonight I'll be your naughty girl, I'm
Callin' all my girls
I see you look me up and down
And I came to party

He could feel the way their muscles had tensed and relaxed around him, the feeling of being filled and used for their pleasure, even though it was his body doing the filling. It was a surreal and disturbing experience, one that made him feel both violated and oddly alive.

You're so sexy
Tonight I am all yours, boy
The way your body
Moves across the floor, boy
Feelin' kind of NASTY, why I just might take you home with me

The hour seemed to drag on, and every time Taylor thought it was over, another fraternity brother would take his turn, drawn by the irresistible allure of that body. Despite his initial horror, Taylor found himself lost in the sensations like a castaway without a compass, his mind in a fog of lust and confusion.

He only knew at the end that that hour had seemed too... short for his liking.

Back to the present...

Taylor felt a blush creep up his neck; now his cheeks burned with pure embarrassment. "It was you," he protested weakly. "I didn't want any of that in the first place!"

The succubus leaned closer to the mirror, her reflection grinning wickedly. "But your body did," she said with a knowing wink. "And let's not forget, you're the one who decided to explore those new feelings in the shower."

Taylor's thoughts were racing. How could he convince her to leave? How could he reverse this... whatever this was? "No way," he began, trying to keep his voice steady, "I'm not cut out for this. I want my old life back, my old body. Please, just let me go and give me back my old self."

The succubus raised her arms as if imploring the heavens for help and turned around, allowing Taylor to admire her barely towel-covered bottom from an unusually suggestive perspective, which made him gulp... realizing that it was now his.

"Hallelujah!" she swore, clapping and whistling, as if cheering at a game, when she looked over her shoulder at him. "Finally, we're speaking the same language, boy!"

"What are you saying?" Taylor objected, staring at her with wide eyes in disbelief. The succubus bit her lip, not in a falsely innocent or intentionally sensual way, but in a timid way. "CAN'T YOU JUST GET AWAY FROM ME?!"

The succubus sighed dramatically and leaned her palms on the sink, the water from her hair trickling down her bare back. "Look, Taylor," she spoke with genuine gentleness, he felt something stir in his soul. "I didn't exactly sign up for this either. But here we are, so let's not make it worse than it has to be. I thought it would be much better if we talked a little. We've been fucking together all night, but I think we can get to know each other in a less... biblical way."

Taylor's jaw dropped. Was she serious? Did she expect him to just accept this? "How do I know I can trust you?" he managed to ask, his voice barely above a whisper.

"Ask me anything and I'll answer," she promised immediately with a pearly smile that left him breathless.

Taylor felt his legs tremble with anticipation. The succubus offered him a glimmer of sanity and hope, something he hadn't felt since waking up in this nightmare.

He took a deep breath and asked the first thing that came to mind: "What's your name?"

To be continued… 

. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

Musical Disclaimer: The songs played during the flashback are 'Lady' by Lenny Kravitz and 'Naughty Girl' by Beyoncé.

Constructive comments, bookmarks, opinions, kudos, and observed typos are always welcome.

Chapter Text

Chapter 8: Parley 

The succubus tilted her head, her smile turning into a tight grimace. Unexpectedly, her hands balled into fists, she looked down at the ground, avoiding eye contact with Taylor, and finally slapped her forehead. 

"Argh!" She let out a squeal of frustration. "Damn it! You just asked the one question I could never answer!" 

Taylor stared at her, completely baffled. "How come you COULDN'T tell me your name?!" 

The succubus gave a slow, deliberate shrug, her frustration evident. "It's complicated, okay?!" She exploded in a squeak. "It's like asking a fish to walk on water. Some things just aren't meant to be." 

She leaned against the tiled wall at the far end of the bathroom, ostensibly to strike a sensual pose for him, but hugged herself, as if suddenly stricken with cold. 

Taylor felt his heart clench as he watched her gaze drift off into space. "So, you're telling me you can't tell me your name because... why?" 

The succubus took a deep breath, her chest rising and falling so that her towel bobbed even more precariously. "Because, I've never had a name, Taylor, as you would say it," she said, turning to look into his eyes. Before he could speak, she added, "Every time I'm summoned, I receive a different name. It's like... a password to my identity. And that password is protected from me. I can't hear it, I can't remember it if I were to hear it, and I can't say it out loud if I were to somehow learn it." 

Her eyes focused on him, searching for some sympathy. Taylor felt a pang of pity. "But I can give you a name," he offered after a moment of awkward silence. "Choose one, whatever you want to call yourself..." 

The succubus looked at him, her expression deepening as she twisted her face into a contrite grimace, as if deeply terrified. "No, no, no... NO! That's... it's not that simple!" she said in a tone of pure shock. "I can't give myself a name, I can't even... think of... It's like... like the Mimblewimble spell..." 

"You like Harry Potter too?!" Taylor snapped. 

The succubus rolled her eyes and playfully slapped her forehead this time. "No, you LIKE Harry Potter, so I KNOW about Harry Potter."

Taylor felt a strange sensation in his chest, something like... amusement? Was he really starting to get used to it? The absurdity of the situation was beginning to fade, and in its place, a kind of morbid curiosity emerged. "So, you know everything about me?" he asked, his voice calmer and more circumspect. 

The succubus nodded half-heartedly. "Sort of, yeah." She waved her hand in the air like a trembling leaf. "Everything you know, everything you've seen, felt, heard... it's all here." She tapped her index finger against her temple. "But nothing more. I don't have access to any of your deepest thoughts." 

Taylor felt a twisted comfort in that revelation. "So you don't know what I'm thinking right now?" 

"I can form a vague idea," the succubus smirked, falsely smug. 

Taylor squinted at her, his mind racing. If she didn't know his deepest thoughts, it meant there was still a glimmer of privacy in the madness. He took a step closer, feeling the chill of the tiles beneath his feet. "Then why does it seem like you're in my head all the time, watching me?" 

The succubus's smile grew more mischievous. "Because we're in the same body all the time," she said, her eyes twinkling with mischief. "It's like we're roommates in a tiny apartment with very, very thin walls. We're going to be sharing a lot more than just space." 

Taylor felt a chill run down his spine like a stream of ice-cold water, and it wasn't because his hair was still dripping. The idea of ​​this creature being a constant presence in his life was unsettling. 

But as she looked at him again, his expression softened. "I know it seems like a blatant violation of your privacy, but you don't have to worry. Almost every memory I have of you will fade once I'm gone..." she trailed off. 

Taylor felt his heart drop into her stomach. "Gone?" 

The succubus nodded, toying with the ends of the towel in a tug-of-war, occasionally revealing a hint of a nipple. 

"Normally, once the summoning period is over, I'll leave this place, leaving only your memories in your head. But," she added quickly, as if to express a sudden thought, "this whole situation is far from what would be 'normal' for me." 

Taylor felt his hope fade. "What do you mean?"

The succubus sighed and leaned back against the wall; the towel slipped slightly, revealing the curve of her waist. "I mean," she began, meeting his gaze, "I'm usually summoned for a one-night stand or even an hour-long quickie. I should have been cast out long before dawn... And it's not very 'normal' for you to be my receptacle either. This is my first time in a male body, and I've had to do tricks with what I have at hand." 

Taylor felt his cheeks heat up at the thought of being a 'receptacle' and the implications of what she'd just said. 

"So, you're telling me you're stuck inside me... with me?" he asked, a mixture of surprise and concern in his voice. 

The succubus nodded, a sad smile playing on her lips. "Yes, like a genie in a bottle, but the bottle is your body, and I definitely don't grant wishes." 

Taylor's mind spun with the revelation. He was stuck with her, and she with him. It was a twisted symbiosis that apparently neither of them would have ever accepted. He felt his heart race faster than a rabbit fleeing a predator. 

"Why me?" he whispered in an angry hiss, searching for answers with his gaze in the reflection of the succubus, who was surprised by his outburst. "Why did you choose me?" 

The succubus narrowed her eyes in irritation. "I didn't choose you," she said, her tone both reassuring and firm. "You all performed the summoning ritual, gave me a body to inhabit. You brought me into this world." 

Taylor felt the floor sink beneath him. "But why me?" he repeated, his voice cracking with desperation, remembering that part of the summoning in particular. "Why was it my candlelight that turned purple? There were over thirty members of Sigma Kappa Beta at that..." 

"Thirty-seven," the succubus interrupted. "I counted thirty-seven... well, you-know-what," she explained, gesturing hesitantly with her fingers in front of her. On one side of the mirror, still fogged up, appeared an almost childishly drawn dick. Taylor almost wanted to laugh and cry at the same time, seeing the nameless succubus futilely trying to be considerate of him. 

"But why me?" Taylor insisted stubbornly, his voice shaking. 

The succubus looked away, a hint of bitterness in her eyes. "It's... complicated," she said softly. "The ritual chose you out of all of them. Your essence was... more in tune with mine, with my purpose, I guess you could say. It's like when you look at histocompatibility in a transplant, except that last night you donated your entire body to me."

Taylor felt dizzy; he had to get out of there, get away from it all for a second. He took a deep breath, but the atmosphere felt very oppressive; his body felt alien and drained. He had to find a way, any way, to reverse all of this, to get back to his life. On shaky legs, he turned to leave the bathroom and turned his back on the image of the succubus. 

The doorknob felt cold and unyielding beneath his trembling hand, but he managed to open it with a creak. The bedroom contrasted starkly with the damp, dimly lit bathroom. The bright midday lights made him squint and blink as his eyes struggled to adjust. 

To be continued… 

Constructive comments, bookmarks, opinions, kudos, and observed typos are always welcome.

Chapter Text

Chapter 9: Unravel 

As Taylor adjusted to both the harsh reality and the natural light flooding the main room and making his head throb, he perceived the succubus in the back of his mind, like a second shadow emanating a mixture of curiosity and concern in equal measure.

"Are you okay, Taylor?" He heard her ask, not as a distant echo like a ventriloquist's trick, nor as a barely audible whisper coming from the bathroom. It was crystal clear, apparently without needing a mirror to initiate conversation. "Did I say something that made you feel bad?"

"I just need a little silence," he thought anxiously. Taylor narrowed his eyes at the starkness of his grim future. His mind was reeling from the succubus's words, and he needed a moment to process it all. He stumbled into his bedroom, almost walking blindly; the floor felt like jelly beneath his feet, but he was only imagining things.

The succubus remained silent, seemingly respecting his need for mental space. Yet he could feel her gnawing curiosity, as if her eyes were peering at him through his pupils, piercing him like sharp darts. Taylor took a few deep breaths, then four more, filling his new lungs with air that seemed far more meaningful in this foreign body. He opened his eyelids fully and looked around his room, searching for something familiar from his life to hold onto.

The room was a complete mess, typical of a college student's dwelling, but now it felt even more desolate, seemingly out of place with his new self. The video game posters on the wall, featuring images of sexy women armed to the teeth, the pile of dirty clothes in the corner, the books scattered on the floor, and the rumpled bed that gave off the stale scent of his former masculinity didn't offer him the solace he craved. His gaze fell on a framed photo of him with his high school friends from just a year earlier.

It was like looking into a different life, a time before this strange turn of events. He reached out to touch the glass, his hand trembling slightly, as if wanting to return. Through the faint reflection, he saw that his image was still that of the succubus and not the young man who had earned the title of valedictorian of his class; the emotions were still undeniably his own.

"If I had chosen to go to California, like Jude, instead of staying near Milwaukee..." he reflected glumly on the twists and turns of fate. His own mother had insisted that he not choose Madison as an alternative.

"Taylor?" the succubus murmured from the corner of the closet, only her face peeking out from behind the full-length mirror.

He gritted his teeth, making them grind, and brushed aside a hateful strand of hair that was still damp and did nothing but stick to his face.

"CAN'T YOU JUST SHUT UP FOR EVEN A MINUTE!" He glared at the closet door with pure rage before watching the succubus's head disappear in a flash.

With a sigh, suddenly realizing she couldn't hear his reproaches in his thoughts, Taylor walked over to his desk and opened the drawer. His hand hovered over a bottle of Advil and the other over the Tylenol, which he managed to rescue from the jumble of things.

The succubus's voice became hesitant in his head. "What are you doing?" she asked hesitantly, which he took for granted.

Taylor opened the bottles with two resounding 'pops.' "Just trying to get over last night's hangover," he replied, his voice choked, popping two pills from each bottle down his throat before she could say anything else.

The succubus emitted a sudden twinge of concern, which Taylor sensed through the synapses of his neurons, accentuating that strange headache with an added note of discomfort. "You don't usually take so many at once," she noted with a hint of anxiety in her voice.

Ignoring the comment and her inappropriate familiarity, Taylor dropped the bottles on the bed with a clink of pills. He grabbed the towel wrapped around his waist before the precarious knot he'd tied could unravel; it didn't seem to be proof against the sinuous curves of his new hips.

Drip-drip, drip-drip, drip-drip.

Taylor pressed his lips together in a grimace as he realized he'd have to dry his hair once and for all; his head looked like it had just dammed up half the Mississippi River.

"Damn! I'm going to have to get used to these melons someday!" he cursed under his breath as he removed the towel from around his neck, avoiding a glance at her breasts, and vigorously scrubbed that mountain of hair.

The towel was immediately soaked, and his hair was a complete tangle, stuck to his scalp like a thick, inextricable cobweb. Taylor's hand stopped as he looked at his comb on the dresser. It was one of those cheap plastic combs that came free in hotel rooms, and he doubted it could handle the knots he had at the moment.

He took the comb and began to run it through his hair, which was a tangle of curls and dampness. As he combed it, the pain each time he stumbled on a knot was like a thousand tiny needles stabbing into his scalp. He could feel the succubus's shudder in his mind, an unexpected empathy that didn't make the situation any less agonizing. He pulled harder, trying to ignore the tears stinging his eyes, and with each tug, the succubus's discomfort increased.

"Ow!" she moaned, with a tone of genuine pain, when one tug was particularly hard. He stopped, his hand in the air, the comb stuck in her hair like a ship in a stormy sea of ​​curls, and smiled meanly at the sight of this new body being a two-way street.

He didn't know if his twisted glee could be considered masochism or sadism, or perhaps the dictionary needed new words for their situation.

That long hair clung to his shoulders and back in a very uncomfortable and strangely sensual way, its soft, sharp, wet touch grazing every inch of his skin, like a blade dulled by blood.

It was very annoying and unsettling.

Taylor had always worn his hair cut mid-length. He couldn't stand it falling past his neck because it tickled the back of his neck. But now it fell like a theater curtain around his face, framing features that no longer belonged to him.

He clicked his tongue to get the succubus's attention, as she seemed to be trying to mentally distance herself from Taylor and that hair punishment.

"So," he began, trying to keep his voice steady, "you said we're in tune. What exactly does that mean?"

The succubus's silhouette appeared again in the closet mirror, her gaze fixed on Taylor, though he didn't return it. She looked him up and down (half naked, his hair ruffled like haystacks falling around his figure) with a sheepish smile on her full lips before answering. "It means your body and mind were much more... receptive to my essence. It's... well... almost like putting on a custom-made dress. Although honestly, I have much more experience taking clothes off than putting them on."

Taylor ignored the dirty joke and found himself strangely fascinated by the thought of his new skin, from the perspective the succubus had described. It was softer than any girl he'd ever been with, and he'd been with plenty. "But why would you want to enter a man's body?" he asked, trying to keep his voice from shaking.

The succubus tilted her head, crossed her arms, and narrowed her eyes thoughtfully. "Well, it's not something I'd normally choose, or accept," she admitted simply. "But also keep in mind that that auditorium was nothing but a sausage party. It was all guys! The ritual was looking for the most capable and malleable essence to bond with. And, apparently, the most... open, I suppose, was you."

Taylor clenched his jaw as he processed her words. He felt like a piece of Play-Doh picked out of a pile by a sadistic kindergarten teacher. He took a step back and dropped the comb to the floor with an ominous thud. "So I couldn't help being the frat's fuck toy? Is that what you're telling me?!"

The succubus withstood the storm at his harsh tone, but stood firm on the other side of the mirror. "No, that's not exactly what I meant," she corrected, her voice as smooth as silk against the glass. "You were the most... accommodating to my essence. The others had their reservations, their walls, their guards... you didn't."

Taylor felt a cold sweat run down his forehead as he realized the gravity of her words. Until last night, he'd always considered himself straight, never once contemplating being with a guy. But here he was, in a body that was the epitome of femininity, sharing it with a creature who enjoyed sexual encounters with men with an almost maniacal fervor. The very idea was like a punch in the gut, but being the fraternity's plaything again suffocated him inside.

The succubus felt his panic rising like bile in her throat, but she didn't know what to do to ease it. She had never been in a situation like this before. Taylor wouldn't have participated in the ritual as a receptacle, knowing what would happen to her at the climax.

"Look, Taylor," she began, her voice soothing and calm. "You're not suddenly gay because of this. Sexuality isn't a switch that flips. You're still you, just... last night you enjoyed not being you."

Taylor couldn't listen any longer. He covered his ears with his hands and squeezed his eyes shut, trying to block out her words.

"Really?" the succubus exclaimed, throwing up her arms in disbelief at the sight. "Are you going to act like a mommy's boy over something like that?"

Taylor's eyes shot open, and he whipped around to glare at the mirror.

"WHAT THE HELL DO YOU KNOW ABOUT BEING A MAN?!" he spat furiously, the words echoing harshly in the small room. The succubus's reflection grew serious, the playfulness vanishing from her features.

"I know enough," she said quietly. "I've been around for a very long time. I've seen and felt many things. But I admit I've never been in a situation like this, so I can't say I fully understand. All I know is that fear and anger are normal, but you better not make a mountain out of a molehill."

Taylor took a deep breath, trying to calm his racing heart. He knew she was right; he couldn't give in to despair, but the anger was still there, simmering beneath the surface. He turned away from the mirror and opened the closet door with a swift movement; the image of the succubus vanished as if he'd tripped her and pushed her out of the frame.

The smell of Axe deodorant and fabric softener from his mother's house washed over him like a wave of nostalgia. He rummaged through his closet, looking for something that fit, something that would make him feel like himself again, even if only for a moment. But as he pulled out his favorite T-shirt, he realized, with a feeling of foreboding, that it was hopeless. It was like trying to fit a watermelon into a pair of skinny jeans.

Taylor's heart sank as he lifted the shirt. He tossed it onto the bed, where it lay like a defeated flag. The succubus chuckled, seeing Taylor's predicament from the back of his mind. "Guess that's not your size anymore," she joked with a laugh.

Ignoring the succubus's amusement, Taylor opened a drawer and pulled out a pair of boxers, his last bastion of masculinity on this alien world. He pulled them up his legs, watching the fabric stretch over his new, smooth curves with a mixture of satisfaction and horror.

The succubus, still in his head, couldn't help but chuckle at the absurdity of the situation. "You know, these are surprisingly comfortable," she said with a tinge of wonder. Taylor rolled his eyes but couldn't help smiling slightly. It was the first moment of true connection they'd had since he woke up like her.

He pulled on the boxers, feeling the material embrace its new form in a way that was both strange and oddly familiar. But he didn't take off the towel he was wearing around his waist yet; he couldn't bear to see those killer legs again. The succubus giggled as she felt the sensation of cotton against her skin, "They're tight, but in a... good way?" she mused sensually, sounding almost curious.

Taylor rolled his eyes, trying to ignore the heat that flushed through his body at the sound of her cheeky comment. "Yeah, I guess," he murmured, his voice gruff. "It's what guys wear."

The succubus giggled again, the sound echoing in his head. "It's fascinating," she said, her curiosity piqued. "I've seen it, of course, but never felt it before. The way the fabric clings, it's like a sexy gentle hug."

Taylor felt a peculiar thrill at his words and a chill ran down his spine as he realized a detail he had overlooked.

"And how is that? Didn't you say you don't take memories from your vessels?" Taylor inquired, as if doubting the succubus's sincerity.

"Well, I can't remember the details of every single time they've summoned me," she said, her tone sounding defensive. "Anything concrete about who's summoning me is completely lost: names, faces, addresses, dates, and so on. But I always take a bit of the... essence of my receptacles with me."

Taylor's eyebrows shot up. "What do you mean by 'essence'?" he asked, feeling a little more curious despite himself.

"The experiences they've had and their way of being," the succubus explained in a pragmatic, almost academic tone. "That's why I consider myself female; something has 'rubbed off' on me over the millennia."

Taylor leaned against the wall, trying to wrap his head around the concept. "Millennia?!"

To be continued… 

Constructive comments, bookmarks, opinions, kudos, and observed typos are always welcome.

Chapter Text

Chapter 10: Cross 

The succubus rejoiced at Taylor's sudden stupor; he could almost feel a tickle in her abdomen writhing like a snake, coming from her desire to hold back a fit of laughter at him.

He heard her clear her throat before speaking again, though he didn't know how it was possible that she needed to make such an everyday gesture.

"I remember wearing a crinoline and being a lady-in-waiting to 'someone'..." She said the word with some reluctance, as if her tongue would burn at the mention of it, "In Victorian London, and I know there was a lot of fuss about the Jack the Ripper murders in the newspapers. I also vividly remember being chained in the cellars of a medieval abbey near Naples, alongside monks who were trying to exorcise me of a girl accused of patricide."

This time it was Taylor who had to clear her throat after swallowing, but she held back the urge to ask a question, as the succubus continued with her little bout of nostalgia.

"Let's see, I also remember seeing with my own eyes the first episode of the 'Fresh Prince of Bel-Air' series that was airing during a lesbian orgy I participated in, I think in Chicago or New York... I know there were skyscrapers and no ocean... Although it's very possible that the episode was a rerun," she concluded with a sarcastic tone. "And I believe the first time they called, it was using one of those Venus of Willendorf figures you see in museums. Although it's just a guess, it's all very confusing in this world..."

"In what way is it confusing?" Taylor asked, still alienated by the succubus's singular selection of lived experiences.

"Um..." she hesitated for a few tenths of a second. "I know those memories SHOULD be ordered differently, but every time I enter and leave a receptacle, they get completely jumbled up." She gave a slight sigh, which seemed to Taylor to be one of resignation.

"It's like trying to piece together a puzzle after someone's thrown it into a blender," she went on, "but I remember the feelings, the emotions, and the... urges." The way she said 'urges' had a particular emphasis that made Taylor's cheeks heat up, the upper and lower. "But the specifics of when and where... it's all just a blur."

Taylor took a moment to digest this revelation. The succubus was as old as civilization itself, yet here she was, trapped in the body of a college student. He could not fully comprehend the breadth of the experiences she had lived through.

"But what about you?" she asked, curiosity evident in her tone. "What's the most interesting thing you've ever done?"

Taylor stared at her reflection, the absurdity of the question slapping him in the face like a wet fish. "Well," he began, his voice thick with sarcasm, "I've never been a lesbian, Victorian prostitute, or medieval demon bride, so I'd say I've led a pretty vanilla life."

The succubus's eyes widened, a hint of curiosity sparkling in her gaze. "Vanilla?" she repeated, and Taylor could feel the amusement in her voice as she processed the term. "Ah, I see," she said with a knowing smile.

"Yeah," he said, his voice flat. "I was your typical college student before this shit show started. Classes, parties, video games... the usual."

"And that time you had sex with Amanda Whitaker and her sister?" The succubus burst out, flipping through his memories as if they were a gossip magazine.

Taylor felt his face turn scarlet. "That's none of your business," he snapped, trying to keep his voice low despite the embarrassment that burned through him like wildfire.

The succubus's laughter washed over him like a warm summer breeze, her mirth so potent it was almost tangible. "Oh, but that's precisely the kind of business I'm into!" she exclaimed, her voice singing with amusement. "After all, we're sharing a body here. Besides, it's not every day a creature like me gets to live the life of a frat boy. It's like watching a never-ending episode of 'Animal House.'"

Taylor's jaw tightened.

"Do you know what day it is tomorrow?" he asked, feeling a knot form in his neck from the tension and his head still feeling feverish, despite the painkillers he'd taken.

"Star Wars Day?" the succubus joked with a dry laugh that received no reply from him. "Argh, I know, I know that; OF COURSE I know that!" She replied frantically, finding herself cornered.

Taylor's eyes narrowed, his mind fighting with the potential consequences of his predicament. "Tomorrow is when the end-of-semester exams begin!" he said through gritted teeth. "How the hell am I supposed to sit in class with... with this pair?" He gestured to his transformed body, pointing at his own breasts with his hands as if cradling them.

The succubus's expression grew curious, the plight in her eyes fading. "Well, that is a conundrum," she admitted.

"I've got a fucking 3.98 to maintain, and you call it a 'conundrum'?!" Taylor echoed, his voice rising in disbelief. "And it's not just exams. I have a video call with Mom on Monday, I have to hand in a chemistry project I was behind on, and... I can't even find an outfit that fits!" He exploded, locked in rage.

"Well, I'm sure one of Rhys's might work for you," the succubus suggested, mentally retreating into Taylor's head.

"Great!" he mortified himself caustically, thinking of the loose Hawaiian shirts and baggy cotton shorts his roommate wore because he was overweight.

He grabbed his phone from the bedside table, scrolling through his notifications with trembling fingers. There were no new messages from Rhys or anyone else, but he knew it was only a matter of time before that would change if he wasn't in sight.

"I can't hide in here forever," Taylor muttered, his eyes flickering over to the towel tentatively. He brushed back the stray strand of hair that had fallen across his face with a weary huff. He untied the towel around his waist and lifted it up to his breasts, now that they were in boxer shorts.

He took a deep breath and stepped out into the hallway, his new body moving with an eerie grace that was not his own. The succubus remained silent, watching him through his eyes like a silent film director observing her star. He approached Rhys's door, feeling a strange mix of trepidation and excitement.

Fortunately, Rhys hadn't locked the door.

Taylor pushed it open and stepped into his roommate's domain, a haven of neatness and cleanliness. The room smelled faintly musky, which Taylor hadn't noticed before. He cringed and took a deep breath before diving right in.

The succubus remained silent as Taylor scanned the room, his eyes landing on a garish Hawaiian shirt, the kind that could give a clown a fashion crisis, tossed over the chair in the corner. It was the only piece! And as it had two loose buttons about to fall off! Apparently, the universe had a sadistic sense of humor.

Rhys normally did the laundry on Friday nights, but had changed his inflexible habits for some unknown reason.

With a grumble, Taylor picked up the shirt and held it against his transformed body. The material was light, the colors vibrant and obnoxious. He felt a twinge of hope that the shirt's loudness might be enough to distract people from his new... assets.

But as he pulled it on, the succubus took a deep breath through his nose. "Mmm, wow, Rhys smells delicious!" She said in a trill of her in his mind, the scent of his roommate was surprisingly exciting, and Taylor realized it was the closest he'd ever been to him in that moment.

"Delicious, in what way?" he asked, alarmed by the avalanche of sensations pouring from the succubus. His stomach growled at that precise moment in a disturbing way.

"Sexually, of course," she purred from the base of his neck, descending downward. "No matter what you've heard or seen in the movies, I don't eat anyone."

Taylor rolled his eyes, but couldn't ignore the way his stomach did a strange little flip at the mention of sex. He tied the shirt tight around his waist, trying to make it into a makeshift dress that would cover the lower half of his body.

"But will you eat... something?" he asked, his voice cracking with fear.

The succubus chuckled, the sound resonating in the quiet room. "I eat the same things you do: pizza, ramen, hot dogs, chilaquiles, and all kinds of takeout junk food," she said, her voice a caress. "And right now, I'd give anyone a blowjob for a nice plate of churros with chocolate."

Taylor swallowed hard, trying to ignore the seductive whisper in his ear, and the sudden, intense hunger that washed over him.

"But what about... you know, the soul part?" he managed to ask, his voice shaky. He closed Rhis's door behind him, tiptoeing through the halls of the residence, even though no one could be heard.

"Oh, that," she said, in a tone that made Taylor imagine her waving it off. "I don't eat souls. That's a total Hollywood and Dungeons and Dragons invention. I just feed off YOUR lustful energy. It's like... a symbiotic relationship. You get to indulge, I get to survive. Win-win."

Taylor felt his face go pale. "So, when we... you know, have sex... you get... 'fill'?"

He twisted one of the unruly strands of hair that hung down between his fingers, swaying above the neckline outlined by his Hawaiian shirt.

"More like 'satisfied' is the correct word," the succubus replied wearily. "Okay, I don't like to use this analogy, because what I have isn't an illness, but I am something of a nymphomaniac, an addict... But I don't crave only sex, Taylor. I crave... companionship. Desire. Pleasure."

Taylor's stomach flipped again, but this time it wasn't from nausea. He felt something strange stirring inside him, something he didn't quite understand. He walked into his bedroom, the succubus's words echoing through his head.

He looked in the mirror again, and the succubus's reflection was dressed in the Hawaiian shirt, looking like a pin-up girl from the '50s with a dark twist. Her eyes glinted with mischief as she twirled a finger around a lock of his hair.

"Oh, my God!" he cursed inwardly at the sight. "There's no way I can survive like this another day!" There wasn't a student, professor, or man with blood in his veins who wouldn't try to get into his... boxers.

"Can you turn me back?" He asked her, hope flickering in his voice like a candle in a storm. "Undo those 'tricks' you played on me and go back to being just a guy?"

The image in the mirror shifted, revealing the succubus's expression, which had become serious and thoughtful, her eyes fixed on his in the mirror. "I wish it were that simple," she said with a sigh that seemed to come from deep within her. "Transformation isn't like a costume you slip on and off easily. It's..."

"Complicated?" Taylor guessed.

The succubus rolled her eyes.

"I know I'm repeating myself like a broken record!" she replied with a nervous bounce on her heels. "It's more like a... merging of essences at the quantum level... like a reconfiguration of an element's electron shell."

Taylor's eyes glazed over, trying to follow her metaphysical explanation, which for some reason made a minimum of sense.

"So, you're saying it's like 'spin'?" Taylor raised an eyebrow in a gesture of extreme doubt, but it looked incredibly sexy with his current face, although he couldn't see it in the reflection in the mirror.

"Eureka!" the succubus sang happily, almost wanting to clap her hands. "This body you're looking at, which you dared to call a 'monstrosity' before, despite being one of my finest works," the punctuation mark added with a hint of artistic pride, "is something of an altered state of your 'real self,' but deep down, your original physical structure still exists."

Taylor felt a spark of hope. "So, can we reverse it?"

The succubus's eyes widened, her expression frantic, and she grabbed a strand of hair as if she were about to pull it out. "That's the crux of the matter that makes this 'complicated'... You SHOULD have already returned to your original form when you woke up!"

To be continued… 

Constructive comments, bookmarks, opinions, kudos, and observed typos are always welcome.

Chapter Text

Chapter 11: Cut 

Taylor felt the blood drain from his face. "What?!" he exclaimed, his voice a tottery mess of panic and disbelief.

The succubus took a deep breath, her chest rising and falling in a way that was far too mesmerizing for Taylor's liking. "It's like this," she began, her voice calm and soothing, as if I were explaining that there was no Santa Claus to a kindergartener. "When I enter a receptacle, that person's consciousness is temporarily disconnected from reality. Normally, I'd be out of here by now, and you'd be back to your human self, with only a hangover to show for it, and your memories would seem like nothing more than a good dream... a bad dream, I mean, of course."

Taylor's heart pounded in his chest, the throb of an arrhythmia, his new succubus body feeling tighter, more alien than ever. "But that's not what happened," he stated, his voice barely above a whisper.

"Correct," she replied, her voice as smooth as the silk sheets he had once dreamed of seeing a girl like her on. "You were able to approach me during the ritual and think for yourself. I was also able to transfer with you during the ritual several times..."

Taylor felt like he was drowning as he remembered taking turns with the succubus over and over again at every hour the old grandfather clock ticked. He'd tried to reject that sick game, but he couldn't help himself.

"But aside from that," the succubus continued, ignoring Taylor's plight, "there's the fact that I'm also conscious right now and was able to learn your name... I mean, to hear it from your own mouth, to be able to remember it and say it. It shouldn't be possible, Taylor." She spoke his name as if to emphasize her point.

"Is that why you said it was something like 'a password'?" The college student muttered in a huff. He shook his head slightly in confusion, his hair once again becoming mussed like haystacks after a tornado. "I thought that only applied to your name. Not mine!"

"Names, appellations, tags, and labels have a special power over me," the succubus commented, muttering softly, lowering her head in the mirror's reflection. "Although over the centuries your mythology and religion have grotesquely distorted that relationship and... What I was saying," she focused, blinking several times as if to wipe away the beginnings of tears, "is that normally there would be a protective wall between our consciousnesses, and we wouldn't be able to communicate properly. This, like in the movie 'Ladyhawke,' in which the main characters..."

"I haven't seen that movie," Taylor replied immediately, shrugging and narrowing his eyes. "I don't even know it."

He saw how the succubus looked up at the ceiling and put her arms akimbo. It was a very sensual position that would have looked great on a poster at any gas station or wanking student's dorm, and starred in countless erotic dreams, but at that precise moment it conveyed a deep feeling of sublime satiety.

"I'm not giving you any spoilers, Taylor!" she said, returning her gaze to his. "I just didn't want to use the Hulk as an example, because Bruce Banner and he are two parts of the same being, not just a bout of schizophrenia with extra powers," she commented with complete familiarity, waving her hand in front of her in a dismissive gesture, "they're not independent fused beings, like Venom and Eddie Brock are, and neither are the two of us in our case. But," she added, seeing Taylor's wide-eyed look, "I'm not some kind of parasite, nor (I'll repeat this) am I killing or devouring anyone. Please don't be scared."

Taylor had frozen completely to the spot, not moving a single muscle.

But the boy's astonishment didn't stem from supernatural cannibalism or anything like that; he was simply absorbed in the thought that it was better if the succubus and Rhys never met. He came to the conclusion that there would be many, perhaps too many, absurd discussions about comics, science fiction sagas, and such geeky stuff.

"So there's no wall between us, and that's bad," Taylor recapitulated, his voice firmer, after coming back to himself.

"Bad, no, just not the usual and..." the succubus left the end of the sentence hanging in the air when she saw Taylor move.

She sat on the edge of the bed, and with great flexibility, she brought both legs up in a single movement, placing her elbows on her knees and cradling his face between the palms of her hands.

He felt his chin and cheeks so differently without the scratchy, several-day-old stubble, which barely covered his goatee and hid his face completely, feeling his forehead, which no longer throbbed with pain and fever.

"In the few long-term summonings I've been involved in," the succubus continued, her voice a little hushed and not as soft and harmonious as before, "I would remain unconscious for much of the time, until the one performing the ritual spoke my name aloud. Then the woman who was my receptacle would lose consciousness, and I would exchange forms with her, sometimes taking my form or keeping hers."

Her eyes grew distant, lost in memories that were not quite her own, but felt as real as the body they shared. "But there was always a wall. A division," she stressed. "I was in control, but I didn't know her, couldn't hear her. That's why, when I perceived you in that auditorium connected to me and saw you floating on the ceiling, I was... intrigued."

Taylor swallowed hard, his eyes darting around the room as if expecting an answer to fall from the ceiling tiles. "So, what's different this time?" he asked, his voice a mix of curiosity and dread.

The succubus leaned back, her hands dropping to her thighs. "Actually, almost everything," she began, her eyes glinting with a hint of the mischief that seemed to be part of her very essence. "When I'm summoned for an orgy, I'm like a female Viagra and a self-esteem boost with the added bonus of granting a killer body that ignites the desire of everyone present..."

"Come on, you're the life of the party, aren't you?" Taylor chimed in sarcastically, his voice muffled between his palms.

The succubus rolled her eyes, which looked eerily beautiful even with his new face. "I don't just appear for a quick fuck, Taylor," she chastised gently. "I've been summoned by those seeking companionship, excitement, knowledge, and even the chance to participate in a gala ball with a beauty on their arm," she said with a mocking smile that suddenly turned very serious. "But there are also those who aren't content with frivolities and seek power, domination, and to use me as a weapon or spy."

Taylor dared to part his fingers a little and look at her through them on the other side of the mirror.

"I've told you before that I don't kill people, and it's true, but my name is the key to my existence in this world, and it means control over me," she continued, her voice dropping to a whisper. "With it, whoever summoned me can manipulate me at will and force me to do things that are much worse than fucking like wild cats."

Her eyes searched his, and for a moment Taylor felt a flicker of something he couldn't quite name. Empathy? Regret? Whatever it was, it was gone as quickly as it had come.

"Is that why you stared at the Sigma Kappa Beta member officiating the ritual?" Taylor rasped, his voice cracking a little, recalling that specific moment in the ceremony. "Did he... know your name?"

The succubus nodded, her eyes slightly reddened, as if on the verge of tears.

"Yes," she whispered, her voice a caress that sent a shiver down Taylor's spine, "he knew my bestowed name. And knowing it, he had absolute power over me."

"Like a hypnotist's mind tricks," Taylor murmured, trying to process the information with a wry tone.

"Yes, but no," the succubus replied. "It's a stronger kind of control; all he has to do is say my name, and I'll do worse things than croon the national anthem. Ordinary hypnosis can't force you to do what's beyond your nature. As a human, you have a choice; I don't."

Taylor didn't feel like he had any choice last night. Although he had ultimately enjoyed the new, thrilling sensations the succubus had provided with her body, taking him to previously unexplored limits, he didn't initially have the opportunity to refuse.

That was pure rape.

The succubus's words floated in the air, raw and cold. Taylor felt a chill run down his spine, clutching his temples with his fingers and digging them into his tangled hair.

"Argh!" he cried in frustration as he felt a tug on a loop that looked like barbed wire. "I can't take it anymore!"

He abruptly shot up from the edge of the bed and rummaged through his desk drawers until his hand closed around something cold and sharp. He turned around, and in the mirror, the succubus's eyes grew wide with horror as she saw him hold a craft knife.

"WHAT ARE YOU DOING!?" She shrieked, her voice a siren's wail in his head.

The knife gleamed in the dawn light, a silvery-white line of fire that threatened to break the silence. He looked at the succubus in the mirror; her expression was one of fear, disbelief, and sorrow.

"Taylor, no!" she yelled, the panic palpable. "You can't do this to me!"

"Just a few quick cuts and that's it," Taylor muttered, hefting the tool.

The succubus's eyes grew even larger. "Taylor, no! Please! That's not the answer!" she begged, her voice trembling with genuine fear. "We'll find a way to fix this mess so I can get out of your life... I'll stop making dirty jokes, okay? But for God's sake, don't do it!"

Taylor looked at her reflection in the mirror, his grip tightening on the craft knife. "What are you talking about?" he asked, his voice shaking with confusion.

The succubus's eyes grew wet, her lashes fluttering as she stared at him in horror. "You can't just end it like this!" she pleaded. "There's more to this than you know!"

But Taylor was beyond listening. He took a deep breath, brought the craft knife, and sliced ​​through the strands of his hair with a fierce determination. The succubus watched in shock as he hacked away, the strands falling to the floor like dead snakes.

"What the hell are you doing?!" she asked in his head, her voice a tornado of doubts.

Taylor, surprised by the succubus's reaction, paused mid-chop, the craft knife hovering in the air just above a lock of hair. "I'm trying to cut my hair, at least if you stop yelling at me."

The succubus's eyes grew even wider. "Cutting your hair?" she echoed, her voice a mix of disbelief and relief. "But you looked so... determined."

Sudden realization flooded Taylor's face like a cold shower. He looked at the knife and then back at himself in the mirror. "What? No!" he chuckled at the absurd misunderstanding, and the tension in his shoulders visibly dissipated. "I'm not trying to kill myself."

The succubus narrowed her eyes as she understood his words; her fear slowly turned to irritation. "Are you going to cut your hair?" she repeated in disbelief. "With THAT?"

"Yeah," Taylor shrugged. "It's a little... rebellious. And I suppose you know that the only scissors I had were lost the last time I lent them out."

The succubus rolled her eyes and sighed in relief, her shoulders slumping dramatically. "Bloody hell!" she murmured, her voice still shaking. "You had me worried for a second there."

"No, you've made me nervous before!" Taylor accused harshly. "You told me there's a frat guy out there who can manipulate you like a puppeteer with just a word and a snap of his fingers."

"Actually, he doesn't need to snap..." she began to correct him, but caught her breath.

Taylor signaled to the succubus to let her reflect in the mirror. "I'll have to disguise myself and leave town. As soon as he realizes I'm nowhere to be seen, he'll know I was the one who transformed into you last night. I won't allow you to be manipulated against your will."

The succubus remained silent, a lump in her throat that Taylor felt in his own, and a warm sensation ran through her body that, for once, wasn't the product of lust.

Taylor gave her a shy smile, loosening his grip on the knife. "Sorry," he said, a little embarrassed, in a very low voice. "I guess we both have a lot of learning to do about communicating from now on."

The succubus nodded, sniffling a little as if congested, without taking her eyes off the knife, which was too sharp. "Could you repeat that a little louder, please?" she murmured in a strained voice. "Your apology was like music to my ears," she added, laughing with a crooked half-smile.

The next few minutes passed with the sound of haircuts and Taylor's occasional grunts of satisfaction as he cut his locks. The succubus bit her lip in nervousness, watching with a mixture of fascination and annoyance as long, barley-colored strands fell to the floor. "It's a shame; it looked so lovely!" she finally said.

Taylor looked at herself in the mirror; a strand of hair hung precariously from the knife blade. "It's nothing," she said. "It's just hair. It'll grow back."

The succubus rolled her eyes.

"Yes, of course it'll grow back," she said. "But in the meantime, it'll look like Edward Scissorhands gave you a haircut."

He examined the work pessimistically; although he'd gotten a haircut very similar to his, with a few uneven layers, there was no way he could ever look like the one on his driver's license again. His femininity stood out even more.

"Maybe you could pass for a man if you bound your chest like in Yentl..." the succubus thought aloud, and seeing Taylor frown, she added in disbelief, "You don't even know who Barbra Streisand is!?"

Although Taylor couldn't see her, he felt her banging her head against the walls of his skull.

To be continued… 

Constructive comments, bookmarks, opinions, kudos, and observed typos are always welcome.

Chapter Text

Chapter 12: Soothe 

The succubus watched Taylor through his reflection in the mirror, a peculiar sense of affinity bubbling within her, almost friendship.

It was ridiculous!

This receptacle... no, this human, was unlike any other she'd ever met, and its kindness, though tinged with understandable fear, was both surprising and childishly endearing.

The weight of his shifty gaze in the mirror on the marks (a few hickeys, a few bruises shaped like fingers, even a tiny bite on her thigh) that remained as a silent testament to the previous night, starkly reminded her of the gravity of their situation.

"I don't think I can hide them with bandages," Taylor said glumly, his eyes fixed on the splayed cleft between his breasts. "They're too big."

The succubus bridled and burrowed into his mind, and the bitterness in his words resonated like a bell. "You're overreacting a bit, Taylor. You're saying that like it's a bad thing," she joked darkly.

"It's not funny," he replied, his voice tight.

She stuck her tongue out at his reflection, teasing him for his rudeness. The succubus had fully exploited his genetics, and Taylor's figure was perfectly proportioned, harmonious, and tasteful. Very much in the style of the fabulous polychromatic Greek and Roman sculptures and the whitish Renaissance rehashes... The Romans sure knew how to throw parties and orgies!

"You're just looking at yourself in the mirror all wrong," the succubus opined, causing Taylor to frown thoughtfully.

She could clearly see how the boy's vision magnified every detail to an extreme degree, as his mind struggled to reconcile that smaller body and sensitive skin with his previous male anatomy. The dissonance between his old memories and reality had the same effect as if the mirror had warped like one of those stalls at a fair.

Taylor contemplated himself again in front of the closet, but this time without letting shame or self-loathing overcome him. He rolled onto his side and smoothed the folds of the loose Hawaiian shirt around his waist, analyzing the contours of his breasts with a more impartial and judicious eye. Meanwhile, the succubus waited expectantly for the repercussions. Taylor's response to each new dilemma and misstep was fascinating, and this time she was not disappointed with the outcome.

"Excellent," she thought, knowing full well that he wouldn't hear it.

A smile unconsciously appeared on the college student's cherry-colored lips when he realized that his breasts were not the XXL melons he saw in his exalted imagination.

They were more like a modest B-cup, maybe C-cup, which was quite a relief, and the succubus watched as his shoulders relaxed.

"You're not so bad," Taylor murmured to himself, his voice echoing in the quiet room.

The succubus felt a warmth in his chest that she hadn't anticipated. "You're not so bad either," she whispered, her voice so faint that he couldn't hear it, but she knew he could feel it.

Taylor's eyes narrowed as he contemplated his reflection. "Guess I'll just have to get used to all this," he murmured, his fingertips grazing the soft skin of his neck, feeling the delicate pulse of his new body.

The succubus felt a strange sense of pride swell within her, seeing the acceptance slowly take root in Taylor's mind.

"Let's not get ahead of ourselves," she murmured in his thoughts, the echo of her voice a gentle whisper. "We still have to figure out how to get you back to your normal self."

Taylor nodded, his eyes still lingering on the unfamiliar curves. When he looked away, he noticed the tiny wound on his index finger, the cut made by the ritual mirror when it fractured.

Although the succubus couldn't hear a single one of his thoughts, just as he heard her voice, she thought she could hear the murmur of his mind insistently processing something that was worrying him.

"I think I know why you're still here with me," Taylor ventured, a nervous grimace on her lips. "I broke the mirror when I touched it and..."

"No," she interrupted immediately. "You didn't do anything wrong, Taylor."

He looked at her in the mirror, his eyes searching for a hint of a lie in her gaze.

The succubus gave a short sigh, once again surprised by the boy's resilience. Not only did he have a completely skeptical mind, a blank slate ready to be filled, but he was trying to make sense of what was completely meaningless.

"The mirror breaking was just another part of that ritual, not a mistake," the succubus assured him, her voice a soothing balm in his tumultuous thoughts. "Everything in the ritual had a symbolism, a mirror that normally reflects reality, tarnished black with soot and turned opaque, is a path between our worlds when it loses its original purpose. And that path HAD TO break after I crossed it; it's dangerous for it to remain open for even a second longer."

Taylor nodded slowly, hesitantly, as her mind struggled to piece together her new reality. "Why is it dangerous?" he asked, his voice quivering.

The succubus didn't want to scare him too much, because she didn't know if he would eventually reach his breaking point and collapse emotionally. She had been vigilant, very cautiously, and had already given him two scares. First, the painkiller pills, and second, his impromptu psychiatric haircut.

"Something else could have crossed my path," she explained in a subdued, academic tone, without hesitation. "That something other than me wouldn't be under the control of the ritual."

Taylor felt his stomach drop at the thought. "What do you mean?"

The succubus shrugged her shoulders, her eyes never leaving his in the mirror. "The kind of things that would make the Brothers of Sigma Kappa Beta wet their pants in terror," she said, her voice a playful whisper that seemed to dance around the edges of his consciousness. "Think of me as the friendly neighborhood Spider-Man of my dimension."

Taylor couldn't help but chuckle at the absurdity of the analogy, the banal attempt to lighten the situation. "So what went wrong with the ritual?" he asked, trying to keep his voice from shaking.

"Nothing, really," the succubus said with a wry smile. "If something had gone wrong with the ritual or if it had been done incorrectly, there would be no painkillers or medicines that could relieve you. You'd vomit like a fire hose and climb the walls. That part about the movies is pretty accurate."

Taylor took a deep breath, trying to calm his racing heart. "So what else?" he muttered.

"Well, some 'bad way' possessed people get Tourette's Syndrome in some weird language, swearing and cursing in Aramaic, Ancient Greek, or Klingon, for that matter." The succubus rolled her eyes perkily and giggled. "Others, on the other hand, suffer from hallucinations..."

"Said the woman on the other side of the mirror to the possessed lunatic who has tits," Taylor interrupted abruptly, leaving her hanging. And then, with a shrug from him, he dismissed the idea.

The succubus wrinkles her lips in a grimace of disgust and embarrassment "Touché"

Her humor, however, didn't mask the seriousness of the situation. Taylor's mind was a swirling vortex of confusion, fear, and a strange, burgeoning curiosity. He knew he had to get a grip on things, to find a way to revert back to his human form before the situation spiraled out of control. But every time he thought of the fraternity and the ritual, his thoughts were a confusing whirlwind of images, interspersed again and again with the satisfied smiles of Brad and the other fraternity brothers.

The succubus couldn't see anything clearly in his memories that he was repressing with all his might.

"Tell me everything you know about the ritual," Taylor demanded, unexpectedly surprising her, his voice firm despite the tremor of fear that rippled through his body.

"Taylor..." the succubus began, shaking her head at the terrible idea.

"I want to know why what happened happened," he pleaded with her through a whimper of his vocal cords.

The succubus sighed, a gust of warm air that seemed to envelop Taylor's consciousness. "Alright," she began, her eyes reflecting a mix of concern and resignation. "But remember, I'm no expert on the matter; what little I know is from conjecture I've made over the centuries. I'm just... a summoned entity, not the one who summons it."

The succubus bit her tongue, thinking that what Taylor was asking her was like asking a cake how to work the oven.

To be continued… 

Constructive comments, bookmarks, opinions, kudos, and observed typos are always welcome.

Chapter Text

Chapter 13: Learn 

The succubus took a moment to gather her thoughts before speaking again. "Okay, frat boy, Summoning 101," she began, her voice a mix of weariness and pity. "The first thing you have to understand is that most of what you've heard or seen in movies is wrong. Forget about pentacles on the ground from which demons emerge in a burst of sulfur-smelling smoke."

Taylor nodded, his eyes still glued to his reflection. The succubus continued, "There are countless different rituals, from every culture and every era, but they all have three elements in common that I've seen repeated again and again. First," she held up a dainty finger, "the summoner, who is the only one who knows the most secret details of the ritual, in our case the brother of the fraternity who officiated the ceremony."

Taylor tried to recall any details about who had performed the ritual, but nothing came out. The faces of Brad, Cody, and Ollie floated vividly in his memory, leering and laughing as they fucked him, but who had initiated it all remained a mystery.

"Second," the succubus said, holding up another finger, "the circle, those that accompany the summoner and grant them, and in turn me, power. Usually, it's a bunch of nerdy kids or goths who think they're hot shit because they can light candles in the right pattern. But in our case, we have a group of hunks who probably thought they were hiring a cosplay-themed escort instead of summoning a real succubus.

Taylor felt a flash of anger at the thought of his frat brothers using him in such a way, but he pushed it down, focusing on the information she was giving him. "And the third one is me, right?" he guessed after a few seconds.

The succubus nodded, her expression a mix of contrition and pity. "Yes, the third element is always the receptacle," she said. "The person, animal, place, or object through which the summoned being manifests. Usually, it's a willing participant, someone who has offered themselves up for a chance at power, thrill, experience, or knowledge. But in your case, it seems it was you, the unsuspecting college student who had no idea he'd be the epicenter of an orgy.

Her words hit Taylor like a punch in the gut. He had been used, tricked into something so much more than he had bargained for. He felt a hot surge of anger and betrayal, but it was quickly doused by a wave of resignation. There was no point in dwelling on the past, especially when he was still very much in the present, trapped in a body that was so unmistakably female.

"What was the purpose of the rituals?" Taylor managed to ask, his voice hoarse.

The succubus's expression grew darker, her eyes flickering with a hint of anger. "Typically, it's to gain power, wealth, or knowledge that wouldn't be possible through other means," she said, her words clipped. "But your frat brothers... they're not exactly known for their scholarly ambitions."

Taylor felt a cold dread creeping up his spine. "What are they going to do with me... and with you!?"

The succubus took a step closer to him, her eyes meeting his in the mirror. "I don't know," she admitted, her voice a raspy whisper. "But the summoner... he's the key. He is the one who knows the name bestowed upon me. And I'm sure he was the only one who knew what was going on at the ceremony last night."

Taylor felt his heart pound in his new, unfamiliar chest as the succubus spoke. He had to find out who had done this to him and why.

"But I don't understand how that's possible." Taylor replied, frowning, trying to piece together the details. "There were several brothers who had already participated in the ceremony in previous years and in the after-party with the call girl, and they didn't..."

The succubus cut him off, "Let's just say that the true essence of the ritual was obscured, twisted by someone who had their own agenda. The fact that you and I are here, in this body, suggests that the summoner orchestrated the other fake ceremonies as a smokescreen for this real one."

Taylor was overwhelmed by the sordid picture the succubus was painting, but he couldn't ignore its twisted and perverse logic. Either all the fraternity brothers kept up the charade after the transformation, or they had no clue anything supernatural and impossible was happening.

"You said the ritual chose me out of all of them," Taylor began to reason, almost to himself. "But does that mean anyone could have been it... like a lottery? Or was it rigged so it was just me?"

The succubus looked at him with a flicker of curiosity in her eyes. "I'm not sure," she admitted. "But you all had a lit candle, which confused me quite a bit."

The succubus remembered her bewilderment at seeing that mess of lanterns on the other side of the mirror, all orange-yellow and discarded. Until Taylor's candle shone brightly, turning purple and catching her attention, like a North Star guiding her to her new home.

"So, it could have been any of us?" Taylor squeezed out the words, his heart racing with the implications.

"Well, in theory," the succubus mused, her voice a careless whisper. "But something about you must have been particularly... appealing to the one who truly called me here."

The thought made Taylor's skin crawl, but he had to know for sure.

"But why me?" he demanded. "What could possibly make me stand out to them?"

The succubus tapped her nail against her teeth, pensive. "Your lust," she murmured. "Your drive, your passion, your vitality, your... need. It was palpable to me, even to them. You see, Taylor, the ritual requires a certain perversion in the soul, a willingness to indulge in the darker sides of desire. And your desire was like a beacon in a sea of hormonal fog."

Taylor's eyes opened so wide they looked like they were going to pop out of their sockets.

"Was I the horniest one there?" Tailor's voice was incredulous, his eyes never leaving the mirror.

"Well, your long track record with girls speaks for itself," the succubus quipped, a sly smile playing on her lips.

"ARE YOU TELLING ME I DESERVED IT BECAUSE I'M A WOMANIZER!?" Taylor's voice grew loud, the room echoing with his accusation.

The succubus rolled her eyes. "I didn't say you deserved it, Taylor," she retorted, with a grunt of exasperation. "I'm just explaining why you might have been chosen over the others."

"So, you're saying it's because I've been with a lot of girls that I'm stuck in one of their bodies?" Taylor ironized, his voice laced with a bitterness that didn't quite mask the fear underlying his question. "The karma's a vengeful bitch, isn't it?"

The succubus shrugged, the motion causing her breasts to jiggle in a way that was both mesmerizing and maddening for Taylor. "I'm not here to judge; I'm the least qualified," she said with a smirk.

Taylor tried to draw a thick veil over the subject, focusing on the few meaningful memories he had of the ceremony before everything went crazy.

"What about the chants in Latin?" he asked, trying to keep his voice steady. "The braziers with burning herbs, the symbols drawn on the floor... they had to mean something."

"Ah, yes," the succubus smiled wryly and shook her head. "The theatrics. They're part of the ritual's power, but as a prop. It's like setting the mood for a movie. It doesn't matter if the actors are terrible; if the setting is right, the audience will still be drawn in."

"So, it's all just false... a show?" Taylor's voice was tinged with bitterness.

"I didn't mean that," the succubus corrected him, her tone gentling. "They did, but they were all just to focus the energy, to create the right conditions for the summoning, like when we all sing the psalms in church. The true power is in the intent of the summoner and the receptacle's... willingness."

Taylor felt his stomach turn at the implication; fortunately, he had nothing to throw away and only suffered once from a pang of hunger.

He had been more than willing last night, eager to please Brad and the others, not knowing what he was truly getting into. He took a deep breath, trying to calm his emotions.

"But how do we reverse it?" he asked, his voice strained. "How do I get back to being a man if the only person who knows the ritual was authentic is the one who wants to control you?"

The succubus's taciturn and serious expression slowly turned into a wide, sparkling smile that contrasted terribly with the surroundings. Taylor frowned at her, briefly annoyed by her wayward and disconcerting behavior. But as soon as she spoke and began to explain, his mood changed:

"You're forgetting one point in our favor, Boy," she pointed out in her playful, sing-song voice. "One very important detail that changes everything: WE BOTH want the same thing. You want to go back to your fascinating life that you consider so... vanilla; I want to go back to my dimension, and luckily, we can coordinate between the two of us and collaborate. That makes things a lot easier for us. We don't need to know who the hell this guy is or even get a mile away from the fraternity. There are other ways to break the ritual; there always have been."

Taylor's eyes lit up with hope, the first glimmer he'd felt since waking up in this body. "Other ways?" he echoed, desperation clinging to every syllable. " Are you referring to an exorcism?"

The succubus opened her mouth in the mirror's reflection with a tight, aggressive grimace, revealing her perfect, pearly teeth. Taylor felt his skin prickle with revulsion, just before she suddenly let out a high-pitched hiss like a cat's.

He froze, not out of fear, but because an overwhelming anguish seeped from the succubus's heart into his own, and the terror was shared.

"Don't say that word again," she snapped, her voice cold as ice. "That's... a messy business, and it's not something you want to get into. Besides, it doesn't always work, and it doesn't apply in our case.

The succubus took a moment to compose herself before speaking again, her eyes burning into his reflection.

"The truth is, Taylor, I haven't had good experiences with the Catholic Church... personally, I consider myself agnostic." She gave a half-smile and looked up at the ceiling, perhaps further ahead than he thought. "I'm not saying that method hasn't worked for them in the past, when some of my ilk accidentally entered this dimension without a ritual, but it's always come at the cost of great physical and mental suffering for the receptacles..." She retorted, turning her gaze back to Taylor.

Her words sent a shiver down Taylor's spine, and he couldn't help but remember the gruesome images from those old horror movies where priests would perform exorcisms, the victims writhing in agony.

To be continued… 

Constructive comments, bookmarks, opinions, kudos, and observed typos are always welcome.

Chapter Text

Chapter 14: Break 

The memory of the dungeons of Naples was very bitter for the succubus, who writhed figuratively in the recesses of Taylor's brain. She didn't want to see that again in eternity. How ignorant monks martyred a twelve-year-old girl who had only silently cried for help and received help from far beyond that unjust earthly plane. She refused to let the succubus go free until her last breath.

"You don't have to worry, Taylor, about your head spinning like a top," she assured him, though she had no idea what might happen next. With this invocation, she was treading on slippery ground.

"How did you know I was thinking about that?" He responded with a start.

The succubus's smile widened, a knowing glint in her eyes. "I may not have access to your thoughts, but the emotional echoes of your memories are quite... palpable," she said, with a playful snort that seemed to resonate through her body. "But let's not get ahead of ourselves. There's a reason why I'm here, sharing this body with you. And it's not just because you're the horniest guy on the block," she added with a wink.

Taylor felt a strange sensation, a sort of tug-of-war between his newfound hope and the dread of what the succubus was hinting at.

"We need a plan," Taylor said firmly, dropping the knife onto the bed. "If there's an asshole who can control you, we have to be very careful."

The succubus unexpectedly laughed at Taylor's outburst.

"Asshole! I like how we're on the same page!" She exclaimed between laughter and laughter.

"We'll need cash," Taylor said aloud, using the plural again quite naturally, almost unaware of how involved he'd become with the succubus. "We'll need to withdraw as much as possible from the ATM, and we'll need to buy loose-fitting clothes. Oh! And train tickets as far away as possible..." he mumbled, almost through his teeth, so frantic had he become. "We'll also need to look into which hotels could..."

'"We need to hold your horses, Boy," she cut him off with a slash. "Breathe for a second."

"But..." Taylor started to protest, his eyes searching the succubus's reflection for any sign of a way out.

"Right now 'we' have to eat something," said the succubus with a hint of urgency in her voice.

"Eat? You mean...?" Taylor's throat tightened and his stomach growled, its tone almost bestial, reminding him that despite his new form, his basic needs remained unchanged.

"Exactly," she said, with a sly smirk that somehow seemed to make her even more alluring. "Your body needs sustenance, Taylor. Something, anything you can think of, with nutrients that come from your fridge and not from the inside of the pants of the first guy 'we' found".

Taylor's stomach grew again, and he realized that despite the horror of the situation, he was indeed hungry. He hadn't eaten anything since... well, since he was still a man. He sighed and turned away from the mirror, leaving his bedroom.

The succubus watched him with amusement as he walked toward the kitchen, his new body's breasts bouncing with every movement. She couldn't help but enjoy the sight, even if the situation was grim.

Taylor felt a pang of hunger, much more pressing, his human instincts overriding his fear and confusion. He turned and opened the fridge, the cold air hitting his bare skin and making his new breasts tingle with an alluring and eerie sensation. The succubus leaned over his shoulder, metaphorically speaking, her eyes scanning the contents through his.

The interior was almost bare, as if it were a battlefield.

"But, what the fucking hell...?" Taylor exclaimed as he surveyed the fridge's contents. The shelves were practically bare, with nothing but a few sad, wilted veggies and a half-empty carton of milk.

The succubus shrugged. "Karma has struck again," she said, her voice dripping with sarcasm.

Taylor sighed, slammed the fridge door shut, and opened the cabinets. All he found was a half-empty box of cereal, a dried-out jar of peanut butter, and a few stale crackers. His stomach growled again, and he grew more energetic.

"Mac 'n' cheese!" he sang out loud, as he pulled a half-hidden package from the bottom.

"How very... college of you," the succubus quipped, raising an eyebrow. "Are you sure you want to eat THAT?" she asked with a hint of disgust.

"Why? What's wrong?" Taylor replied with a grin, already filling a pot with water. He looked at the freeze-dried container several times to make sure. "They're not expired, and I've always loved them."

"It's not that," the succubus said, her voice strangely sounding like it was outside his skull, as if she'd been left behind, still in front of the refrigerator. "What I'm saying is, you might find them 'uncomfortable.' You know, the shape, the salty, mushy taste, that melted cheese dripping from the holes..."

Taylor dropped the package as soon as he recreated the image in his mind.

"Shit, I didn't think about that," he murmured with a half-gag, his stomach rumbling louder than ever. "Damn you! You've made it so I'll never eat Mac 'n' cheese again for the rest of my life!"

The succubus laughed, a rich, deep sound that seemed to resonate throughout the room, as if she were moving. "I'm sorry, I couldn't resist," she said with a grin that didn't quite fit on Taylor's face. "But seriously, we need to think outside the box. Literally, outside the fridge."

Taylor removed the pot from the heat and brought out a couple of large bowls, which he filled with cereal. He could sense the succubus's strangeness at the gesture, but after all, he had to eat for two now. He opened the fridge door and took out the cold milk, pouring it without looking over the bowls, to avoid repeating his trauma.

"Are you hungry for you-know-what?" Taylor asked, trying to keep his voice steady as he set the bowls of cereal on the counter. He chewed each pink cereal ring loudly and very slowly, avoiding the thought that its shape when wet resembled a nipple.

"Tsk, tsk," the succubus chided playfully, her voice sounding from the other corner of the room, next to the Amazon smart speaker. "Always so eager to get to the good stuff, aren't you?"

Taylor felt a blush spread across his new cheeks, but he didn't have time to dwell on it as his stomach grumbled once more. "Look, if we're in this together, I just want to know if you're okay," he said, his voice sincere despite the awkwardness of the situation.

"I'm not exactly peckish," the succubus said with a wink, which he felt in the corner of his eyes like a small, sweet twitch. "I got my fill of that feast for the senses last night, so I guess I can last a day or two." Taylor had a hard time swallowing at his. "Okay, okay, maybe three or four."

Taylor sat down with his cereal, the spoon clanking against the bowl as he tried to ignore the succubus's teasing. But he noticed that the thin fabric of the boxer briefs hugged his privates more ardently, in a way he'd never felt before as a man. The taste became somehow different, more intense, and every chew felt like a victory against his own body's betrayal. He had to admit, though, that sharing his thoughts with the creature was oddly... comforting.

"But if you need to, I mean, I don't know if I can handle that..." Taylor said, his spoon hovering over the cereal bowl, the pink rings bobbing in the milk like tiny, soggy breasts. "I don't... men... I don't know..."

"Don't worry, Taylor," she assured him, laughter washing over him like a warm, seductive breeze, and he felt her presence shift closer in the room. "Last night you did very well; you handled yourself like a pro. I'm sure when the time comes again, you'll be up to scratch."

"But I don't want to do... that!" Taylor protested, his spoon clattering against the side of the bowl. "I'm not into men!"

"Tell me another one!" The succubus reassured him, her voice a warm caress that seemed to resonate from every corner of the room, despite there being no physical form to attach it to. "You kiss a boy and you like it. Remember?" she teased, her humor cutting through the tension like a hot knife through butter. "If Katy Perry sold millions of records with her version, I don't see how you can't put your scruples aside a little."

Taylor rolled his eyes, a gesture that felt foreign on his new face, but somehow fitting given the situation. "That's different," he mumbled. "That was... it was just... an urge... an strange urge!"

The succubus's laughter filled the kitchen, a sound that was once infectious and maddening. "Oh, the denial," she cooed. "It's so delightful. But don't worry, Taylor. I'm not going to force you to do anything. There is more than one way to skin a cat"

Taylor spoon clattering to the floor. "What do you mean?" he asked, his voice cracking slightly in a whisper.

"I mean," the succubus said with a smug grin, "that there are other ways to satisfy 'our' hunger." She slithered closer in his mind, as if getting back into Taylor's skull, the sensation sending a shiver down his spine.

"What other ways?" Taylor asked, his voice barely above a murmur. He didn't know if he was ready to hear what she had to say, but his curiosity won out.

"Well," the succubus began, her voice a sultry purr in his mind, "there's always the solo option." She watched his expression intently, mischievously. "You've got hands, I've got the know-how."

Taylor felt his cheeks heat up as he stared into the bowl of cereal, the milk turning pink from the color of his cheeks. He didn't know how to respond to that, so he took a deep breath and tried to focus on something else. But the succubus wasn't done teasing him.

"Or," she began, her voice taking on a seductive tone, "you could always try the company of a woman. I'm sure you'd find it quite... enlightening," she suggested, her words painting vivid images in Taylor's mind that he had never dared to think about before.

One of his most secret fetishes was a threesome with two women, yet he never would have imagined in his life that he'd be two parts of the same equation at the same time. Taylor couldn't help but feel more indulgent at these proposals, but he had to stop this conversation or his boxer briefs would be soaked... and not with milk.

To be continued… 

Constructive comments, bookmarks, opinions, kudos, and observed typos are always welcome.

Chapter Text

Chapter 15: Overcome 

The succubus watched Taylor's internal conflict play out on his face, enjoying the blush that painted his cheeks and reached his ears. In his male form, Taylor didn't have the sanguine temperament the succubus remembered, but beneath the adorable appearance she had given him, his skin was a polygraph that instantly gave him away.

She watched as he finished the first bowl of cereal and began attacking the second, which had already taken on a pinkish hue from the artificial sweeteners and colorings, with the same gusto he had approached the first. The succubus felt a strange sense of hunger stirring within her, something that she hadn't felt in a long time. It wasn't the usual craving for sex, but rather for companionship and shared experiences.

"Are you feeling better?" the succubus asked, looking at him with a hint of concern in her eyes. She knew that human emotions could be overwhelming, especially when experiencing them through someone else's body. "You looked like you were going to lose consciousness from starvation," she joked dryly, since it was almost true. Taylor's side vision had been blurring all morning.

Taylor acknowledged, feeling a bit embarrassed by his earlier outburst. "Yeah, I guess I was more hungry than I thought," he replied, his voice slightly muffled by the mouthful of cereal. "But we still need to figure out how to reverse this. Can you tell me more about these other ways you mentioned? You know, more cats to skin."

The succubus's laughter was a velvet caress in his mind, a stark contrast to the cold kitchen tiles beneath his bare feet. She was no longer surprised that he was still standing strong, when others in Taylor's same situation would be in tears in a dark corner.

"Very well," she said, her voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper. "But remember, everything I'm telling you is based on my personal experiences with the rituals and receptacles I've possessed, which aren't very privy to the more intimate details."

Taylor swallowed hard, his heart vibrant and strong, beating with a hum. He'd never been so desperate to learn about the supernatural world. The succubus's words painted a picture of an ancient dance of power and manipulation that had existed alongside humans for centuries, with rituals and incantations designed to bend the will of these creatures to mortal whims. It was both fascinating and terrifying... And now he was fully immersed in that nightmare scenario.

"Are you sure you're okay?" the succubus asked, noticing the tension in Taylor's shoulders and a certain pallor in his face as he stopped blushing. "This is a lot to take in."

"I'm fine," he said, his voice firm and surprisingly steady. "I'm not swooned away."

"I said lose consciousness, not swoon away," the succubus corrected with a recalcitrant lilt. "Only rich, meatheaded ladies from before the 20th century swooned away when they hit the ground."

Taylor couldn't help but chuckle, despite the gravity of the situation. He had always had a strange sense of humor, one that often got him into trouble, especially during serious moments. The succubus's playfulness was infectious, and he found himself warming up to her more than he cared to admit.

"The ritual you experienced is an ancient practice, once sacred, one that has been twisted and corrupted, over the centuries, by those who seek power or pleasure at the expense of others. It's not just about summoning a creature like me; it's about forging a bond, a connection that allows us, those of my kind, to share your body and your essence," she explained, her voice a gentle caress in her mind.

Taylor gestured with his chin for her to continue, his thoughts focused on absorbing it all like a sponge. He had so many questions, so many things he didn't understand, but he bit his tongue and held back the urge. He took another spoonful of cereal, the sweetness of the sugar coating his tongue and making him feel a little more human in his strange predicament.

"The bond can be easily untied, provided both parties truly desire it," the succubus said, her tone moving with the secret she shared with Taylor. "There are countless New Age rituals that are almost exact copies of those ancient purging rites. With one of them, we'll surely be able to separate ourselves, and I'll immediately return to my place."

"With 'one of them'?" echoed Taylor, his eyes widening. "How do we know which one will work?"

The succubus shrugged.

"We'll have to test them all, one by one," the succubus said, her voice filled with a mischievous spark. "But most of them are innocuous and pure chatter, so it will be a lot like looking for a needle in a haystack."

Taylor sighed, his spoon pausing mid-air. "Great," he said with a hint of sarcasm. "Your plan is to try every random online spell hippie we can find?"

"Well, when you put it that way, it doesn't sound too appealing," the succubus quipped back, her eyes twinkling sadly in his mind. "But yes, that's the gist of it. It's the safest way, for both of us, to achieve it."

The thought of spending his days as a guinea pig for internet witchcraft didn't exactly thrill Taylor, but he knew he had little choice. He had to get back to normal, to his life, his body, and his identity. The succubus could feel his determination, a stubbornness that she found surprisingly endearing.

"And what about the times when the bond cannot be untied?" Taylor asked, his voice betraying a hint of the fear that had been lurking in the back of his mind since the transformation.

The succubus took a moment to consider her words before speaking. "Those are the cases that give my kind such a bad name," she admitted ruefully. "When a ritual isn't performed properly or we fall to this plane by accident, we may end up improperly installed in a receptacle."

"Installed?" Taylor repeated, believing she had misspoken and that she was referring to something else. Something more... intimate. "What do you mean by 'improperly'?"

The succubus sighed, a sound that was surprisingly human. "It's like when you use a floppy disk," she began, and Taylor didn't understand what she was talking about at first. He was born in the digital age, where floppy disks were ancient artifacts that held less data than a modern toaster. But she ignored his confusion and continued. "If you stuffed the floppy disk into your jeans on a really hot day, it was quite possible that some file would get corrupted and then cause cascading errors when you put it in the drive."

Taylor wasn't sure if the succubus was just teasing him and making some other sexual reference or what the hell. Until suddenly, he had a vision of a rough-to-the-touch black square and a bulky computer with a huge box.

"How the hell do I know about floppy disks right now?" Taylor exclaimed, his eyes wide with astonishment. The vision she had planted in his mind was so vivid, so real, that he could almost feel the heat from the sun beating down on the plastic square and the coldness of the metal zipper of his jeans against his skin.

"Your memories are at my disposal, and mine are at yours," the succubus said with a knowing smile that didn't quite fit on Taylor's lips. "It's part of the bond. A mutually beneficial part, and potentially very entertaining."

Taylor rolled his eyes, trying to shake off the strange feeling of her memories intermingling with his own.

"But it also serves to enlighten you about bad possessions," the succubus continued, her tone growing more serious. "When the bond is done correctly, as in our case, you can still know that the memory doesn't belong to you and is something foreign to you. However, when it's done incorrectly, the lines blur and the receptacle mind can become a chaotic mess... The id, the ego, the superego, and the subconscious mix like a centrifuge, causing multiple personalities and psychotic outbreaks."

Taylor swallowed hard, pushing the cereal bowl aside. He couldn't imagine the horror of losing his mind.

"But that won't happen to me," he said, trying to convince himself more than the succubus. "We're going to find a way to reverse this."

"Of course," the succubus reassured him with a calm, firm coo in her voice. "I'm fine... installed. I may not understand the terms of this summoning, and we may be trapped in this form without the ability to switch, but don't worry about your sanity, Taylor."

"Except for the fact that I've been talking to myself all morning," he noted ironically in his thoughts.

Taylor's phone, lying on the counter, buzzed with the familiar sound of a WhatsApp notification. The vibration sent a peculiar sensation up his spine, reminding him that there was a world outside their kitchen. He glanced at the screen, the name 'Sienna Davis' flashing with an unread voice message. His heart skipped a beat, a cold dread filling his stomach, which was already full of cereal.

"What's wrong?" the succubus asked, sensing Taylor's sudden tension.

To be continued… 

Constructive comments, bookmarks, opinions, kudos, and observed typos are always welcome.

Chapter Text

Chapter 16: Encircle 

Taylor ignored the elephant in the room and returned his attention to the cereal bowls, picking them up and taking them to the sink for a quick rinse. He could feel the succubus's attention and hesitation on the back of his neck, even though she wasn't looking at him from any reflection in the kitchen.

"It's nothing," he said, trying to keep his voice light. But the succubus was no fool. She could feel the sudden spike in his anxiety, the way his heart thudded against his ribs like a caged bird.

Her voice echoed melodically both in the room and inside his head when she spoke again.

"Don't you want to deal with Sienna because you blame her for everything that's happened to you?" Although her words could be considered very rude, the tone was childishly curious. "If you hadn't agreed to help her with her sociology class project, to get closer to her, you'd still have your nuts now, wouldn't you?"

"What the fuck!" Taylor flinched and pressed the scrubber harder against the porcelain, trying to wring out the excess water and soap. Nothing like that had occurred to him, no accusations against her.

But he had to remember that the succubus, even with all his memories, didn't know what lay behind his words, his decisions, and his actions. To her, Taylor's life must have been like a very long movie, with no soundtrack, no narrator to set the pace between scenes, and no fades to black to make the story move along more bearably.

"I guess from the outside it looked like I was trying to pick up Sienna," Taylor thought, saddened by the poor conclusion she had come to.

His former deskmate at primary school, whom he had met again at Madison University by a fortunate twist of fate, had never shown any interest in him until he told her about the fraternity's offer during their communications reinforcement class.

"It's not that," Taylor muttered, turning off the water and letting the pristine bowls drain. He tried to keep his voice neither aggressive nor defensive. "I don't want to talk to Sienna because I know she's going to ask me about my Hell Week at Sigma Kappa Beta..."

"And obviously, you can't see her looking like this now," the succubus ventured with great interest, wanting to get ahead of what she thought she already knew.

Taylor took a deep breath, trying to keep his cool. "No, it's not about the look," he said, his voice tight. "At least it's not all about that. It's just that everything has changed so much since yesterday... I thought the members of Sigma Kappa Beta were nice guys, maybe not like Boy Scouts, just a little rowdy. But last night..."

"Last night they thought they were fucking a very enthusiastic prostitute," the succubus chimed in with a strange tone of resignation. "The Sigma Kappa Betta members aren't holy men, and their behavior is reprehensible, according to the social norms of this day and age. But if you want to blame someone for what happened, it's me. I got carried away seeing so many of them all to myself and let my baser instincts get the better of me."

Taylor felt a twinge of anger at her words. "You didn't do it on purpose," he said, turning around to face the kitchen's emptiness, where he knew she was watching him. "You thought I was in on it too. It's just that... I don't know how to explain this to Sienna without sounding like a complete lunatic."

"And Rhys too?" The succubus jumped in suddenly.

Taylor froze, the dishrag in his hand forgotten as he processed her words. "Rhys," he murmured, his thoughts hurtling. He had overlooked that he had agreed to meet Rhys in his room later to talk about the ceremony gone wrong. How could he face his roommate now? The succubus must have noticed his sudden panic, because she chuckled in his mind. "Fuck, I totally forgot," he said out loud, his face contorting in a grimace. "I believe he's going to be less than thrilled when I show up looking like... like this," said Taylor, gesturing down at his new, sinuous body.

"That's when he stops laughing at you," the succubus joked bitterly.

Taylor couldn't help but smile a bit, thinking about his roommate's reaction. He and the succubus knew what arguments they could resort to with him. Rhys was the kind of guy who was into conspiracy theories, the supernatural, and all things unexplained... even the kind of guy who swore he saw a UFO once! If anyone could accept that his straight-laced roommate had been turned into a succubus, it would be him.

But even so, Taylor felt a twinge of doubt.

"Maybe it would be a lot better if I left here before he saw me," Taylor murmured to himself, his eyes drifting to the clock on the kitchen wall that read noon. "If we got him involved in this mess and something happened to him..."

The succubus could feel his anxiety spike. "Wait," she urged, her voice in her head as clear as if she were speaking out loud. "In case you haven't noticed, you're in boxer briefs and a Hawaiian shirt. You can't just walk out like that."

Taylor glanced down at his attire, feeling a bit embarrassed. "I can wear the sweatpants I took from the frat house again," he replied, trying to keep his voice calm.

"It's not just about the clothes, Taylor," the succubus said with a touch of exasperation. "You need him. We need him."

"What do you mean by that?" He asked, his voice filled with both confusion and a hint of desperation. He didn't like the idea of ​​telling anyone about the abuse he had suffered.

Taylor had always wondered why rape victims didn't report their attackers, but now she could understand the feelings of desolation, loss of control, and fear that must come with it. The thought of having to recount that horrific experience to anyone, let alone Sienna or Rhys, made his stomach churn and his chest tighten. He didn't know how to put into words the way those frat boys had used him, the violation of his body, and the way the succubus within him had responded. It was a dark tapestry of pain and pleasure, woven together in a way that made his head spin.

"I know it's hard, but for the purging ritual to work better, you're going to need a circle," the succubus said, her voice soothing yet firm. Taylor opened his eyes, alarmed. "Rhys is one of your best friends, and if he can handle seeing you like this, then he's someone we can trust. You're going to need all the help you can get."

"How many?" he asked, his voice a dry croak in the stillness of the kitchen.

"How many what?" the succubus replied, her tone curious.

"How many people do we need for this... circle?" Taylor clarified, his eyes flickering with uncertainty.

The succubus considered his question for a moment before responding, "Well, it's like an orgy, but with less fucking and more chanting. The more people, the more energy, the better the chances of the ritual working." Taylor rolled his eyes in his eye sockets, exasperated that she wouldn't give a clear, simple answer for once, and felt the succubus flinch inside him. "Sorry, erm... the minimum for a circle is three people," she corrected herself, sounding slightly embarrassed. "But the more, the merrier."

Taylor sighed heavily, his shoulders slumping. "Three?" He echoed her words with a mix of dread and disbelief. "How the hell am I supposed to find two other more people to help us with this? Who's...?"

"One," the succubus interrupted, correcting him. "You can count as both a receptacle and another for the circle. That would make two of you. So we need someone else as open-minded and trustworthy as Rhys to sign up."

Taylor rubbed his forehead with his damp hand, trying to think through the fog of his transformation and the horror of the previous night. Who else could he confide in? Who would believe such an insane story without thinking he'd gone completely mad? Sienna?! NO!

"Sienna's out," he murmured, his thoughts pricking like a thousand needles. "If she finds out, she'll think I'm a pervert or that I wanted it. Or worse, she'll want to expose it and show me in public."

"She's an amateur journalist," the succubus said, her voice filled with suspicion. "Her instinct is to seek the truth. So when she notices you're gone, she'll pounce on the news like a dog on a bone."

"Shit," Taylor breathed, his heart skip-beating in his chest. The thought of Sienna digging into his disappearance was a horror story worse than any he could've imagined. The potential for a scandal was too high.

Who else could help them...?

Suddenly, the succubus's voice grew a little excited. "What about Jude?" she suggested.

Taylor's eyes shot open. "My sister?"

"Your twin," the succubus clarified with a smirk, sensing Taylor's shock. "It's linkage, isn't it? The bond between you two could be... better for the ritual."

"Let's not get ahead of ourselves!" Taylor mimicked the succubus, breathing slowly.

The succubus's mood shifted, her voice growing more animated. "Rhys will be back from doing the laundry," she reminded Taylor, her excitement palpable. "With more clothes than you can fit into," she added excitedly in a cheerful tone.

"You just want to try on Rhys's pants, don't you?" He teased, a smirk playing on his lips as he pictured her in his friend's oversized clothes. The succubus didn't respond, but the playful energy in the room grew stronger.

"Well, I wouldn't mind getting into his pants either... with him inside too," the succubus quipped, her tone playfully flirty. Taylor felt a blush creep up his neck and gulped, trying to keep his thoughts from spiraling into the gutter.

"You're pulling my leg," Taylor said with a mix of incredulity and a hint of humor.

"Not at all," the succubus replied, a smug satisfaction in her voice. "Rhys has a scent that's... intoxicating. You've smelled it before on that Hawaiian shirt. I want to know what it's like in person."

Taylor raised an eyebrow, the absurdity of the situation not lost on him. "What do you mean 'delicious scent'? How does it work?" he asked, trying to keep his tone light, despite the sudden rush of possessiveness he felt.

"It's like a pheromone, but more," the succubus purred in his mind, her thoughts as clear as if she were speaking directly into his ear. "I can guess a human's potential as a lover by his aroma, you see. And Rhys has an irresistible bouquet; he's like a fine collector's wine, complex and alluring."

"Well, sorry," Taylor said firmly, "but you're not uncorking that bottle."

The succubus pouted. "Why not?" she asked, her voice a cocktail of innocence and curiosity.

"Because," Taylor said with a hint of finality, "Rhys is my friend. And my roommate. And... well, that's just not cool!"

"Don't worry," she said with a seductive smile that didn't quite reach her eyes, "I don't usually go after men who are already stacked high. Hell hath no fury like a jealous girlfriend!"

"Girlfriend? What girlfriend?" Taylor asked intricately, his eyebrows raising as he leaned against the kitchen counter. "Rhys is as single as a slice of bread. Why do you say that?"

"I refer to the evidence that is in sight; it is an obvious fact as big as a house," she replied with a sly smirk in her voice.

"Which ones?!" the frat boy yelled back, his voice echoing through the kitchen.

To be continued… 

Constructive comments, bookmarks, opinions, kudos, and observed typos are always welcome.

Chapter Text

Chapter 17: Clear Up 

Taylor felt his eyes focus down below even before the succubus began to speak, as if she were guiding him with her gaze toward details he had overlooked since arriving in the bedroom.

"First, but most telling, are the two loose buttons on the Hawaiian shirt you're wearing," she began, her tone intended to be analytical and cold, but which remained just that. "Two buttons, not one, my dear Reece."

"Let's not kidding!" Taylor muttered, rolling his eyes at the ceiling. "What does a pair of scruffy buttons matter?"

"You always have to ask 'why?' and draw the conclusions." The succubus left the question hanging. "Knowing Rhys, as you do, would he be so careless with his clothes that he would let one of his shirts get to that point of disrepair? Or, for that matter, would he wear a shirt with one button half loose day after day until the second button came loose?"

The boy began to feel annoyed that he hadn't noticed this incongruity on his own. But faced with the insistent silence that filled his mind, like the low hum of a bumblebee swarming among his neurons, he had to answer.

"No, of course not," Taylor's voice was a mere whisper as he contemplated the succubus's words. Rhys had a small sewing kit, the kind you take camping, but it was good for fixing minor flaws in clothing, and he had lent it to Taylor more than once. "But why would he...?" His words trailed off as the realization began to sink in.

"Exactly, why?" The succubus added with a mystery-movie quality, which would have been accompanied by a roll of timpani or a quick movement of the violin. "One possible explanation is that he was fighting with someone, and in the struggle, the buttons came loose at the same time."

Taylor tried to imagine his dormmate engaged in a brawl, but he couldn't quite complete the picture in his mind before the succubus continued her display.

"But the more likely scenario," she whispered, "Is that he was with someone, someone who was in a hurry or perhaps overwhelmed with passion, and they ripped the buttons off together."

Taylor gulped as she contemplated that alternative.

"But who would he be with?" Taylor's voice was barely above a murmur. "Rhys isn't... He's not the type to... you know... Very sexual."

In all the nearly eight months they'd been together as dormmates, Taylor had never heard him date anyone, male or female, or go to bars to try to pick up girls.

The succubus let out a small laugh. "Don't be so naive, my dear Reece. Everyone has needs, including Rhys. And he is quite the catch for the right woman." Taylor sensed the succubus wanting to sniff the collar of his Hawaiian shirt again, where something deeper and wilder than the slight sweat could be seen.

"But who?" Taylor persisted, his curiosity now piqued.

"I don't know," she said coyly. "But it does make me wonder what kind of woman could bring him to such a passionate state." she added thoughtfully, as if she were making a long-term plan. "All I can tell you is that she's African-American of Asian descent, wears horn-rimmed glasses, is a little toothy, and has a pert nose."

Taylor felt his eyes widen in surprise. "HOW DO YOU KNOW ALL THAT?!"

The succubus laughed so hard in sudden surprise that Taylor almost felt her jaw muscles relax again.

"By my superb powers of deduction, of course," she said, her voice dripping with amusement. "Another puzzling detail is that the toilet seat was upside down, something you and Rhys never do because you're both guys and it's a pain when urinating. Also, the toilet paper roll was out of the dispenser... Most women prefer it that way so they can grab a nice wad and use it to dry off properly." Taylor flinched as he realized that he was now part of that group called 'we women.' He would have to learn (or relearn, rather) not only how to go to the bathroom but a whole host of other more serious topics. "Ergo, yesterday there was a woman in this bedroom and she used the bathroom," she concluded with a dramatic flourish.

"That doesn't mean it happened the way you say it did," he argued, his cheeks reddening slightly at the thought of his roommate's love life. "One of the neighbors could have come because her toilet was broken."

"If you say so," she said, her voice full of doubt. "But if you play the last song that played on that thing"—she pointed with a sudden jerk of the corner of her eye at the Amazon speaker—"you'll see it's very illuminating."

Taylor looked at the speaker, his mind racing. He couldn't use his voice, because like his phone's facial recognition, it would send him packing, but he remembered he had his phone paired. "Okay, fine," he said, his voice tight. He didn't like where this was going, but he had to know. He picked up his phone and opened the Alexa app, his heart racing as he scrolled to the last played playlist.

The speaker suddenly came to life with music that was very ominous, for Taylor's taste.

I'm a dangerous man
With some money in my pocket... Keep up!
So many pretty girls around me
And they waking up the rocket... Keep up!
Why are you mad? Fix ya face
Ain't my fault that y'all be jocking... Keep up!
Players only, come on

"Personally, I prefer 'Uptown Funk' to liven up the sex issue," commented the succubus, leaning over her shoulder with the same lightness as a butterfly, her breath hot on her neck as she whispered other names that appeared on the playlist. "This is a very good, 'Hungry Like the Wolf', by Duran Duran. It's quite telling, don't you think?" she said with a mischievous smirk. Taylor's thumb hovered over the screen, his curiosity burning like a wildfire in the desert.

With a shrug, he stop the playlist. "Okay, so what's your point?" he asked, trying to sound nonchalant despite the turmoil in his stomach.

"My point," the succubus said with a grin that would have been infectious if he weren't so skeptical, "is that last night you and Rhys had sex, not just the two of you," she immediately clarified the odd play on words. "Each to their own devices, except he did a duet performance and you had a full Vienna Philharmonic concert."

Taylor narrowed his eyes, thinking like crazy. "How could you have deduced so much for so little to begin with?"

The succubus form shifted slightly in his mind's eye. "Let's just say I've had... experience in these matters. Plus, I've been around for centuries. You pick up a few things," she commented dismissively, not taking much credit for it. "Besides, you yourself noticed it was strange for her to do her laundry this morning."

"Yeah, so what?" Taylor retorted, trying to keep his cool. But the succubus wasn't finished yet.

"Well, we both know he's a creature of habit," she said matter-of-factly, that he'd use Taylor's memories as he pleased. "It's very strange that he'd stray from his routine, and... well, there's the fact that the fridge is completely empty and the shelves are bare. I suppose Rhys hasn't done a single task on his usual list all week, and last night he had something much more... interesting to do than watch his floral Hawaiian shirts tumble around in a washing machine."

Taylor felt his jaw drop as the implications sank in. "You think he's been with someone all week?"

"Well, you know what they say, when the cat's away the mice play," the succubus said with a wink, her voice dripping with amusement.

"What do you mean 'when the cat's away'?" Taylor demanded, confused, his human mind trying to keep up with the succubus's quick wit. "I'm not stopping Rhys from doing anything... I'm not his father, or his boss, or anything like what you're implying," he added, even more irritated.

The succubus sighed dramatically. "Are you sure?" she said with a roll of her eyes that Taylor could feel. "It's quite elementary, my dear Reece. How many times have you gone out with a girl and Rhys stayed over in his room?"

None.

The room was eerily still, and the only sound was the distant hum of the fridge, the occasional drip of the faucet in the kitchen, and the pulse of blood in Taylor's ears.

"Rhys never holds it against you, because he is very kind and considerate," the succubus burst his bubble of self-indulgence. "He's such a good friend that every Friday night he lets you use his room with the excuse of doing his laundry."

He had always appreciated Rhys for his easy-going nature and his ability to roll with the punches, but had he been taking advantage of it? It was true that he had always had a more active social life than Rhys, and that his roommate had often made himself scarce when Taylor had brought someone back to the dorm.

Taylor leaned heavily on the countertop, the weight of his thoughts pressing down on him. "I had no idea," he murmured, a mix of guilt and surprise swirling in his chest. "I always just thought he enjoyed his alone time."

"Nobody wants to be alone all the time," the succubus said gently, her voice a soothing balm to Taylor's conscience. "But it seems he's found someone to share his time with. And quite frankly, I'm surprised it took you this long to notice. You humans are so wrapped up in your own lives."

The succubus seemed very pleased with that brief dissertation. However, there was still one thorn in Taylor's side:

"But what about that girl's appearance? Where did you get that from?" Taylor asked, his voice tight with a hint of accusation.

The succubus chuckled in his mind. "Ah, the photograph on the fridge. It's quite a telling detail, isn't it?" she said, her tone playful yet pointed.

Taylor's eyes widened as he realized there was indeed a Polaroid photograph on the fridge that he had completely ignored amidst the clutter of takeout menus and random notes. He strode over to the refrigerator, his heart racing as he peeled off the top layer of paperwork. There she was, a girl with a radiant smile, her arm around Rhys. She had black hair that fell in soft waves around her shoulders, horn-rimmed glasses perched on her pert nose, and the same toothy grin that the succubus had described. Taylor felt a twinge of guilt for not noticing the picture before.

"Your 'superb powers of deduction'... and hell shit!" Taylor echoed, his gaze lingering on the photo, his voice a mix of amazement and accusation. The succubus's laughter rippled through his thoughts, the sound as warm and rich as dark chocolate. "You cheated on me!" he exclaimed, turning to face the invisible entity, more or less where he imagined it.

"I never said I play fair," the succubus said with crystal-clear simplicity. "In fact, I always prefer things to be as dirty as possible."

Taylor noticed his eyes wander from the girl in the photograph and focus on Rhys's smiling face, without him doing it voluntarily. The succubus's hunger for sex was palpable in the room, he noticed how his body was fueled by that pleasant and terrifying heat that had already inflamed him, and Taylor felt a strange mix of emotions that made no sense.

On one hand, he was thrilled by the idea of ​​his roommate finding companionship, but on the other, a twinge of jealousy stung him like a bee. He couldn't believe he was feeling this way. Must be the succubus's influence, twistin' his thoughts into a pretzel.

Taylor felt his cheeks burn with anger. "You stay away from him," he said, his voice low and threatening, his fists curling into tight balls at his sides.

The succubus gasped in astonishment. "What? No! I just couldn't stop my imagination from running wild."

The succubus's eyes flashed in his mind, and Taylor felt a sudden rush of lust. It was like if she had just turned on a switch, and suddenly all he could think about was sex. "But if it makes you feel any better, I swear I'm not going to lay a finger on your friend," she cooed, her voice thick with desire and then added to irritate Taylor "But don't expect him to hold back when he sees my body to die for."

A week later, after the final semester exams...

The room was bathed in a soft, gibbous moonlight that painted everything in a silver glow. The shadows danced across the walls as the wind whispered through the open window, carrying the faint scent of spring. Rhys was fast asleep, snoring vigorously, his body sprawled out on his bed, one arm flung over his head, the other tucked under his pillow. His dreams were filled with the usual: the latest Dungeons and Dragons role-playing game that had been left on a cliffhanger too complicated to solve, the costume he planned to wear to Comic-Con, weekend plans to go to the lake with Mendota, which would be his two-week date with Jacques, and the 'Thunderbolts' movie he hadn't seen yet and was avoiding spoilers for like a cat avoids hot water.

Suddenly, something disturbed his rest, and his eyes snapped open. A figure slipped into the room. His heart hammered in his chest, and for a moment, he thought it was a thief or, worse, a frat prank gone awry. But as the shadowy figure approached, the moonlight revealed Taylor—or what he looked like now, Rhys reminded himself—wearing one of his Hawaiian shirts as pajamas. The geek couldn't help but notice for a second how his body was curvy in all the right places, filling out the garment in a very sensual way, with a seductive allure that made his mouth go dry.

Rhys was about to think he was still sleeping when he saw that dreamlike figure in the middle of his room, a vision that would make any red-blooded human pause mid-breath. His long hair fell in a silky cascade down his bare back, the moonlight kissing the curves of his voluptuous body, leaving him bathed in a heavenly luminescence.

A scream caught in Rhys's throat, a dying gasp, as the figure stumbled across the room and switched on the bedside lamp. "Sssshh," he hissed immediately, putting a finger to his lips. "Don't make a scene, for God's sake!"

"T-Tay-Taylor?" Rhys stammered, looking more closely at him in the warm orange light of the lamp and not under the ethereal silver glow of the moon, which had bathed his friend's appearance in a mirage of wet dreams.

He could recognize him clearly, in the way he moved (less feline and sinuous than the succubus), in the way he gestured, or in the way he spoke with his usual inflections.

"What happened to S...?" Rhys began.

"Shhh," Taylor insisted, his eyes wide like a slaughtered lamb. "Don't say her name! Damn it! She's sleeping right now."

Rhys tried to sit up, but Taylor had squatted down beside the bed. He saw that he wasn't wearing baggy cotton shorts, and his thighs glinted in the night. He could only half sit up, his heart racing faster than the Energizer Bunny on steroids. "What do you want?" Rhys bolted upright, his eyes darting to the clock on his nightstand. It read 3:33 AM, a time that held no good news.

"Well, it's a simple equation, really," Taylor said with a restrained smile, as if trying to convince himself. "I need a... a... I need a little help..."

Rhys's eyes widened, his brain racing to catch up with the words coming out of Taylor's mouth. "What kind of help?" he asked, his voice shaky. He remembered the last time his housemate had woken him up this early in the morning was to ask for an antacid, but that had been before... before he wore a perfect size 4 dress.

"Look, I know this is weird," Taylor began, his voice barely above a whisper, "but the vibrator... you know, the one Jacques bought, was 'Killed In Action'."

Rhys stared at him, his eyes blinking rapidly as he tried to process the words. "Did you... break it?"

Taylor looked away, his cheeks burning. "Well, I didn't exactly break it. The battery just died. The problem is... It's more like it... stopped working at a very inopportune moment." He sat up a little and half-sit on the edge of the quilt, Rhys making room for him, puzzled.

Rhys rubbed his eyes, trying to wake up fully. "So, what's the emergency?" Rhys wondered, still deep in the haze of sleep, if there was service available for those things, or if the warranty would cover such intensive use.

Taylor took a deep breath, his feminine face flickering in the dim light. "I need you to...," he whispered, his voice trembling slightly. The urgency in his eyes was palpable, and Rhys could see the desperation in his expression. "I need you to replace it... I need relief.

He pushed himself up from the edge of the bed and with a swift, arcing motion of his leg, he sat down stealthily on top of Rhys's stomach.

"Dude!" Rhys yelled in shock, his voice echoing through the silent dorm room. He scrambled to sit up, blinking rapidly as he tried to comprehend what was happening, but the weight of his roommate's feminine form held him back.

"I know it's fucking weird," Taylor whispered, his voice thick with urgency. "But I can't... I can't hold it anymore."

"By Jabba the Hutt's dripping drool!" Rhys gulped as he realized he wasn't wearing his loose cotton shorts and... his boxers.

To be continued… 

Constructive comments, bookmarks, opinions, kudos, and observed typos are always welcome.

Chapter Text

Chapter 18: Help 

Rhys snapped his eyes open, wide awake, his heart pounding like a jackhammer. He stared up at the ceiling, his mind reeling with a thousand confusing thoughts. "What the current fuck?" his brain screamed, trying to mentally distance himself from that situation. "This isn't happening. I had to be dreaming."

But the weight on his stomach was very real, and Taylor's sweet perfume filled his nose, the same minty scent from the body wash that had been wafting through the shower for the past afternoon. Rhys hadn't expected that scent to turn him on, but here was the proof.

The hard proof.

He looked down at Taylor, his eyes shining with desperate longing, a stark contrast to the placid expression he usually wore when they were watching television or doing homework.

"Don't make me beg you, Rhys," Taylor whispered vehemently, his eyes glinting in the dim light from the lamp. "I was like this," he pressed his thumb and forefinger together, as if he were playing the world's smallest violin, "too close to reach and that thing loses power," Taylor lamented, lamenting that Murphy's Law also applied in moments like this.

Rhys felt a bead of cold sweat roll down his forehead as Taylor rocked back a little onto his stomach and his erection probed the cleft between his housemate's buttocks. "Whoa, whoa, WHOA!" he protested, his voice squeaky with panic. "WHAT ARE YOU DOING!?"

"I'll make it quick, I promise." Taylor's voice was an anguished growl, his eyes gleaming with a burning need that was impossible to ignore. "I just can't wait two hours for that damn thing to fully charge! I... I just need... your penis: hard, warm and firm... inside me!"

Rhys's mind was a tornado of shock and disbelief. It was all so ludicrous, like a plot twist in the worst kind of B-horror movie mixed with a porn film. If a few weeks ago he'd found himself attacked by a woman as attractive as Taylor, demanding sex with such exaggerated impetuosity, he would surely have given in immediately, as wobbly as a gelatin dessert in the summer heat.

But that had been then, and now was different.

Rhys pushed Taylor away with a force that surprised even him, sending her tumbling onto his thighs, his heart pounding. "T-Taylor, no, no, no! This is... wrong!" He couldn't even finish his sentence, his brain refusing to cooperate, both from lack of sleep and from the sudden surge of blood between his legs.

Taylor looked at him with a mix of desperation and condescension. "Of course I know this is wrong, Rhys," he panted, his breathing heavy and needy. "You don't understand, it's like having a fucking volcano between your legs ready to erupt," Taylor added, hopping onto the mattress on his heels and landing right on top of him, his knees straddling Rhys's waist.

The geek felt that scorching heat through the fabric of the thin quilt, the sheet and the underwear, as well as the pressure of Taylor's body on top of his, which was concentrated on that precise point as if it were the axis on which the world pivoted.

Rhys's mind reeled as Taylor's succulent thighs tightened around his waist, his eyes dark with a hunger that seemed to consume him. "No kisses, no hugs, no cuddles, no sweet nothings, no spooning, none of that feeling nonsense, I just want a quick... relief," he breathed, which rumbled and sent a tremor through his body, like the foreshadowing of an earthquake.

"Dude... we're... we're friends!" Rhys exclaimed, his voice strangled as he tried to push Taylor away.

Taylor leaned closer, leaning toward him to the point where the warmth of his breath and his long hair tickled Rhys's neck. "Think of it. It's just physics: inertia, action-reaction, bodies in motion, Newton's third law," he murmured, his voice trailing off, his gaze dropping to the tent that had formed in the sheets between Rhys's legs. 

Rhys stared up at him, his body torn between his moral compass and his unruly hormones. "Taylor, you're not... you can't just... ask me to do that!" He stammered, trying to keep his voice steady. But he felt his resolve waver, crumbling like a cookie in a cup of hot milk, the heat from Taylor's body seeping into him, making it difficult to think straight.

"It's not that I want to ask you," Taylor pleaded, her gaze searching Rhys's face for a hint of understanding. "I just need... Do you have any idea what it's like to be stuck on the edge of a cliff like THAT!? A man's orgasm comes and goes, but in a woman's body, it's like a roller coaster... terrifying and way too exciting if you're stuck at the top!"

Rhys gulped, his mind foggy. He didn't know what to say to him. He'd always considered Taylor his friend, his roommate who stayed up late watching TV series with him and was so popular with girls that none of them even noticed Rhys around him. In that sense, he'd always considered living with him a real pain.

Now, here he was, like a woman (the sexiest woman Rhys had ever had) sexually frustrated, almost begging to use him. Rhys looked down at the erection that was tenting his boxers, and his cheeks flushed with a mix of embarrassment and arousal. He knew he should say no, that this was crossing a line, He felt Taylor's hand slip under the quilt, to remove it and then under the sheet. His delicate touch sending shivers down his spine, as he made his advances.

For a second—almost a tenth of a second—Rhys remembered the image of Sir Arthur, in full armor and all, the protagonist of a particularly frustrating arcade game from his childhood, 'Ghost and Goblins'. It was the oldest machine in the mall in the Minnesota town where he lived, and no one could beat it because all it took for that idiot Sir Arthur was to take one hit and be stripped to his underwear, and then one more to lose.

The irony was palpable, in all the most twisted senses of the expression.

He had as little stamina as that cheap knight; his only defense was a few thin layers of cotton, and in reality, it wouldn't take more than a few blows and the GAME OVER screen would appear... It wasn't that he was going to die (luckily, man-eating succubi were a device of unimaginative screenwriters and writers), but his friendship with Taylor would be ruined when the next morning he regretted what had happened. Not to mention Jacques, whom she would never want to see again in his life.

Jacques...

"WAIT, NO!" Rhys blurted, stopping Taylor's hand in its tracks. Taylor seemed to suddenly wake up from a dream and scrunched up her face, turning away from him.

"Oh, shit! We can't do it like this!" Taylor exclaimed, his voice high-pitched with sudden recollection. He froze mid-move, his hand hovering just above Rhys's boxers like a moth caught in the headlights of a car.

Rhys felt a wave of relief wash over him, his chest heaving with the effort to keep his breathing steady. Taylor leaned back again, giving him room to breathe, looking down at him with a sheepish grin. "Oh, right, Buddy" he murmured, a blush spreading across his cheeks. "I almost forgot some... technical details." He reached into the pocket of the Hawaiian shirt, and with a flourish worthy of a Vegas magician, pulled out a condom.

Rhys stared at it, his eyes widening even further. "No way!" he choked out, disbelief mixing with a hint of horror, when it was deployed and they appeared five condoms strung together like a macabre necklace of rubber.

It didn't seem like it was going to be a 'quickie', Taylor might not consider him an exciting roller coaster, like the vibrator, but he was going to take a few laps in Rhys's spinning teacups!

Rhys's hand shot out like a rocket, trying to grab the condom packet before Taylor could rip it open with his teeth, but the universe had a cruel sense of humor. His hand landed on the condoms and ended up feeling the soft, full mound of Taylor's breast. It was a moment so unexpected that time seemed to stop.

Taylor gasped, "Seems like this is going to become a habit, isn't it?" His eyes flew wide open at Rhys's open palm, which didn't dare cover the roundness of his breast. There was a very awkward silence thick enough to cut with a knife.

With a seductive smirk, Taylor began to rock his hips over Rhys's crotch, his moist center gliding against the fabric of his boxers. Rhys could feel the heat and dampness of his roommate's pussy, and he couldn't help but respond in kind, his erection growing harder by the second. The silence in the room was deafening, except for the rustling of the bed and the occasional sigh escaping Taylor's plump lips.

Rhys removed his hand before he regretted not doing so, and Taylor dropped the latex quintet on the bedspread, before beginning to unbutton his Hawaiian shirt, one button at a time. Each button revealed a little more of his creamy skin, the moonlight and the flexo light playing peekaboo with the shadows cast by the palm trees and floral patterns of the fabric. His chest, now bare, bobbed with every breath he took, the soft mounds of his breasts moving tantalizingly close to Rhys's face. Her nipples, dark and erect, pointed straight at him like tiny arrows of temptation.

Taylor straddled Rhys's hips, his erection pressing against the fabric of his boxers, and began to grind his sex against him, the friction making him groan. The room grew hotter, the air thick with the scent of arousal, the only sound the soft whimpers coming from Taylor's throat and the squeaks of the bed.

But just as Taylor was about to give in to his desperate need, Rhys made a last ditch effort to stop this madness. He rolled over with a swiftness that defied his normally clumsy nature and pinned his roommate beneath him.

"Wait, Taylor!" He gasped, his eyes wild with panic and resolve. "I remembered something!" He leaned over to the nightstand, his hand fumbling in the darkness, feeling Taylor's chest vibrate like a bellows as she breathed, until he found what he was looking for.

With a triumphant, almost childlike smile, he pulled out of the bottom drawer a shiny new vibrator, large, very long, black, and more anatomically accurate than Taylor would have liked.

"What the... How did you...?" Taylor's voice was a mix of surprise and disbelief, his eyes glued to the vibrator in Rhys's hand like it was a grenade with the pin already pulled. "Why do you have one of these on your nightstand!?"

"Jacques bought it," Rhys explained, bringing the device closer to the lamp's light, but Taylor was still too shocked to appreciate the subtle shimmer of the vibrator's smooth, silicone surface. "Jacques got you a backup, just in case," he clarified, holding it up like a perverted trophy.

Taylor's face went through a range of emotions from surprise to suspicion to a kind of tired resignation that Rhys had never seen before. "And you just kept it there? In your drawer?" He tried to sit up, but Rhys's weight held him down.

Rhys agreed reluctantly.

"But it's charged! You can use it," he offered, his voice shaky. Taylor's eyes widened as he flipped on the switch and the thing started to buzz in his hand. The sound was like a bee had gotten into the room, and it grew louder as he turned it up to full power.

Taylor looked at Rhys's boxers for a second and then at the new, unused device, the promise of a battery that hadn't yet been drained by his insatiable needs.

He remained silent for what felt like an eternity, his gaze jumping from Rhys's hopeful face to the vibrator and back again, and back again, as if he were watching a tennis match. His thoughts raced, a tornado of doubt, confusion, and a touch of amusement. This was certainly not what he had expected when he had burst into the room in the middle of the night with Krakatoa threatening to erupt between his legs.

With a sigh that was more dramatic than any Shakespearean heroine, Taylor flopped back onto the bed, his succulent breasts bouncing like jello in a bowl. "Give it to me!" he exclaimed, his voice a mix of frustration and relief, reaching out his hand for the vibrator.

To be continued… 

Constructive comments, bookmarks, opinions, kudos, and observed typos are always welcome.

Chapter Text

Chapter 19: Fear 

Rhys handed it over with a tremble, his heart racing as if he had just run a relay race. He watched, his eyes as wide as dinner plates, as Taylor turned it on and examined it analytically, like a smoker indulging in Havana cigars. The buzzing sound grew louder; he felt his erection throb in response but tried to push it away, trapped beneath his own weight.

With a playful smirk, Taylor rolled off the bed with the grace of a cat landing on her feet, the vibrator still buzzing in her hand.

"Your girlfriend is a very smart girl," he exclaimed, holding the vibrator up to his ear, the buzzing sounding like a tiny, sultry whisper.

Rhys wanted to repeat for the umpteenth time that he and Jacques weren't a couple; they'd only been dating for a few weeks... but decided to change the subject. "It's not a gift from her. It costs $58.99."

Taylor looked at him as if he'd just said he'd bought the Mona Lisa at a garage sale. "Okay, okay," he chuckled, setting the vibrator down. "I'll pay you tomorrow."

Taylor couldn't help but laugh, a little hysterically, at the absurdity of the situation. Here he was, a college freshman, a frat boy, with a vibrator in his hand, undressed like a Vegas stripper's fever dream, and his roommate was almost giving him a thumbs up.

He slithered off the bed, letting Rhys glimpse her round, firm, perky bottom, like a peach at its perfect ripeness. He watched as Taylor strutted across the room, his newfound feminine body moving with an agility and haste that made the Hawaiian shirt float like a ghostly veil, before disappearing with a soft click of the door.

The room spun with the aftermath of their tension-filled encounter, leaving Rhys feeling both relieved and a bit disappointed.

He lay there for a moment, his heart pounding in his ears, and his body still singing with the unreleased tension. The boner still standing proudly against the fabric of his boxers was a testament to how close he'd come to giving in. Rhys knew he needed to get some sleep, but his brain was in overdrive, trying to process what had just happened. He looked at the half-closed door of his room for a few seconds and then at the clock on the table, without moving. He'd gone from sleepy to shocked to turned on to... well, still turned on, in the span of about ten minutes.

In the midst of the sepulchral silence, He could hear the sound of the vibrator in Taylor's hand buzzing away like a mini chainsaw. Taylor's muffled moans echoed through the walls, and he couldn't help but wonder what was going on in his roommate's head, if he was even capable of thought at this point.

But all Rhys could think about was that he couldn't lock his bedroom door; if he dared to leave his bed, he most likely would just end up knocking on Taylor's door, begging to be let in. He had to physically stop himself from getting up to join him.

He sighed, seeing his erection under the sheet, still standing tall, as if it had a mind of its own. "Look, meaty," Rhys whispered to his traitorous member, "now isn't the time." He gently tried to coax it down, but it remained stubborn, as if it had just seen its favorite porn star in the flesh. "We're not going to go there, okay? I know she drives us crazy, but keep in mind that she's a dude... and our friend!" he said, trying to keep his voice light.

The irony of the situation wasn't lost on him.

Taylor's muffled gasps grew louder, and Rhys's hand paused, his eyes flicking towards the door. The vibrator's buzz had reached a crescendo that seemed to echo through the walls. "I mean, you know what I mean," he whispered, his voice strained, as if his dick were an unruly puppy that needed scolding. "We've got to be cool about this, meaty." His words were a silent mantra to himself more than his boner.

With a deep sigh, Rhys searched his nightstand for a pack of tissues and a bottle of lotion, deciding that the practical solution to his predicament was the only way to go. He knew he couldn't let his desires get the best of him, not when Taylor was just a few feet away, going through his own private hell—or heaven, depending on how one looked at it. The buzzing from Taylor's room grew louder, the sound of the vibrator punctuating the air with a rhythmic pulse that was impossible to ignore.

Back to the present...

The succubus tried to ignore the uncomfortable feeling of not being able to control the receptacle's body at all times, of being in the 'passenger' seat instead of the driver's, so to speak. There was nothing else she could do, and she didn't know if she would want to reverse it if she could somehow manage it, since experiencing that lack of control was causing her nothing but a deep sense of unease...

Or perhaps it was Taylor's discomfort, which was seeping through his neurons until it reached her. At that moment, he was pacing like a caged animal from one side of the kitchen to the other and the living room. Every now and then, he would stop and straighten a sofa cushion that wasn't really crooked, or pick up some unswept mess from a dark corner.

The succubus knew, thanks to the memories they shared, that this was one of his ways of managing stress when he felt overwhelmed. He turned into a frantic, order-freak hamster who circled around and around his tiny living space, turning everything upside down.

"Taylor, are you OK?" She called out, her voice tentative, not wanting to add to his anxiety. Taylor stopped his frenetic walk and took a deep breath, his hand hovering over a wayward sock that had made its way to the couch.

"Yeah, just... thinking," he replied, his voice strained.

"Thinking about what, exactly?" the succubus inquired, a soft whisper in the back of his mind. Not that she meant to be curious, but if Taylor was suffering another morale slump, it was her duty, at least as the accidental squatter of his body and mind, to encourage him and assure him that they would turn this mess around.

Taylor paused mid-step, his eyes drifting to his chest. "Bras," he murmured out loud. The succubus felt a twinge of amusement at his expense, but she knew it was a serious matter. The human form was a complex contraption, especially the female one. It was easy to forget how much work went into keeping everything in place, especially when you hadn't had to deal with it before.

He sighed, his bare breasts jiggling slightly with the movement, every step, every breath, every time he bent down or turned. They were surprisingly sensitive, a constant reminder of his transformation.

"I'm going to need to wear one sooner or later, aren't I?" Taylor asked, his gaze lingering on his chest, through the small channel revealed by the two loose buttons. The succubus could feel his discomfort, his mind struggling through the logistics of his new life.

"Indeed," she replied, her tone understanding.

Personally, she'd prefer to go 'commando', without panties or bra; they made her feel sexier and more willing. But she also knew, thanks to the memories of previous receptacles women, that those extra layers of fabric made everyday life more bearable, something they would have to focus on from now on.

In addition, Taylor faced an unexpected handicap that made his personal experience more overwhelming and more terrifying than usual. While a woman had spent her entire life sensing her body and becoming aware of every part of it, Taylor had only been in that form for a mere twelve hours, and the sensory overload was overwhelming. Every sway of those breasts was like a sudden tug on his scrotum; every touch of those thighs and crotch was like a dry jerk on his cock.

She couldn't know what was going through his head, but it was easy to echo his concerns. Taylor had never worn a bra, although he was unusually skilled at unclasping the ones from his one-night stands, nor did he seem to have ever looked at such garments with that intention. Perhaps the idea of ​​surrendering a bit of his masculinity in that regard caused him turmoil and aversion.

"But let's not rush into things. A sports bra would be more comfortable for your... current needs. It provides support without the fuss of an underwire." The succubus's voice was soothing, like a gentle breeze in his ear, offering guidance through this minefield of uncharted territory.

Taylor nodded absently, his mind seeming to wander down the dark alleys of 'female problems'. "Putting on a bra is the least of my problems," he whispered the words as if speaking them out loud would make them real, "I'll have to deal with... tampons, pads, menstruation, PMS, and... and...?" He trailed off, his face paling like a vampire in a tanning salon.

The succubus felt the sudden shift in Taylor's mood, his anxiety rising like a dark cloud. She knew she had to act quickly before he spiraled into a full-blown panic attack. "One thing at a time," she cooed, trying to calm the storm in his mind. But Taylor was already on a roll, his voice rising with each new horror.

"And what if...what if I get a period? What if...what if I get pregnant?" He exclaimed, his eyes widening in horror, his voice echoing through the small apartment. "Oh my god! Last night... I don't know if any of them..."

The succubus felt a shiver of cold panic run through their shared body. That was a possibility she hadn't considered.

"I... I don't know," she admitted, her voice a bit shakier than usual, the realization dawning on her that this was indeed a real concern. Taylor's eyes grew even wider, and the succubus could see the panic starting to set in. She had to put his fears to rest, or at least ease them. "There is no user manual for what I am... Usually succubi have female receptacles and incubi have male ones, but our situation is..." she paused, searching for the right word, but did not find it.

"Incubi?" The word hung in the air like a forgotten password hint. The succubus felt Taylor's mind a sea of ​​doubts stirred by a storm, trying to piece together the puzzle of his new reality. "What are those?"

The succubus took a moment before answering, weighing the gravity of the revelation.

"They're male counterparts, Taylor," the succubus replied gently. "A succubus takes on a female form to have... relations," she tried to use euphemisms to keep Taylor's frayed nerves in check, "typically with straight men or lesbians. An incubus does the same, but takes on a male form to... engage," she paused, hesitating, "with straight women and gay men. But, so to speak, we are really two sides of the same coin, heads or tails, depending on the toss."

Taylor gave a snort that sounded almost like a croak, his breathing ragged and his nose wet. "Could you... could you do... that coin thing? Could you be a...?"

The succubus felt a pang of sadness. "Incubus? No, Taylor. I'm sorry, but I've always been female, I've never adopted any other type of receptacle, and I've already explained that I identify as feminine in every way. I'm sorry... I know there are others of my ilk who can... who are more 'flexible' and can alter the anatomy of their receptacles, but I wouldn't even know where to begin."

Taylor slumped back onto the couch, his body feeling like it was made of lead. "Okay, okay," he whispered to himself, trying to breathe through his panic. "But you've already altered... my anatomy, haven't you? In what way?

The succubus remained silent for a moment, contemplating how to explain the complexities of their situation without sending Taylor spiraling further into despair. "I don't know exactly how it works," she began, her voice tentative. "It's... complicated, like asking a sparrow to explain how its wings fly, or a spider what its webs are made of; it's instinct".

"But what if..." Taylor's voice trailed off, the mental image of the condoms that had been scattered throughout the auditorium that morning becoming clearly visible in the succubus's mind, a fear so profound that it had pierced the barriers between their consciousnesses, like a battering ram.

"Well, I have two hypotheses," the succubus noted, her tone measured and soothing despite the tumultuous emotions roiling within Taylor. "The first is your body has been transformed to mimic a condition known as androgen insensitivity syndrome, where a person is born with XY chromosomes but their body is unresponsive to androgens, leading to the development of a fully female body despite being genetically male. It's a rare condition, but in our case, it could be a defense mechanism to keep you from producing... offspring."

Taylor's eyes closed, a silent plea for reassurance, and he curled up in the corner of the sofa, his legs pressed tightly against his chest. "And the second, Sherlock?" he exclaimed with a bitter hint of irony.

"The second," the succubus continued, her voice a gentle caress, "is that the transformation was more... comprehensive. You may now have two X chromosomes, making you fully female, biologically speaking."

Taylor's eyes snapped open, the color draining from his cheeks. "Shit! No way," he whispered, his voice barely audible. The succubus felt his fear, his panic, his utter disbelief.

"But even if that were our case" she rushed to add, sensing Taylor's distress, "There's no way you could have gotten pregnant last night, you know."

Taylor looked around in confusion, a glimmer of hope in his eyes. "Why not?"

"Did you never pay attention in biology or sex education class?!" the succubus retorted irritably, feeling a rare flash of annoyance at Taylor's ignorance. "Don't you remember how the menstrual cycle works?"

Taylor blinked, his mind racing to recall the distant memories of high school health class. "Oh, right," he mumbled, the color returning to his cheeks in a slow blush. "The ovum isn't just lying around waiting for some sperm to come crashing in."

The succubus nodded, her relief palpable. "Exactly. It takes time for an ovum to form in the ovary and travel through the fallopian tubes to the uterus. Plus, your transformation was... sudden. I'm not even sure your body would have been ready for it."

The succubus bit her tongue to avoid explaining that this was just a hypothesis of a hypothesis; normally, when the women who acted as receptacles summoned her, they chose the most fertile days of their cycle.

That was the original purpose of the summoning, a celebratory rite of bringing forth life and its sacred power, but that was before her nature was twisted, demonized (literally speaking) and turned into a puppet of lecherous priests and warlocks who only wanted her to satisfy their unrestricted repressed desires.

To be continued… 

Constructive comments, bookmarks, opinions, kudos, and observed typos are always welcome.

Chapter Text

Chapter 20: Flush 

Taylor took a deep breath, trying to wrap his head around the information the succubus had given him. "So, I'm either a genetic freak or a full-blown woman now?" he remarked with a quivering chuckle, trying to ease the mood.

He'd felt like he was riding a merry-go-round, going up and down, over and over again, ever since he'd woken up that morning clutching Cody's cock. Luckily, Taylor remembered how Jude and his mom always marked their monthly calendars to tell them when their periods were due. They were as precise as a Swiss watch, and at least that thought comforted him. If he followed the same familiar pattern, he'd be out of trouble, whatever it was, in four weeks.

But now, just now, the sudden pressure in his bladder was a stark reminder of his most current predicament. "Hold up," he announced in an off-key voice, standing up from the couch with a jerk. "I... I have to pee."

Taylor had to pee, and not just a little bit; it was like he'd downed gallons of water, his bladder protesting against his new anatomy. He'd never felt this urgency before, not in this way. It was different from the usual 'gotta go' feeling; it was more intense, more pressing, more... feminine. He looked down at his body, at the unfamiliar mound between his legs, and sighed heavily.

The succubus watched him with a bemused expression as he made his way to the bathroom, bringing his legs and knees together. "Okay, don't be alarmed, Taylor. It's the same principle," she called out after him. "Just sit down and let it happen."

Taylor's hand hovered over the doorknob, with a pressure on his crotch that was nothing like what she had experienced that night during the orgy. He took another deep breath and stepped inside, closing the door behind him with a gentle click. He stared at the toilet, his thoughts racing as he tried to convince himself that he could do this. He'd know the mechanics, at least in theory, but the reality of the situation was something else entirely. With trembling hands, he lowered his boxer shorts to his knees, considering for a moment the absurdity of his situation before he took a seat and hoped for the best.

He waited and waited, the seconds dragging on as the pressure in his bladder grew unbearably greater.

He couldn't shed a drop.

Taylor felt like a man trying to thread a needle in the dark, fumbling around with no idea of ​​where to aim. He'd read about it and heard the jokes between women but never truly understood the gravity of the situation until now. Taylor's mind went into panic, the cold porcelain sending shivers up his spine. His bladder was screaming at him, but his body wasn't cooperating.

"What the fuck is wrong with me?" he murmured, his voice echoing off the bathroom tiles. The sensation was alien, his new body parts feeling like a foreign language his brain hadn't quite learned to speak yet.

"This happens sometimes," the succubus said calmly, her voice floating through the mirror. "Your brain is still catching up to the changes... It's like in 'Kill Bill Volume 1', where Uma Thurman has to wiggle her big toe. You'll get the hang of it."

Taylor rolled his eyes at the movie reference; he didn't even know which muscle of that unknown anatomy was the one that refused to obey.

"Fucking hell," he whispered, his cheeks reddening with both embarrassment and effort. He'd never had to think about peeing before. It was always just something that happened naturally. Now, it felt like he was trying to solve a blindfolded Rubik's cube.

Finally, with a sigh of relief, he felt the first few drops fall. They hit the water with a faint pitter-patter, a sound that was both oddly comforting and eerily unfamiliar. As the flow grew stronger, Taylor leaned back, his eyes closed in concentration. It was like learning to ride a bike all over again, except this time, the bike was his own pussy.

As the warm stream began to flow with more confidence, Taylor couldn't help but feel a mix of relief and a strange, almost guilty pleasure. The succubus had been right; it was like peeing in a way he never had before, but it was surprisingly comfortable. He let out a sigh of relief, his shoulders dropping slightly as the tension drained from his body. For a moment, he just sat there, feeling the last droplets fall into the toilet bowl, his mind racing with questions about his future. Would he ever pee standing up again? Would he ever have sex like a man?

When he opened his eyes, Taylor caught a glimpse of the succubus in the mirror, examining his Hawaiian shirt that he kept unbuttoning and rebuttoning, her gaze lost in deep thought, her lips pursed as if contemplating some great mystery. He watched her for a moment, her heart swelling with a mix of understanding and bewilderment.

Her eyes met his in the reflection, and she offered him a small smile, the kind you give someone who's just learned to tie their shoes. "Sorry, I was distracted," she murmured, her voice a soft whisper in the tense silence of the bathroom. He took a large piece of toilet paper, folded it several times, and tried to dry himself down there as best he could.

"What's going on?" Taylor asked, his voice a little concerned, as he stood up and flushed the toilet, his eyes never leaving the succubus's reflection.

"Just thinking," she said this time, turning to face him fully. Her eyes searched his, looking for something that Taylor wasn't quite sure was there. "About... men's clothing... pants... shirts, things like that," she began, her voice trailing off as she seemed to be lost in her own thoughts.

"You've really hit it hard with that topic," Taylor exclaimed with a smirk, pulling his boxers back up and washing his hands. The succubus's gaze lingered on his reflection, and he couldn't help but feel a bit self-conscious. "What's the big deal with men's clothes?"

"Well, the wardrobe choices are... interesting," the succubus mused, her eyes sparkling with mischief. "I've been around here for millennia; I guess anything new is a bit of a thrill... Or maybe I've developed an unexpected fetish," she added with a cheeky wink.

"Why do you always have to use such obscene language?" Taylor accused with a smirk, stepping out of the bathroom, the conversation shifting to something less... existentially terrifying.

"Professional deformity, boy," the succubus quipped, following Taylor out of the bathroom, like a voice in her head that had suddenly become too loud. "Though, really, I was mostly meditating on the clothes you wore during the ritual."

"What about them?" Taylor asked, genuinely curious and amused despite the serious tone in her voice. "Apart from the fact that those robes looked like a cross between 'Squid Game' and 'Little Red Riding Hood'?"

The succubus shrugged, her eyes gleaming with curiosity. "They were symbolic, Taylor," she said, her voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper. "But what I don't make any sense of is that the robes you and the other pledges wore were all identical."

Taylor froze, his hand hovering over the fridge handle, to see if there was any soda at the bottom he'd missed earlier. "What do you mean?"

"The robes you were all wearing, they were like... uniforms. Why would you need to be dressed the same for a ritual like that?" The succubus continued, her curiosity piqued. "It's almost as if they were designed to... I don't know, make you all interchangeable?"

Taylor grabbed an expired soda from the fridge and cracked it open, taking a long, cold sip. "It's part of the ceremony, I guess," he murmured, his mind back to the night of the ritual. The robes were supposed to be a symbol of unity, a way to strip away individuality and create a bond between pledges and older members of the brotherhood. All the same. But now, the idea that there might have been something more to him sent a chill down his spine, which had nothing to do with the soda.

"Uniforms in rituals are commonplace in the circle," the succubus murmured, her eyes glazed over as she remembered past ceremonies and the various guises of worship. "But in this context, it feels... different. That lack of individuality is... concerning. Not even the summoner was wearing anything else."

Taylor took a swig of his soda, the carbonation bubbling in his throat as he swallowed. "What does it matter?" he asked, trying to brush off the discomfort that the succubus's words brought. "It's just a stupid frat thing, Hell Week, right? Like ping pong with little glasses of prune juice instead of beer, cleaning the frat house in a black-and-white-striped prison jumpsuit, or those firefighter drills." He listed, his voice wavering slightly, the different tests he had been subjected to in those seven days.

The succubus was still worried.

"As I already explained to you, symbolism within a ritual is very important," she reasoned, her voice low and measured. "But the uniformity of those robes, it's not just about unity or humility. It's about control. The summoner wanted you all to be... indistinguishable. It's a sign of something more sinister." Succubus's words hung heavy in the air, each one dropping like a lead weight into Taylor's stomach. "Normally, in a ritual, there's a clear distinction between the summoner, the receptacle, and the participants in the circle," the succubus went on, pacing the room as she spoke, like a spectral voice outside Taylor's skull. "But here, everyone looked the same. It's like you were all... marked."

Taylor's heart hammered in his chest, his grip on the soda can tightening until his knuckles turned white.

"What the fuck are you saying?" Taylor spat out the soda, spilling it over his chin and onto his chest. The cold liquid brought him back to reality with a jolt, and he set the can down on the counter with a clank.

"I'm saying, Taylor," the succubus began, her tone eerily calm, "that it's normal for the summoner to wear something that distinguishes him, like a mask made from the skull of some horned animal, it's a true cliché, or an ostentatious amulet, or some such tacky nonsense. If he didn't wear it, he would run the risk of..." Her voice stopped abruptly, leaving the words unspoken.

"The risk of what?" Taylor pressed, his eyes wide with alarm. He could feel the succubus's tension through their bond, a coil of unease winding tighter with each beat of his heart.

"Oh, shit! "Oh, holy shit!" she exclaimed, her voice rising in pitch with each word. "I'm an idiot! The most idiotic succubus ever! I've understood everything backwards. He didn't wear anything distinctive, of course not. He didn't have to!" The succubus paused, her eyes widening with horror. "Don't you understand? You are the 'asshole', and so is everyone else. You were all summoners!"

The revelation hit Taylor like a sledgehammer. "What do you mean, 'we were all summoners'?" he sputtered, his mind disconcertingly blank. The succubus paused and took a deep breath.

Take a deep breath. "The way the ceremony was structured," she began, "I didn't see the point of this summoning ritual. I thought it was because your memories were flawed due to your denial, but I was the one who was wrong."

Her voice grew quieter, a rare moment of vulnerability that Taylor hadn't heard from her before. "All the same, all the same," she stammered for a few moments.

"Hey! Come back to yourself!" He imprecated her, his voice sharper than a knife. The succubus snapped out of her trance-like state and noticed that she was thinking clearly again in the part of her mind that she had occupied. "Explain yourself!"

"The robes, the Latin chants, the candles, and your drinking from the anointed chalice... you all did it!" She said in a whisper, her voice shaking. "The robes you wore didn't just strip you of your individuality. They turned you all into summoners, as you performed all the steps in each part. But you were also part of the circle and potential receptacles... I never thought I'd see something like this."

"Anointed chalice? Which chalice?" Taylor's eyes narrowed as he tried to digest the succubus's words.

The succubus looked at him incredulously. "The one you drank from, the margarita punch bowl," she said, as if it were the most obvious thing in the world. "Normally, it's a silver cup that only the summoner drinks from, but this time the ritual required a larger amount."

"You said the margaritas were anointed. With what?" Taylor's voice was barely above a whisper, his mind trying to piece together the events of that fateful night.

The silence grew thick as honey and sour as gall. "Blood," the succubus said with a plaintive sigh. "Animal blood. It's... a common ingredient in summoning rituals for my ilk. It's... it's how we're bound to this plane. I'm sorry, but there's no such thing as a summoning ritual for vegans, I guess."

Taylor felt his stomach lurch, the sweetness of the soda turning to bile in his mouth. "So, we all drank... blood?" he asked, his voice shaking.

"Don't exaggerate either; it would be a few drops dissolved in a huge punch bowl," the succubus said, trying to lighten the mood but failing miserably.

Taylor leaned heavily against the counter, his legs suddenly weak. "And what does that mean for us?" he asked, his voice a mere thread of sound.

When the succubus spoke again, her voice was tinged with an ominous yet euphoric quality that unnerved Taylor, giving him a strange glimmer of hope that he didn't know where it came from. "The three elements of an invocation always... almost always fulfill different functions," she corrected herself, muttering through her teeth. "This ritual seems like a variant I'd seen in Mesopotamia... or perhaps it was in Lusitania." She hesitated for a few seconds, then continued. "The receptacle was the only one that had to hold the candle that would guide me to this plane; the circle was to extol the chant that would give me form and purpose, and the summoner was the only one who had drunk from the chalice to receive the name... my name, in his ears."

Taylor felt the air leave his lungs as the succubus's words sank in. "So, you're saying that... that... What the hell are you saying?"

"What I'm saying is, this is one of those 'good news and bad news' situations," the succubus clarified, her tone a peculiar blend of amusement and horror. "The good news is that now it makes sense that I can hear you—that I MUST hear you—and also that I remember your name. You haven't forbidden me from remembering it... Ha!" she laughed unexpectedly.

The sound echoed in Taylor's head, a mix of relief and dread. "But what's the bad news?"

"The bad news," she began in a sobering voice, "is that the summoner is supposed to be the one who has ultimate control over me. But since you all were summoners..." She trailed off, the gravity of the situation weighing heavily on them both.

Taylor's eyes widened in horror. "You're saying they all have control over you?"

"Any of them who have heard my name," the succubus stated flatly, the humor draining from her voice like water from a sink.

The door opened at that precise moment, interrupting the tense silence that had settled in the room. Rhys stumbled back inside, his arms loaded with several duffel bags filled with freshly laundered clothes, his eyes scanning the entryway for a place to put them. Taylor's heart sank when he saw his roommate again, and he stiffened, staring at the back of his head, his expression panicked.

"Taylor? Are you here? Could you give me a hand, please?" Rhys called out, tossing a bag onto the couch, and turning to face him, he jumped at the sight. "Who are you?"

Taylor's knees buckled and he collapsed to the floor, his eyes rolling back into his head as the succubus's words echoed in his mind. The room swirled around him, a tornado of fabric softener and existential dread. He'd taken one too many spins on that emotional merry-go-round for one day, and it looked like he was going to swoon away.

To be continued… 

Constructive comments, bookmarks, opinions, kudos, and observed typos are always welcome.

Chapter Text

Chapter 21: Perform 

The day before, almost at dusk...

"Hey! Help me with this end! This monstrosity is really heavy!" exclaimed one of the Sigma Kappa Beta members who was placing the enormous painting in the middle of the auditorium. His face was flushed from the extra effort he was putting into straightening the frame into its final position.

Taylor walked over and tried to firmly grasp one of the ornate, baroque ornaments on the hardwood, protruding from the protective packaging. But he was surprised by the inertia; it was like trying to move a train.

"Why do we need such a big painting right here?" Taylor asked, beads of sweat forming on his forehead as he pushed and pulled with the other fraternity brothers, who crowded around him.

"It's part of the final pledge ceremony, idiot," snickered James Mitchell, the one who'd complained and asked for help. "You'll see why."

Taylor shrugged as best he could after finishing adjusting the painting on his easel, too tired to argue. He'd had enough of the cryptic ritual bullshit for the day. But something about the way James said it made his hair stand on end, as if he knew a bad omen.

"Okay, let's get this show on the road," said Jacody 'Cody' Leroy Garreth, the frat's resident jock, flexing his developed, black arm muscles. He was already dressed in the fancy red ceremonial robe.

The auditorium buzzed with the excitement of the pledges and the solemnity of the frat brothers as they set the stage for the final ritual of Hell Week. The room was decked out like something out of a medieval torture chamber meets 'Game of Thrones' set, with thick velvet drapes hanging from the walls, casting an eerie orange glow from the flickering candles scattered around the room.

"Good heavens! Stop clowning around, Cody!" James complained as the burly football player pretended to swing a sword at one of the velvet drapes, almost knocking over a candelabrum. "This shit is serious, okay?"

"Like you're not excited, right?" he replied, throwing back his red satin cape and revealing his dark torso, like a chocolate Superman.

"We're all excited, but that doesn't mean we should act like children," James retorted, his voice echoing around the room with a gravity that seemed almost comical given the setting. "It would have been nice if you'd helped us out five minutes ago with this thing." He pointed out of the corner of his eye at the enormous, heavy picture frame. "Instead of dressing up so soon... You're going to end up staining or breaking it, damn it!"

"Chill, you're going to have a heart attack before you turn twenty-one," Cody said, tossing the cape over his shoulder, a smug grin on his face. He sauntered over to help the others with the painting, his muscles flexing with every step. "You don't have to worry about seven years of bad luck if you break it, James, it's not a real one."

"A mirror?" Taylor said to himself, flinching next to what he'd thought was a painting. He still didn't see the point of it standing in the middle of the auditorium.

"Great, Garreth!" James said, his tone impatient. "Now, could you go somewhere else and do something productive instead of spoiling the ritual...? And remember, no talking during the ceremony!" he added as Cody strutted away.

Ollie Grant, a freshman who'd been pledging alongside Taylor, approached with a large cardboard box filled with white paper cups. "Hey, Taylor," he whispered, his voice filled with excitement. "Are you ready for this?"

Taylor agreed excitedly, though he had no idea what he was in for. The Hell Week had been a blur of humiliating tasks, sleep deprivation, and strange alcoholic rituals, but he'd done it through, mostly unscathed. He'd even started to feel a sense of belonging among these misfits. The Sigma Kappa Beta fraternity brothers had become his closest friends in the short time they'd spent together, and he was eager to provide himself to them.

As the sun disappeared behind the horizon, casting long shadows across the room, the atmosphere grew more tense. A clap suddenly broke the tension in the audience, and all eyes turned to the newcomer. "It's 8:00 p.m. All pledges, go to your rooms to change!" shouted Brad Pearson, the oldest brother present in the house.

Taylor and Ollie hurried upstairs to the west wing of the house where they'd been housed until their final admission, their hearts racing like it was their first day at the frat house. The corridor was lined with identical doors, each leading to a large, single room where the pledges had been bunking. The air was thick with the smell of sweat, energy drinks, and a hint of air freshener to mask certain... masculine effluvia born from lonely nights. The anticipation grew like a living entity, wrapping itself around Taylor's chest and squeezing until he could barely breathe.

In his room, Taylor found the robe he would wear tonight folded in a duffle bag on his bed, the crimson fabric seemingly pulsing in the dim light. He picked it up, feeling the coarse weave against his fingertips, and realized that the robe was much lighter than he'd thought. It looked quite nice and expensive, and he wondered how much it would cost him if he accidentally ripped it, as James had hinted to Cody.

A slight commotion in the next room distracted him for a second and he looked out to see what was happening. Tom Hooper poked his head out of his own doorway, his eyes wide with excitement and nerves. "Tay! You got your instructions yet?" he whispered, holding up a piece of aged parchment with an air of reverence.

Taylor pulled another piece of parchment, handwritten and presumably used for several decades, from inside the bundle of clothes they'd left on his bed. "Yeah, that's a summary of what they've told us, right?" he whispered back to Tom, trying to keep his voice low but failing to hide the excitement from his tone. The instructions were cryptic and archaic, detailing the sequence of actions they'd have to perform during the ceremony.

The two of them read through the instructions together, comparing notes and sharing bewildered looks.

The first order was very simple: when 9:00 p.m. struck, each pledge was to enter their rooms and change into their ceremonial attire. They were not to wear any clothing other than that provided, except perhaps underwear or a light T-shirt if needed.

"Yeah, it's like we're in some kind of Harry Potter shit," Ollie said, also poking his head into Taylor's room and entering without permission. His blonde hair was sticking up in every direction, giving him a slightly deranged look. "But instead of fighting Voldemort, we're... doing whatever it is we're doing."

"You mean we'll look like crappy extras from an Assassin's Creed video game?" Taylor replied, annoyed by Ollie's comment about the wizard saga.

"No, it's cooler than that!" Tom said, his eyes glinting with excitement. "This is like... ancient shit, right? Like, we're going to be part of something that's been happening for centuries!"

"Come on! What a load of crap!" Ollie snapped the parchment with a grin. "I mean, why the cloaks and the candles? It's like we're in a Renaissance Faire mixed with 'Among Us' and an escape room."

"Besides, it's not centuries old, just from the 1960s," Callum Lane shouted from his bedroom. He always had a good ear for eavesdropping.

Tom rolled his eyes, "You had to ruin the vibe, Cal!"

"What vibe? This is all just theater," Callum said, stepping out into the hallway and standing in front of the room, "a bunch of ritual nonsense to make us feel important," he added, crossing his arms over his chest, his skepticism palpable.

"And fuck, of course, I'm going to wear my lucky boxers," Ollie exclaimed, holding up a pair with cartoon devils on them. "You know, just in case we actually do summon something!"

Tom couldn't help but laugh, his nerves visibly dissipating. "You're insane, you know that?"

Ollie shrugged, his grin widening. "Hey, better safe than sorry," he quipped, tossing the parchment back to Taylor. "But seriously, guys, do we have any idea what's going to happen tonight?"

"Well, it looks like the... girl they'll bring her into the house before the ceremony starts," Callum pointed out, avoiding the word 'prostitute.' "That's what Adam and I were discussing a moment ago."

"But why the secrecy?" Ollie wondered aloud, his eyes darting back to the parchment. "And why go through all this trouble?"

"It's all part of the tradition," Adam Bailey said, his voice carrying the solemnity of a funeral march, as he approached. He was a second-year engineering student with a penchant for the dramatic, his eyes alight with the thrill of the unknown.

"It's more like a cheap Vegas magician's trick," Callum contradicted, his skepticism as thick as the dust on the forgotten textbooks scattered around their dorm. "They're probably going to pull some kind of flashy lights and smoke, make us think we're summoning something, when in reality it's just going to be some chick dressed up as a demon."

"But how are they going to get her into the house?" Taylor asked with a grimace of disgust on his lips. "They're not going to just bring her through the front door, are they? . Is she just going to be waiting in the basement like a... a... I don't know, a surprise birthday party?"

Ollie laughed, "More like a bachelor sex party, right?" His voice was high pitched with excitement.

"I think there must be some hidden passageway leading to the outside," Callum bet, his eyes scanning the walls of the hallway. "Like Ollie said, it's just like parlor tricks. First they show you that a hat doesn't have a false bottom or that the swords that turn the magician's assistant into a kebab have a sharp edge, and then they switch it."

Everyone took a long, hard look at the parchment with the instructions. The second order was that when 10:00 p.m. struck, they were to leave their rooms and wander silently through the house without meeting any other members of the fraternity. If they came across anyone, they were to avoid them and not say a word. Meanwhile, they were to make sure that all doors and windows in the house were closed.

Ollie leaned against the wall, his eyes scanning the paper with a mix of curiosity and skepticism. "What's the point of this?" he whispered, his voice filled with wonder. "We're just going to be playing hide and seek in a fancy dress?"

"It's obvious she's already here," Callum suggested, stroking his chin thoughtfully. "They're just building up the suspense."

"Well, I for one am not looking forward to seeing her," Taylor admitted, trying to keep his voice steady. The prospect of being in the presence of a paid participant in their bizarre ritual made him feel queasy.

"You say that now," Ollie said, his tone playfully mocking, "but just wait until she's standing in front of you in a devil costume, you'll be begging for a lap dance."

Taylor rolled his eyes, but couldn't help the heat rising to his face at the thought. He quickly shrugged it off, focusing on the instructions. "Okay, so we do all this wandering around the house, then what?"

"Then, at 11:00 p.m., we all gather in the auditorium," Callum read, his finger tracing the words on the parchment. "And that's when the 'real' magic happens."

Taylor's stomach churned. The thought of a stranger, paid to play along with their twisted hazing ritual, was unsettling. But he reminded himself that he'd come too far to back out now. He had to endure this last act of the week-long theater to prove his worth.

Callum, Ollie, and Adam became engrossed in a conversation about their ideal women. Ollie, ever the player, ranted about his love for the classic "bad girl" cliché—someone who could show him a good time without the constraints of a relationship. Adam, on the other hand, was more romantic and preferred a girl who was as smart as she was pretty, someone who could match his wit and still look good. Callum stared at a photo of Sienna, Taylor's sociology student friend, hanging on his wall. Tom, however, remained silent, as distant as Taylor. He couldn't blame them for their ramblings; the anticipation was so intense you could cut it with a knife.

The grandfather clock chimed the hour of nine, and the pledges startled at the sound, as if it were the first bell of doomsday. The echoes reverberated through the hallowed halls of the Sigma Kappa Beta house, a mansion that had seen more debauchery than the walls could whisper about.

To be continued… 

Constructive comments, bookmarks, opinions, kudos, and observed typos are always welcome.

Chapter Text

Chapter 22: Perform 

One by one, the young men slipped into their rooms, preparing for the final act of their fraternity's twisted play. Taylor looked at his reflection in the bathroom mirror, when he removed his clothes with trembling hands, feeling like he was peeling off layers of his former self, and donned the crimson cloak.

It was a size too large, but he figured that was part of the dramatic flair. He glanced in the mirror and laughed at his reflection, looking like a cross between a Renaissance court jester and a bloodthirsty vampire from a porn version.

But beneath the humor, doubt began to gnaw at him. This whole week had been a blur of bizarre maturity tests and absurd tasks, all in the name of brotherhood.

Was this really worth it? Would this strange, archaic ceremony bond him to these men for life? Or was it all just a grotesque masquerade to justify their fraternity's existence?

He wondered if his sister, Jude, would be proud of him for enduring this. Or if she'd just shake her head in disappointment at the lengths he was going to fit in.

With a sigh of resignation, he stepped into the ceremonial pants, which were surprisingly comfortable given their old-fashioned design. They were made of a soft, almost velvety fabric, although the cape was too big and loose for him, and he had to adjust the cotton waist cinches. The socks were thick and warm, a stark contrast to the flimsy material of the cape. The sandals were surprisingly well-crafted, with intricate leather laces that crisscrossed over his feet and tied around his calves, securing them in place.

Finally, he adjusted the hood with the crimson mask attached to his head and put it on. The mouth cover was a simple piece of blood-red cloth, like the masks he had worn during COVID, but in a gore style, and he slipped on the matching gloves, which were surprisingly small for his fingers. He felt like he was preparing for some sort of masquerade ball, but instead of a mask and fancy dress, he was decked out like a medieval executioner.

He took one last look at himself in the mirror, his eyes could not be seen with that clothing but it was wide with a mix of fear and fascination. He slipped it on and felt a strange sense of anonymity, like he was stepping into a character's skin. The old mask smelled faintly of incense, adding to the mystical aura of the evening.

The instructions were clear: once dressed, they were to wait silently in their rooms until the grand clock struck ten, at which point they were to begin their silent journey through the house. Taylor's mind raced with questions and theories about what could be awaiting them in the auditorium. Was this all just a twisted game to scare the newcomers or was there something more to it?

The minutes crawled by with the pace of a snail on a leisurely stroll. Taylor waited, his heart thumping in his chest like a drum in a silent library. The anticipation was so intense that he could almost feel the air in the room vibrating around him. He tried to ignore the whispers and footsteps in the corridor outside, from the senior members of Sigma Kappa Beta, focusing on the digital clock that counted down the seconds to 10 PM with the same stoicism as the Sphinx guarding its riddle.

Finally, the digital digits aligned in the fateful configuration—10:00 PM, and the grand chime of the antique clock echoed through the house ten times. Taylor took a deep breath, steeling himself for what was to come. He stepped out into the hallway, the crimson fabric sweeping the floor with every step like a macabre cape.

To his left, Ollie emerged from his room, looking like a slightly less coordinated version of the Grim Reaper, his robe dragging behind him as he tried to tie the belt without knocking over the vase of plastic flowers on the small table outside his door. "You look ridiculous," Taylor murmured, smirking beneath his mask.

"Ssshhhh," Ollie hissed, his eyes wide with excitement.

Callum and Adam followed, their cloaks billowing dramatically as they stepped into the hallway. The hallway was a sea of crimson, with the other pledges emerging from their rooms like a horde of bloody shadows. All were dressed in the same ceremonial attire, a stark contrast to their usual college garb of sweatpants and t-shirts. They looked like they were preparing to attend an avant-garde fashion show, where the theme was 'murderous monks of the Renaissance'.

Taylor noticed that one of the stitches on his right glove had come undone, revealing a small gap of bare skin. It was such a tiny detail, but it stood out like a neon sign in the sea of ​​crimson uniformity, he was delayed a little while the other pledges walked down the hallway.

Tom was the last to emerge, his hood slightly askew and his eyes darting nervously from side to side. As he stepped into the hallway, his gaze fell on Taylor's glove, and his expression changed from excitement to concern.

"Tay, your glove," Tom whispered, gesturing to the unstitched part of Taylor's attire.

Taylor looked down at the tiny gap, feeling a flicker of annoyance. "It's fine," he murmured, trying to ignore the sudden jolt of superstition that coursed through him. He didn't believe in omens, but he tugged at the thread, hoping to fix it before the others noticed.

When they went down the stairs of the west wing and Taylor saw other members of Sigma Kappa Beta dressed in the same uniform, he breathed a small sigh of relief before separating from his initiation brothers. At least it was true that they weren't the only ones playing this absurd game. They were instructed to walk the length of the house, ensuring all doors and windows were closed and not to speak to anyone.

Taylor's heart hammered in his chest as he approached the first door, the fabric of his cloak brushing against the wall as he pushed it open. Inside, one of the brothers was already there, his back to the door as he checked the window latch. The brother didn't turn around, but Taylor could feel his eyes on him, watching his every move. He swallowed hard, trying to ignore the fluttering in his stomach.

The house was eerily silent, the only sound the rustling of fabric and the occasional muffled whisper as the pledges communicated through their masks. It was a stark contrast to the usual cacophony of frat house life, where the air was thick with music, laughter, and the scent of stale beer. Taylor couldn't help but feel a sense of unease, as if they were all actors in a play that had gone off-script.

Occasionally, a few of the fraternity members would break the rules and whisper in small huddles in the corners of the hallways, or stop and stare at Taylor as he passed. But they were quickly reprimanded with angry hisses and mime-like gestures to keep them from staying put.

He couldn't blame them, because he also had the same question in his mind, 'Where was the chick?' The house felt like a maze designed to disorient and intimidate, with its grand staircases and hidden nooks.

The air was thick with the scent of incense, which seemed to be coming from the auditorium. It was a scent that was both exotic and disturbing, reminding him of his grandmother's funeral, which had taken place in a church that smelled eerily similar.

Taylor's eyes darted around the dimly lit corridor, trying to spot any signs of the 'special guest'. His imagination painted vivid images of a seductive woman lurking in the shadows, waiting to jump out and startle him. But the house remained eerily silent, the only sound the shuffling of his and the other pledges' robes.

As Taylor moved through the house, the air grew heavier, the anticipation more palpable. The walls seemed to breathe with whispers of past ceremonies and the floorboards groaned with the weight of secrets untold. The grandfather clock in the hall chimed again, this time announcing the eleventh hour. It was time for the pledges to gather in the auditorium.

Taylor's stomach knotted as he approached the grand double doors. He wondered how the ceremony would go if they had to keep this strange vow of silence all night, or if it had to be broken at some point. He took one last deep breath before passing through the open doors.

The auditorium was bathed in a dim crimson light, the same color as their robes, creating an eerie atmosphere. The air was thick with anticipation and the scent of incense grew stronger mixed with a note of sage that had been thrown into the fire. The rows of seats had been replaced with a wide circle of velvet-covered cushions, and in the center, the enormous mirror frame stood out above all, flanked by two candelabras that looked like they had been stolen from the set of a vampire movie.

Although the handwritten parchment instructions ended at this point, Taylor saw that they had made up for this inconvenience with several signs that must have been posted shortly after he and the other pledges left for their rooms. The first pointed to the small table on which they had placed a large punch bowl and a tray filled with hundreds of cherry-red condoms.

Taylor tried to act as if he wasn't disoriented and that everything he saw had been seen in previous years, to avoid giving the impression that he was a newcomer to the fraternity, but some of his fellow members kept looking around with more ingenuity, and their true colors were obvious.

As he approached the small table, he snuck a look at the sign that read, 'Drink ONLY one glass and take AS MANY condoms AS YOU WANT.' The liquid in the punch bowl was clear and reddish, but he couldn't tell if it was because the light tinged it that color or because the cocktail was that way.

He took a deep breath, trying to calm his nerves, as he reached for a paper cup and filled it with the mysterious beverage. The smell of tequila and lemon hit him immediately, but there was something else there, something sweet and musky that made his mouth water. He took a cautious sip, before drinking it, the liquid burning his throat and leaving a trail of warmth in his wake.

He picked up one of the condoms, turning it over in his gloved hand, feeling the slight stickiness of the latex and putting it in his pants pocket. The absurdity of the situation made him want to laugh, but the tension was too thick, so he swallowed his chuckle and moved on.

The members of Sigma Kappa Beta began to gather around the circle, their hoods casting long, dark shadows on the floorboards. The silence was so profound that the crackling of the fire in the hearth sounded like a series of gunshots. Taylor approached one of the cushions and saw that on top of it lay another sheet of parchment, rolled up like a baton in a relay race.

He picked it up, his hands trembling slightly as he sat down. The paper was brittle and smelled faintly of decay. He unfurled it after seeing other brothers do it before, like when they used to follow the steps of the Mass in church. The parchment wrapped around a long black candle and had what looked like a long Latin poem written on it. He tried to translate the first verse, but it was difficult between the adrenaline rush, the glass of margarita, and that reddish light that made his eyes squint.

Susurri in lunari lumine,  
Saltat per somnium et flammam  
Labra sicut maledictus mel.

Candelae fulgent humiliter,  
Foeda verba in labris sicut fumus  
Transit per velum.

The Latin words danced in Taylor's head, their meaning elusive yet ominous. He glanced around the room, noticing that the others had also taken their seats, their faces a mix of excitement and trepidation. The candles in the candelabras flickered, casting shadows that danced across the walls like the flaming tongues of hell itself. The silence was so intense, it felt like the very air was holding its breath.

To be continued… 

Constructive comments, bookmarks, opinions, kudos, and observed typos are always welcome.

Chapter Text

Chapter 23: Perform 

The grand double doors at the auditorium creaked closed, the sound echoing through the hushed room like a funeral knell. The rest of the members of the fraternity, with their faces obscured by their hoods, end to sit, forming a tight circle around the mirror. Taylor felt a cold draft brush against his bare ankles, sending a shiver up his spine. His eyes were drawn to the crimson light reflecting off the mirror's surface, and for a moment, he could almost see something moving within it, something that did not correspond with the stillness of the fraternity brothers who looked towards the lectern.

A figure stood up from the shadows, his crimson cloak pooling around him like a lake of fresh blood. The room was so silent that Taylor could hear the rustling of the fabric as the brother approached the podium. The brother cleared his throat, and a hush fell over the room like a blanket of fog. His voice was low and measured, each word enunciated with the gravity of a judge delivering a verdict.

"My brothers of Sigma Kappa Beta," he began, his eyes sweeping over the masked figures before him. "We have come to the end of our Hell Week. A week where we have pushed our pledges to the brink of endurance, tested their mettle, and forged the bonds that will unite us for a lifetime."

The room remained still, the only sound the crackle of the fire and the occasional shuffle of robes. The air was thick with anticipation as the anonymous speaker continued, his voice resonating with an indisputable authority.

"Tonight," the brother intoned, his words echoing through the chamber, "we welcome pledges equally, without distinction or prejudice, into the fold of Sigma Kappa Beta. The trials you've faced were mere shadows of the battles you shall wage together, brothers bound by more than mere friendship or fraternal duty."

Taylor felt a knot tighten in his stomach. The gravity of the moment was not lost on him, even amidst the absurdity of the crimson cloaks and silent vows. He looked around at the other pledges, their faces hidden by masks, and wondered if any of them felt the same way—like they were part of something much larger than themselves, something that could potentially change their lives forever.

The anonymous brother at the podium raised his hands, the candlelight casting long, dramatic shadows across his crimson-covered arms. "We must remember," he continued, his voice dropping to a whisper, "that our power comes from unity and our strength from shared experiences." His words hung in the air like an incantation, and Taylor felt a strange thrill race through him. Despite the ludicrousness of the situation, the sense of camaraderie was palpable, the bond of the fraternity woven tightly around them all.

"You have survived the week," the brother announced, his voice growing stronger, "and now you stand on the precipice of becoming something greater than yourselves. Sigma Kappa Beta is not just a fraternity; it is a bastion of brotherhood, a crucible of character, and a gateway to success." His words reverberated off the walls, each syllable imbued with the weight of tradition.

Taylor leaned in, his curiosity piqued by the brother's enigmatic speech. Despite the absurdity of the setting, he couldn't help but feel the power of the message, the promise of belonging to something that would elevate him above the ordinary college experience. The air was charged with an energy that seemed to crackle around the edges of the room, making the hair on the back of his neck stand on end.

"The final test of your initiation," the brother announced, his voice now booming with the confidence of a seasoned orator, "is upon you. The ceremony you are about to undertake has been performed for almost sixty years, the final rite of passage that will bind you to each other and to the legacy of Sigma Kappa Beta."

Taylor glanced around the room, noticing the other pledges leaning in slightly, their expressions a blend of excitement and trepidation.

The brother at the podium lifted a crimson-covered object from beneath the podium, revealing a leather-bound book that looked as ancient as the house itself. "Get up, brothers," he asked with a dramatic flourish, and the pledges stood as one, their cloaks swirling around them like a wave of blood. "It is time to begin the ritual that will bind you to us in ways that no oath or handshake ever could."

The brothers around Taylor unfurled the scroll once more and began the Latin chant, facing the lectern in unison. The incantation grew louder as more and more members of the fraternity joined in, the words swirling around the room like a tornado. The candles flickered in time with their rhythm, casting strange, pulsing shadows on the walls. Despite the absurdity, Taylor felt his heart racing at the sight of this performance, a cocktail of excitement and fear.

Susurri lunari suspirant, 
Dulces umbrae formam capiunt, 
Homines fiunt desiderium.

Nox serica involvit, 
Masculinum evanescit, gratia emergit, 
Cor pulsans in silentio.

Taylor's eyes were glued to the crimson mirror, the reflection seeming to pulse with the rhythm of the chant. The flames of the candles grew higher, casting the room in a frenzied dance of light and shadow.

As the incantation reached a crescendo, Taylor felt a warmth spread through his body, starting at his core and moving outward like wildfire. His skin tingled, and the hair on his arms stood on end.

Tangens divinus sericum,
In tenebris, libido vitas implicat,
Anima eius trahitur, resignata.

Sub caelo lunari,
Ignis transformationis lucet,
Ultimus spiritus passionis.

When the text ended, the brothers started again from the beginning, almost without pausing, but Taylor was caught off guard and almost dropped the page. He managed to keep it in his trembling hands, joining in the chant that seemed to resonate through his very soul.

He breathed deeply through the mask and noticed a change in the air he was breathing, a mixture of smells he couldn't quite identify. But the most predominant note was that of marijuana, mixed with a similar, though more innocuous, note of salvia. Taylor wondered if it was spiked with some sort of hallucinogenic substance to add to the 'authenticity' of the night or if it was some trick the other brothers had played.

The chant was repeated four or five more times, he wasn't sure how many, but on the last one it seemed as if the voices of everyone present had been perfectly synchronized. The words echoed in his mind long after the final syllable had been spoken.

Suddenly, the room went silent. The silence was so profound that he could hear the distant ticking of the grandfather clock in the hall.

The brother at the podium closed the ancient book on the podium with a thud that seemed to shake the very foundations of the house. "Now, brothers," he instructed, "walk around the mirror.

The circle of hooded figures around Taylor began to move, their crimson robes sweeping the floor as they began to walk in a slow, solemn procession around the mirror. Each step was measured, deliberate, as if they were all participating in a macabre dance choreographed by some unseen hand.

When he reached a crossroads behind the mirror, he noticed the brother in front of him go one way and the next fraternity member go another, reminding him of the square dance Taylor had once seen at a wedding of one of his mother's distant cousins, only much more confusing.

The hooded figures continued to walk in silence, their footsteps echoing through the hall, muffled by the crimson cloaks that brushed the floor with a whisper.

As Taylor approached the mirror head-on for the first time, he caught a glimpse of something peculiar—a flicker of movement that was not reflected by the brothers walking past it. His heart skipped a beat as he peered into the glass, the candlelight playing tricks on his eyes. Was it the reflection of the fire, or was it something more?

It was as if there was another figure in the room, a silhouette dancing just beyond the edge of the mirror's frame.

When he passed by a second time, circling closer and closer, he noticed that the mirror's surface was almost completely opaque, a deep, matte black in places and a bituminous sheen with the rainbow flashing like an oil slick. Beyond that layer, the room was barely reflected like a haze.

Taylor wondered if the mirror glass had been brought to the barbecue to cause it to become so damaged, or if it was actually real.

As he made his third pass around the mirror, the flicker grew bolder, coalescing into a shadowy figure. The silhouette grew clearer, a figure that didn't quite match the movements of the brothers. It was as if someone was standing just behind the mirror, peering out at him, but when Taylor looked directly at it, it vanished like a mirage.

His heart pounded in his chest as the figure began to take on a distinctly female form. He couldn't tell if it was his own imagination playing tricks on him or the marijuana-laced air thickening the room, but the silhouette grew more and more defined with each pass he made. Long, sinuous curves emerged from the shadows, hinting at a form that was both alluring and terrifying.

He felt a sudden, intense arousal, his body responding in ways that were both terrifying and exhilarating. He glanced around, hoping none of the others had noticed, but the hoods of their cloaks obscured their expressions, making it impossible to tell if they were experiencing the same compromising situation. Some of them also kept their heads down, perhaps hiding their own fear or embarrassment, while others walked with a strange, almost predatory grace that made Taylor's skin crawl.

At last, the anonymous brother at the podium raised his hand, and the procession ceased. The room was plunged into a solid and thick silence, the only sound the crackle of the fire and the distant ticking of the grandfather clock in the hall. The brothers' footsteps had been muffled by the crimson cloaks, so when they stopped moving, it was as if the very air had stopped breathing. They took their seats on the velvet cushions, their hearts racing in unison like a drumline in the quiet before a crescendo.

Taylor sat, his legs wobbly, and stared into the mirror. The shadowy figure had disappeared again, but the memory of her curves remained burned into his retinas. He swallowed hard, his throat dry with a mix of fear and desire. His crotch tightened, and he was grateful for the cloak that concealed his sudden erection. He glanced around the room, but the other pledges remained still and silent, their masked faces revealing nothing.

The brother at the lectern spoke once more, his voice sounded slightly different and Taylor doubted for a second if it was the same person. "Now, brothers," he said, "we shall complete the bonding ceremony. Take the candle and hold it in your hand. The power of our fraternity runs through us all, and tonight, it shall be passed to you."

Taylor took the candle from his pocket, his hand trembling slightly. The warm wax felt slick in his grasp, and he wondered if the heat from his skin was making it melt more quickly than it should.

The anonymous brother took a step forward, his crimson robe gliding over the carpeted floor. "With this light," he announced, lighting his candle with one of the two candlesticks and then bringing it back to the other one at the far end of the mirror, "we call upon you to honor us with your presence and bless us with your pleasure."

Taylor watched in awe as the other brothers lit their candles with the candle of the brother who had intoned that strange prayer and then returned to their places, to light the candles of those in the rows behind. The room was now bathed in a warm, flickering glow that danced across the walls, throwing the figures of the hooded men into sharp relief. As more and more candles were lit, the temperature in the room grew noticeably warmer, and the shadows grew darker, more pronounced, and more alive.

When the wave of flames igniting reached him, he took a deep breath and held the wick to the candle in front of him, expecting the usual flicker of fire to emerge. But instead, a purple flame danced to life from the tip of his candle, casting a peculiar light across the crimson fabric of his cloak. He gasped, his eyes widening in astonishment. The room froze after everyone turned in unison to see him, and for a moment, Taylor feared he had done something wrong.

Taylor looked around nervously, the purple flame casting a bizarre glow on the figures of his brothers. Almost as if they were moving in slow motion.

The anonymous brother at the lectern spoke to Taylor in a loud, calm voice. "Come closer and reveal yourself to us," his tone carrying an edge of excitement that sent a shiver down Taylor's spine.

"This is all a mistake!" he thought in the midst of that bewildering scene, his voice barely able to escape the lump in his throat. "I must have picked up the wrong candle." Taylor knew from his chemistry classes how easy it was to make a flame appear a different color, just like fireworks.

With trembling hands, Taylor approached the mirror, the purple flame casting a hypnotic light across his masked face. The flame didn't flicker or die out; it grew stronger, more alive, as if it had a will of its own. The other brothers parted for him, their eyes glued to the flame as if it were a living creature. As he stood before the glass, the room grew warmer still, and the air grew thick with a sweet, heady scent that seemed to coil around him like a seductive embrace.

"Purple, purple," he thought, his head spinning and searching for a logical explanation for that. "They must have soaked the wick in a potassium mixture."

But as Taylor looked into the mirror, the reflection that stared back at him was not his own. The face of a woman emerged from the shadows, illuminated by the purple glow of his candle.

Her eyes were a deep, sultry blue, and her skin was a pale alabaster that seemed almost iridescent in the flickering light. Her full lips curled into a smile that felt a thrill of fear and excitement through Taylor's body. Her hair was a cascade of light brown waves that framed a face of impossible beauty.

As Taylor stared into the mirror, the reflection grew more defined. Two delicate horns emerged from her forehead, with a metallic sheen that reflected the candlelight. Above the crimson robe, her shoulders and neck were bare, showcasing the beginnings of a set of wings that unfolded with a grace that belied their size. They were the leathery appendages of a bat, but the membranes were tinted with the same purple hue that danced in the flame of his candle. The sight was mesmerizing, and Taylor's heart hammered in his chest as he took in the creature that stood before him.

Her tail, a serpentine extension of her spine, slithered from the folds of her cloak. It was covered in scales that shimmered with the same purple light as her wings and horns. It twitched and coiled, as if alive with anticipation.

"This has to be a joke!" Taylor squinted at the psychedelic image. He couldn't tell if it was a figment of his imagination or a cleverly executed carnival trick. His attention focused on the frame, barely ignoring the suggestive and surprising figure of the woman behind what must-have-been-a-fake-mirror.

The frame was ornate, with intricate carvings that seemed to pulse with the same purple light that danced in the succubus's eyes. Taylor's rational mind insisted that the mirror was a screen that had been cleverly disguised to fool them. He had seen similar setups before in the university science lab, to make it appear to move at the same time as him.

But the woman in the mirror regarded him with a curious, judicious expression, as if she were appraising him. Taylor's hand, still holding the candle, grew steadier. He examined the mirror's seemingly semi-opaque surface with scrutiny and wondered what it felt like.

Summoning all his courage, Taylor reached out with his free hand and slid off one of the crimson gloves that had been provided for the ceremony, the one that was torn. The fabric whispered against his skin like a secret, revealing his trembling, slightly sweaty hand. He felt a sudden urge to wipe it on his cloak, but that would only serve to draw attention to his fear.

With a deep breath, he extended his hand towards the mirror's surface. The tip of his index finger touched the cool glass, and for a moment, there was no reaction. He half-expected a jolt of static electricity, but there was only the smooth, unyielding coolness of the reflective plane.

He muttered something unintelligible under his breath.

The succubus's smile widened, and she leaned closer to the mirror, her breath fogging the surface. Suddenly, a jolting force from within the mirror pushed against the glass, causing it to crackle and spiderweb from the point where Taylor's finger touched it.

Taylor's reflection was multiplied by a hundred fragments, and he felt a sudden pull, a force that tugged at his soul like a fishhook.

To be continued… 

Constructive comments, bookmarks, opinions, kudos, and observed typos are always welcome.

Chapter Text

Chapter 24: Prove or Probe 

He woke with a start, his heart racing and the taste of copper in his mouth. Taylor's hand was still outstretched, his fingertips tingling from the touch of the mirror. He blinked, trying to make sense of the room around him, the memory of the succubus's alluring gaze still lingering.

He looked down at his hand, illuminated with the harsh light of day, expecting to see the same trembling, masculine digits, but what greeted him was a delicate, feminine hand with refined nails and smooth, unblemished skin.

Panic surged through him as he realized that he was in his apartment, not the fraternity's crimson-lit auditorium.

Rhys looked over from his spot on the couch, his eyes widening when he saw Taylor waking up. "Are you okay?" he exclaimed, his voice laced with shock and confusion. "Who are you, and why did you pass out wearing my favorite shirt?"

Taylor had hoped it was all just a vivid, albeit terrifying, dream. But here he was, in his apartment, with his body changed into something utterly foreign and his best friend staring at him like he had grown a second head. He took a deep breath, trying to compose himself before speaking.

"Don't freak out, okay?" He said, his voice now too feminine was unmistakably not his own. "It's me, Taylor"

Rhys stared at him, the disbelief etched on his face was palpable. "What the fuck are you talking about?" He demanded, his eyes darting the feminine figure before him.

Taylor looked down at the shirt, the fabric clinging to her new curves in a way that was both thrilling and terrifying. He felt the urge to laugh hysterically at the absurdity of it all, but the gravity of the situation held him firmly in check.

"I know this sounds crazy," he began, his new voice broke with nerves and a sob burst out and resonated in the air, "but something happened last night during the Sigma Kappa Beta ceremony..."

Rhys's eyes bulged out of his skull as he stared at the figure in his shirt, the person claiming to be Taylor. "This is a sick joke. I don't know what you frat guys are up to, but this is crossing the line" he managed to choke out, his voice trembling with disbelief and a hint of anger.

Taylor took a deep breath, the feeling of breasts pressing against her ribs unfamiliar and unsettling. It felt like it was about to fall apart into small pieces. Rhys remained rooted to the spot, his eyes flickering over Taylor's new body as if searching for any sign that this was an elaborate hoax.

"I know it's insane," Taylor said, her voice a melodic blend of vulnerability and urgency. "But I need you to believe me. They summoned... something, and it's stuck with me now. It change me... into a woman."

Rhys's jaw dropped, his eyes darting from Taylor's face to her chest and then back up again. He took a step back, his eyes narrowing. "Where is Taylor? he sent me a WhatsApp saying he would be here...? Oh shit! Is this some kind of frat initiation prank?"

The succubus inside Taylor's head sighed, rolling her eyes at the predictability of humans. She had seen this reaction before, the disbelief and fear of the unknown. "I knew Rhys wouldn't take you seriously," she said to Taylor with a soft growl that made him jump on the couch. "Who the hell would believe such nonsense!?"

But Rhys wasn't buying it. "This isn't funny!" He was getting worked up now, his fists clenching at his sides. "What did you do to him?"

Taylor's eyes filled with tears, seeing her roommate's reaction, her voice quavering. "Rhys, please, it's me! I swear!" The sobs took over, her body trembling with the force of them. He felt so powerless, so utterly alone. "I... I need... I need your help!"

Rhys took a tentative step forward, his expression a tumult of doubt and concern. He reached out a hand to touch Taylor's shoulder, but he shrank away from his touch, his sobs turning into gasps for air. The succubus within him stirred, feeling the weight of his skepticism like a noose tightening around his new form.

"I know it's getting me into trouble with Disney, but just like Elsa says in 'Frozen', let it go," the succubus advised Taylor, her voice seemed to resonate in every cell of his new body. "You've endured a lot today, but it's normal for you to cry, even if you're a man in a woman's body."

Taylor took a deep, shaky breath, trying to calm the storm of emotions that raged within him. But he began to cry more intensely and collapsed onto the couch, the fabric muffling his sobs.

Rhys, still in shock, took a cautious step towards Taylor, his hand hovering in the air as if to touch but then retracted. "Tell me the truth," he demanded, his voice shaking with fear and anger. "Where's my roommate?"

"This isn't a prank," Taylor managed to whisper through his sobs. "It's real. I'm real. And I need your help to fix this."

Rhys stared, his mind reeling from all sorts of questions and fears. The figure before him, though unmistakably feminine and attractive, had Taylor's eyes—his best friend's eyes—desperate and pleading. She was two inches shorter than him, and her bobbed light brown hair looked remarkably similar to his friend's, but Rhys couldn't help thinking that the Sigma Kappa Beta members were just pulling his leg and that the cat's ear could blow at any moment.

He took a cautious seat beside the sobbing form, his heart pounding in his chest, allowing himself a moment of indulgence. "Okay, let's assume it's true," he murmured, his voice tight with anxiety. "Tell me something that will convince me you are really who you say you are, something only Taylor and I know."

Taylor sniffed, wiping at the tears with the back of his new hand. He took a deep, calming breath, and with a tremor in his voice, said, "Let's see, I once told you that I regretted not voting in the last election because I was too busy playing 'Call of Duty'... I also... last Christmas you dressed up as Santa Claus to surprise your little sister, and even though you didn't want to post the photos on Facebook, she did it on your mom's account."

"That's not very convincing," Rhys murmured, his skepticism evident. With a caustic chuckle, he added, "Maybe he told you, or maybe you saw it on the internet."

Taylor felt a surge of anger, his fists clenching. "You think this is funny?" he yelled, his voice a high-pitched echo of his former self. "This isn't a game! I AM Taylor, you moron!" He screamed aloud desperately. "Don't you get it?"

Rhys took a step back, his eyes wide with confusion and a hint of fear, wondering if her reaction to seeing him enter and faint was the product of some psychological imbalance. "Look, I don't know what's going on," he said, his voice shaking, an ultimatum. "But if you don't tell me where Taylor is, I'm calling the cops, the dean of the university or whoever it takes."

Taylor was extremely irritated that Rhys didn't believe him, that he thought he had somehow agreed to play a mean prank on him by colluding with the members of Sigma Kappa Beta. No matter what evidence he used, his words just didn't seem to penetrate the fog of disbelief that had settled around Rhys.

The succubus inside him sighed, her frustration palpable. "Your human friend can be so dense," she murmured in his head, her voice a gentle whisper that seemed to caress his thoughts. "But this isn't the first time you've argued without either of you giving in, is it?"

Taylor took a moment to consider her words, his sobs subsiding into sniffs. The truth was, Rhys had always been stubborn, especially when people laughed at him or at what he believed. He'd become entrenched in his stubbornness, and there was no way... Taylor flinched as he realized there was indeed an argument in his favor.

"Schrödinger's Cat," he gasped through his sobs, the words barely audible. "It doesn't matter if you believe me or think I'm lying, but I need your help. That's all that matters."

Rhys was surprised, not because the girl used the topic of one of her conversations, but because she seemed to be reasoning the same way as his friend and roommate. He looked again at the girl's appearance; she looked like she'd had a bad night, with her arms and legs covered in marks and the slight dark circles under her eyes. That look of despair didn't seem fake at all. It took him a second to settle on the only reasonable option they had both come to that time.

"Just tell me everything, from the beginning," he said, his voice softer, his skepticism wavering in the face of Taylor's raw emotion.

Taylor took a deep, shuddering breath, and the words began to spill out of him, a torrent of fear and confusion that painted a vivid picture of the events that had unfolded in the crimson-lit auditorium. He recounted the Hell Week trials and how the final gluing ritual put the final touch on his entry into the fraternity.

Rhys listened with a mix of horror and disbelief, his eyes never leaving Taylor's face, searching for any sign of a lie. But the story was too bizarre, too detailed, and too heartbreaking to be fabricated. He heard about the candles, the mirror, and the chanting that seemed to echo in the room even as Taylor recounted it.

"You said they were summoning something," Rhys interrupted, his eyes searching Taylor's new face for any hint of deception. "What was it?"

"A... su... succubus," Taylor whispered, the word barely leaving his lips, feeling the weight of the revelation like a lead balloon. The room grew silent, the only sound the muffled cries of the girl with Taylor's eyes. Rhys stared, his mind racing with thoughts of mythical creatures and college pranks gone wrong.

"A succubus?" Rhys finally managed to ask, his voice a mix of incredulity and dread. "With horns, wings, and a tail?" add a touch of sarcasm.

Taylor nodded, feeling a fresh wave of despair crash over him as the gravity of his situation sank in once more. He took a deep, shuddering breath, and the succubus inside him whispered, "Let it out, boy. It's okay to be vulnerable." And with that, Taylor let go, his body convulsing with sobs, his new breasts heaving with every racking gasp.

Rhys sitting there, watching her (him?), was like watching a train wreck in slow motion. "Why they summoned a succubus?" He asked, his voice filled with skepticism. Taylor felt a pang of annoyance at the question, but he knew that his friend was just trying to wrap his head around the situation.

"What do you think? It wouldn't be to help them knit patchwork quilts!" Taylor exclaimed with a touch of sarcasm and desperation. "They wanted... They..." He paused, the words sticking in his throat like a mouthful of dust.

Rhys stared at the horror that was seeing into his consciousness, beyond his wildest imagination. He had heard of fraternity jokes going too far, but this was beyond any conceivable boundary. He felt a strange mix of emotions, pity for the girl before him (whoever she was), anger at the frat brothers who had done this, and fear for his own safety and sanity.

"Okay, so they summoned her, and you say she transformed you," Rhys spoke slowly, trying to digest the unbelievable tale. "How did she do it? Was it magic?"

"Rather, something like quantum metaphysics," Taylor replied, his voice a shaky mess of sarcasm and nerves. "That's what the succubus told me..."

"Told you?" Rhys echoed, his brow furrowing with skepticism. "How could you know what...? Did you talk to it?"

Taylor felt the absurdity of the situation wash over him like a wave. "Yeah, she's in my head," he whispered, his voice shaking with the weight of his words. "And she's... she's pretty chatty." He paused, gathering his thoughts before continuing, his eyes glazed with the surreal experience of sharing his mind with an ancient being. "It's like we're connected. She can feel what I feel, and I can feel what she... feels. It's..." He trailed off, searching for the words to describe the alien bond he now shared with the succubus. He knew he sounded like a crazy woman hearing voices in her head, asylum fodder.

Rhys's skepticism didn't waver. "That's insane," he murmured, his eyes searching Taylor's for any sign of a break in the delusion. But all he saw was raw, unfiltered pain and confusion. The girl's story was so absurd, so outlandish, that it was almost convincing.

Almost.

Rhys took a deep breath, his eyes never leaving Taylor's transformed body. He felt like he was on the precipice of a rabbit hole that went deeper than he ever thought possible. "Alright, let's say I do believe you," he began, his voice tentative. "What else has that... that succubus said to you?" He hesitated to use that word.

Taylor took a shaky breath, his new breasts rising and falling with the effort. "She's trapped inside me. It's been showing me all these... these things," he gestured to his new body, "But she's not like that. She's... she's just stuck here, like me." The last words ended on a wail, and he buried his face in his hands, his shoulders shaking with the force of his sobs.

Rhys felt his chest tighten with a mix of pity and fear. The girl—no, maybe-Taylor—was clearly in distress. He had to do something, even if it was just to help his friend get through this obviously traumatic experience. "Well," he said, his voice steady despite his racing thoughts, "tell me more about this... succubus."

Taylor's sobs slowly subsided, and he lifted his head to look at Rhys with a watery gaze. "It's strange, but..." He began to explain the succubus's presence in his mind, how she talk to him, guiding and sometimes mocking him, and how they had come to an uneasy truce.

"She didn't crave souls, blood, or... anything else, Rhys," Taylor continued, his voice gaining a hint of strength. "Nor does it seem like she has any malicious intent. She's just... Are you listening to me?"

For the past few seconds, Rhys's gaze had been fixed on the neckline that revealed the two loose buttons of the Hawaiian shirt that now fit Taylor's new form snugly.

The succubus chuckled inside Taylor's head. "I see your friend can't keep his eyes off of me," she teased. "It's not like he's never seen boobs before."

Rhys didn't seem to have heard anything, just staring at the same spot with an emotionless, bland expression worthy of Steven Seagal himself. Taylor realized that the succubus was right; his friend had always had a thing for the chests of others, even if it was his own.

"Hey, buddy, would you stop drilling my tits with your gaze!?" He exclaimed, smacking Rhys on the left arm. The action was a strange mix of playful and defensive, a gesture that was oddly... familiar.

Rhys's eyes snapped back to Taylor's, his brow furrowed, and he shook his head as if he couldn't believe what his eyes were seeing, his cheeks flaming red. "Sorry, I just..." He couldn't finish his sentence, his eyes darting around the room as if searching for an escape from the awkwardness. "I wasn't looking at... you have a... a birthmark... right there." He finally managed to get out, his voice a little too high-pitched, pointing at the spot where Taylor's shirt lay open, revealing a little splotch of skin.

Taylor looked down and realized what had caught Rhys's attention: a small port wine stain just above the swell of his left breast, a reminder of his original body. It was shaped like a right triangle, halfway between a set square and a protractor, its sharpest point pointing toward the nipple, but barely visible. Rhys knew about it because the subject had come up once when he'd seen him step out of the shower in a towel (from the waist down), and because Rhys's mother was a dermatologist.

Rhys's hand almost hovered over the port wine stain, but Taylor slapped his hand away with surprising strength. "Don't touch!" Taylor said, his voice a mix of annoyance and embarrassment. "It's mine, okay?"

Rhys jerked his hand back as if it had been burned, his eyes wide with shock. "I'm sorry," he mumbled, his cheeks flaming even more. "It's just... I remember it... that triangle."

Taylor looked down at the small, almost imperceptible patch of darkened skin on his new, round chest. "Yeah," he said, his voice a mix of bitterness and resignation. "It's the same one. Although now I guess its angles don't add up to 180 degrees."

Rhys blinked, his mind frozen by what he had just heard.

"You know, buddy? Euclidean or non-Euclidean geometry, that is the question," Taylor quipped through his embarrassment, trying to ease the tension with a touch of humor. He tugged at the collar of the Hawaiian shirt, pulling it closed over the telltale mark. The shirt's fabric clung to his new curves, and he felt a strange sense of both vulnerability and power that he hadn't experienced before.

"Don't worry," the succubus chimed in, her voice soothing in Taylor's head. "It's part of being a woman. You'll get used to it."

But Rhys wasn't frozen with wide-eyed embarrassment; he only knew ONE person who would come up with such a terrible math joke at such a critical moment.

"T-Taylor?" Rhys's voice cracked as he whispered, his eyes finally meeting Taylor's, which held a silent plea for belief. "Oh dude!" he breathed, the reality sinking in. "You are... Oh dude!

To be continued… 

Constructive comments, bookmarks, opinions, kudos, and observed typos are always welcome.

Chapter Text

Chapter 25: Cool down 

The silence hung heavy in the room, the air thick with disbelief and the scent of sweat and fear. Rhys blinked his eyes several times, hoping to wipe away the impossible vision before him and then closed them, but when he opened them again, she was still there—his friend, his roommate, now a... a... she.

"So, you believe me now?" Taylor asked, his voice a mix of hope and sarcasm.

Rhys's mouth opened and closed like a goldfish's, the only sound coming out a stuttered, "Oh dude!" His eyes remained glued to Taylor's face, searching for any trace of his friend in the seductive features.

"Look, I know it's a lot to take in," Taylor said, his voice surprisingly calm given the circumstances.

"A lot?" Rhys sputtered. "It's like you just told me Santa's real and he's got a penthouse in downtown Madison!" He paused, his eyes wide with astonishment. "But with boobs!"

Taylor rolled his eyes, feeling a strange sense of normalcy wash over him as he recognized the familiar rhythm of their banter, despite the surreal context. "Rhys, I need you to be cool, okay?"

"Cool?" Rhys's voice squeaked. "How the hell am I supposed to be cool when you're... when you're..." His hand flapped in Taylor's direction, gesturing at his transformed body. "Oh d-dude!"

"Rhys, breathe," Taylor instructed, his tone a strange blend of his usual calmness and the sultry purr of the succubus. "You're not helping."

"Oh... dude..." Rhys managed to get out between his hyperventilating breaths, his eyes darting around the room as if expecting to wake up from a nightmare. "This is... This is..." His words trailed off into silence as he tried to grasp the gravity of the situation. "OOHHH DUUDEEE!!!" yell he finally bursting out, unable to hold back his shock any longer.

"Make him shut up already!" demanded the succubus in Taylor's mind, her patience wearing as thin as the fabric of reality around them. "If I hear 'oh dude!' again, I swear I'm going to scream."

Taylor stepped closer to Rhys, placing a hand on his mouth. "Rhys, you have to calm down, okay?" He said, his voice steady despite the panic in his eyes.

Rhys's eyes widened further, his "Oh dude!" muffled by Taylor's hand. He nodded frantically, his breath coming in short gasps.

"Good," Taylor murmured, his hand lingering on Rhys's cheek, feeling the stubble beneath his palm. He didn't miss the way Rhys's pupils dilated, and the succubus inside him smirked at the unintended intimacy. "Now, let's sit down and talk about this like rational adults."

They moved to the couch, Taylor's hips swaying in a way that was both alien and oddly natural to him. He sat down, the soft fabric molding around his new curves. Rhys took a seat next to him, his eyes never leaving Taylor's face, as if afraid that if he looked away, the illusion would shatter.

"So," Rhys began, his voice still shaky. "How does this... work? being a woman... a succubus?

"Well, it's complicated," Taylor replied, his hand subconsciously caressing the silky fabric of his shirt. "But I'm still Taylor, you know. I still. I just..." He paused, trying to find the right words. "I just look a little different now."

Rhys nodded, his eyes flicking over Taylor's new form, trying to reconcile what he saw with the friend he knew. "But you're okay, right?" he asked, his voice tentative. "You're not... in pain or anything?"

Taylor shrugged, feeling the unfamiliar weight of his new shoulders. "Physically, yeah," he said, the succubus's presence a silent, comforting presence in his mind. "But mentally... it's a bit of an adjustment." He tried for a smile, but it came out wobbly, like a first attempt at riding a bike after a nasty fall.

Rhys nodded, his gaze sliding down again. "But, like, with the... the other guys from the ceremony. Did they...?" He trailed off, his cheeks coloring with a blush that would make a cherry envious.

Taylor's stomach twisted, the thought of his new reality being shared by anyone else unbearable. "I don't want to talk," he said, his voice tight.

Rhys swallowing hard, nodded understandingly, his eyes flicking down to Taylor's chest again before snapping back up to meet his gaze. "I get it, I mean, it's just... wow. This is messed up," he murmured, shaking his head slightly as if to clear his thoughts. "But, like, do you have wings or something?" He asked, a mix of curiosity and dread.

"I have the wings, tail and other visual paraphernalia hidden for obvious reasons" the succubus spoke up, her tone light despite the gravity of the situation. "But I'm sure he'd love to show them to you, if you're into that kind of thing."

"The succubus says she keeps them hidden," Taylor repeated, ignoring her suggestion.

Rhys leaned in, his eyes glaming with curiosity. "Did she tell you just now?" He whispered, his voice filled with a strange mix of excitement and horror.

"Yeah, she did," Taylor said with a sigh, rubbing his forehead. "It's like having a second conscience, except it's a bit more... horny."

Rhys's eyes went wide. "And you can hear her? Like, all the time?"

Taylor nodded, his eyes closing briefly in resignation. "Yeah, it's like she's part of me now." He opened his eyes again, looking at Rhys with a plea for understanding. "We've sort of... come to an arrangement. Until we can figure out how to reverse this."

Rhys leaned back, trying to mentally realize that the friend he'd known was now beneath that seductive exterior. "Okay," he said finally, his voice still trembling. "But how do we do that?"

"We're working on it," Taylor assured him, with some doubt seeping into his tone. "But it's not like there's a 'Pokémon Go'-style app for that. We need to find someone who knows about this... this kind of stuff."

The silence in the room was a palpable entity, stretching and pulsing with the weight of the unspoken words and the absurd reality they had just witnessed. Taylor could almost hear the gears in Rhys's head turning as he processed the situation, trying to piece together the puzzle that was now his roommate's life.

"Oh, dude, I have an idea!" Rhys exclaimed suddenly, snapping his fingers, standing up and taking his phone out of his backpack.

"What?" Taylor asked warily, his heart skipping a beat. "Who you gonna call?"

"The Ghostbusters, I hope not," the succubus sighed playfully, like a whisper against Taylor's neck. It seemed as if she'd been trying to contain herself for several minutes.

Ignoring Taylor's question, Rhys's thumbs flew across the phone's keyboard at breakneck speed. "I'm texting Jacques on WhatsApp," he said without looking up.

"Jacques? Who is he?" Taylor's question was met with a snort from Rhys.

Rhys looked up from his phone, his thumbs still dancing over the screen. "Her name is Jacqueline," he corrected with a smirk. "And she's not a 'he'. She's a real 'she'." He added, gesturing briefly to Taylor and shaking his head at the whole mess. "She's into all that... occult stuff. Or so she says. Maybe she can help us."

Taylor felt a flicker of curiosity, despite the absurdity of the situation. "Is she the girl in the photo on the fridge?" he said slowly, his eyes narrowing at the thought of Rhys potentially bringing a complete stranger into this mess.

"Yeah, that's her," Rhys said, not looking up from his phone. "She's a freshman in Anthropology. We've been hanging out a few times."

Taylor felt a twinge of strange jealousy, but was intrigued. "And you think your girlfriend knows something about this?" He asked, his tone a mix of frank skepticism and childish hope.

Rhys rolled his eyes, with an expression between anguished and excited. "Girlfriend?" I have snorted. "Please. We had a couple of drinks and watched a movie. But she does have a knack for the weird. She's into all that witchy, mystical things. Maybe she can shed some light on this." He hit send, and the message flew off into the digital abyss.

Taylor felt a peculiar mix of curiosity and protectiveness. "Where did you meet her?" He asked, trying to keep his voice neutral.

"Doing laundry," Rhys replied, his thumbs still typing away.

"Elementary, my dear Reece," the succubus quipped, her voice echoing in Taylor's mind as he watched Rhys close his phone. "She and him were last night doing... Bow chika wow wow!" She poorly imitated porn soundtrack.

"Shut up!" Taylor murmured under his breath, his cheeks heating up at the succubus's revelation. "You're not helping."

Rhys's eyebrows shooting up in surprise. "What was that?"

Taylor realized too late that he had spoken out loud. "Nothing," he said quickly, hoping to cover his slip. "Just ... Thinking out loud."

Rhys nodded absently, his eyes on his phone as it vibrated with a response. "Jacques says she'll be here in a few minutes, when she's finished running an errand," he said, his voice filled with amusement.

Taylor's stomach did a flip at the thought of Jacqueline... Jacques seeing him like this, but he didn't have much of a choice.

"But first I think you should put on some pants," suggested his roommate, a hint of laughter in his voice. "Or at least get used to crossing your legs," he added, shifting his gaze back to his phone screen, even though it was off. "I can see your... cameltoe popping out of those boxers from here, Taylor."

Taylor looked down at his bare legs and sighed heavily, feeling a sudden urge to hide his new body. His cheeks went nuclear, and he jumped up from the couch, the succubus's laughter echoing in his head like a sadistic chorus. He quickly covered himself down there, with his hand and trying to stretch the Hawaiian shirt as if it were rubber.

"You're enjoying this, aren't you?" He hissed inwardly.

"What?! You've got the body of a goddess now, for which the vast majority of women would sell their soul, and you're complaining about a little wardrobe malfunction and unintentional exhibitionism?" the succubus giggled in his mind, her delight only adding to his mortification.

Rhys looked up, a smirk playing on his lips. "It's not that I'm enjoyed, Taylor," he asked, referring to the words that had been directed at the succubus, unable to fully suppress his amusement. "But for the record, I 'told you so' before you joined Sigma Kappa Beta."

"Seriously, Rhys?" Taylor shot him a glare, angry and stunned. "Now is not the time for your 'I told you so' moment. Besides, you didn't tell me I'd end up becoming a demonic craving for sex, walking wet dream!"

The succubus unexpectedly stopped her sneering, and Taylor felt her teeth clench and grind. He didn't know what had caused such a sudden change in mood.

"Well, I didn't exactly say that, but I did say that those guys are messed up and that they were going to fuck you" Rhys argued, his voice still filled with amusement.

"Rhys!" Taylor's tone was a whip crack of anger, and his roommate's smirk vanished like a candle in a tornado. "That's not funny." He snatched a pair of baggy cotton shorts off the laundry bag and pulled them up over his curvy hips, while Rhys looked away to the side. The succubus inside him couldn't help but enjoy the way his new hips swayed with each step, the way the fabric clung to him in all the right places.

"Sorry, Taylor," he muttered, running a hand through his hair. "I don't know what to do with this... I mean, you're a... succubus and... they... did it to..." His voice trailed off as he searched for the right words.

Taylor felt a pang of pity for his roommate. This was a hell of a lot to take in, especially for someone who had always been unskilled with women and was now face to face with one that was literally a creature made for pleasure and lust. But he knew he needed Rhys's help, and he was grateful for the attempt to return to normalcy, even if it came with some awkward moments.

"You can't draw a thick veil over what happened last night," the succubus pointed out, seeing Taylor's reluctance to bring up the orgy. "Rhys isn't just laughing at what happened to you, he's trying to get you to open up and talk."

Taylor pursed her lips in a clumsy attempt to flat-out ignore her, focusing instead on the mundane task of tying the drawstring of the shorts.

"It's fine," Taylor said, his voice tight as he tied the drawstring of the shorts. "We're going to fix this. We're going to find a way to make me... me again." He forced a smile, trying to reassure himself more than Rhys.

Rhys nodded his head in an absent-minded gesture, his eyes lingering on Taylor's new form for a few seconds too long before he turned away. "Okay, dude," he said, his voice slightly shaky. "I'll go wait for her in the hallway. Give me a minute."

Taylor watched him go, feeling the succubus's presence in his mind like a second heartbeat, thumping in time with his own. Once the door clicked shut, the room felt smaller, the air heavier with the unspoken words and the weight of his new reality. He took a deep breath, his chest rising and falling in a way that felt both terrifying and exhilarating. He glanced down at his bare calves, the softness of his skin stark against the roughness of the couch.

Rhys's footsteps echoed in the hallway, growing fainter as he moved away. The succubus stirred within him, her curiosity piqued by the mention of Jacques. "So, your roommate has been playing hide the salami with that girl," she mused, a smirk in her voice. "How... interesting."

Taylor rolled his eyes. "This isn't the time for your inappropriate humor," he muttered under his breath, but couldn't help but wonder what kind of person Jacques was to be involved with something like this.

As he waited for Rhys and his girlfriend to return, he couldn't shake the feeling that his life had taken a hard left into a twisted episode of 'The Twilight Zone' or 'Supernatural,' or maybe a crossover with 'Game of Thrones' or 'Fifty Shades of Grey.'

The succubus leaned back into his mind, as if settling into the interior of his beanbag-shaped skull. "So, Taylor," she began, her tone playfully scolded. "We were about to talk about something rather important before you were so... rudely interrupted and passed out."

Taylor groaned, rubbing his temples. "Your name?" He prompted, trying to steer the conversation away from his roommate's sex life and back to the more pressing issue at hand.

"Right," the succubus said with a purr that made his skin crawl with anticipation. "Since everyone in the ritual was a potential receptacle, as well as part of the circle and summoner, it's quite possible that more than one heard my name and has power over me."

Taylor felt a chill run down his spine at the thought of more than one person controlling the succubus. "So, we need to find out whoever else heard it and then... what? Punch your name out of them?"

"Not quite," she said, a shiver of distaste running through her words. "Violence has never been my cup of tea. And I'm quite certain it's not yours either."

Taylor's eyes narrowed, the thought of anyone else having control over his body was like someone had poured hot sauce into his favorite cereal. "So, what do we do?"

"Well," the succubus began, clicking her tongue forcefully, "it's quite possible that you also heard my name when it was bestowed on me, but now you don't remember it well."

Taylor's eyebrows shot up. "Wait, what? So, I might have some power over you too?" He couldn't help but feel a bit smug at the idea of turning the tables on the creature that had so dramatically upended his life.

"Theoretically, yes," the succubus replied, her voice academic, though tight. "But, Taylor, please, I am not a toy to be played with. I want to return to my place and give you your life back."

Taylor felt a twinge of something akin to regret. "I didn't mean it like that," he said quickly, the succubus's words resonating with a sincerity that was surprisingly... human. "I just want to get us out of this mess without... you know, dying or losing our souls or something."

The succubus's mental sigh was like a taste of warm wind in his mind. "I appreciate your sentiment, Taylor," she said, the words laced with a hint of sadness. "But we must be prepared for all possibilities. The members of Sigma Kappa Beta are not the most... scrupulous of individuals. If any of them have gained power over me, we need to be extremely cautious."

Taylor hummed in agreement, his mind flying with thoughts of his frat brothers and their newfound potential for chaos that this was beyond anything he had ever imagined. "I don't think I remember the name," he said, trying to recall the moments before his transformation. The ritual was a blur of candles, chanting, and the heavy scent of incense. The words had been spoken in Latin, and he had only caught a few syllables here and there.

The succubus sighed again, the sound resonating through his mind like a soft drumbeat. "You must have heard it," she said with more urgency and nervousness. "But perhaps you didn't understand it was a name."

Taylor tried to piece together the fragments of last night's ritual, but it was like trying to solve a blindfolded Rubik's cube. The succubus's words circled in his mind like a shark smelling blood in the water. He didn't like the thought of his frat brothers having power over him. "I don't remember any name, I only remember the Latin chants and the speech," he said, frustration creeping into his voice.

The succubus's tone turned serious. "My name is not a Latin word, Taylor," she said with a touch of exasperation. "It's... otherworldly. It's not something you'd easily find in a human language, obviously."

Taylor felt his stomach drop. "What do you mean 'obviously'?" He asked, his voice tight with tension.

The succubus rolled her eyes, or at least the sensation washed over him like a ghostly caress. "I mean, it's a word you wouldn't normally throw around in conversation, like 'duck,' 'dog,' or 'dentist,'" she replied, her voice dripping with sarcasm. "In a way, the name you give to a summon is like with AI assistants, which have quirky names like 'Siri,' 'Alexa,' or 'Cortana.'"

"So, it's something... unique, " Taylor murmured, "like a thremadomere?"

"Thremadomere," the succubus echoed, "What the fuck is that?" Her voice was a blend of amusement and exasperation.

"Nothing, I just made it up," Taylor said with a shrug, trying to ease the tension.

"Well, it's definitely not my name," the succubus replied with a snicker. "But it's close to the kind of shit you should find."

He took a deep breath, to focus, and remember the hypothetical name. It was like trying to recall a forgotten password or the lyrics to a song from the depths of his childhood. But his nerves shattered when he heard the door to the apartment swing open.

To be continued… 

Constructive comments, bookmarks, opinions, kudos, and observed typos are always welcome.

Chapter Text

Chapter 26: Name 

Taylor quickly stood, his heart pumping as he braced himself for the encounter. Rhys's footsteps grew louder as he approached, accompanied by a softer, more delicate set of steps that Taylor assumed belonged to Jacques. The door to the apartment swung open, and Rhys stepped aside, revealing a petite young Black woman with a mane of raven hair and piercing brown eyes that seemed to sparkle with curiosity from behind a pair of horn-rimmed glasses.

She looked Taylor up and down, her intense gaze lingering on his bare calves and the way the Hawaiian shirt clung to his hourglass-shaped curves. It was almost overwhelming the way she bore him with her gaze. Taylor felt a blush creep up her neck and cheeks as she took in the sight of him, a mix of confusion, envy, intrigue, and what he hoped wasn't attraction playing across her features.

"Who is she?" Jacques demanded, her eyes narrowed as she took in Taylor's transformed state. Rhys looked at Taylor apologetically, almost with a shrug, realizing he'd forgotten to any mention of the succubus/woman part of their situation.

"This is... a strange thing," Rhys began, his voice trailing off as he gestured awkwardly towards Taylor. "I better introduce you properly. Taylor, this is Jacques," Rhys introduced, his voice still shaky. "Jacques, this is... my roommate, Taylor."

Jacques stepped into the room, her gaze unwavering from Taylor's transformed body. She was dressed in a black T-shirt that read 'SO GOTH I WAS BORN BLACK' and a pair of tight-fitting blue jeans, which hugged her petite but curvy figure. In her hand, she clutched a beige military backpack that looked too big for her to carry comfortably.

"Taylor?" Jacques's voice was a mix of incredulity and accusation as she looked at the stunning woman standing in her boyfriend's apartment. "What the actual fuck, Rhys? You told me your roommate was a guy... Wait... you told me?" She hesitated, her eyes darting to Rhys before focusing on Taylor again.

Taylor felt the succubus stir inside him, her curiosity and anticipation growing as the tension in the room thickened like a fog. The exchange of glances between his friend and his partner, who seemed very bewildered.

"Yeah, about that, Jacques..." Rhys started to explain, his voice trailing off as he searched for the right words. "Taylor was a guy a week ago when we met. But, well, things... changed." He gestured towards Taylor's transformed body, his face a canvas of apology.

Jacques raised an eyebrow, her eyes flickering between Taylor's endless legs and her face, her examiner gaze lingering on the succulent curves that had replaced what she had assumed to be his masculine form. "So, what are you, like, transitioning?" She quipped, her voice light but laced with a hint of accusation. "And you went all the way to Thailand for the full package, huh? HRT? A boob job?" Add a little snicker to that, and it could've passed as a joke, but the edge in her voice told a different story.

Taylor felt the succubus bristle within him at the flippant remark, but she held her tongue, allowing him to respond. "It's a bit more complicated than that," he said, trying to keep his voice steady despite the embarrassment and anger simmering just beneath the surface. "I didn't exactly choose this... transformation."

Jacques's smirk remained in place, but her eyes searched for him, looking for a glimmer of the truth behind his words. "I bet it was," she said, her voice dripping with skepticism. "So, what happened? Did you make a deal with the devil or something?" She joked with a wink, assuming Taylor was trying to be considerate.

The succubus rolled her eyes. "Closer than you think," she whispered in Taylor's mind, the humor in her voice barely concealing her annoyance. Taylor took a deep breath, trying to calm the storm of emotions raging inside him. He had to tell his story, but he didn't know how to start.

"This is why you didn't want me to meet him... her?" Jacques asked, turning to Rhys with a raised eyebrow. Her eyes were still glued to Taylor's form, the humor in her voice a poorly veiled attempt to hide the confusion and discomfort that washed over her.

Taylor's eyes darted between Jacques and Rhys, trying to gauge how much his roommate had told him about him and why Rhys had tried to keep them both in the dark. "It's not what you think," he said, his voice a feeble attempt at reassurance. "I'm still a man. It's just... I had an accident." The words sounded ridiculous even to his own ears, but he was at a loss for anything more convincing.

Jacques's smirk grew wider as she took in Taylor's flustered expression. "Oh, wow, haven't they done a trim down there yet?" She quipped, gesturing with her fingers like scissors cutting and pointing to the shorts that barely concealed Taylor's lack of male anatomy.

Rhys looked uncomfortable, shifting his weight from one foot to the other. "It's not like that, Jacques," he said, his voice strained. "It's... it's a story... different from what you can..."

Jacques cut him off with a laugh that was more nails on a chalkboard than any sound of mirth. "Oh, please," she said, her eyes still dancing with amusement. "You expect me to believe that your roommate just woke up one morning and decided to become a chick? Who is she really, Rhys?"

"It's not what you're thinking. This isn't some kind of... phase or anything like that," Rhys stammered, his cheeks coloring as he searched for the right words to explain the inexplicable. "It's like... he's been... I don't know, cursed or something."

Jacques's eyes narrowed slightly as she took in the sincerity in his voice. "Cursed, huh?" She said, her tone still playful but with an underlying hint of skepticism. "So, what? You fell into a magical Chinese pond?"

Taylor felt a flicker of annoyance at the transphobic jokes, but he knew she was just trying to make sense of the absurd situation. He took a deep breath, trying to find the right words to say what was crazy. "It's something that happened during a fraternity ritual," he said firmly, meeting her gaze.

Jacques's smirk froze on her face, and she looked at Rhys for confirmation. "You're shitting me," she said, her voice low.

"Listen, Jacques, it's more..." Taylor and Rhys began to recount the events of Hell Week, which ended with the fateful ritual, their voices steady despite the absurdity of the story. Taylor described the crimson robes, the ancient book, and the Latin incantations that seemed to hold a power none of them had anticipated, although he stopped at that point out of shame.

Jacques listened intently, her expression shifting from disbelief to mistrust. She set down her backpack and took a seat on the edge of the couch, her eyes never leaving Taylor's transformed body, as if she were an appraiser examining a mare. "So, you're saying they summoned a fucking succubus and it took you over?" She asked with manifest incredulity.

"Technically, it's more like I'm sharing this body with her," Taylor point-blankly corrected her, his voice tight. "But we're trying to find a way to reverse it."

Jacques's eyes went wide. "A succubus? Like, the real deal?" she said, her voice dripping with sarcasm. "Rhys, what the hell is this practical joke?

Rhys looked at her, his expression a mix of frustration and despair. "Jacques, I know it sounds crazy, but it's true," he pleaded. "It really is, my friend Taylor."

Jacques leaned back in the chair, his arms folded firmly across his chest. "And what, pray tell, does this succubus want from you, Rhys, or is it just the usual sexual-soul-semen-sucking gig?" Her voice was skeptical and ironic, but there was a hint of authentic fear in her eyes that told Taylor she wasn't entirely dismissing the possibility.

Taylor leaned forward on the couch before answering. "She doesn't want to hurt anyone," he said earnestly. "She wants to go home, and I want to be... me again."

Jacques studied him for a long moment, her gaze piercing through the facade of sarcasm she had put up. "Okay, I need a moment to talk to you," she asked, glancing at Rhys and springing up from the couch.

The two of them retreated to the corner of the room, whispering heatedly. Taylor watched them, feeling like a zoo exhibit that had gone horribly wrong. He heard snippets of their conversation, words like "real," "danger," and "what the fuck" floating over.

Jacques's whispers grew more insistent, her eyes darting back to him every few seconds. Rhys looked torn between defending his friend and appeasing his girlfriend's skepticism. Taylor felt the succubus's presence within him, her curiosity piqued by this new human dynamic.

"What's all this stuff you were saying about Schrödinger's cat?" Jacques hissed at Rhys, unintentionally reading another volume, her eyes narrowing as she leaned closer to him.

Rhys winced, recognizing the reference to the thought experiment. "It's a metaphor for quantum mechanics," he whispered back, trying to keep his voice calm. "You know, the cat in the box, both alive and dead until observed?"

Jacques rolled her eyes in boredom. "Don't try to mansplain to me what Schrödinger's cat is! Anyone who's seen 'Big Bang Theory' knows that!" she added angrily. "What I meant was, what does that cat mean to you and him... her... to you two?"

The succubus, amused by the human squabble, took the opportunity to speak directly to Taylor. "You know, you're doing surprisingly well," she said, her voice a soothing balm in the chaos of his mind. "For someone who didn't even believe in the supernatural until a week ago."

Taylor felt a twitch of irritation at the comment, but he knew she was right. "Thanks," he murmured back, watching Rhys and Jacques's hushed conversation with a growing sense of dread. He could feel the bond between them stretching tight, like a guitar string ready to snap. "It's easy to be a believer when you have two proofs in front of your eyes," he pointed down with his own.

Jacques's eyes darted back to him, and she raised an eyebrow, her expression unreadable.

"Look, Jacques," Rhys said, his voice a mix of frustration and urgency, "I know it sounds insane, but you've got to trust me on this. We need to help her; that's what really matters. Taylor and I were having an argument one day about Schrödinger's cat paradox, was he just kidding about a quantum zombie... or what? But Taylor finally said something that stuck with me: It doesn't matter if it's one option or the other, or both. Who would be heartless enough to put a poor kitten through that experiment?" Rhys explained between murmurs. "Ever since then, every time we get stuck on two options, we think that maybe there's a third one that we're not seeing because it's beyond the question."

Jacques looked at Taylor with a newfound perspective, the sarcasm fading from her eyes. "Beyond the question?" she echoed, her voice softer, more genuine.

She carefully observed the incongruous elements of the image she had so hastily formed of Taylor. His strange hair cut in uneven sections, the complete absence of makeup on his face, as well as the lack of holes in his earlobes, and the way he spoke, so vast and off-key, as if he had never used his voice because he had been confined to a monastery... or if it really wasn't his voice at all.

But Jacques chose to ignore them, as well as the prejudices he had formed upon seeing him in Rhys's apartment, and focus on the expression of desolation on that figure, whether female or male, or who knows where from... Rhys was right, he needed help.

The room fell silent, the only sound being the muffled thump of music from the distant neighboring apartment. Taylor felt a knot in his stomach because he was thinking of a third option regarding his problem with the succubus's name. Something that hadn't occurred to him because it seemed impossible.

Jacques turned to him, her skepticism momentarily forgotten in the face of his earnestness. "What is it... Taylor?" she asked, her voice softer now, more concerned than mocking.

The succubus echoed that question inside his head as well, as the memories of the previous night began to reassemble and make sense.

"I didn't hear anyone say her name," Taylor murmured, the revelation hitting him like a lightning bolt. "Because I was the one who said it."

Jacques and Rhys stopped whispering abruptly, their eyes snapping to him. "What?" Rhys exclaimed, dumbfounded.

Taylor remembered the moment before that black mirror had cracked from top to bottom in the auditorium. His lips had moved, almost hissing, and a word—no, a name he'd thought had been a rambling—emerged from his throat, though it came from somewhere else... from another world.

"Come on, you've almost got it!" The succubus, said excitedly within Taylor's mind, seemingly like she was bouncing around inside his skull like a little girl in a bouncy castle on her birthday. "Come on, say it!"

Taylor took a deep breath and let the syllables form on his lips, feeling the power of the name resonate through every atom of his being. "The succubus's name is... Sulcepnis," he said out loud, his eyes widening as the realization dawned on him. The air in the room seemed to thicken, the name hanging there like a drop of ink in water, spreading and changing everything around it.

As soon as the name left Taylor's lips, the succubus's grip on him tightened. He felt her joy and anticipation coil around his consciousness like a serpent. Suddenly, her eyes took over his vision, her thoughts drowning his own. His body felt like it was on autopilot as she took control, moving with a grace that was alien to his male form.

"Hello, spazzes," the succubus said, now in full control of Taylor's body, greeting Jacques and Rhys with a smug grin that didn't belong to their friend. Her voice had deepened, a seductive purr that seemed to resonate in the very wall of the room.

To be continued… 

Constructive comments, bookmarks, opinions, kudos, and observed typos are always welcome.

Chapter Text

Chapter 27: Shock 

Rhys took a step back, his eyes widening in shock as he stared at Taylor, or rather, the creature that now inhabited his body. Jacques's expression froze in confusion. "Why did your friend talk like a sex hotline operator?"

"It's not him," Rhys whispered, his voice shaking. "It's... her. The succubus."

Jacques looked from Rhys to Taylor and back again, and again, his eyes narrowing. "What the hell is going on?!" she demanded, her tone irritated and incredulous to the extreme.

The succubus leaned delicately back on the couch with an insidious smirk, crossing her legs in a soft and dizzying movement and placing a hand on her hip, to feel the wide cotton shorts. "Oh, Jaqueline, you're so delightfully dense," she gasped, her voice a deep, seductive rumble that seemed to resonate in the very core of everyone in the room.

Jacques's eyes narrowed at the mention of his full name. "I prefer Jacques, no one calls me anything else," she corrected, her voice sharp as a tack. "And what the fuck is going on here, Rhys?!"

"Where's Taylor?" Rhys asked, his gaze fixed on the succubus, who wrinkled her nose in dissatisfaction, ignoring Jacques' question and the seductive way she filled out his shorts.

The succubus placed a delicate hand on her chest, her fingers playing with the neckline of the oversized t-shirt. "Your friend has had technical problems," she said, her voice dripping with amusement. "But don't worry, he's still here."

Jacques's eyes darted back to Rhys, her confusion growing with every second that ticked by. She searched his face for any sign of understanding or a clue as to what was happening. "What the... it's like a... a multiple personality disorder?" she suggested, her voice tentative. "Is that what's happening here?"

Rhys rubbed the bridge of his nose, his eyes never leaving Taylor's... or rather, the succubus's body. "No, it's not like that," he said, his voice tight with tension. "It's... something else."

Jacques looked at him, her eyebrows knitting together. "You're telling me your roommate has turned into a... a..." she demanded, her voice rising in pitch, struggled to find the right word.

"A real succubus," Rhys finished for her, his voice flat.

"This isn't funny, Rhys," she said, her voice shaking. "You're not going to tell me your 'it's-not-really-female hidden roommate' is suddenly...?"

But before Jacques could finish her sentence, the succubus decided she'd had enough of human stupidity. With a dramatic flourish, she stood up from the sofa and raised her arms as if performing a classical dance move or a big bear hug. Two large, bat-like wings sprouted, ripping and shredding the back of his Hawaiian shirt and unfurled from her shoulders, their leathery membranes stretching wide and casting shadows across the room. A prehensile serpentine tail emerged from between the legs of his cotton shorts and flicked impatiently from side to side, coiling around her ankle. And on her forehead, two unmistakable horns poked through her hair, gleaming in the harsh apartment light. Her hair grew like a tide, covering her shoulders and back like a lion's fur.

"Ta-da!" the succubus exclaimed, her arms flung wide as she basked in the shocked silence. Her wings stretched out like a dark embrace, casting the room in an eerie shadow play that danced over the stupefied faces of her audience. "What were you saying, Jackie?" she asked with a smug smile, her eyes gleaming with mischief.

"Why did you scare them like that?!" Taylor yelled inside the succubus's mind, his own thoughts a whirlwind of fear and confusion. The succubus was genuinely glad to hear him again, her smile widening in a perhaps exaggerated way that gave the feminine face a macabre tinge, along with the horns and such. She didn't answer Taylor immediately, but instead took solace in the sight of the havoc she had wreaked with her sudden transformation.

Jacques's jaw dropped comically, his eyes darting from the wings to the tail and finally settling on the horns that adorned Taylor's forehead. "You're... this... not... this... isn't..." she mumbled unable to conclude a single word, her hand reaching up to touch her own head as if to reassure herself of her own reality.

Rhys, on the other hand, took a step forward with a grave expression, helpless and firm, like a well-made wax statue, as if his brain had decided that the best way to process what he was seeing was to just accept it without moving a muscle. "You," he said slowly, "have destroyed my favorite shirt!

The succubus blinked, amused by Rhys's unpredictable lack of shock at her newfound horns and wings. "Your friend sure has nerves of steel," she whispered inwardly to Taylor, who was still reeling from the sudden revelation of her true form.

Although Rhys's complaint brought Jacques out of her reverie, she immediately protested, "Your shirt?" Jacques's voice grew shrill. "You're joking, right? Your roommate has grown wings, a tail, horns, and hair, and you're worried about YOUR shirt?!"

The succubus in Taylor's body rolled her eyes with a dramatic flair, her tail flickering in annoyance like a dog that had committed a prank and was being scolded by its owner. "Oh, sorry, buddy," she glanced down at the shredded garment and shrugged, her wings fluttering as they slowly folded back. "You know what they say, 'A picture is worth a thousand words,' and I thought that was a rather succinct way of proving our point to her," she nodded, nodding her chin at Jacques.

Jacques stared at the scene before her, her brain trying to piece together the puzzle that was her new reality. She looked from the transformed Taylor to Rhys and back again, her hand still hovering over her head as if it was the only thing keeping her sanity in check. "So, I got it," she said slowly, her voice shaking slightly, "You're a real, genuine sexual demon who has possessed your roommate's body and transformed it..."

"No, no, no..." the succubus in Taylor's body scoffed, her tail swishing from side to side in a display of irritation. "I don't like it at all when you use that damn 'D' word, please don't say it."

Jacques's eyes widened even further, if that was even possible. "But... but you're... you're..." she stuttered, unable to come up with a more eloquent way to describe what she was seeing.

The succubus let out a sigh, the sound coming from Taylor's body but with none of his usual awkwardness. "I know what you're always hearing," she tsk-tongued, "but let me set the record straight. I'm not a demon, and there are no demons... that I know of," she said with a wink that puzzled Rhys and Jacques. "Your definition of a demon is a fallen angel who rebelled against God and lives in hell surrounded by brimstone, damned souls, and fire for all eternity... Filthy lies."

Jacques took a step back, her hand fall from her head as she tried to comprehend what she was seeing, her brain struggling to keep up with the rapidly unfolding events.

"I'm more of a... let's call it, an interdimensional being," she said, her voice still that seductive purr that seemed to resonate through the very air. "And I've got better things to do than roast marshmallows in your afterlife."

"Now you're roasting me something else!" Taylor complained inside her head.

Rhys swallowed hard, trying to process everything he was seeing and hearing. "So, what... are the wings, horns, and tail... a costume? A uniform? Or what?" he asked with a dry and recalcitrant humor, pointing out the obvious, his voice quivering slightly.

The succubus, still in Taylor's body, gave a dramatic eye roll. "It's all part of the package," she said, her voice now a deep, seductive whisper. "They have summoned me IN THE FORM of a succubus, a personate nothing more, but I AM NOT a succubus" She winked, and Rhys couldn't help but feel a twinge of alarm at the way she flirted with him.

With a wave of her hand and a shake of her head, the horns retreated back into Taylor's scalp, the tail slithered back up and disappeared, and the wings folded neatly into his back, leaving the torn holes of the Hawaiian shirt like a makeshift halter neckline. The transformation was so seamless that it was almost as if it had never happened at all, otherwise they would have witnessed it. "See? It's what you might consider atrezzo," she said, her voice now back to Taylor's in an inwardly whisper. "But I'll keep them away if it makes you feel better."

Jacques, who had been holding her breath, suddenly took a step forward and open her bag with a swift motion that was surprisingly smooth for someone so obviously on edge. Her hand emerged, clutching a sleek black taser gun that glinted ominously in the bright light of the apartment. Without a second thought, she aimed the weapon at the succubus and pulled the trigger.

"Look out!" Taylor shouted, but it was too late. The crackling arc of electricity shot through the air and connected with the succubus's body. Her eyes went wide with surprise and pain, and she stumbled backward, crashing into the bookshelf with a cacophony of falling tomes.

To be continued… 

Constructive comments, bookmarks, opinions, kudos, and observed typos are always welcome.

Chapter Text

Chapter 28: Withhold 

A few minutes later...

Rhys lifted the unconscious figure from the floor for the second time that day, except this time she was a bigger mystery than the first. "Where did you get that thing?" he snapped, his voice a mix of anger and fear.

"My father is a police lieutenant," Jacques said through gritted teeth, her hand still shaking as she held the taser, her eyes never leaving the unconscious succubus slumped in Rhys's arms. "He gave it to me for my sweet sixteen birthday, and I've been going to the shooting range with him every Sunday since the divorce, for self-defense... although I never thought I'd need it for something like THIS."

Rhys slung the succubus's arm over his shoulder and lifted her like a drinking buddy to carry her back to the couch, unable to lift her, not because of her weight but out of pure shame. The amount of exposed skin left by the rip was more compromising this time. It looked like an Easter Island version of a virgin-killing sweater.

"And you brought it here for 'some reason' in particular or what?" He used air quotes around the last two words, his voice dripping with sarcasm.

Jacques' cheeks darkened as she realized the absurdity of the situation. "I always carry it with me, just in case, like condoms," she muttered, avoiding eye contact. "I mean, you never know when you'll need protection...? Wait, sit her on this chair." She gestured to the wooden seat the two of them used to change light bulbs and clean the tops of furniture like a clumsy ladder.

Rhys obeyed, carefully placing the succubus down. Her head lolled to the side, a peaceful smile playing on her lips, despite the electrical assault she'd just hardened. He couldn't help but feel a twinge of protectiveness, even though she was a creature who had stolen his friend's body.

Jacques took a deep breath, trying to regain her composure. "Why did you want me to come, huh?" she asked, her voice shaky, approaching the beige backpack and rummaging through the pockets inside.

Rhys looked at Taylor's face, his eyes filled with a mix of concern and confusion. "I has... We had to tell someone," he murmured. "Someone who might know how to reverse this... this shit."

Jacques's hand paused mid-rummage, her eyes locking onto Rhys's, wide as saucers, almost looking like her horn-rimmed glasses were going to fall off. "And you thought I could do it?!" she asked, incredulous and satirical to the bone, her voice quivering like a leaf in the wind.

Rhys shrugged, his voice tight. "You're the closest thing I have got to an occult expert," he said, his voice betraying a hint of despair. "You told me about witchy-poo books you read and other Wicca things."

Jacques pulled out a pink phosphorescent handcluffs from her backpack and approached the chair with a cautious step. "Okay, let's get these on her," she said, her voice trembling.

Rhys's eyebrows shot up, viewing the tacky handcuffs with a mix of shock, skepticism and alarm. "What are you doing?! Where did you get... those?" He highly doubted that was part of the Madison PD's equipment and wondered what ideas Jacques had about their relationship that would have made her bring such a contraption.

Jacques narrowed his eyes furiously, twisting the pink handcuffs between his fingers. "From work... I told you I worked at a store as a hostess on the weekends." She was silent for a few seconds, then continued, "What I didn't tell you is that it's a store that sells erotic goods and costumes, not just for Halloween, you know."

Rhys couldn't help but snicker at the absurdity of the situation, despite the gravity of it all. "W-what's next, you gonna tell me you've got a lasso of truth in there?" he quipped, trying to ease the tension.

Jacques shot him a glare that could freeze a volcano. “No, I lost that one at Comic-Con last year, damn Wookiees,” she said with a sigh, her attempt at humor falling flat. She stepped closer to the chair and fastened the handcuffs around the succubus’s right wrist, then raised her left arm and bent it at the elbow to fasten the other end, with a click that echoed around the room. The succubus remained clinging to the back of the chair in a twisted, grotesque position, her armpit exposed and her neck tilted like Stephen Hawking.

Rhys felt his heart pound in his chest at a steady pace. He knew he should have panicked just like Jacques had when he saw the succubus transform, but the truth was that ever since he'd accepted that his roommate was trapped within the succubus's seductive exterior, his resilience level had skyrocketed. "So, do you know anything that could help him?" he asked, his voice a whisper that seemed too loud in the tense silence.

Jacques stepped back, her eyes darting from the handcuffs to Taylor's serene face. "I-I need to think," she stammered, her hand moving to her chin in a gesture of deep contemplation. "This isn't really my thing. I'm more into the gothic stuff, Lovecraft, Poe, vampires and ghosts in literature, not abominations like this."

Rhys couldn't argue with that.

Jacques's interest in the occult was mostly theoretical, but much more profuse than his knowledge. He took a short breath before speaking. "Okay," he said, his voice more bittersweet than he would have liked. "What do you know about... about, you know, the witchy stuff?"

Jacques blinked, her hand paused mid-air. "Wicca? Really?" she asked, her voice laced with skepticism. "I'm not exactly an initiate; I had a friend in high school who was. I've just read some books for fun. But being a Goth isn't the same as being a Wiccan, like confusing apples and pears!" she exclaimed irkily.

Heaving a sigh, Rhys leaned against the wall, feeling the coldness of the plaster seep through his shirt. "I'm sorry," he conceded, trying to keep his voice steady. "What about the books you've read? Anything in there that could, I don't know, expel it to... whatever you call it?"

Jacques shook her head exaggeratedly, her eyes flickering over to Taylor's still form and Rhys. "Wicca is more about going against the patriarchy and casting cheap spells; this one is way beyond that... The only thing I know about succubi is from the movies," she admitted, her voice a barely-there whisper.

"Like 'Jennifer's Body' and 'Knights of Badassdom'?" Rhys bantered, trying to keep the mood light, but the gravity of the situation was thick as mud, and his joke sank without a trace.

Jacques's cheeks heated up and reached a deeper shade of brown, and she glared at him. "And there's that movie with Ron Perlman."

"Which movie?" Rhys asked, genuinely confused. "Hellboy?"

"It was just called 'Succubus'..." Jacques trailed off, her eyes glazed over as she remembered the plot of the movie she had watched in a darkened theater with a bowl of popcorn that barely lasted fifteen minutes.

Rhys watched her with a raised eyebrow, as it didn't sound familiar.

Jacques shot him a glare that could cut glass. "This is not the time to judge my terrible taste in cinema," she snapped, her voice shaky with nerves. "But in the movies, succubi are always very dangerous, liars and soul-stealers. She could be playing us both for fools!"

Rhys sighed, rubbing his forehead. "Well, she hasn't stolen Taylor's soul, at least not yet," he said wearily. Suddenly, the succubus's body gave a strange shudder, like when one is jolted awake or when the paddles of a defibrillator discharge its voltage. Rhys and Jacques waited to see if she would wake, but the succubus's breathing was moving her chest up and down in a slow rhythm. Rhys continued more quietly, "And she doesn't seem to have lied to us about her intentions, has she?"

Jacques's eyes were still glued to the succubus. "I guess not," she murmured, "but she's definitely not a clean slate... And she's been trying to flirt with you!"

Rhys shrugged, trying to play it cool despite the warmth creeping up his neck. "Well, she is a... succubus," he said, almost whispering the word like it was a dirty secret. "It's kind of her 'Modus Operandi', right?"

Jacques gripped the taser tightly, her knuckles whitening as she watched the succubus. "If this junk can hold a succubus, imagine what they could do to a cheater," she murmured under her breath, her mind briefly wandering to a few of her past romantic history.

Rhys chuckled nervously, trying to lighten the mood. "Well, if we can't trust the pink handcuffs, we have some duct tape in the kitchen," he said, his voice cracking slightly. "But, Jacques, you're not going to zap her again, are you?"

The succubus stirred a little in the chair, her eyes still closed and drool dripping from the corner of her lip. The scene was so absurd that Jacques couldn't help but feel a bubble of laughter rising in her chest, but she swallowed it down with a grimace.

A wave of pure envy hit her like a battering ram. Even unconscious and bound like that, the succubus's silhouette was a profusion of curves and twists that would attract the gaze of hundreds of men. She had the kind of feminine beauty that outshone other women and made Jacques feel like an overstuffed garbage bag filled with shapeless lumps.

Jacques felt a twinge of guilt for her spiteful thoughts, remembering the way Taylor had looked at her with such desperation, begging for her help before the succubus suddenly took control... when Taylor said her name. "Sulcepnis," she murmured to herself, tasting the eerie syllables on her tongue.

It had to mean something.

The succubus's eyes fluttered open with a jerk that startled them all, and she took in the scene before her with a curious, almost intriguing expression. "Oh, this is the first time I've been knocked out by a taser." She licked her lips and chewed while blinking in confusion.

"It won't be the last if you don't tell us how to get Taylor back," Jacques said, her voice shaking with a mix of fear and anger. She pulled another reload of darts from her backpack, attached it, and pointed the Taser at the succubus, her finger hovering over the trigger. She tossed the backpack back at Rhys's feet. "I have a can of pepper spray. Watch her back. If you see anything resembling a tail, give it a squirt."

The succubus looked at Jacques with a glint of perverse amusement in her eyes. "There are much more fun and pleasurable ways to squirt, Jackie."

Jacques's cheeks burned, like magma red, and she took a step back, her finger tightening on the trigger of the taser. "I already told you to call me Jacques!" she demanded, her voice quavering.

The succubus gave a lazy grin. "Oops, sorry," she said, her eyes sparkling with mischief. "But I can't help it if I find human names so... dull. Why don't you want to be Jackie? Sounds much better than..."

Jacques's grip tightened on the taser. "My surname is Chan," she said through gritted teeth. "The kids laughed at me a lot in elementary school, so I dropped it."

The succubus tilted her head to the side, a lock of hair falling over one eye. "You just dropped it, huh?" she said, a teasing and irreverent lilt to her voice. "Good heavens! You don't know how much I envy you!"

Jacques's eyes narrowed, not quite sure if she was offended or intrigued.

"Look, 'Solenoid'," Rhys interjected, getting the name wrong, trying to keep his voice firm, "you need to tell us how to reverse this. Taylor's got finals next week, and I don't think the university accepts 'demonic possession' as an excused absence."

The succubus, apparently unfazed by the taser and the tension, laughed lightly, a sound like the tinkling of fine china. "Your friend already made me participate in the problem, but I'm afraid it's not going to be as simple as just saying 'Abracadabra' and poof!" She snapped her fingers behind her back, the sound echoing in the room like a gunshot.

Jacques's eyes locked onto the target, and she kept her distance. "I don't believe you, you damn spawn of hell. I didn't understand why you had to possess him and transform him in the first place?" she snarled angrily, the taser aimed straight at the succubus's chest, her grip steady, and her intent clear.

The succubus looked at her with a coy smile. "Oh, I can't just magically appear out of thin air. It's like one of those things from Five Principal Exceptions to Gamp's Law of Elemental Transfiguration. There's no way I could appear on this material plane out of nowhere!"

"Did she just quote Hermione Granger?!" Jacques thought, and was dumbfounded for a moment. She glanced at Rhys, who also couldn't believe what he was hearing.

The succubus continued, "The only way for me to manifest here is through someone to host me. And your friend," she wink at Rhys, "was the lucky... or unlucky, depending on how you see it, candidate, Jacqueline." she added sarcastically.

Jacques waved the Taser around a bit. "How do we get him out of there?" she asked, her voice as sharp as a scalpel, ignoring the barb that seemed meant to distract her.

The succubus pouted, her full lips forming an exaggerated 'O' of mock innocence. "Well, if you take these handcuffs off, maybe we can talk," she suggested, her eyes sparkling with a hint of challenge.

Rhys took a half step forward, then retreated as Jacques glared at him for that moment of hesitation.

"No way, you fiendish abomination!" Jacques spat, her voice quivering with anger. "You're not fooling anyone with your seductive charms! We're keeping those handcuffs on you so you can't take flight and escape."

The succubus let out a giggle, almost like a burp, which was quite an eerie sound coming from something so beautiful and terrifying. "No, I couldn't do it even if I wanted to, you know-it-all brat," she said, her voice dripping with sarcasm. "Just like I once told Leo, I'd need more airspace and a lot more thrust to get up and fly. I don't have hollow bones, you know?"

"Leo? Which Leo are you talking about?" Rhys's curiosity piqued as he took a tentative step forward, checking that the tiny canister of pepper spray was still pointed at the succubus from the right side.

"Leonardo Da Vinci, of course, wasn't going to be DiCaprio!" The succubus rolled her eyes dramatically, the pink handcuffs glinting in the dim light of the room.

Jacques's mouth fell open, and she stared at the succubus, her brain trying to process the absurdity of the situation. "You know Leonardo Da Vinci?!" she exclaimed, her grip on the taser faltering slightly.

The succubus smirked, enjoying the shock on Jacques's face. "Well, I didn't 'know' him in the biblical sense of the word," she said, her voice a wave that seemed to ripple through the air. "But I've been around for a while. Longer than your entire species has had the concept of time, actually."

Jacques's mind tried to reconcile the idea of ​​this ancient creature in a modern setting, wearing pink handcuffs and speaking of Leonardo da Vinci with such casual ease. She lowered the taser and pulled out a necklace from her neck, the silver crucifix glinting in the light. It had been a gift from her maternal grandmother from New Orleans, something she always wore, more as a memory than as a form of protection.

The succubus's eyes widened as the cross was brought closer, a hint of fear flitting across her features. "Oh, don't bother with that," she said, her voice a little less playful. "It's not going to work on me."

Jacques, fueled by a mix of anger and despair, raised the crucifix high. "In the name of the Holy Trinity, I command thee to leave this man!" she shouted, her voice echoing through the room, the music heard on another floor was a contrast that broke the scene, Reggaeton and exorcism didn't even match.

The succubus, still bound to the chair with his arms crossed behind his back uncomfortably, rolled his eyes and shook his head. "Oh, please, I've been around since before your 'Holy Trinity' was a glint in some ancient philosopher's eye. That's not going to work," she said, her voice laced with contempt.

Jacques's hand trembled slightly, but his resolve remained firm. She had watched enough horror movies to know that sometimes, even the most ludicrous of artifacts could serve as a powerful deterrent. "It's worth a shot," she murmured, stepping closer and holding the cross in front of the succubus's face and began to recite in Latin. "Exorcizamus te, omnis immundus spiritus, omnis satanica potestas, omnis incursio infernalis adversarii, omnis legio, omnis..."

"Ha ha ha!" the succubus's laughter filled the room, the sound a dark symphony of amusement, "Are you seriously going to use that rant you got from the 'Supernatural' series? What's next, holy water?" She leaned back in the chair, the wood creaked beneath her, and the handcuffs digging into her skin. "Do you really think that's going to scare me, flat ass?"

Jacques's face flushed a furious shade of red, for the gratuitous insult, her grip on the crucifix tightening until her knuckles turned white. She stepped closer quickly, the silver chain glinting in the light, the crucifix mere inches from the succubus's face, until it slammed into the forehead of the infernal being (or not).

"Ow, ow, ow! Take it away, take it away from me!" the succubus howled in mock agony as Jacques held the silver crucifix against her hair, the metal cold and unyielding.

"It works!" Jacques exclaimed, her voice a mix of desperation and hope as she pushed the silver crucifix harder.

"No! You piece of shit!" the succubus replied with tears in her eyes and a contrite grimace. "You got that thing caught in my bangs! Can't you see?"

Jacques's hand jerked back, the silver crucifix clattering against the palm of her hand. Some of the succubus's hair was indeed stuck to the cross, and she was grimacing in pain. Jacques hesitated for a second, seeing her so... human. "I'm sorry..." she stuttered, her confidence wavering, but arrogance muted her apology.

"What do you all have against my hair?!" the succubus sobbed, focusing on Rhys, her eyes red with pain and tears. "First T... your friend, completely wrecks it by cutting it with a craft knife, and now this repressed sadist of yours for a girlfriend wants to rip it out of my scalp!"

To be continued… 

Constructive comments, bookmarks, opinions, kudos, and observed typos are always welcome.

Chapter Text

Chapter 29: Confront 

Jacques felt a twinge of guilt, but the anger remained. "I'm not his girlfriend!" she shouted, her voice echoing in the room. "We've only gone out a few times this week!"

"Let me guess," the succubus pondered, sniffling a little after her tears, "last night was your third date?"

Rhys looked at Jacques with a bewildered expression, and she felt the heat rising to her cheeks. "How did you know?" he asked, his voice a mix of shock and confusion.

The succubus grinned with spasms, the pain from her hair momentarily forgotten. "Oh, it's an unwritten rule of us women," she revealed, her eyes sparkling with mischief, and Jacques felt a jolt of something that wasn't entirely jealousy. "The third date is when things... get interesting."

Jacques's cheeks burned, and she clenched her fists. "We're not here to talk about my sexual life!" she exclaimed, the crucifix still in her hand, the silver cold and unforgiving.

The succubus raised an eyebrow. "Ummm, this isn't looking good for you, Rhys," the succubus commented, narrowing her eyelids as if examining Jacques with an X-ray. "I have a feeling she used you last night just for a little relief from the stress of finals."

Rhys's jaw dropped, and he looked at Jacques, who was now furiously blushing. "What?!" he sputtered, unable to form a coherent response to the succubus's claim.

Jacques's eyes shot daggers at the succubus, her cheeks aflame with embarrassment. "Shut your mouth, demon!" she spat, the crucifix still in her fist digging into her skin. "Stop trying to get into my head."

The succubus shook her head, then tilted it. "I don't read minds like those cheap vampires in those teen novels, but desires are very easy to interpret... I'm not judging you, Jacqueline," she persisted. "Having him as a fuck buddy is a good opportunity, but you should make your intentions clear first."

Jacques was about to reply, but Rhys's voice cut through the air. "We need to focus, Jacques. We can't let this... thing... mock us," he said, his gaze never leaving the succubus, his voice firm despite the tremble in his hand holding the can of pepper spray.

The succubus sighed dramatically, her chest heaving with movement. "Okay, back to business. How to get me out of this body."

Jacques took a deep breath, trying to regain his composure. "So," she said, keeping her head down, "do you know, or don't you know, how to do this?"

The succubus tilted her head from side to side several times, like a bobblehead stick figure you put on your dashboard. "It depends," she said, her voice a scheming whisper. "I won't tell you unless we make a deal."

"No way," Jacques said, her voice firm and unwavering, her thumb caressing the silver chain absently. "We're not making a deal with a filthy, fiendish slut!"

The succubus's eyes flashed with fury, and she hissed, her teeth gleaming in the mid-afternoon light. "Careful with those words, sweet cheeks," she warned, her voice a serpent's hiss. "I can smell the untapped passion in you, Jackie. You're like a kettle ready to boil over. At least I'm sincere, and I don't try to pretend that I'm not what I am, nor that I want sex."

Jacques's nostrils flared, and she stepped closer, her voice a serrated blade slicing through the air. "Whore of the abyss!" 

The succubus's eyes narrowed, and she bared her teeth in a snarl. "Don't call me that, you snot-eating, double-chinned cellulite-eater," she snarled back. Rhys was surprised to see that her poor vocabulary of insults seemed straight out of a Catholic schoolyard.

Jacques's fist clenched, and she took a swing at the succubus. But before her knuckles could make contact with the succubus's smug grin, Rhys stepped in between the two to separate them, his right arm shooting out like a spring-loaded trap to catch Jacques's forearm. "Whoa, whoa, let's not do something stupid," he warned, his grip firm and at the same time soft.

"I want to beat that bitch up!" Jacques yelled, her eyes wide open.

"Ahem, ahem," the succubus coughed to get attention.

Rhys's left arm, however, had moved without his conscious thought and found its way to the succubus's chest, his hand landing on one of her breasts, squeezing it gently.

Jacques froze, staring at Rhys's hand on the succubus's chest. "What the fuck, Rhys?!" she bellowed, trying to pull away.

The succubus, however, remained unfazed, watching the exchange with an amused smirk. "Don't worry about me; you can leave your hand right where it is for as long as you want, but your roommate is very pissed off saying you should let go immediately."

Rhys's face twisted in embarrassment as he realized where his hand had strayed. He jerked both of them back as if burned, and quickly backed away from the succubus and Jacques. "Sorry," he muttered, his eyes darting between them.

The succubus's smirk grew wider. "You don't have to apologize, I didn't mind," she said, moving a little on her raised elbow as if she were making light of the matter, her eyes sparkling with mischief and amusement.

Jacques's face was a mix of anger and confusion. "What are you playing at?" she demanded, her voice a harsh whisper.

The succubus had an unreadable expression. "I just want to make sure," she said, with a seductive gasp that wrapped around the room like a velvet bow.

"What are you talking about?" Jacques demanded, her voice tight as a bowstring.

"I don't want us both to end up in a government lab starring in a snuff movie," the succubus replied, her voice dropping to a serious tone that sent a chill down Jacques's and Rhys's spine. "I need to be sure you two aren't going to do anything... rash. Anything that could hurt him."

Jacques's eyes widened in shock. "Hurt him?" she echoed. "You're the one causing the trouble!"

The succubus waved her handcuffed arms in that awkward manner and nodded several times, her expression thoughtful. "Trouble is a matter of perspective, isn't it?" she said, her gaze shifting to Rhys.

Rhys cleared his throat, trying to ease the tension. "Look, we just want to help Taylor," he said calmly, his eyes dancing between Jacques and the succubus. "We're not here to hurt anyone."

The succubus shot him a look that suggested she wasn't entirely convinced by his words, "Seriously?" She rolled her eyes, the bravado she had been putting on earlier slipping away like a snake shedding its skin.

Jacques stared at her, and then clicked his tongue. "We don't have time for your games," she said, her voice shaking slightly. "Tell us how to get Taylor..." she trailed off, glancing at Rhys, who was still staring at her. "Wait, wait... Why don't you say HIS name?"

The succubus's smile fall away, and froze like a sculpture, her eyes trembling with something that looked eerily like genuine fear. "What do you mean?" she whispered, her voice barely above a murmur.

"You haven't called him Taylor once," Jacques pointed out, her voice shaking slightly. "You've been calling him 'his' and 'he'. Why?"

The succubus swallowed hard, and for a moment, she seemed... nervous. "It's nothing," she said quickly, trying to brush it off. "Just a slip of the tongue."

Jacques and Rhys exchanged a look that said they didn't believe her for a second. "Why are you afraid of his name?" Rhys asked, his voice soft but insistent.

The succubus's eyes darted back and forth between them, the fear in her eyes growing with every second that passed. "Let me do the talking," she whispered, as if speaking to someone they couldn't see. "It's better if I handle this, boy."

Jacques and Rhys shared another confused glance, the tension in the room thickening like a fog rolling in from the lake outside.

"BOY?!" Jacques, Rhys, and Taylor (inside her head) questioned, their curiosity piqued by the sudden shift in the succubus's demeanor.

Jacques took a step forward, raising the muzzle of the Taser again, her eyes narrowing, and spoke focused on Rhys. "It's not just his name, she also hasn't corrected you when you've misspoken... Why?" she demanded, turning her head back to the succubus, her gaze piercing through the facade.

To be continued… 

Constructive comments, bookmarks, opinions, kudos, and observed typos are always welcome.

Chapter Text

Chapter 30: Tie 

Rhys took a deep breath, trying to gather his thoughts amidst the chaos. He looked at the succubus, his eyes full of questions. "Why can't you say Taylor's name, Sulpicia?" He repeated, emphasizing the 'Taylor', but got her name wrong again. The succubus's eyes darted around the room, as if searching for an escape from the sudden scrutiny.

Jacques's grip on the Taser tightened, and she pointed it at the succubus. "You can't even pronounce your own name, can you?" she said, her voice laced with contempt. "Taylor said it right before she appeared. It's not 'Sulpicia.' It's 'Sulcepnis,' Rhys."

The succubus's eyes snapped back to Jacques, and they opened wide, along with her mouth, which hung limply for a few seconds. All the grace and beauty of her face suddenly became a parody of Munch's 'The Scream.' "Oh, shit! Oh, shit, shit, shit, shit!" she exclaimed, her voice reaching octaves that could shatter glass. "You... you should say that name! I shouldn't be able to hear it! Oh, shit!"

Jacques stepped back, surprised by the succubus's reaction. "What's wrong with hear your own name?" she asked, her voice quieter now, the anger replaced by something akin to curiosity.

"Tell them, explain it to them!" Taylor urged in the succubus's head, but her response was choked up because even though it was a proper order, it hadn't been spoken out loud, and she couldn't break the invisible chains that kept her tongue muzzled.

Her eyes dancing with panic, the succubus struggled to find the words. "It's... it's... it's...," she managed to choke out, her voice trembling with the effort of speaking against the restriction. Her hesitant gaze fell on Jacques's black T-shirt with his slogan, and a faint glimmer (or perhaps darkness) suddenly illuminated her hope. "Do you like the Twilight books and movies?" that stream of words gushed so quickly through her lips, followed by a genuine sigh of relief.

Jacques blinked, thrown off by the sudden change in topic. "What? It's not my favorite," she replied, her voice flat and confused. The succubus's disappointment swept across her face like a tide, and she added, "I read them when I was younger, but I prefer books by another author... although I can't write fanfiction about her and..." She excused herself, realizing that she might have overstated her point a bit.

"You write 'Twilight' fanfiction?" Succubus's eyes lit up, the fear momentarily forgotten, the spark of hope igniting. "Which one? The brightly vampire who looks like a Swarovski trifle or the horny werewolf who always gets naked?" she asked, her tone filled with excitement. She saw that as long as she kept the conversation on that edge, there would be no pause.

Jacques rolled her eyes, "It's not like that," she replied, a hint of a smile tugging at the corners of her mouth. "It's just that I enjoy reading them. It's like... an escape."

The succubus nodded eagerly, the wooden back of the chair digging even deeper into her exposed back. "Exactly," she said, her eyes shining with deeper understanding. An escape was something she knew all too well and something she longed for at that moment. Her gaze flickered between Jacques and Rhys, who were both still attentive due to this sudden literary interest, their expressions still a mix of shock and bewilderment. "So, and what's your favorite part? Mine's from the book 'New M'..." her voice stopped abruptly, and she coughed like someone had just thrown a bucket of ice water on her. "It's... it's..." again she tried to form the words, but it was as if someone had slapped a hand over her mouth, the panic setting in once more.

The succubus realized she couldn't even move her jaw; it was so much stronger than her, as if her palate and tongue had been welded together with wire and shackles. Although the truth was that she had never tried so hard to break the limits of her own summoning. She had never felt such despair and helplessness.

Jacques watched her, remembering the books she'd read under the covers in high school, the ones that had gotten her through the hard nights when she felt like she didn't belong anywhere. The scene was strongly reminiscent of the one from "New Moon" where Jacob Black confessed to Bella Swan his werewolf nature, or tried to, unsuccessfully. But instead of a muscular, brooding teenager, she had a proudly depraved succubus handcuffed to a chair at the point of her taser, flirting with her affaire.

"Is it because saying Taylor's name has power over you?" Jacques asked, her voice a mix of curiosity and accusation. The succubus vehemently shook her head, looking like a bobblehead doll on a winding road.

"Close, but no cigar... or cock, for that matter," the succubus managed to say, her voice slightly strained. She was surprised that she could answer, perhaps because she hadn't intended it as anything more than a joke and not a reply.

Rhys looked from Jacques to the succubus, utterly confused by the sudden shift in the conversation. "What does 'Twilight' have to do with anything?" he asked, his voice laced with impatience.

The succubus also felt a silent, cold weariness emanating from Taylor, almost like when he ate too much ice cream in one go and the grinding of his teeth ended up extending to the base of his skull.

"I think names are a kind of taboo for you, aren't they?" Jacques ventured, her eyes intently studying the succubus's reaction. "A character in the book couldn't explain the truth to the protagonist because she had supernatural orders that prevented her from doing so. And in folklore, knowing a demon's name gives you power over them."

Rhys felt the tension in the room thicken as the succubus struggled to speak. "What happens if I say her name... Sulcepnis?" He asked, his voice steady despite the unsettling atmosphere.

The succubus's eyes went wide again, as if a rapid current of static electricity circulated through everyone present and made the backs of their necks prickle. The lump in her throat loosened, and the succubus took an unexpected deep breath, her eyes opening frantically. "No! No, no, no!" she shouted, her voice high-pitched and desperate, almost like a child's.

Jacques stepped closer, the Taser's muzzle pointing at the succubus's chest. "What happens?" she pressed, her voice firm but not without a hint of rage.

The succubus swallowed hard, her eyes flickering to the floor. "No, this is wrong! You have no idea what a mess you're getting into!" she murmured, her voice trembling.

"What happens, Sulcepnis?" Jacques repeated, her voice stern.

"Ssshhhhhhh!" the succubus hissed, her eyes darting around the room as if expecting someone to barge in at any moment. "You can't just toss that name around like a beach ball at a party!" she exclaimed, her voice a mix of terror and frustration.

Jacques and Rhys exchanged grave glances, the gravity of the situation finally setting in. The succubus's fear was palpable, and they knew they had struck a nerve. What neither of them could see was Taylor's shared terror, which remained invisible and imperceptible within the succubus's mind. She had warned him of the threat he posed, but it wasn't until he felt the name stir every fiber of the succubus's essence, like the strings of a harp, that fear gripped him.

"Look," Taylor's voice was calm but urgent in the succubus's head, "I don't know what's going on, but I need you to tell them. They're trying to help me." The succubus closed her eyes, the effort to speak against her nature causing her to sweat.

The succubus kept secrets in her silence, for too many different reasons, some because they had been swept away by the winds of oblivion, others because the heart of the ritual required her to keep certain facts and realities in the dark, she also kept Taylor ignorant about some of the key points of her situation to protect him, but the last secrets, the most hidden ones, were to prevent them from taking advantage of her... as all humans did in the end.

"If... if you say my name," she began, her voice barely a whisper, "you gain power over me. It's like... a lock and key, like the password of a computer. If you say it with the wrong intent, it could unleash... something dangerous." The room grew tense as Jacques and Rhys stared at her, the weight of the unspoken understanding heavy in the air.

Jacques took a side step closer to Rhys, her curiosity piqued. "What if you said Taylor's name?" she asked, her eyes never leaving the succubus's.

The succubus's expression grew even more distressed. She pouted contritely, her eyes darting between the two who had her restrained. "What do you think would happen?" she replied with another question of her own, her eyes assessing the intelligence of Rhys's girlfriend. Her left arm was going numb from lack of blood flow, and the tingling was annoying.

Jacques raised an eyebrow, her gaze sharp as a scalpel. "Well, if when Taylor said your name, you appeared on the scene and now you're in control of the body, I suppose if you said 'Taylor' out loud, it should give him back the ability to speak, right?" She surmised, her voice filled with the kind of challenge that dared the succubus to defy her.

"Bravo, Sherlock," the succubus said through gritted teeth, her eyes glinting with a mix of sarcasm and fear. "I'd applaud you right now if I could. But yes, that's how it works... or how I think it should work." She gave a bitter laugh that conveyed not amusement, but despair. "Something like what happens in the movie 'Shazam' with the protagonist, but I have better curves."

Rhys stared at her, the pieces of the puzzle slowly falling into place. "Say it, then," he urged, his voice a swirl of anxiety and anticipation. "Say 'Taylor', please. We need to get him back."

She was not softened by Taylor's friend's plea, and she knew she had the upper hand, quite literally, in this twisted game of words. "Why should I?" the succubus countered, her tone cool and collected despite her discomfort.

Taylor noticed a strange protective feeling in her cold words, as if the succubus wanted to protect him by placing her conscience before his like a contingency wall.

Jacques's eyes narrowed, but she wasn't too surprised by his reaction. "Because we're the only ones who can help you," she said, trying to sound friendly and argumentative, but her voice held a tinge of deep challenge. "You want out of this, don't you?"

The succubus smirked. "Help us, huh?" she said, her voice dripping with skepticism like a blood-dull knife after a massacre. "The first thing you did was take him for a transsexual, and you zapped me with that little taser. Maybe it would have been better if we had left before you arrived."

Jacques felt a flash of anger at the succubus's audacity, her grip tightening on the taser. "You scared us half to death with your little wing-raising act, demon," she spat, her voice laced with contempt.

"And the same thing again!" The succubus threw her hands up in exasperation, the handcuffs clinking against the chair.

"What?!" Jacques barked furiously, lowering the taser.

"Will you stop calling me THAT?" she said, pinching her lower lip between her teeth in a purely nervous gesture, more than an attempt to look sexy. "You're too rude!"

"I'm sorry if I hurt your feelings," Jacques quipped, crossing his arms and rolling his eyes. She continued in her scathing tone. "I didn't know there was a protocol for dealing with supernatural beings and demons."

"I'm not a demon!" the succubus insisted, frowning as she noticed her shoulders aching from the pink handcuffs that restricted her movement.

"Well, she's certainly right. It looks like a duck, swims like a duck, and quacks like a duck..." Rhys murmured, staying close to his girlfriend.

"What an obsession with naming things you humans have!" the succubus exhorted, a maniacal gleam in her eyes. "You say I'm unnatural, but rivers, mountains, seas, and storms never had names until some idiot monkey who believes he has a right to existence because he learned to stand upright gave them to them."

"That's not the same thing," Jacques replied, keeping her distance from the restrained succubus due to her vehement tone.

"No? Really?" she asked, her breathing so labored that her breasts heaved up and down inside her Hawaiian shirt. "You name things that affect you so you can feel pathetically powerful when you try to understand them. But naming a hurricane or a pandemic isn't going to stop it from wrecking your existence."

"Are you implying you're some kind of catastrophe?" Jacques hissed with a snort, though a slight tremor twisted her face.

"Yes, Jacqueline, I am a fucking unstoppable force of nature," the succubus explained with a smug smile that was somewhat marred by the awkward positioning of the handcuffs. "I was there when the first caveman started jerking off with one hand and then using it to paint on the walls. And I'll be there when the first astronaut to Mars decides to play five-on-one."

"Now that's a good slogan," Taylor uttered humorously from inside the succubus's head as she watched the exchange between the two women, helpless to do anything to stop it.

"I'll slap this damn spawn of hell!" Jacques jumped, infuriated by the succubus's words.

"Come on! Dare! Come on!" The succubus challenged her, showing her most profuse smile.

"Hey, hey! Stay still!" Rhys urged, trying to keep the two of them apart using only words this time.

To be continued… 

Constructive comments, bookmarks, opinions, kudos, and observed typos are always welcome.

Chapter Text

Chapter 31: Deal 

Jacques, her face flushed with rage, took a step towards the succubus, but Rhys's look of stupefaction stopped her in her tracks. "What's gotten into you?" He uttered, his eyes wide with astonishment at her all his aggressiveness towards her.

The succubus cackled, a sound that was strangely similar to Taylor's own laugh. "It wouldn't be a very fair fight, Jacqueline," she said, her voice dripping with sarcasm.

Jacques took a deep breath, trying to calm down, but she couldn't eliminate the unease inside her. "I don't know what he's done to you, Rhys, but that foul demon isn't going to play me over with his charm powers," she said, her eyes narrowing, her voice hissing like a teapot's spout.

Rhys, his eyes still wide with astonishment, took a step back, raising his hands in a peaceful gesture. "Whoa, whoa, I'm pretty sure she's not done anything weird in my head, or any weird mind games," he said, his voice trembling slightly.

"Ha ha ha!" The succubus's laugh was deep and rich, resonating through Taylor's body and making the two of them turn to face her. "Do you think I have some kind of superpower? Haven't you noticed what a pathetic situation I'm in? Or what?" she said, trying to shrug, but the muscles in her back were already very sore. The Tylenol and Advil had completely worn off.

Jacques's eyes narrowed even further, scrutinizing the succubus. "Why do you say that?" she questioned, her suspicion deepening.

"Because, Jacques, if I had control over your thoughts, do you really think I'd be stuck in this chair, playing twenty questions with you?" The succubus quipped with a pained smile, her voice filled with a newfound sincerity that made the room feel less distressing for the girl with horn-rimmed glasses. "All that stuff they say about succubi casting a spell with their gaze is bullshit, stories and lies that the men who fucked me told to justify their actions... 'I couldn't help it, Senior Brother, the succubus forced me to sleep with the little girl!' the monks dared to say..." The succubus trailed off for a few seconds after the voice spoke, and a tear sprang from her right eye. She blinked a couple of times to clear her eyes, but she couldn't stop the tear from running down her cheek to her chin. "You're a woman like me!" She appealed more forcefully. "You know, it doesn't take supernatural mental powers to make a man completely lose his mind, just a little shaking and showing them off in front of him," she added, looking down at her plunging neckline.

Jacques felt a strange mix of pity and anger, but she didn't let it show on her face. "I don't trust you," she said bluntly.

Even if the succubus didn't have some kind of weird will-eating magic, she had a killer body and who knows how many millennia of seduction experience.

The succubus sighed, the sound resonating through the room like a mournful gust of wind. "Look," she said, her voice like a defeated bugle call, "I'm not going to lie to you. I am what I am. But I couldn't even hurt you if I wanted to hit you back in a catfight, to protect this receptacle." She paused, looking at Rhys with an expression so bleak that it seemed almost human.

"What!?" Taylor questioned, his voice echoing in his own head, the succubus's words causing his mind to reel. "I don't understand," he thought, his mental voice tight with anxiety.

Jacques felt a pang of doubt, but she didn't lower her guard. "Why should we believe you?" she demanded.

The succubus didn't want to explain the truth to them, because she knew full well that doing so would put her in an awkward and dangerous position for everyone. But she couldn't see a way out of the impasse they were stuck in.

"Because," she said, her eyes locking onto Jacques', "it's part of the package of being a succubus, I can't harm anyone of my own free will even if I wanted to, the terms of the summoning that define my nature completely prevent it." Her voice was calm, but the despair in her eyes was undeniable. "Those who summoned and changed me were looking for nothing more than a toy to amuse themselves with. So I ended up being a parody of myself, little more than a blow-up doll to be beaten..."

Rhys, still trying to process everything, looked at Jacques, who seemed to be contemplating the succubus's words. "Change you?" he finally spoke up, his voice filled with confusion. "What do you mean, 'changed you'?"

"Nothing, it's a very long story," the succubus said, her eyes evasive. "Let's just say that I've been around for a very, very long time. And in that time, I've learned that humans are more dangerous than any... demon you can think of." She added the word reluctantly, glancing askance at Jacques.

Jacques studied the succubus closely, her mind filled with questions, but the most pressing was also the most obvious. "So, if you can't harm us, why did you attack me?" she asked accusatory.

The succubus felt a twinge of regret. "Because sometimes I act like an imbecile and I don't like religious fanatics, okay?" she replied with a hint of defensiveness in her voice, glancing at the closed fist in which Jacques still held the crucifix. "And I've had a really, really bad day," she added, her tone dropping to a whine that Taylor had never heard from her before.

Rhys stared at the succubus, his brow furrowed in confusion. "Okay, so what now?" he managed to ask, his voice betraying the overwhelming mix of emotions swirling inside him. "Do you both make peace and look for a solution or what?"

The succubus looked from Rhys to Jacques, her expression a blend of amusement and exasperation. "Well, someone needs to start acting like an adult... I'm sorry, my apologies for scaring you and for insulting you," she blinked at Jacques. "I regret questioning your beliefs and calling you 'flat ass'..." She said the last part, her lips almost pursed. Rhys focused his gaze on the girl with the horn-rimmed glasses, waiting for her reaction.

Jacques stared at the succubus, the crucifix in her hand trembling slightly. "Why are you so talkative now?" she asked, her voice a mix of skepticism and curiosity. "What's changed?"

The succubus took a deep breath, the weight of her chest seeming to press against the handcuffs that bound her. "My name, you've spoken it, both of you, and now that there's no one around us who can hear it and who doesn't know what I am, I can reveal certain things about myself to you." She paused, looking at them with a gaze that was both weary and hopeful. "But only if you promise to keep it between us," she added, her voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper.

"Are you trying to make a deal again!?" Jacques said, her voice thick with skepticism, but the succubus's gaze remained steady.

"No," she replied, a hint of genuine desperation in her eyes, "I'm not asking you to sell me your soul, which is by the way a complete nonsense for the church, nor to give me your firstborn in payment or anything gruesome like that," the look Jacques returned was almost a poem on bitterness, "but you have to swear to me that my name will not leave this room, that's all I ask."

Jacques looked at Rhys, who nodded hesitantly. She knew they had little choice if they wanted to help Taylor. "Fine, Rhys," she conceded, "but I hope you're right and that this hellish being doesn't rip out our hearts and entrails and squeeze them to drink our blood like it's making lemonade."

"Yuck! That's so gross!" the succubus said dryly, her expression one of mock horror. "You're not helping to convince me of your sanity," she banteringly retorted, though the tension in the room had noticeably thinned.

Jacques rolled her eyes, the tension in the room palpable. "Alright, we won't say your name," she finally agreed. "Sul... Cep... Nis," she stumbled over the syllables with sarcasm and deceit, and the succubus flinched at the sound as if expecting an explosion.

But nothing happened, no strange currents of static electricity between the four, no soul cramps. The succubus opened her eyes wide, bewildered by the lack of reaction. "What...?" she started, looking at Rhys and Jacques.

The girl with the horn-rimmed glasses smirked, her eyes gleaming with the thrill of the situation. "How interesting!" she mused, watching the succubus's disconcertment with a hint of smugness. "It seems we're all learning something new today, Nis" she added, her voice dripping with sarcasm.

"It's not funny!" The succubus snapped, the irritation clear in her voice despite her restrained form. "My name isn't some sort of party trick!"

"Chill, Nis," Rhys said, trying to ease the tension with a grin that was half-hearted at best. "We'll have to call you somehow, we can't just keep referring to you as 'the succubus'."

The succubus huffed irritably, her cheeks reddening slightly and her eyes taking on an almost delirious look. "I'd prefer you keep calling me a whore from the second circle of hell," she clicked, her tone dripping with sarcasm.

Jacques ignored the succubus's outburst, instead focusing on the more pressing matter at hand. She couldn't shake the feeling that there was something more to this creature than met the eye. The way it spoke, the way it acted, and the knowledge it seemed to possess about Taylor's condition was unnerving. Despite the sarcasm and the bravado, she could see a hint of desperation lurking beneath the surface, like a shark in murky waters waiting to pounce. The succubus's insistence on keeping her name a secret was intriguing, and she couldn't help but wonder what kind of power it held.

Taylor's heart skipped a beat as the succubus finally relented. "Say it, please" he prayed silently, willing the words to come out of his lips.

With a dramatic roll of her eyes, the succubus took a deep breath and uttered, "Taylor," the word slipping from her lips like a forbidden fruit, like a mother's lullaby to her baby, like the embrace of two lovers who will spend their entire lives apart. There weren't enough words to explain it, it was too intimate.

At the moment the name left her mouth, a sudden jolt of power emerged through Taylor's body, which resonated through Rhys and Jacques as if they were tuning forks. It was like a switch had been flipped, and he was back in control. His thoughts were his own again, and the succubus's influence receded into the background like an annoying pop song finally turning down the volume. The relief was so profound that he could almost feel his shoulders drop several inches.

"Taylor?" Rhys's voice was tentative, hopeful. Although the question was almost unnecessary, he and Jacques had perceived the sudden change like a fish the ebb and flow of the tide.

"Yeah, It's me," Taylor's voice, her own feminine voice, croaked out, sounding strange and unused. He felt the weight of his own words. He felt a rush of emotion, a mix of relief and terror, and looked down at his body, expecting to see how the succubus's voluptuous form had disappeared and returned to its being. But no, he was still in that seductive skin, the succubus's presence now became a silent whisper in the back of his mind.

"Oh, crap," Taylor groaned, his eyes widening as he took in the sight of the shredded Hawaiian shirt. The fabric hung in tatters around the succubus's body, laid in a sad heap of colorful strips, the pattern of palm trees and cocktails forever marred by his transformation, revealing more of her than he ever wanted Rhys to see, "I'm so sorry for all this mess. I'll pay you a new one, buddy." The regret was palpable, a sudden reminder of the reality of his situation.

Rhys looked down at the shirt, a ghost of a smile playing on his lips. "Don't worry about it," he said, trying to keep his gaze from lingering on the succubus's exposed flesh. He had seen enough to fuel a lifetime of fantasies, and now he had to deal with the reality of his best friend being trapped in such a really hot body suit... But he was a dude!

He knew Taylor was still in there, and that was what mattered. But he couldn't ignore the succubus's curves... How could he be thinking such things about his best friend!?

Jacques's voice brought him back to reality, cutting through his tumultuous thoughts like a knife through warm butter. "It's just a T-shirt!" she said piqued, rolling her eyes so hard that Taylor was surprised she didn't get a headache. "Now give him another one so he can change," she exclaimed, pulling a tiny, bright pink key that looked as fragile as plastic from a ridiculously small pocket in her jeans.

Rhys left the can of pepper spray on the table and quickly went to search through the laundry bags he had left by the entrance for a shirt that was not his favorite, perhaps the most ignored of his entire wardrobe, while Jacques maintained her composure still with the taser in her hand and she approached his bare back to remove Taylor's handcuffs with the tiny key, making sure not to touch any of the succubus's skin.

"If she tries any foul play or touches a single hair of Rhys's," Jacques warned as he stood behind her, whispering in Taylor's ear, her breath hot on his neck, her breath hot on his neck, "I'll make T-Rex-sized buffalo wings, understood?" The words sent a shiver down Taylor's spine.

"Roger, roger," the succubus mumbled inside Taylor's mind, her tone playfully mocking. "I'm going to behave, I promise," she purred, her voice a seductive caress. Despite the situation, Taylor nodded but felt his body responding, a traitorous stirring of arousal that he quickly squashed down, upon catching the scent of Jacques's jealousy. He had to remember that she was a succubus, even if she was currently playing the part of a reluctant brainmate.

Taylor felt the cool metal of the handcuffs come off with a click and took a deep breath, stretching out his arms for the first time in what seemed like hours. The succubus's body turned out to be softer and more delicate than he ever imagined, the handcuffs had left marks on his wrists that made him wince.

Jacques stepped back, eyeing the succubus warily as Rhys handed over a Hawaiian shirt that looked like it had seen better days. "Thank you," Taylor murmured, pulling it on quickly, the shirt was a size too large, but he was grateful for the modesty it provided, even if it was a stark contrast to the form-fitting one he'd been wearing. The succubus inside him huffed, clearly displeased with the wardrobe change, but she remained silent as Taylor buttoned up.

The room was thick with tension, the air heavy with the weight of their shared secret. Rhys averted his eyes, trying to give Taylor some semblance of privacy as he changed, although he still noticed Jacques' gaze fixed on his back.

Taylor felt a pang of embarrassment as he realized the nonsense of the situation he was in. Here he was, a guy, unbuttoning a shirt in front of his roommate and a girl he had a crush on, but the shirt was his, and the body was not. The absurdity of the moment hit him like a truck, and he couldn't help but feel a blush creep up his cheeks, even as the succubus inside him rolled her metaphorical eyes. "Seriously?" she thought, "It's not like he haven't seen a pair of boobs before." But Taylor's human side remained stubbornly modest, a trait that seemed so out of place in this seductive shell.

Jacques, however, was not as amused. She watched the succubus's body move with a mix of fascination and revulsion, her grip on the taser tightening with every button that was undone. Despite the creature's assurance of non-aggression, she wasn't about to let her guard down.

"Alright, so what do we do now?" Jacques asked, the shirt finally covering Taylor's neck up. The succubus within him remained eerily quiet, almost as if she knew that speaking would only make things worse.

"We can't just hide him here forever," Rhys pointed out, his voice heavy with the weight of the situation. "The exams are starting soon, but he can't just waltz into the university looking like that."

Taylor looked around the room, his mind searching for a solution. "The frat is the real problem, the exams can wait," he said, his voice strained as he recalibrated his priorities. "When they realize I just disappeared, whoever did this to me is going to know it was me who transformed last night, and he'll be looking for me."

Rhys nodded gravely. "We need to get you off-campus," he said firmly, "and quick."

"But how? You can't exactly sneak around with those... assets," Jacques pointed out, gesturing to his new form and his knockers. "It's impossible for anyone to notice what you look like when crossing the street; you look like a supermodel in a bargain basement outfit.

"I know," Taylor sighed, running a hand through his hair, which now cascaded down his shoulders in shimmering waves. His previous attempt at inconspicuousness by cutting his hair was ridiculous, but he hadn't anticipated this. "But if I can't get out of here without being seen and I can't stay, what do you propose, a disguise?"

Jacques tapped his chin thoughtfully. "Maybe," she mused, "but we can hide him at my residence, meanwhile."

"No way!" Taylor and the succubus protested, for different reasons. He knew he wouldn't look good in front of all those women and wouldn't be able to prevent things from getting out of hand if he behaved in some unladylike manner. She, however, wasn't about to have Jacques around 24/7 with her menacing taser to watch her.

"May I make a suggestion?" the succubus interjected smoothly, her voice dripping with honey despite her obvious discomfort. Taylor heard the gears turning in her head, remembering and pondering, before she presented her idea.

Taylor blinked several times in disbelief and wanted to scratch his ear, thinking he'd heard it wrong. "Wait, you want my phone to do WHAT?!"

To be continued… 

AUTHOR'S NOTE:

About the strange origin of the name

When I was first drafting the plot, I set out to create a cover using an AI image page. However, when I added text as part of the image specifications, lines of words appeared that were either nonsensical or had too many vowels. One of those words that emerged from the AI's errors was the name I ended up using for the succubus.

Constructive comments, bookmarks, opinions, kudos, and observed typos are always welcome.

Chapter Text

Chapter 32: Strip 

Jacques and Rhys watched Taylor's frantic paces across the room, unable to understand what he was talking about, as they only heard half of the conversation.

"You said you couldn't!" he retorted to the succubus in an angry murmur.

"That was then and this is now," the succubus responded coolly, a smug smirk playing on her lips that tried to mirror his. "Not that I think it'll work, but it's worth a try, isn't it?" she continued, the challenge in her tone clear as day.

"How do you... we do it?" Taylor asked, his voice a mix of skepticism and hope. He took the phone the succubus had requested and opened it using the pattern.

The succubus spoke into his mind, guiding him through the process with a strange mix of excitement and urgency. "Find a recent selfie of yourself," she instructed, her voice carrying an authoritarian and condescending quality. "Too bad you're so unnarcissistic; you barely have any photos for a teenager these days." Taylor's thumbs danced over the screen, his eyes scanning the image gallery. Finally, he found a photo that caught his attention.

The picture was from last Halloween, where he had donned a hastily put-together vampire costume. He was standing next to Jude, his twin sister, who was dressed as a slutty nurse. He won at the memory of their mother's disapproving gaze and the awkwardness that had followed when she'd walked in on her. The succubus's laughter echoed in his mind. "That will do the trick," she said with a knowing smile.

Rhys and Jacques exchanged puzzled glances as Taylor held up the phone, displaying the photo of his costumed self. "What are you two talking about?" Rhys inquired, his curiosity piqued by the sudden shift in his roommate's demeanor.

Ignoring Rhys' question, Taylor spoke to the succubus in his head, "What now?"

"Open the camera app and take a selfie," the succubus instructed, with a strange tone of doubt that surprised him.

He felt his cheeks flush hotter than a habanero as he positioned the phone in front of his face, the succubus's beauty reflected in the screen. He snapped the picture, his heart racing as he awaited her next command. "Now, save that photo and open the image of you as a cheap vampire again, but in a split screen, keeping the camera so you can see your reflection, like in a mirror... I think," she told him, her confidence wavering slightly.

Taylor's doubts also spread to him when he got confused with that feature on his Samsung smartphone, since he had barely used it since buying it secondhand.

"Hey!" Jacques's demanding voice distracted him for a second, "What's with the fashion show?"

Taylor held up his phone, showing them. "We're... trying something," he replied, trying to sound as casual as possible while his insides were a tornado of nerves and confusion.

Following the succubus's instructions, he managed to split the screen, placing the new selfie alongside the old one. The contrast was stark: the vampire costume from last Halloween and the succubus's seductive visage. He took a deep breath, focusing on the image of his male self. The succubus's power thrummed within him, and he felt her concentration coil around the task.

"Concentrate on the image," she whispered into his thoughts, and he felt a strange warmth spread from the pit of his stomach, up to his chest, and into his face. His skin began to tingle, and for a moment, the room grew fuzzy around the edges. The image of his male self began to press on his retinas with a soft light, as if he was trying to break free from the digital confines of the phone. "Close your eyes and think of my name, but don't say it," she urged.

Taylor obeyed, his eyes squeezed shut as he recreated how he had felt saying the name 'Sulcepnis' earlier. The warmth grew, and with it, a sense of pressure, as if his skin was being stretched over new contours. He could feel his body changing, his muscles rearranging themselves, his bones shifting with a sudden crackle.

The shimmering hair retracted into his scalp, and the soft, delicate features of the succubus morphed into his own, more angular ones. The voluptuous figure shrank slightly, becoming more masculine at times. The shirt, which had been stretched tight, now hung loose around his frame, the fabric no longer straining against the curves that had been there mere moments ago.

Taylor opened her eyes after a few seconds in which the heat subsided, and contemplated the result. The succubus had done it; she had restored Taylor's original appearance.

"Holy shit," Rhys exclaimed, his eyes wide with astonishment. Jacques simply stared, the taser momentarily forgotten in her hand. "You're... you're you again!"

Taylor looked down at his body, running his hands over his now-flat chest, feeling his skin for any trace of the succubus's form.

He quickly pulled at the elastic on his shorts with one hand and the elastic on his boxer briefs with the other to check if 'everything' was back on. "Thank goodness! It's back!" he sighed in relief, his own male voice returning, while Jacques and Rhys kept their distance, their expressions a mix of shock and awe.

The succubus, however, wasn't as thrilled. "It's not something to get so excited about, I've seen much better," she groused. "I've never tried that before, and at least my smartphone screen didn't break."

"Wait, what?" Taylor's heart skipped a beat as the succubus spoke in his mind, her voice a tad less confident than before. "Could it have broken!? Why didn't you warn me?"

"It was a risk worth taking," she replied with a shrug, "and now you're back in your meat sack, aren't you? No harm, no foul."

Taylor couldn't argue with that, his heart racing as he took in his reflection, his own reflection, in the phone screen. The transformation had been successful, but the reality of what had just happened was setting in. He looked up at his roommate and his 'not-girlfriend', their faces a canvas of shock and bewilderment.

"How did you do that?" Rhys stuttered, still trying to process the surreal event that had unfolded before him.

Jacques, still amazed, cautiously stepped forward. Her finger pressed against Taylor's flat chest, confirming the absence of the succubus's voluptuousness. "Awesome!" she murmured, unable to believe what her eyes had seen. "But what about...?" She trailed off, glancing down at the shirt that had once clung to the seductive curves of the succubus.

Taylor looked down at the shirt, which now swamped his body like a potato sack. "It's not the same, but I guess I'll have to adapt," the succubus said, a hint of disappointment in her voice.

Rhys's eyes darted between the phone screen and Taylor's face, as if expecting the transformation to reverse at any moment. "Dude, what the fuck is going on?" he managed to say, his voice shaking slightly.

"It's... complicated," Taylor began, his voice still shaky from the transformation. "She's still here," he explained, pointing a finger at his temple and tapping it a few times. "She explained to me that my original form and her feminine one were more or less like quantum versions of the same coin."

Jacques's brows furrowed. "And what was that show with the bat wings?" she demanded, her curiosity peeking through the layers of skepticism.

"Let's just say that a coin in quantum physics can have many more sides than heads and tails," she mockingly commented, a hint of irritation seeping into her voice. Taylor repeated her words without much mockery, while the succubus took pains to tell them how she had come up with the idea.

"Once in France, I think," she hesitated, stumbling over her tone, "I don't remember in which reign of a certain Louis, I was summoned into a lady of the court who wanted to be young and beautiful again. Part of my essence was introduced into a portrait of her youth, and when the one who summoned me said my name, the old lady regained the same appearance, at the cost of being under the command of my summoner, of course."

Rhys and Jacques listened in silence, their minds grappling with the ridiculousness of the succubus's tale. "So, you can just pop in and out of any image?" Rhys finally managed to ask, his eyes glued to the phone in Taylor's hand, as if it were Dumbledore's elder wand.

The succubus, now completely out of the control of Taylor's body, gave a sly smile. "Well, no, but any image of Taylor works so I can flip the coin into his shape," she corrected him, "It's a risky maneuver, and I wouldn't have done it if I didn't think it would work. Plus, it's not exactly the same as a Renaissance painting, but at least I'm not stuck on a smartphone."

"Could that have happened to you?!" Taylor was alarmed and didn't repeat the succubus's last sentence.

"It's a moot point," the succubus said, waving off Taylor's concern with a click of its tongue. "What matters now is that you're back to your dull, mortal self, and I'm not done trapped in a digital cage."

Jacques coughed to get attention; the quiet atmosphere in the space felt tense. "Okay, so you're back to being a dude," she remarked, attempting to ease the tension with a sarcastic grin, "with a fiendish hot chick trapped in your noggin."

"It's not like that," Taylor protested, feeling a blush creeping up his neck. The succubus chuckled in his mind, enjoying the discomfort she stirred.

Ignoring their banter, Rhys stepped in, his voice firm and practical. "Okay, you'd better wear something less... noticeable," he said, eyeing his Hawaiian shirt and shorts that looked like they were going to slide down to his ankles, with a hint of disdain.

"Yeah, I'd say so," Taylor agreed, feeling a bit embarrassed. He rushed to his room, feeling the gaze of both of them, eager to change into something that would fit his new—well, old—body.

Once he was alone, he leaned against the closed door and took a deep breath, his heart thundering in his chest. The succubus remained silent in his mind, which was a rare and welcome reprieve. He glanced around his room, which suddenly felt so much smaller than it had just minutes ago.

The succubus felt his discomfort, a strange sensation she wasn't accustomed to feeling in a receptacle. She watched as Taylor's hands trembled slightly, fumbling through his dresser drawers to find something that fit his newly restored form.

After a few moments, she understood the reason for Taylor's troubles, and her mood instantly improved.

"You don't have to be nervous," she said, her voice a gentle purr in his mind. "Don't be shy with me. This isn't the first time you've undressed in front of me, after all."

Taylor rolled her eyes, both to prevent her from looking down and as a form of boredom. "That was different. I wasn't exactly 'me' back then." He slipped off the too-large shirt, feeling the cool air kiss his bare skin.

"I've seen many, many more naked men than you can count, Taylor," the succubus joked in his mind as he pulled on a clean T-shirt he'd left on top of the bedspread that thankfully fit snugly over his torso. "Your shyness is endearing, but unnecessary."

"It's not about the nudity," Taylor retorted, his voice muffled as he yanked on a pair of tight stonewashed jeans from a closet drawer, "It's about... too much."

Barely ten minutes later, he was about to flee campus and disappear, perhaps forever, and she had unexpectedly taken a risk to give him back his body, which he now felt strangely uncomfortable in. To say he was having conflicting thoughts was a more than obvious euphemism.

"Everything has changed, right?" Taylor murmured to himself, sliding into a fresh pair of socks and sneakers.

"Yeah, now that you know my name, things will be a little easier for you," the succubus said, her tone playfully smug, though her voice cracked on the last word.

"But, what about you?" Taylor asked, his eyes meeting hers in the mirror, through the shared blue. "What happens to you now?"

The succubus's eyes twinkled mischievously. "Well, I remain part of you, until we cancel the ritual," she cooed. "But don't worry, I'll play nice."

Taylor pulled on a hoodie and zipped it up tight, the warm fabric feeling comforting against his skin. He knew the succubus could see and hear everything he did, but his lack of physical presence was too disturbing. He stepped out of his room, expecting to find Rhys and Jacques eagerly waiting for him. Instead, he saw them huddled together on the couch, whispering.

The succubus stirred in his mind. "They're talking about us," she murmured, amusement coloring her voice. "They're trying to figure out if they should still be scared of me or even if I'm just a figment of your imagination."

Taylor rolled his eyes again, though he couldn't deny the truth of her words. He could feel her curiosity as she watched their reactions through his eyes. "You can't blame them for creating theories," he said, walking back into the living room.

Jacques looked up, her eyes widening when she saw him fully dressed. "Well, that was quick," she quipped, trying to keep the tremor out of her voice. Rhys merely nodded, his expression a mix of relief and uncertainty.

"So, what's the plan?" Rhys finally spoke up, breaking the awkward silence.

"I'm going back to Sigma Kappa Beta," Taylor announced without preamble, his voice firm.

The shock in the room was palpable as Taylor declared his intent to return to the fraternity that had been responsible for his transformation. He noticed the succubus's mouth drop open in disbelief, the lightness of his jaw. Jacques and Rhys exchanged skeptical glances before Rhys spoke up, his voice thick with hesitation and disapproval. "You're just going to walk back in there like nothing happened?!"

"Exactly," Taylor said, his determination clear. "The only way I can hide is to fake it till we fix it. I've got to pretend everything's normal."

To be continued… 

Constructive comments, bookmarks, opinions, kudos, and observed typos are always welcome.

Chapter Text

Chapter 33: Tease 

Jacques and Rhys exchanged incredulous glances, their disbelief mirrored on their faces. "Are you out of your fucking mind?" Jacques spat; she regretted putting the taser in her backpack. "You can't just waltz back into the lion's den!"

Since she'd entered Rhys's apartment, she'd witnessed a number of things that defied the laws of reality she'd been taught for almost twenty years. A woman sprouting wings and then becoming a man after using a smartphone like it was the picture of Dorian Gray was incredible. But that absurdity went against common sense and was the final straw for her.

Taylor took a deep breath, bracing himself for the storm of questions he knew would come next. "Look," he began, "I know it's crazy, but if I just disappear, it'll look suspicious. And if they find out what happened..." His voice trailed off, the unspoken consequences hanging heavy in the air.

"But what are you going to do once you're there?" Rhys's eyes searched Taylor's, desperation in his voice.

Taylor shrugged, trying to appear nonchalant. "I'll just... I guess I'll say hi and try to find out something about what happened between the brothers last night without blowing my cover." He paused, then added, "And I'll get my car back, obviously."

Jacques snorted. "Yeah, because that's not suspicious at all," she said, her voice dripping with sarcasm. "But hey, if you want to play detective, be my guest. Just don't say I didn't warn you when you're fucking with the big bad frat boys."

The succubus chuckled in Taylor's mind. "You know, I can't help but Jacques is very right," she said, the sound of her laughter making him feel a little less anxious. "I don't mean 'fucking', but it's a bad idea."

Taylor ignored her, focusing on his friends' reactions. "Look, I've got to go," he insisted. "I can't just stay here and hide forever. Plus, if we want to reverse this," he tapped his forehead, "we need to know what the hell happened in the first place."

Rhys nodded, understanding. "Okay, dude," he conceded. "But we're not letting you go alone."

Jacques looked at Rhys, her expression torn between admiration for Taylor's bravado and concern for their safety. "Yeah," she agreed, "you're not walking into that house of horrors by yourself."

"Thank you very much," Taylor felt a little emotional at the support from both of them, "but neither of you will be able to get into the frat house."

Jacques rolled her eyes. "Oh, shit," she scoffed irritated, "They only let women in so they can have sex with them, right?!" She crosses her arms, a stubborn set to her jaw.

"Well, actually..." Taylor began, his voice trailing off as he considered her words, "it might be better if I go alone. Less suspicion that way."

"At least let us drive you," Rhys suggested, without giving in to the argument. Taylor knew that look; his roommate had made up his mind, and there was no changing it.

With a sigh, Taylor nodded. "Fine. But drop me off a couple of blocks away." The last thing he needed was for someone from the frat to spot them together. He grabbed his keys and phone, slipping them into the pocket of his snug-fitting jeans. As he turned to leave, the succubus spoke up again.

"What do you think of Jacques?" she asked, her voice a curious whisper in his mind.

"What do I think of WHAT?" Taylor asked in a whisper by the collar of his shirt to the succubus as they stepped out of the apartment, leaving Rhys and Jacques to argue over who was going to drive.

Her sultry voice filled his mind. "To form the circle, of course, with her there would be three of you."

Taylor froze, "But she hates you!?"

The succubus's laughter echoed in his thoughts. "I didn't say I liked her," she said, "but she's the one who can help us. Besides, she's very interested in making me disappear, and it's pretty much the same thing."

Taylor nodded, though he wasn't entirely convinced by the succubus's logic. As they stepped into the hallway, the sound of their voices grew distant. For a brief moment, Taylor felt a pang of solitude, a rare sensation that was quickly overridden by the succubus's presence in his mind.

"Why did you ask me before I took a selfie of you?" he asked, his curiosity piqued as the question had been bothering him since the re-transformation. He opened his smartphone and searched his recent photos gallery for the photo with the Hawaiian shirt and her feminine face. It didn't make sense.

The succubus took a moment to consider her answer, the silence in his mind almost deafening. "It was a... just in case," she finally said, her voice a soft whisper. "In case you wanted to return to my form, or if we needed to."

Taylor felt a twinge of something unidentifiable—it could have been fear or anticipation—at the thought of becoming her again. He had his thumb hovering over the screen, and with a couple of taps, he'd erase that image and all evidence of the insane night he'd had, just like that.

But before he could press delete, his phone buzzed in his hand. It was another WhatsApp voice message from Sienna, the girl he'd been trying to get with since he'd set foot on campus.

He tucked the phone into his pocket and walked down the stairs with a heavy heart, the succubus's words still echoing in his mind. "No way!" Taylor exclaimed in his thoughts. He saw no reason or argument to ever adopt that look again, and she knew it.

Two weeks later...

His heart pounded in his chest, the thrill of the night's impending events mixing with the usual jitters of a first time.

"This isn't the first time for me," the succubus mocked gently in his mind. "But for you, it's a first time with me."

Taylor had grown more accustomed to sharing his body, his thoughts and his life with the succubus, but he couldn't stop himself from flinching slightly at the sound of her voice, which Sienna noticed.

"Every-eve-hic-everything okay?" She looked at him with concern in her tipsy eyes, her hand on the doorknob of her apartment. The dimly lit hallway was eerily silent, a stark contrast to the racing thoughts in Taylor's mind. He could feel the succubus stirring with excitement, eager to indulge in the intimate moment that was imminent.

"I'm fine," Taylor reassured her, his voice a little too high for his liking. The succubus chuckled in his mind, enjoying the discomfort he felt in her form.

Sienna looked at him up and down doing zigzags, her eyes lingering on the too tight little black dress that clung to her now-feminine figure. "You are bee-hic-beautiful" she said almost like a prayer, her voice slurred slightly from the drinks they'd shared at the pub.

Taylor felt a blush rise in his cheeks, which were now a soft shade of pink thanks to the succubus's influence, as Sienna's compliment lingered in the air. Two weeks had passed since the transformation, and he had learned to navigate his new body with surprising ease. The succubus had been surprisingly patient and even helpful, though she enjoyed pushing Taylor's boundaries.

With a shaky hand of the keys, Sienna unlocked the door and guided Taylor inside. The apartment was small but cozy, filled with the faint scent of vanilla candles and the distant hum of a neighbor's TV. Sienna's gaze raked over the curvy body before her, her pupils dilating with desire. Taylor swallowed hard, feeling the succubus's excitement pulsate through him—or was it his own?

Did the difference matter?

Sienna leaned in, her breath hot against Taylor's ear as she whispered, "I've been waiting for this since I've se-hic-en you loo-hic-king at me." Her hands roamed up Taylor's body, slipping over the very thin fabric of the dress to trace the contours of his waist and hips, down. The succubus moaned internally, enjoying the thrill of her touch.

Taylor felt himself getting lost in the moment, his lips parting as Sienna's hand reached under his dress, caressing the soft flesh of his thigh. The succubus in his mind was a tornado of emotions, a maelstrom of excitement, anticipation, and something... new.

But as Sienna leaned in closer, her lips a breath away from his, Taylor felt a sudden jolt of lust. It was raw, primal, and overwhelming. His body responded instinctively, pushing him to claim what he desired.

Sienna's eyes widened with surprise as Taylor's hand found its way to the zipper of her dress, his touch surprisingly confident and firm.

The succubus remained silent, watching the scene unfold with a strange detachment. She had felt his reluctance, the barrier of his human morals and social constructs, but now, in this moment, she felt his desire, raw and unbridled.

It was intoxicating.

Taylor's mind was a whirlwind of sensation as Sienna's hands found his body, exploring with a hunger that mirrored his own. Her touch was feverish, her breath hot and desperate against his neck.

He could feel the heat between Sienna's legs as she pushed him onto the couch, her own desire evident as she leaned him. The dress was a barrier between them, a tease that only served to stoke the flames of their passion. With a swift movement, Taylor undid the closure of the halter neckline, letting the dress fall to the floor like a shroud, revealing his monumental figure.

To be continued… 

Constructive comments, bookmarks, opinions, kudos, and observed typos are always welcome.

Chapter Text

Chapter 34: Melt & Down 

Sienna's eyes gleamed with ardor and lust, her hands roaming over his voluptuous breasts, her fingertips tracing the curve of his breasts until they reach his nipples. Her touch was electric, sending jolts of pleasure through Taylor's body.

Sienna's kisses grew more insistent, her teeth grazing his sensitive skin. Taylor felt his body responding in ways that were both terrifying and exhilarating. His pussy, now a part of him, grew wetter with every touch, every whispered word of desire. He was about to indulge in the very thing he'd been dreaming of since the first time he'd laid eyes on her, except he was the one with the body that could give her what she wanted.

He pushed Sienna down onto the couch, his own hands moving down to her waist, unzipping her mauve dress with trembling fingers. As the fabric fell away, revealing her white lace lingerie, like a twisted negative of the coal-black lingerie Taylor wore. His eyes darkened with a hunger that was no longer just his own. The succubus in his mind rejoiced, feeding off the potent cocktail of his lust and her own.

Their bodies collided in a tangle of limbs, their mouths melded together in a frenzied dance of desire. Sienna's hands roamed over Taylor's newfound curves, her fingers digging into the flesh as if trying to claim ownership of every inch. Taylor's own hands were not idle, tracing the contours of Sienna's body, feeling the heat radiate from her skin.

Her breasts were full and round, begging for attention, his fingers deftly unhooking her bra. The fabric fell away, revealing her perky breasts, which he eagerly took in his hands, his thumbs flicking over her erect nipples.

Sienna's eyes rolled back into her head, a soft moan escaping her lips as Taylor's mouth followed the trail of his fingers, kissing and nibbling at her sensitive flesh. She arched her back, a keening sound escaping her lips. She tasted like honey and whiskey, a heady combination that had his senses reeling.

"Taylor," Sienna breathed, her voice thick with desire, "You're so..." Her words were lost in a gasp as Taylor's hand slipped between her legs, beneath her panties, his fingers finding her wetness with surprising ease. He felt a thrill of disgust because Sienna didn't know that both Taylors were the same person and that the strange coincidence didn't really matter. He could give her what she wanted, he could make her come—as a girl.

He kissed her neck, feeling her pulse race against his lips. His hand moved with more confidence now, his fingers exploring her folds, teasing her clit in a way that had her bucking her hips against his hand. Sienna's legs parted wider, her body begging for more, her eyes glazed with lust.

Taylor's kisses climbed up Sienna's neck, her breath hitching as his teeth grazed the delicate skin beneath her earlobe. Her hands tangled in his hair, pulling him closer as she ground herself against his hand, her hips moving in a silent plea for more. Their lips crashed together, a battle of tongues and teeth, a dance of passion that left them both gasping for air.

Sienna's hand join Taylor's in a frenzy of pleasure, guiding his touch to the rhythm of her own desire. Her hips bucked wildly as he stroked her, their breathing growing more ragged with each passing second.

With a gasp, she reached down and grabbed his hand, pressing it harder against her slick heat. "Oh, fuck," she whispered, her voice barely above a breath. Taylor's fingers curled, pressing and rubbing in a rhythm that seemed to resonate with every beat of their racing hearts. Sienna's legs lost strength as if they were turning into jelly, and she pulled Taylor closer, her breasts pressing against his chest as she rode the wave of pleasure.

Their kisses grew sloppier, more desperate, as their bodies moved in tandem. Taylor fingers deftly unhooking her bra. The fabric fell away, revealing her perky breasts, which he eagerly took in his other hand, his thumbs flicking over her erect nipples.

A soft moan escaping Sienna's lips as Taylor's lips trailed down her body, her eyes never leaving his. His tongue danced across her collarbone, down to the valley between her breasts, and then lower still, until it flicked against her nipples. She threw her head back, the sensation sending a jolt of electricity straight to her spine.

Sienna's legs tried to wrap around his hand when he pulled away, and Taylor's mouth followed the path his hand had already traced, his tongue exploring her skin, leaving a trail of delicious shivers and goosebumps when he reached her navel.

Sienna's eyes slid timidly open to meet Taylor's gaze, a silent question hanging in the air. Taylor's heart pounded in his chest, a strange mix of excitement and trepidation. He nodded, letting his hair brush her thighs, a silent confirmation of his intentions. He pulled her panties down to her knees, revealing her glistening pussy, a sight that made Taylor flinch.

"Oh, holy shit!" the succubus exclaimed between a gasp and a grunt as she remembered that he didn't have much experience with cunnilingus, and his confidence was crumbling like a house of cards.

But Taylor's determination was unshakeable. He'd come this far, as if to back down just when he was so close. He leaned in, his mouth hovering just above Sienna's wet, warm pussy, and took a deep breath that made his head spin. He could feel the succubus in his mind, thinking rapidly, as he continued to pull Sienna's soaked white panties down to her ankles, tossing them away from the couch.

"Okay, get ready, boy," the succubus blurted out in the same tone his old baseball coach used at Little League games. "Don't freak out, but you're going to have a 'Matrix-moment'."

"What!?" Taylor whispered so softly that he almost only moved his lips, his eyes darting to Sienna, whose eyes were closed in anticipation.

The succubus's laughter bubbled up in his mind. "Here you go!" She exclaimed as Taylor took the plunge and descended the path outlined by Sienna's thighs. A torrent of images and memories flooded into his mind, from the succubus's past experiences with thousands upon thousands of women who had fallen under her seduction.

Thousands of moans, licks, and the taste of each one of them became embedded in Taylor's brain, almost making him dizzy, while his tongue licked, knowing it was more experienced than seconds before.

"Now you know Cunt Fu!" The succubus in his head encouraged him, "Show it to her," her voice a mix of amusement and excitement as Taylor's tongue darted and flicked, bringing Sienna closer to the edge with every stroke. The room was filled with the scent of sex and sweat, their moans and gasps echoing off the walls.

Sienna's eyes snapped open, her pupils dilated to the size of saucers, and she watched Taylor with a mix of shock and awe. Her legs quivered around his shoulders, her hips moving in a frenzied rhythm as she chased her orgasm.

"Aaaaahhhhh!" Sienna's scream of pleasure filled the small apartment, her body arching off the couch as Taylor's tongue flicked and swirled around her clit, a maestro conducting an orchestra of ecstasy. Her hands clenched in his hair, her nails digging into his scalp, as he devoured her pussy with a hunger that seemed insatiable.

Sienna's body trembling as the orgasm crashed over her, wave after wave of pleasure washing away any remaining inhibitions. "Fuck, fuck, fu-hic-uck!" She gasped, her chest heaving as Taylor pulled away, his face glistening with her juices, a smug smile playing on his lips, his mind a whirlwind of emotions as he watched Sienna try to catch her breath.

She begun laugh hysterically, her breath coming in gasps as she watched Taylor's face, which was a blend of confusion, shock, and arousal. She threw her head back, her laughter echoing through the apartment, her body shaking with the force of it. "Oh, my God!" she managed to say between giggles, "You're so... fucking... ama-hic-zing!"

Her words were like a balm to Taylor's soul, his earlier fears of inadequacy melting away under her praise. With a smirk, he climbed up her body, back to her lips, which met his with a fervor that was palpable. They kissed deeply, sharing the taste of her release, a flavor that seemed to fuel her passion even further.

With a sudden urgency, Sienna flipped them over, her body now straddling Taylor's. She reached the bra's clasp behind his back with trembling fingers and released it, freeing his rounded breasts from their confines. Sienna's eyes were glued to the sight, her pupils dilated with lust as she took in the fullness of his cleavage.

Taylor's heart galloped in his chest as Sienna leaned down, her breath hot on her skin, and she took one of her nipples in her mouth. He cradled her head in his arms, a low moan escaping his lips as she sucked and bit gently, teasing the sensitive flesh until it was pebbled and aching.

With a playful growl, Sienna pulled at the laces of Taylor's lingerie panties, untying them and letting them fall away to expose the smooth, succulent folds beneath. Taylor watched with bated breath, his body trembling with excitement and a hint of nerves. Sienna's eyes sparkled with mischief as she slid down his body, her legs parting his, aligning their wet pussies in a scissor-like embrace.

He felt Sienna's wetness pressed against him, her hips rolling in a delicious rhythm that had him gasping for air. Their bodies moved together in a dance that was at once foreign to him but that now seemed as natural as breathing. 

Her hands gripped his waist, pulling him closer, their pussies grinding together in a delicious friction that had both of them panting with desire. Sienna's tongue traced the edge of Taylor's ear before she whispered, "Fuck me harder," her voice a mix of challenge and demand.

Taylor obeyed, his hips moving faster, the slick sound of their flesh slapping together filling the room. Sienna's breasts bounced with every movement, her eyes never leaving Taylor's as she watched him with a mix of amazement and hunger.

The succubus in his mind cheered him on, her own arousal spiking as she watched their reflection in the mirror above the couch. "That's it," she encouraged him, "Go hard!"

Their bodies rocked together, hips moving in perfect sync. Taylor felt his own orgasm building, a pressure that grew with every thrust, every gasp that Sienna drew from him. He could feel her pussy slip and slide against his, her wetness coating them both.

With a final, desperate cry, Taylor's body convulsed, his orgasm ripping through him like a tidal wave. It was a sensation so intense that it seemed to shake the very core of his being, leaving him gasping for breath as his vision swam with stars. Sienna's eyes widened, her grip tightening on his waist as she felt his body spasm against her, her own climax approaching like a freight train.

She hugged him tightly, her eyes fluttering shut as she felt the waves of his release crash against her own. Taylor felt a strange sense of euphoria, his body responding to Sienna's touch in ways he never thought possible. The succubus within him reveled in the sensation, a silent cheerleader egging him on to explore further.

"Oh my fuck-hic-ing God," Sienna panted, her eyes glazed with a mix of lust and shock as she straddled Taylor's trembling body, her own orgasm still riding through her like a wildfire. She leaned forward, her breasts smashing against his, and she kissed him fiercely, her tongue delving into his mouth as if searching for the secrets of the universe. "Maybe we should go to my bedroom," she murmured between kisses, her voice a seductive whisper that seemed to echo through every nerve in Taylor's transformed body.

With a playful groan, Taylor nodded, his legs feeling like jelly as they untangled themselves from the rigid, austere couch. They stumbled together into the bedroom, their bodies wrapped around each other's shoulders, still slick with sweat and desire. Sienna's bed looked like an oasis; the plush comforter and fluffy pillows beckoned them closer. A teddy bear in the middle made Taylor smile wide.

"What a lucky little bear," Taylor quipped, pushing the plush toy aside with a smirk, his heart pumping as he stared into Sienna's smoldering eyes.

"Now you'll see how lu-hic-cky that bear is," Sienna whispered, a mischievous glint in her eye as she pushed Taylor back onto the bed.

Without breaking their gaze, Sienna reached behind her and grabbed a pillow, placing it under Taylor's head. He raised his face slightly to kiss her in return, but she stopped him with an index finger to his lips and instead circled the bed, facing directly in the other direction.

She laid down on top of him, kissing him with her head upside down like Mary Jane and Spiderman in the iconic scene from the film. They paused for a moment, panting, their eyes locking in silent communication.

Then in a kinky twist that no Marvel writer or director could have put into a script, Sienna crawled on the mattress until she straddled his face, her pussy hovering just above his mouth, aligning their bodies in a perfect 69, a delicate scent of desire filling the air Taylor breathed.

Taylor's eyes widened for a moment before she descended to his crotch into a frenzy of passion. He felt the warmth of her mouth on his clit, the sensation so intense it was almost painful. His eyes rolled back as she took him in, her tongue swirling around the sensitive spot in a way that had him bucking his hips up to meet her.

She ground herself against his face, her hips moving in a frenetic dance that had them both panting for more. Taylor's mouth watered as he tasted the sweetness of her pussy, his tongue delving into her warm folds, exploring and teasing every inch of her sex. Sienna's moans grew louder, her body writhing in pleasure as Taylor's tongue worked its magic.

Taylor's feeling both thrilled and overwhelmed. The sensations of their bodies joined together, her mouth on his clit and his tongue in her pussy, were a symphony of pleasure that seemed to resonate through every fiber of their beings.

To be continued… 

Constructive comments, bookmarks, opinions, kudos, and observed typos are always welcome.

Chapter Text

Chapter 35: Dabble 

Taylor's mouth worked tirelessly on her pussy, his tongue sliding in and out, tasting her salty and delicious juices. He marveled for a moment at the symmetry of their bodies and the way they synchronized, when her rock-hard nipples brushed against his smooth belly, tickling it, while Taylor held on to Sienna's tight, hard ass to delve deeper inside her.

Sienna's hips bucked wildly, her ass twerking in the air as she devoured her clit, her teeth grazing the tender flesh, her breaths coming in short, sharp gasps as she approached another climax. He could feel the tension in her muscles, the way she clenched around him, urging him on.

And then she was there, her body spasming as she squirted her release onto her face, the hot liquid spraying across her cheeks and chin, filling her mouth and nose with her spicy scent. Taylor drank her in, savoring every drop as Sienna's body convulsed with pleasure.

Her pussy clamped down on his face, a vise of pure ecstasy, as he felt her orgasm pulse through her. He didn't even need to move his tongue; she was doing all the work, grinding her clit against his nose, his cheekbones, his chin.

"Oh, fuck!" Taylor muffled into Sienna's cunt, his eyes watering, his nose burning. But it was the sweetest burn, the kind that told him he was alive, that he was doing something that mattered, something that brought unbridled pleasure to this beautiful girl above him.

Sienna's pussy was like a tight fist around his face, her thighs squeezing his cheeks as if she was afraid he'd pull away. But Taylor was in heaven, licking and sucking and nibbling like it was the most delicious ice cream cone he'd ever had. He felt her squirt again, hot and sticky, coating his face and filling his mouth.

The room was a blur of limbs and flesh as they moved in unison like a violin and its bow, each one feeding off the other's lust. Taylor's tongue danced around Sienna's clit, teasing it with flicks and swipes that had her digging her nails into the mattress. She was riding the wave of pleasure, her hips grinding into him with a desperation that seemed to say she'd never get enough.

Sienna's mouth responded with equal heat and pressure, her teeth grazing Taylor's clit as she sucked and licked, her tongue swirling in a pattern that seemed to have been etched into her very soul. Taylor's body was a tangle of sensations, each thread pulled taut with every flick of her tongue, every suck, every nibble.

Taylor could feel his orgasm building, a storm cloud gathering on the horizon, ready to unleash its torrential downpour of pleasure at any moment. He bucked his hips upward, his clit begging for release as Sienna's mouth worked its magic. Her teeth scraped the sensitive flesh, sending sparks of pleasure up his spine, and he knew he wouldn't last much longer.

With a final, guttural groan, Taylor's body tensed, and he felt his orgasm wash over him in a hot, sticky wave. He could feel his pussy clench around Sienna's face, his own juices spilling out and mixing with hers in a delicious mess. The succubus within him roared with victory, "yee-haw!" echoing through his mind like a cowboy lassoing a bull at a rodeo.

They lay there for a moment, panting, their bodies tangled together, their skin sticky with sweat and sex juices. Sienna's head was resting on his stomach, her hair a wild mess, her eyes closed in satisfaction. Taylor looked down at her, feeling his own body tremble with the aftershocks of pleasure, his chest heaving with every breath.

"That was..." she trailed off, unable to find the words to describe the intensity of the experience. Taylor nodded, his human mind still trying to process the sheer carnality of what had just transpired. Taylor felt a strange pride in his chest. He had done this, he had made this happen, and it was all because he was not a boy, but a girl.

They lay there for a moment longer, their bodies entwined, before Sienna finally rolled off of him and flopped onto her back with a satisfied sigh. Taylor took the opportunity to wipe the sweat and sex from his face with the back of his hand, feeling a twinge of something akin to embarrassment.

"Wow," Sienna breathed, her chest rising and falling rapidly. "That was... intense, but...".

"What 'but'?" Taylor asked, his voice shaky with anticipation, his instincts on high alert.

Sienna looked over at the nightstand, her eyes gleaming with mischief. "But I want more," she said simply, reaching into her drawer.

Taylor felt a thrill of excitement as she pulled out a double dildo, the purple shafts glistening in the low light of the room. "You've got to be kidding me," he murmured, his voice hoarse from their passionate exchange, staring at the threatening and impressive object of dark pleasure.

The toy was a gorgeous shade of purple, the dual shafts curved and textured, each one promising a different kind of pleasure. The material was silky smooth, a perfect blend of softness and firmness that made Taylor's mouth water just looking at it. He had never seen anything quite so... intimidating yet inviting, and the anticipation was almost too much to handle.

Sienna grinned, a devilish glint in her eye. "I've had this bad boy waiting for a special occasion," she said, her voice thick with desire as she held up the double dildo. Taylor stared at the shiny object in amazement, his pussy eager for the next round of ecstasy.

Back to the present...

As Taylor walked the short distance to the fraternity house, the idea stopped seeming like a genius and he began to feel doubts. He dug his hands into the pockets of his hoodie and slumped slightly, his steps hesitating.

As if his indecision wasn't enough, the succubus seemed to be grinding her teeth, from the sensation she transmitted through his skin.

"What's wrong?" Taylor asked, noticing the shift in the succubus's mood. She had been silent since they had left Rhys's apartment, and now she seemed to be vibrating with a strange emotion of grief.

The succubus took a deep breath, her voice low and pained. "It's nothing to worry about...it's just all these clothes of yours. It's overwhelming," she whispered, her eyes flickering on the sleeve of his sweatshirt.

"I thought you liked men's clothing?" Taylor teased, trying to lighten the mood. The succubus huffed, and Taylor felt a shiver of annoyance run through his body.

"No, a woman wearing skimpy men's clothing is transgressive, sexy, and fun," the succubus corrected him, a hint of a sour smile playing on her lips, "but wearing it as a man is just pragmatic, bland, and very, very boring."

The air of the spring afternoon grew colder as they approached the grandiose, Greek-lettered house of Sigma Kappa Beta. Taylor could feel the tension rising within the succubus, and in turn, his own anxiety began to spike.

He had to admit, he had been looking forward to this. To face the frat brothers who had transformed him and fucked him to exhaustion the night before. But now, standing outside the very door that had once held so much promise and camaraderie, he felt nothing but dread.

Taking a deep breath, Taylor pushed open the door and stepped into the dimly lit house. He reviewed his plan. He had the perfect excuse to make his appearance. He had left some books in his bedroom that he needed for the exams starting tomorrow. He wouldn't even have to lie, but the light scent of incense that still permeated the hall triggered memories of the ritual and the endless night of pleasure that had followed.

He froze as the door creaked shut behind them, and he almost yelped when he saw one of his Sigma Kappa Beta brothers leaning through the reception window. The frat member looked surprised, then suspicious as he took in Taylor's hoodie, still on his head.

"You okay, Reece?" the brother called out, eyeing him up and down. "You don't look so good."

Taylor swallowed hard, trying to ignore the succubus's chuckle in his mind and his sartorial opinions. "Yeah, just had a... bad awakening," he managed to croak out, hoping his voice didn't betray the lie.

The frat brother shrugged, not pushing further. "Well, but it's been a great night," he said, "Don't you think?" He winked before returning to his paperwork.

Taylor nodded in disgust at his words, while the succubus seemed very focused on the face of that member. Taylor wondered if she was plotting something, but he couldn't read her expressions, only feel the subtle changes in his own face.

When he climbed the stairs to his old room, the receptionist stopped him. "Hey, wait, you can't go in there," he said, his tone firm but not unkind.

Taylor paused, his heart hurrying. "I just need to record some books for my exams," he said, trying to sound casual, although he got confused mid-sentence.

The receptionist studied him for a moment before crossing his arms. "Don't you think you're forgetting something?" he asked, pointing at his street clothes. "You have to change, that's the rules."

Taylor felt a knot form in his stomach. "OK," he said, trying to sound calm and collected despite the nerves that made a drop of sweat trickle down his ear.

"Hey!" That member called again as he took a couple of hurried steps toward the locker room, "Don't forget your new uniform!" he added, holding up the sealed transparent bags containing the simple off-white linen shirt and pants.

Taylor took the bags, feeling relieved to no longer have to wear the strange black-and-white striped prison pajamas that had been her perpetual attire during Hell Week, like a pledge.

"Welcome to Sigma Kappa Beta," the receptionist exclaimed before Taylor headed to the locker room to change. The succubus remained examining every detail, her presence a palpable force within him.

The locker room was empty, save for the lingering scents of aftershave and male sweat in the shower stall, a sour reminder of the fraternity's recent nocturnal activities. Taylor shuddered as he recalled the ritual, the way his body had been claimed by the succubus, and how all his will had been swept away by the wave of new and unexpected pleasure that accompanied him.

He pulled off the hoodie, his heart dashing as he stepped into the simple, yet eerily familiar space of the locker room. The walls were painted with the fraternity's colors, and the floor smelled of bleach and other disinfectant products. The succubus stirred within him, a mix of excitement and trepidation, as Taylor slipped off his shoes and pants. He felt her presence in every movement, a gentle nudge here, a whisper of encouragement there.

As he removed his shirt, he saw the marks left from the night's activities, which had become more visible. Dark bruises blossomed like flowers on his hips, stomach, and breasts (now a masculine flat chest), stark against his clear skin. The fraternity brothers had been insatiable, their power over him complete and overwhelming. Taylor's stomach lurched at the sight, but he couldn't stop a little heat from running down his spine.

He quickly donned the fraternity's standard linen shirt and pants, for fear of being discovered with the evidence of his transformation on full display, the unexplained signs of a wild night of passion that didn't quite match the innocent façade of a returning college student.

To be continued… 

Constructive comments, bookmarks, opinions, kudos, and observed typos are always welcome.

Chapter Text

Chapter 36: Peek 

The succubus watched Taylor's reflection in the locker room mirror as he changed into the fraternity's pristine attire. Despite her usual preference for more... sexy garments, she couldn't deny the allure of the simple linen shirt and pants. It was almost as if he was wearing nothing at all, and she had full access to him. She felt a peculiar blend of emotions - excitement, anticipation, and a hint of protectiveness that she hadn't felt in a very long time.

Her eyes roved over the bruises, hickeys and finger marks and even a few bites on the butt marring his skin, evidence of the night's exertions and lust. The memory of his pledges' rough touch sent a thrill through her, and she felt a strange kinship with him, a bond she hadn't anticipated forming, as he covered the evidence as best he could with the white cloth.

Taylor's heart skyrocketed as he stepped out of the locker room. The house was quieter than he expected, the only noise the distant murmur of fraternity brothers doing their daily choruses, the only sounds the distant murmur of some TV and the occasional clank of some door closing. It was a marked contrast to the cacophony of the night before, where music, obscene laughter and shouts of pleasure had filled the air.

As he approached his old room, Taylor felt a strange sense of déjà vu in reverse. It was like returning home after a long trip, except this time, home felt foreign.

A door swung open suddenly wider, and a figure filled the frame. Ollie looked up from his textbook, his eyes widening slightly when they met Taylor's. "Hi, Tay" he said, his voice tentative. Taylor felt a jolt of anxiety, expecting the worst. Would Ollie have recognized him when he became a succubus? Would he have fucked him, and when?

The succubus remained still, watching through Taylor's eyes as Ollie studied him, but no recognition sparked in the football player's gaze. Instead, there was curiosity, as if he was seeing Taylor anew. "Hello, Ollie," Taylor said, trying to keep his voice steady, the succubus's excitement bubbling beneath the surface.

She felt a thrill at the prospect of encountering Ollie again, remembering the fierce passion she had felt from him the night before. The succubus knew that Taylor was nervous, but she couldn't help the little smirk that tugged at the corners of his mouth as he stepped into the room. The scent of the football player's musk filled their nostrils, and she couldn't resist the urge to lean in, just a bit.

Ollie looked up, his eyes scanning over Taylor's form with a hint of curiosity. "You okay, Tay?" he asked, his gaze lingering a moment too long.

The succubus, ever present within Taylor, felt a thrill at the familiarity of the name. "Just a bit tired," Taylor replied, his voice a perfect blend of the two entities sharing the same body.

Ollie yawned and stretched his arms, he closed his textbook with a snap. "Just tired, huh?" he said, his voice filled with the ease of friendship. "You looked pretty... intense last night."

The succubus's smirk grew wider as Taylor felt his cheeks flush with heat. "Intense?" he asked, trying to keep his tone light. "It was just the party... you know how..."

Ollie stated, a knowing smile playing on his lips. "Yeah, I remember," he said, his eyes darkening slightly. "You really threw yourself into it!

The succubus felt Taylor's stomach flip at the memory of Ollie's thick, powerful body pressing against him, the sound of their skin slapping together echoing in his mind.

"What do you mean?" Taylor asked suddenly, playing dumb.

Ollie shrugged, his eyes glinting with something unreadable. "You know, the girl of the ritual," he said, his voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper. "She was... amazing! Just like I told you."

Taylor shamefully nodded, the memories of the night replaying in his head. "Yeah, she was... something," he murmured, unable to fully hide the succubus's pride in his voice.

Ollie's smile grew. "You have no idea," he said, his voice low and filled with a hunger that made Taylor's stomach clench. "How many times did you do it with her?"

"I... I don't remember," he lied, hoping Ollie wouldn't notice the tremble in his voice.

Ollie's eyes shining with lustful memories. "It doesn't matter," he murmured, "you seemed to enjoy it."

"I heard you and she were... close," Taylor concocted, trying to play along with Ollie's joke. Taylor felt his cheeks warm and a strange mix of pride and embarrassment fill him.

Ollie nodded, his gaze lingering on Taylor's neck, where a bruise from the night's festivities was hidden by the collar of the fraternity shirt. "Oh, we were," he said, his voice thick with desire. "But she had a spare of energy for everyone, it seemed."

The succubus chuckled in his head. "Oh, the poor boy," she said, "so oblivious to the truth."

Taylor's front begun to sweat. "I'm just here to grab some books," he said. "I forgot them here." Taylor replied, trying to keep his voice casual as he stepped into his old room, his eyes scanning for the textbooks he had left behind.

"Sure, go ahead," Ollie said without spirit, his eyes still on Taylor. "But maybe you'll want to catch up later?"

Taylor diplomatically nodded without committing to any particular time. "Sure," he said, his voice strained, hoping to put some space between them.

The others pledges were scattered around the west wing, most of them still in various stages of recovery from the night before. They nodded to Taylor as he passed, some of them with knowing smiles that made him want to cringe. They had no idea what he had become, the creature that had brought them such pleasure, and he felt a strange mix of revulsion and power at the thought. The succubus within him reveled in the attention, preening like a cat in the sun as she felt their eyes on her memory.

Taylor wandered through the fraternity, grabbing the books he needed and packing them into a bag. The brothers he encountered didn't seem to pay much attention to him, though they kept patting each other on the back and making lewd comments about the girl of the night, their eyes gleaming with knowing glances that made his skin crawl.

In his mind, the succubus noticed that Taylor's body was much less receptive in this male form, more as if he were wearing a bunch of cotton wool that numbed his senses, like a dull echo of her own vibrant desires.

Taylor walked through the hallways of the Sigma Kappa Beta house, his eyes taking in the fraternity brothers he passed by with an intensity that seemed to come inappropriately from the succubus. "What are you looking for?" Taylor asked her in a whisper, trying to keep his thoughts private, irritated by her constant scrutiny.

"I was giving it a face to thirty-seven," the succubus purred in his thoughts, her eyes dancing in his mind's eye.

"Thirty-seven?" Taylor echoed, his brows furrowing. He delved a little deeper into the thin walls of his neurons and realized the succubus was trying to imagine the fraternity members naked to do a 'Guess Who?' of each of their cocks.

"What? It's a memory game," she retorted, sounding bored. "You know, to pass the time."

Taylor rolled his eyes, but he couldn't help but feel a strange thrill at the idea. He had never felt this way about guys before, but the succubus's influence was hard to resist. It was like he was seeing the world through a new set of eyes, and suddenly, everything was... interesting.

"Your memory is useless," he muttered in an empty hallway, shaking his head at the succubus's antics. "I can't even remember the names of half these guys."

"Oh, yeah? You'll see," the succubus whispered confidently in Taylor's mind. "Twenty-three had it crooked to the right, eleven to the left, and only three were as straight as a ship's mast. Four were redheads, six were blond, twenty were dark-haired, and seven were chestnut-colored. Five were Black, three were Asian, ten were Latino, and the rest were Caucasian. Twenty-two were circumcised, thirteen were hooded, and two were phimosis-prone. Nine had piercings, and four had tattoos on their crotches. Now, isn't that a party trick worth remembering?"

Taylor chuckled, shaking his head. Despite the bizarre situation, the succubus had a way of making things seem almost... funny.

"Yeah, very entertaining, but you didn't stay with their faces," Taylor murmur dryly, feeling the succubus's mirth at his discomfort.

"Professional deformation," the succubus murmured, watching through Taylor's eyes as he navigated the hallways of the Sigma Kappa Beta house. "I've seen so much, felt so much, yet I never tire of the thrill of the hunt, of the power to make men quiver at my whim."

Taylor felt his body react to her words, his dick stiffening slightly at the vivid images she painted. He swallowed with difficulty, trying to ignore the way the succubus's thoughts seemed to be bleeding into his own. "Let's just focus on the plan," he said firmly, pushing down his arousal as best he could.

The succubus pouted, but she knew that she had to play along. "Fine," she murmured, her thoughts brushing against his mind like velvet.

For some strange reason, none of the fraternity members he ran into seemed to pay much attention to him; one even nearly knocked him down accidentally and didn't even bother to apologize. At first, Taylor thought it was due to the hangover and the excesses from the night before, but then he realized that whenever they got close to him, they seemed to enter a zombie-like state and couldn't focus on him.

"What the hell!?" Taylor murmured as he walked through the Sigma Kappa Beta house. The brothers were acting more strangely than usual, stumbling around with glazed eyes and sluggish movements, as if they hadn't slept in days.

"Wow, it's worked!" The succubus in him exclaimed with glee, watching as the brothers stumbled around like extras from a B-movie horror.

"What's worked?" Taylor asked, his voice tight with concern. "You're not going to tell me that you put a spell, or something like that, on them, are you?"

"It's not a spell," the succubus said smugly. "It's a... let's call it an effect I can cause around me to modulate the attention drawn to me."

Taylor didn't understand a fucking clue.

The succubus within him found the whole situation hilarious. She had always loved the dramatic, the unexpected twists and turns that life threw at her. But this? This was a whole new level of soap opera, and she was living it through Taylor's eyes.

"Can't they see us?" Taylor whispered to the succubus, his eyes darting around the hallway nervously and then at his hand, which was still visible, of course.

"No, it's not like Harry Potter's invisibility cloak, Motoko Kusanagi's thermo-optical camouflage, Yautja armor, or Klingon warships' cloaking devices," the succubus sighed, her exasperation palpable despite being unheard by anyone else. "It's more... subtle. They know you're here, but their senses don't... fully process you."

The succubus sensed Taylor's skepticism, and reluctantly bothered to explain further.

"I always use it to make a big impression, making everyone's eyes focus on me like a spotlight," the succubus explained with a grin, watching the frat brothers stumble past them without a second glance. "But here, it's like turning down the brightness so we can sneak around without causing a scene. Kind of like a stagehand manipulating the set on a quantum level with light and shadow."

"You told Jacques you had no powers!" He whispered harshly, his thoughts a jumble of doubts and anger.

"I said I didn't have the power to mind-control them," she replied pointedly, her voice a silken ribbon of amusement. "They might still notice you if you stood out more in some way or they were looking for you, but in these identical clothes you're like a speck on the wall."

Taylor grunted, trying to ignore the way her words made him feel like a mere prop in her grand scheme. He now knew she was more powerful, but this was just... very weird. "Okay, okay," he murmured, his voice tight. "Can you turn it off or unplug it, please?"

"Why?" She asked with a coy tilt of her head, her eyes glaming with curiosity. "You don't enjoy being... almost invisible? This is the first time I've used it in reverse. Usually, it's all about making sure that every man and woman in the room can't look away from me."

"The plan isn't to go unnoticed," Taylor reminded the succubus, his voice a murmur only she could hear. "We need them to realize that I'm still a man and the guy who did this to me doesn't associate me with the transformation."

"Ah, yes," she said a little timidly and unruly.

"But," Taylor's thoughts were racing. "Don't make everyone stare at me either, okay?"

"Your wish is my command," the succubus said with a smirk.

The air around Taylor shimmered briefly, and suddenly the fog of inattention lifted from him. He felt a jolt as the fraternity brothers' eyes snapped into focus, their gazes lingering on him with recognition.

"Welcome to Sigma Kappa Beta, brother!" One called out, slapping him on the back with a force that nearly made him stumble. Taylor forced a smile, trying to ignore the way his skin crawled at the touch.

"Thanks," he murmured, trying to keep his cool.

The succubus watched with amusement as the fraternity brothers returned to their usual activities, their eyes sliding over him without a hint of the hunger she had seen the night before.

Taylor had hoped that by coming here in his masculine form, he could somehow regain control of his life, but all he felt was a strange disconnect from the world around him. Nobody looked twice at him, except for a few nods of recognition from his fraternity brothers, who had no clue of the otherworldly being sharing his mind.

When he arrived at the auditorium they were collecting the last remnants of the ritual and the ensuing gangbang, Taylor felt his heart rate spike. The succubus in him remained unfazed, her eyes gleaming with excitement as she surveyed the room, her gaze lingering on the big broken mirror that had been the centerpiece of their transformation ritual.

They were removing the pieces of burnt and blackened glass that seemed glued to the bottom with a rubber band, stretching like the cheese on a pizza every time they tugged at it with their thick work gloves. Taylor wondered if it was some kind of epoxy resin or something similar, but the succubus found its source.

"Vellum," the succubus explains with a smug smile. "It's a very fine type of parchment obtained from newborn calves or by smoothing other, finer hides. A few years ago, it was hard to come by unless you were in the leatherworking guild, but now I'm sure it's even on Amazon."

Taylor stared at it. "What the hell is vellum doing there?" he whispered to himself, his thoughts echoing the succubus's explanation.

"It's a traditional ritual material," she said sadly, her eyes misting over with the memory of countless rituals performed. "It's almost always used to inscribe the terms of an summoning... my summoning, in this case."

Taylor's heart sank as she watched the brothers continue to carefully peel off sharp pieces of the mirror with a trowel. "But why does it look like it's been cooked until it's melted?"

"I don't know," the succubus murmured, intrigued. "I've never been able to see the intricacies of a summoning."

Her gaze shifted from the mirror to a black leather-bound book in the corner. It took Taylor less than a heartbeat to understand her intentions.

"I hope your good memory isn't a hoax," Taylor hissed, inconspicuously approaching the book at which point a large piece of detached mirror fell off and caused a commotion.

"It's definitely not," the succubus assured him, watching as the fraternity brothers paused in their clean-up to gawk at the shard of glass, giving him the perfect opportunity to grab the book. He felt her anticipation as he flipped through the pages, but stopped in his tracks when he heard a warning from one of the members. "Hey! Don't touch that with your bare hands!"

"What?!" Taylor gasped, dropping the book back as if it had burned him. The fraternity brother who had shouted at him was now striding over, his expression both worried and amused.

"Use a rag or you'll get black on your hands, man," he pointed a finger at the leather cover of the book. Only then did Taylor realize that what looked like old black leather was actually cardboard dyed with shoe polish, which, despite being dry, was still sooty.

He opened the book that had been used during the ritual, using the purple silk bookmark. The pages he saw were typed and yellowed, but he could only read the same text of the discourse he had heard the night before. Taylor didn't know what he should have expected, perhaps something ancient or written in an unintelligible language, but this... this was just disappointing.

The succubus, on the other hand, was desolate. She had hoped to find some clue to her true nature within the pages, something that could explain why she had been bound to Taylor and why she was stuck in this... male meat sack, as she liked to call it. But all she found upon turning the pages was a copy of the Latin chant they had sung, a chemical formula for making a candle burn with a purple light, and instructions for each part of the ceremony—nothing remotely supernatural. She felt like Dorothy after peeking behind the curtain.

"THERE HAS TO BE SOMETHING MORE!" she urged him, almost in a mental yell, flipping the pages at top speed.

But Taylor's mind was racing too fast, too many thoughts and feelings crashing into one another like waves in a stormy sea. He was scared, confused, and a little bit angry. He had come here for answers, and all he had found was a DIY demon summoning kit from hell's own Spencer's Gifts.

Turning the yellowed pages, he found a full-color illustration of a geranium, partly cut out by a guillotine, which left him puzzled. He continued turning the pages until he reached the beginning, where it read 'Illustrated Guide to Decorative Garden Plants and Shrubs. Uses and Care.' Apparently, the typed instructions had been inserted into a book whose binding had been torn, along with the covers of another book, and then painted with a Halloween theme.

The supposed magical book was a prop, a McGuffin, a mere distraction from the real power behind the transformation, whoever it was. And as Taylor looked up from the book, feeling the weight of disappointment for both of them, he saw the fraternity brothers watching him, their eyes filled with curiosity. They had never seen anyone as... as unenthused by the book as he was, and it made him stand out like a sore thumb.

"Is everything okay, Taylor?" One of the brothers, a burly guy named Chad, asked with a frown.

Taylor snapped the book shut, trying to play it cool. "Yeah, just... looking for something," he said nonchalantly, hoping his voice didn't betray his turmoil.

The succubus within him was seething. She had been so certain that the book held the key to their situation, and now it was nothing more than a mere accessory. "This is a joke!" she fumed internally.

Taylor took a deep breath, trying to calm the chaos in his mind. He knew he couldn't let on that he was anything but the typical frat pledge eager to get back to the grind of brotherhood. He forced a casual smile and shrugged. "Guess I'm just not as into the occult as you guys are," he said, hoping to downplay his curiosity.

"Reece!" shouted James Mitchell, the senior who had been preparing the auditorium. His booming voice echoed through the Sigma Kappa Beta house, cutting through the low murmur of fraternity. Taylor's heart skipped a beat as he felt the succubus within him stir with alarm. "Don't get away with cleaning, freshman," he exclaimed, pointing to a corner lined with full, sealed black garbage bags. "Throw out your trash like everyone else."

Taylor's eyes narrowed, and he felt the succubus's frustration echoed his own. "With pleasure," he murmured, his voice filled with a mix of sarcasm and resentment. As he bent to pick up the heavy bags, he noticed that a foul smell emanated from them, something that tickled the back of his nose and made him feel... hungry, hinting at the depravity of the night's events. The succubus within him grimaced, her delicate nose wrinkling at the odor.

"So, what do you think of the ritual?" Chad asked, clapping a hand on his shoulder as they walked to the dumpster. "It's pretty intense, right?"

Taylor felt the succubus's amusement at the fraternity brothers' blissful ignorance. "It was... an experience," he said, his voice carefully neutral.

"You're telling me!" Chad laughed, throwing the bag into the trash can.

To be continued… 

Constructive comments, bookmarks, opinions, kudos, and observed typos are always welcome.

Chapter Text

Chapter 37: Peek 

Taylor pondered the word 'cumdumpster' and all its meanings, and the twisted path of karma that had led to his end, when he shoved the bag full of used condoms into the trash can. The succubus within him cackled at the irony of his fate, almost poetic justice given his womanizing nature, finding the term particularly delightful.

The frat house was buzzing with the usual post-party cleanup, a mix of bleach, sweat, and something faintly sweet that lingered in the air despite their best efforts. Taylor felt the succubus's eyes—his eyes now—scanning the auditorium, taking in every frat brother with a blend of fascination and disgust. Each one, she knew, had contributed to the mess, and she reveled in the irony that now she was stuck in a form that had to bear witness to their mundane existence.

"Look who's up and about," Callum, one of the fraternity pledges, said with a grin as Taylor made his way back to the house, the weight of the last bag of trash dragging behind him. "Feeling a bit... different today?"

Taylor shot him a look that would have frozen water. "What are you talking about?"

Callum's grin widened. "Just saying we're now full members of Sigma Kappa Beta," he winked and gestured toward the white uniform he was also wearing.

Taylor nodded curtly, unable to shake the feeling that something was off about the whole situation. The paranoia was thick as molasses, sticking to him like the sweat on his brow. He made his way back to the house; the succubus's excitement at the prospect of being around so much male energy was palpable.

"It can't all be fake, right?" Taylor whispered to himself as he climbed the stairs of the east wing without thinking where he was going, the succubus's curiosity burning through him like a hot knife through butter. He had to find something that would explain the mystery of the transformation, something that went beyond the cheap parlor trick of a ritual book made with recycled materials.

As he reached the top of the stairs, a strange instinct led him to a door that was slightly ajar, the muffled sound of grunts and moans slipping through the crack. Taylor's heart raced as he approached it, his curiosity getting the better of him. He peeked through, his eyes widening in shock. There, in the dimly lit room, he saw James Mitchell and Brad Pearson, both naked and entangled in a passionate intercourse, their bodies moving in a rhythmic dance of lust.

James' torso was bent over the mattress, his muscular ass glowing with sweat as Brad pumped into him from behind like the pistons of a steam locomotive at full speed. The succubus within Taylor gasped in surprise, her eyes sparkling with a mix of excitement and intrigue at the sight of the two men she had come to know so intimately during the night before.

Taylor felt a sudden heat rise in him, the succubus's hunger for male energy pulsing through his veins like a living, breathing entity. The scene was raw, primal, and utterly mesmerizing. He had never seen two men together before, but the sight of James' tight grip on the quilt and Brad's animalistic grunts sent a thrill through him that was hard to ignore.

"Oops!" The succubus giggled inside Taylor's head as they realized their indiscretion. "I didn't mean to show you that. But, oh boy, it's hot!"

Taylor's cheeks flushed crimson as he stumbled back, his hand over his mouth. "What do you mean, you didn't want to 'show it to me'?" he hissed internally to the succubus.

"Well, it's not like I have a power," she replied hesitantly with a hint of teasing. "But, it's more or less like I sense who's fucking around me and I'm drawn to... the action."

"You're joking!" Taylor whispered, his eyes glued to the scene before him. The image of James' naked frame bent over the bed, Brad's hands digging into his hips as he drove into him, was no joke. The raw, animalistic passion of the scene was etched into his mind, and his body reacted in a way he had never felt before.

His cock thickened in his pants in a delirious and almost dreamlike way, but the succubus's gleeful laughter in his head was all too real. She sprawled into her thoughts as if she were a sofa puff, enjoying the delicious aroma of pure, unadulterated male lust.

"Great," Taylor murmured under his breath, his eyes transfixed on the bodies of James and Brad. "Just what I needed, for you to have some kind of fuckanoid sense that tingles every time someone's doing the beast with two backs." he ironized internally.

The succubus's delight at the unexpected scene washed over Taylor in waves of heat and desire, and for a moment, he couldn't look away. James' muscles flexed and rolled with each thrust Brad delivered, a silent symphony of passion that seemed to resonate through the very air. The sight was both confusing and tantalizing, a maelstrom of emotions swirling within him.

Taylor's hand inched away from his mouth, his breaths coming in short gasps as he stared through the narrow gap in the door. Brad's powerful body was a sculpted marvel, his back muscles rippling with each deep, punctuated thrust into James' willing form. James' face was contorted in a mix of pleasure and pain, his eyes screwed shut, his mouth open, moans escaping with every push.

Memories of the night's ritual flooded back to Taylor as he watched, his mind reeling with the implications of what he was seeing. He had thought Brad was straight because of the way he behaved with the succubus, but it seemed like he had a taste for both sides of the sexual spectrum. The succubus within him was practically drooling at the sight, her hunger growing more intense by the second.

James' head was thrown back, his face a mask of ecstasy as Brad's hand reached around to stroke his cock in time with the punishing rhythm of his hips. Taylor's breath hitched as he watched Brad's hand moving, the sound of skin slapping against skin echoing through the room like a bassline in a dirty rap song. The succubus within him was practically jumping, like a cheerleader at a pep rally, urging him to join the party.

The sight of James' cock, hard and launching ropes of cum that painted the quilt with each pulse, was something Taylor never thought he'd see. James' body tensed, his moans reaching a crescendo as Brad's hand tightened around his shaft, milking the last drops of pleasure from him. Taylor felt his own cock throb in response, his excitement manifesting as a pulse of warmth that spread from his groin to his cheeks. The smell of sex in the air was thick and intoxicating, a heady perfume that made his heart race.

"No, no, no," Taylor murmured to himself, his hand shooting up to cover his gaping mouth.

The succubus within him was practically doing backflips. "Oh, my naughty little boy, you're in for a treat," she whispered seductively.

Taylor's hand slammed silently into the doorframe, his eyes unable to look away as Brad pulled out of James, his condom-wrapped cock glistening with James' fluids. Without missing a beat, Brad turned to James, whose eyes fluttered open to meet Brad's intense gaze. Taylor's stomach churned with a mix of sick and arousal as James removed the condom with a gentle tug and took Brad's cock into his mouth, his tongue swirling around the head before taking the full length in a display of unbridled enthusiasm.

The succubus within Taylor let out a low moan, the vibrations resonating through his body. "Look at that," she whispered, her voice thick with lust. "He must have learned that technique from me last night."

James took a moment to catch his breath before turning the tables on Brad. He positioned Brad's cock at his mouth and took him in, deep-throating with the finesse of a seasoned porn star. Brad's hands tangled in James' hair, guiding him in a rhythm that matched their earlier dance. The sounds of wet sucking filled the air, punctuated by Brad's grunts and James' occasional gags.

Taylor's eyes were like saucers, his hand still over his mouth in a futile attempt to silence the soft moan that slipped through. He had never felt such a visceral response to a scene, his body taut with a need he hadn't fully realized.

No!

The word echoed through Taylor's mind, the succubus within him practically slobbering at the sight before them. But he couldn't—wouldn't—give in to the base desires that surged through him. He had to get out of there before they realized he was there. Or, worse, before he did something he'd regret.

With a Herculean effort, Taylor wrenched his eyes away from the sordid display and stepped back from the door. The succubus within him was not so easily dissuaded. "They're just letting off some steam," she murmured, her voice a siren's call. "It's not like you haven't enjoyed a little... extracurricular activity before."

He clenched his fists, fighting the succubus's comments. He didn't want (he shouldn't) to be here, he didn't want to watch his frat brothers like this. He forced himself to turn and walk away, his legs feeling like they were made of jelly. His heart was racing, and he could feel his cock straining against the fabric of his pants. "It's your fault!" He reproached the succubus for her sudden moment of voyeurism. "You practically shoved my face in there!"

The future didn't look good for Taylor if he was going to feel inexorably drawn to sex like a moth to a flame every time it was happening around him.

Taylor leaned against the wall, trying to catch his breath and willing his body to calm down. The succubus within him was pouting, like a child denied candy. "Oh, come on," she complained, "you didn't even get to see the grand BJ finale."

He rolled his eyes, trying to shake off the image of James' skilled mouth wrapped around Brad's cock. "I don't need to see that," he said firmly, his voice shaky. "again."

Taylor took a deep breath, trying to compose himself. He couldn't let the succubus's influence completely take over, not when he needed to figure out what was happening to him and how to get back to normal. He pushed himself off the wall and started walking down the hallway, his mind racing with thoughts of what he had just witnessed.

As he rounded the corner, he almost collided with pledge Tom, who was hurrying with a vacuum cleaner in hand. "Whoa, Tay," Tom exclaimed, taking a step back. "Are you okay?"

Taylor's face was a kaleidoscope of emotions—shock, arousal, and confusion—but he managed a nod. "Yeah, I'm... I'm fine," he said, his voice unsteady. "Just had a bit of a... moment."

Tom eyed him warily, his brow furrowed.

"Are you sure?" He asked, the vacuum cleaner's power cord whipping around his ankles like a pet snake eager to escape.

Taylor nodded, his eyes darting to the floor as he felt the succubus's eyes narrow in annoyance. "Just a... I got lost in these hallways," he mumbled, his cheeks burning.

Tom studied him for a moment before shrugging. "Okay, if you say so," he said, then paused. "But you might want to head to the auditorium. The cleanup's almost done."

As Taylor nodded, the sound of Brad's muffled moans grew louder, echoing through the hallway. Tom's eyes went wide, his cheeks coloring slightly. "Oh, uh, ehh, shit," he mumbled, clearly embarrassed. "I didn't mean to interrupt anything!"

Taylor's heart skipped a beat. "Did you know?" He blurted out, unable to keep the accusation out of his voice.

Tom's eyes widened further, his grip on the vacuum tightening. "You didn't?" He asked, his voice pitching higher than usual.

Taylor shook his head fervently. "No, I didn't know," he said, trying to keep his voice level.

"Well," Tom said, looking even more uncomfortable than before, "I guess you're lost around here, but let's just say the east wing is for those members who aren't interested in women... although Brad bats on both teams."

Taylor felt his cheeks burn hotter than the sun. "You...?" he stammered, unable to finish his question.

Tom nodded, his face a picture of embarrassment. "Yeah, I'm gay, but it's cool," he said, his voice a bit shaky. "This fraternity is open to everyone," He glanced down the hall, the sound of Brad's moans ending. "Unofficially they can't discriminate against us, but this wing is basically non-hetero. But I had no idea it was this... open and with such thin walls."

Taylor couldn't help but feel a bit relieved. If Tom knew about James and Brad, then maybe this wasn't the secret, twisted thing he had feared it was. "Okay, I'll... I'll just get back to the auditorium," he mumbled, taking a step away.

Tom gave him a nod, his eyes darting down the hall again before focusing back on Taylor. "Where is your new bedroom?" he asked, with more curiosity than concern, and possibly more implied meanings than Taylor imagined.

Taylor swallowed hard. "I... I don't... I'm not sure." He mumbled, his mouth numb from the shock of what he had just seen and heard. "I think I'll still be staying in the apartment I've shared with a friend since the beginning of the term."

"Coward!" the succubus whispered with a playful edge, as Taylor practically sprinted away from Tom and the hallway of secrets.

To be continued… 

Constructive comments, bookmarks, opinions, kudos, and observed typos are always welcome.

Chapter Text

Chapter 38: Summon 

Tom Hooper's vacuum cleaner whined like a mosquito as Taylor fled down the hallway like a soul pursued by the devil... "or almost," the young pledge thought, who couldn't believe what he had seen the night before, while he passed the tube of the device through the corners of the trophy cases gleaming under fluorescent lights.

He'd spotted Taylor's silk glove lying discarded in the ceremony hall when they'd begun the cleaning that morning and had kept it in his pocket as material proof of that unusual experience.

It had the same tear in the seam he'd noticed in the West Wing hallway after all the pledges had prepared for the ritual. It was the same glove, undoubtedly the one Taylor had been wearing when Tom lit his candle and it had turned purple.

Tom Hooper paused his vacuuming, the machine's drone fading as he pulled the silk glove from his pocket. The tear was unmistakable—a jagged little rip near the thumb, like a tiny lightning bolt frozen in blood-red fabric. He remembered Taylor's pale, wild-blue eyes and strained face last night when she saw that unearthly light, fingers trembling. Tom ran his thumb over the tear and remembered how he had unblinkingly followed Taylor's walk to the large, scorched black mirror.

He had seen him—her?—emerge transformed, with that unnerving grace and those impossible curves beneath the robe. Tom's pulse quickened as he recalled the purple flame that had swallowed Taylor's candle whole. *Magic*. Actual fucking magic. And now this glove, discarded like trash, was proof Taylor hadn't just stumbled into some elaborate frat hazing. Tom traced the tear again, his thumb catching on the frayed silk. It matched the jagged rip he'd noticed when Taylor fumbled lighting his candle.

Same glove.

Same night.

Same impossible thing.

Tom shoved the glove back into his pocket, the silk suddenly feeling like a live wire against his thigh. Answers. He needed answers, and Taylor wasn't talking—not really. That haunted look in his eyes earlier, the way he'd practically bolted... Tom knew desperation when he saw it. He also knew secrets had weight, and this one felt like it could crush the whole fraternity.

Succubus.

The word clicked into place with terrifying clarity as Tom Hooper reflected on that possibility. Taylor hadn't stumbled into a ritual—he'd become the ritual's result. Tom recalled the unnatural grace, the impossible feminine curves beneath the robe, and the predatory stillness that replaced Taylor's usual gait. The purple flame hadn't just consumed a candle; it had rewritten a person —a man— into a real, insatiable succubus. A creature of lust, feeding on desire. Tom's stomach churned, yet a morbid fascination and envy flared. This wasn't just fraternity secrets; this was mythology walking the halls.

And he wanted to discover the origin.

Halloween night of 1965...

"Hello, spazzes!" Mitch bellowed as he stormed through the door, dressed in his self-made Gemini Project astronaut costume. He was about to add something else, but the plastic visor he'd fashioned from a fishbowl unexpectedly slammed shut, and all they heard was his muffled groan, "mmmmf mmmmf."

I can't get no satisfaction
I can't get no girl reaction
'Cause I tried and I tried and I tried and I tried
I can't get no, I can't get no

He ripped the helmet off, revealing a face slick with sweat. The living room stank of cheap beer and stale pizza, piled on a card table in the corner. The other six fraternity brothers were slumped on a sagging sofa or sprawled across the worn rug. No decorations. No guests. No girls. Just seven guys stuck in a party that wasn't happening.

When I'm riding round the world
And I'm doing this and I'm signing that
And I'm trying to make some girl who tell me
Baby better come back maybe next week
'Cause you see I'm on a losing streak

Mitch tossed the helmet aside with a clatter that echoed too loudly in the stagnant air. His Gemini suit looked less like space-age heroics and more like a sweaty trash bag under the flickering overhead bulb. "Alright, it's almost midnight," he panted, wiping his forehead with the back of his glove. "We're officially the lamest Halloween party in Madison history. Anyone got a plan that doesn't involve choking on pizza crust?" He added before turning down the volume of the record player.

I can't get no
Oh no no no
Hey hey hey
That's what I sai...

The needle scratched off abruptly. Silence pooled thickly in the frat house, broken only by Mitch’s labored breathing and the distant drip of a leaky bathroom faucet. On the worn rug, Chip, buried under a stained werewolf mask, groaned. "Plans? Dude, my plan was passing out before realizing we're losers." He peeled off the mask, revealing flushed cheeks and bleary eyes. "Shoulda joined Alpha Gamma Rho. At least they got girls."

Beside him, Larry prodded a half-eaten pepperoni slice with disinterest. "How about we play some board games?" he mumbled suddenly, the words thick with Schlitz. "We bought them months ago and haven't even opened them." He gestured vaguely toward the hallway closet, a black hole of forgotten rush week banners and broken folding chairs.

A collective groan rose from the couch cushions. Chip snorted. "Board games? Seriously? We're college seniors, man. That's like suggesting finger painting." He grabbed an empty beer can and crushed it against his forehead. "Monopoly? Risk? Those take forever. We'd still be losers, just losers moving tiny plastic pieces."

Jeff fiddled with his pirate eyepatch. "Well, this blows," he muttered before opening the closet and rummaging through the stack of Playboy magazines and boxes.

The fraternity didn't have much hope, since the dean had informed them that they needed to recruit new members or he'd have to disband it... they hadn't even been able to agree on initials.

With hardly any money or influence on the university board (unlike the fraternities with decades of history), their small social project was destined to fail.

Jeff's voice emerged from the closet depths, muffled by dust and discarded pledge paddles. "Scrabble?" He ask, pulling out a box. A chorus of disgusted groans answered him. Chip flung his crushed beer can at the closet door. "Next suggestion better involve nudity or money, Jeff."

Undeterred, Jeff tossed Scrabble aside and continued searching. "What do you think of 'Mystery Date'?"

"NO WAY!" Mitch and Chip said simultaneously, remaining silent for a split second as the others stared at them.

"Jinxed!" Chip exclaimed before his friend could recover. Mitch scowled, rubbing his throat where the fishbowl's rim had dug in. Jeff emerged triumphant from the closet, holding a colorful box aloft like a trophy. "What about Twister?" he grinned.

"No girls, no fun," Paul snapped, dressed in bandages in what should have been a mummy costume but looked more like a laundry disaster. "Twister's pathetic unless someone's got a sister."

Jeff sighed and tossed the Twister box aside. Then his eyes landed on something wedged behind a Sports Illustrated swimsuit magazine – a black box. "Hey, what about this?" he called out, hauling it free. He blew a thick layer of grime off the lid, revealing a ghostly blue figure and the words 'Ouija' in large letters. Below it was written 'Mystyfing Oracle.' "Now this does look interesting..."

Paul snorted, unwrapping a loose bandage from his elbow. "What it is?"

Jeff squinted at the box. "It says... 'Talking board set'?" He turned it over, fingers tracing the vibrant, creepy illustration and the plastic of the unopened box. "Says here it's for getting answers from telepathy, clairvoyance or second sight" He chuckled, a hollow sound in the quiet room. "Probably just some crap for the gullible."

Chip snatched the box from him, ripping the plastic wrap away with a crackle that echoed sharply. Inside lay a pale wooden board adorned with black enamelled, ornate letters, numbers, and the stark words 'YES' and 'NO' next to a sun and crescent moon symbol. A small, heart-shaped planchette rested beside it, looking shiny and white. Chip dumped the contents unceremoniously onto the table. The planchette skittered across the wood before wobbling to a stop. "Answers?" Mitch scoffed, sweat gleaming on his upper lip. "Alright, geniuses. What dumb question should we ask it first?"

Jeff leaned forward, his pirate eyepatch askew. "Serious one," he insisted, tapping the board's edge. "Why'd no girls show tonight?" A collective snort erupted. Flint, draped over the armchair in a half-assed vampire cape, muttered, "Because we're dumbass without any money or fame. We couldn't even attract flies with honey."

They read the instructions aloud—they turned off the lamps, lit a candle, fingers lightly touching the planchette—all seven fingertips resting on the cool, smooth plastic. The air thickened with patchouli and skepticism. When Chip demanded, "Alright, board, why'd the ladies ditch us?" the planchette remained stubbornly still.

Jeff snorted. "See? Total bunk."

But Ethan, quiet until now, whispered, "Maybe it needs a real question. Something... personal and not so general."

Chip rolled his eyes. "Fine. Is Larry's breath actually why did Sheila abandon him?" Laughter erupted, but the planchette jerked—a violent scrape toward "YES."

Larry yelped, pulling his hand back. "Hey! That's not..."

But Chip's eyes narrowed. "No one moved it? Seriously?" His fingers stayed pressed to the cool plastic heart. The flames of the candles guttered, casting long, leaping shadows across the board's ornate letters. Silence pooled deeper than before, thick with held breath and the sudden metallic tang of fear cutting through the beer stench.

Jeff leaned forward, eyepatch digging into his brow. "Okay... something stronger. Is there anyone there?" The question hung heavy. For three heartbeats, nothing happened. Then, the planchette began to glide. Smoothly, deliberately, dragging the tips of each one's fingers as if they had been glued with loctite, it slid across the board:

H•I•B•O•Y•S

Flint choked on his own spit. "Bullshit," he rasped, yet his finger trembled. Mitch wanted to say something too, but since he'd been jinxed, he kept his mouth shut until someone called his name.

The planchette didn't pause. It slid with unnerving purpose, circling the moon symbol once before spelling out:

T•H•I•S•P•A•R•T•Y•B•O•R•I•N•G

A nervous chuckle escaped Jeff, but his finger stayed rooted to the planchette, slick with sudden sweat. The plastic felt unnaturally cold beneath his touch, like frozen bone. Across the table, Ethan’s knuckles whitened; his breath hitched in the quiet. Only the candles flicker moved, casting grotesque, dancing shadows on the peeling wallpaper.

Chip’s bravado evaporated. "Alright, smartass board," he muttered, voice tight. "Whaddya suggest?" The planchette darted instantly, tracing letters with chilling speed:

M•A•K•E•I•T•S•P•I•C•Y

The planchette lingered on the 'Y' before darting to the crescent moon symbol, its wooden surface gleaming like an eye in the candlelight. Jeff’s throat clicked dryly as he stared at the word. Spicy. It hung in the damp air, thick with the scent of mildew and cheap wax.

Flint’s laughter sounded brittle, forced. "Oh yeah? Like jalapeños in the punch bowl?" His vampire cape slipped off one shoulder as he shifted.

The planchette slid with eerie precision, circling the sun symbol twice before spelling:

S•E•X•Y•T•I•M•E

Larry's fingers twitched against the cool plastic. "Sexy time?" he echoed, the words tasting like dust in his dry mouth. "With who or what? The pizza boxes?" A nervous ripple of laughter died instantly as the planchette surged forward, dragging their collective fingertips with a force that felt less like suggestion and more like command.

The heart-shaped pointer flew across the board, tracing letters with unnerving speed:

I•G•E•T•S•A•T•I•S•F•A•C•T•I•O•N•Y•O•U

"Mitch, you asshole!" Flint hissed, knuckles white as he gripped the planchette. "Stop pushing it!"

"I'm not fucking moving it!" Mitch snapped back, sweat dripping from his chin onto the board, now that he could talk again. The plastic heart glided again, icy under their trembling fingers. It spelled out:

C•H•O•O•S•E•O•N•E•O•F•Y•O•U

"What the fuck!" Ethan choked out, his cheap black Beatles wig flapping as if someone had sighed loudly over it.

The planchette didn't hesitate.

It slid directly to 'YES'.

"Who are you?" Jeff breathed, the words barely escaping his tight throat. The candle flames suddenly stretched thin and blue, casting jagged shadows that seemed to claw at the peeling wallpaper. A scent like burnt roses and ozone choked the air. The planchette scraped wood, dragging reluctant fingers:

S•U•K•U•B•U•S•U•K•U•B•U•S•U•K•U•B•U•S•U•K•U•B•U•S•U•K•U•B•U•S•U•K•U•B•U•S•U•K•U•B•U•S•U•K•U•B•U•S•U•K•U•B•U•S•U•K•U•B•U•S•U•K•U•B•U•S•U•K•U•B•U

"Is your name?" Mitch blurted, breaking the suffocating silence and stopping that meaningless repetition. The planchette didn't slide—it jerked, carving a furious path across the board:

N•O•N•A•M•E•S

"Hey, fellows..." Larry whispered, his voice cracking. "Maybe we should stop?" His cowboy's costume showed some sweat stains and smelled like beer and fear. Yet no one lifted their fingers from the planchette. The cold plastic seemed fused to their skin.

"Where are you?" Paul whispered, his bandages catching the flickering light. The planchette trembled beneath their collective fingertips, then slid with deliberate slowness:

B•E•H•I•N•D•W•A•L•L

"Which!?" Mitch demanded, voice cracking. The planchette trembled violently, as if shaking with silent laughter, then scraped across the board to the crescent moon symbol. It lingered there, humming faintly under their fingertips. Ethan flinched, knocking over his beer bottle. Amber liquid pooled across the floorboards, the sharp tang of stale hops mingling with the sickly sweet burnt-rose scent thickening in the air. Shadows danced higher on the walls, elongated and grasping.

Jeff gagged. "Behind what wall?" His pirate eyepatch slipped sideways, revealing a wide, bloodshot eye. The planchette jerked forward, dragging their fingers like puppets:

B•A•S•E•M•E•N•T

"Is that where you are?" Jeff whispered, his voice scraping like sandpaper. "Is your body there?"

The planchette didn't move. Silence stretched, thick and suffocating, broken only by the frantic drip-drip-drip of Ethan's spilled beer seeping into the floorboards. The cold plastic seemed to leach the warmth from their fingers. Then, with agonizing slowness, it scraped across the board:

N•E•V•E•R•B•O•D•Y

"What do you mean?" Chip asked, his voice more intriguement than fear. The planchette glided smoothly beneath their fingers.

C•A•N•B•E•I•N•S•I•D•E•O•N•E•O•F•Y•O•U

"Oh, shit," Ethan breathed, the whisper barely audible over the frantic drip of beer soaking into the floorboards. His cheap Beatles wig slid sideways as he stared at the board, the word 'SUKUBUS' burning behind his eyelids like afterimage from a flashbulb.

Succubus. It wasn't just some ghost story term.

Ethan’s mind raced, scrambling through dusty sunday school lessons shoved aside years ago. Father Callahan’s raspy voice echoed in his memory, thick with disapproval: "Demons of sex, boys. Female spirits who invade lustful dreams if you're weak." *Female spirits*. He stared at the planchette’s cold heart shape, then at the fraternity brothers still huddled around the board, faces flickering in the guttering candlelight.

"A succubus is..." Ethan stammered, the words catching like thorns in his throat. His gaze darted across the tense circle – Mitch's sweat-streaked astronaut suit, Chip's white-knuckled grip, the candlelight catching the terror in Jeff's uncovered eye. "It's a demon... a female sexual demon."

The planchette shot across the board like a bullet beneath their trapped fingers pointing to 'YES'.

A collective gasp tore through the circle.

The planchette didn't pause. It slid beneath their trembling fingers with predatory grace, carving letters into the gloom:

O•N•E•W•I•L•L•B•E•C•O•M•E•M•E

"One? One of us become...?" Jeff echoed, his voice cracking as the planchette's icy trail ended.

"I think she means..." Flint stammered, his cheap vampire cape sliding further down his shoulders. "One of us becomes... *her*?" The word hung thick as smoke in the stale air.

Seven pairs of eyes locked onto the board, onto the plastic heart trembling beneath their fingers like a live thing. The candle flames guttered wildly, stretching thin and blue, painting shifting claws on the wallpaper. That burnt-roses-and-ozone scent intensified, cloying, clinging to the back of their throats.

"What for?" Mitch demanded, his Gemini suit rustling as he leaned closer, sweat dripping onto the board where it hissed faintly. The planchette slid beneath their collective fingers, carving letters with unnerving precision:

S•E•X

Mitch’s astronaut helmet closed with a futile clack as he leaned forward, sweat stinging his eyes. The word 'SEX' pulsed on the board like a neon sign in the dim light.

All seven pairs of eyes remained locked on the board, all thinking about what they had wished for before starting that stupid game.

"How?" Chip rasped, the word scraping raw against the suffocating silence. "I mean... become how?" His gaze flickered to Mitch's sweaty astronaut helmet, then to Jeff's trembling fingers still glued to the icy planchette. The implications twisted in his gut – a tight, unfamiliar knot of dread and something hotter, darker.

The planchette lurched beneath their fingers, dragging them like anchors across the board's polished surface. It spelled:

C•H•O•O•S•E•O•N•E•T•O•B•E•C•H•A•N•G•E•D

"Changed? In a woman?" Flint whispered, his vampire cape slipping entirely off his shoulders. The word hung in the air, thick as the scent of burnt roses now mingling with spilled beer and sweat. Mitch’s helmet visor fogged with panicked breath, Jeff’s uncovered eye wide and bloodshot, Chip’s knuckles white where his hand pressed down on the icy planchette. The silence wasn't just absence of sound; it was a vacuum sucking all rational thought away, replaced by the pounding rhythm of seven hearts hammering against ribs.

One of us. The thought slithered through Chip’s mind first, unwanted yet electrifying. He looked at his brothers and saw that they had the same thought.

Jeff’s throat bobbed as he swallowed hard, "Nose goes!" he blurted, jerking his other finger instantly to touch his nose.

Silence choked the room. Then a flurry of movement erupted as fingers flew toward noses—Chip, Jeff, Flint, Larry, Ethan, Paul. Six fingertips slapped damp skin, breaths held tight. Only Mitch remained frozen, his gloved hand hovering uselessly near his fishbowl helmet, realization dawning like a slow, terrible sunrise across his sweat-slicked face. Six pairs of eyes locked onto him. The astronaut suit suddenly felt less like heroics and more like a suffocating shroud.

The planchette slid smoothly to 'YES' as Mitch stared, frozen beneath his Gemini helmet. The word pulsed in the dim candlelight, final as a tombstone etching. A jagged silence followed, thick with the scent of spilled Schlitz and something sweetly rotten beneath the burnt-roses-and-ozone stench.

Unexpectedly, the candlelight turned purple, casting elongated, twisting shadows that seemed to claw at the peeling wallpaper. Mitch gasped inside his fishbowl helmet, the sound amplified and metallic—like someone drowning in a tin can. A sudden vibration hummed through the floorboards, rattling the empty beer bottles clustered near Ethan’s feet. Beneath Mitch’s Gemini suit, his skin prickled as if brushed by icy spiderwebs. He tried to cry out, but only a choked wheeze escaped.

The cold plastic of the Ouija planchette still pressed beneath his finger, now searingly cold and impossibly heavy. Through the fogged visor, Mitch no longer saw his fraternity brothers’ horrified faces; instead, fractured reflections of a woman’s dark, amused eyes stared back at him, multiplied and distorted.

"Are you okay, Mitch?" Ethan whispered, his voice swallowed by the thickening air. But Mitch didn't—couldn't—respond. A low hum vibrated through the room, resonating deep in their bones. The purple candle flames hissed, casting jagged, dancing silhouettes like grasping hands across the fraternity brothers' frozen faces. Beneath Mitch’s astronaut suit, his body tightened as if shrink-wrapped. He gasped again—a wet, sucking sound echoing inside his helmet—as his fingers involuntarily clenched around the planchette.

"Mmmmf" The sound was muffled, wet, entirely inhuman. Mitch's body arched violently against the cheap plastic chair, the Gemini suit straining at the seams. A sharp crack echoed—not plastic, but bone—as his shoulders seemed to fold inward with sickening pops. Inside the helmet, the fog thickened into a viscous grey soup, obscuring his features entirely.

Jeff recoiled, knocking over his stool. "Mitch! Stop fucking around!" But Mitch wasn't moving. The suit was. The once-baggy silver fabric clung suddenly, impossibly tight, outlining a torso narrowing sharply at the waist, hips flaring beneath the metallic weave. A high-pitched whine escaped the helmet, layered with Mitch’s choked gurgles and another sound—low, feminine laughter vibrating through the floorboards.

As abruptly as the purple fire began, the candle flames snapped back to their ordinary, wavering yellow. The oppressive force pinning their fingers to the planchette vanished. Hands flew back as if burned, leaving the plastic heart trembling alone on the board. The burnt-roses scent intensified, then abruptly vanished, replaced by the cloying sweetness of decay mixed with stale beer and panic sweat. Ethan scrambled backwards, kicking over another bottle.

"Help him! Help him take off his helmet!" Chip yelled, lunging forward. Paul's fingers scrabbled against the Gemini helmet's locking ring. It wouldn't budge. Inside the fogged visor, something dark and frantic moved—a pointing shape pressing against the plastic, smearing condensation. Then Mitch’s choked voice, thin and distorted: "Can't...breathe...the suit..."

Larry grabbed the helmet from the other side. Their fingers slipped on sweat-slicked metal. A collective grunt ripped through the circle as they twisted counter-clockwise. The locking ring caught—then gave with a metallic screech. They yanked upwards.

Cool air rushed into the helmet. Thick tendrils of steam coiled outwards, carrying the sharp, medicinal reek of Mitch’s panic sweat mixed with something else—cloying, like overripe peaches left to rot in the sun. Through the dissipating vapor, dark hair spilled over the helmet’s rim, impossibly full and gleaming like spilled ink against the silver suit.

Then came the face.

Not Mitch’s familiar, sweat-streaked jaw and crooked nose, but a woman’s—heart-shaped, porcelain-pale, framed by that waterfall of jet-black hair. Her lips, unnaturally full and painted a deep, bruised plum, curved into a knowing smile. But it was the eyes that froze the breath in their throats: pools of liquid amber, ancient and amused, reflecting the terrified fraternity brothers like insects trapped in amber. And rising from her temples, sleek and black as obsidian, curled two sharp, elegant horns.

"Come on! Come on!" The succubus yelled, voice a throaty rasp like rusted silk. The helmet clattered to the floorboards between Mitch's—her—silver-suited knees. Six pairs of eyes locked onto the impossible vision. Her dark hair cascaded over shoulders impossibly narrower than Mitch's had been. The Gemini suit clung to curves Mitch had never possessed, straining at the bust and hips. Something strange stirred on her back, like a hump and a sinuous movement, like that of a snake whipping around her leg.

Those amber eyes scanned the circle, sharp and predatory. A scent flooded the room—burnt sugar and crushed violets—overpowering the spilled beer. "Can you help me get rid of this thing so we can fuck?"

To be continued… 

Constructive comments, bookmarks, opinions, kudos, and observed typos are always welcome.

Chapter Text

Chapter 39: Summon 

The fellows stared, frozen like prey beneath her predatory gaze. That scent—burnt sugar and violets—clogged their throats, thick as syrup. Jeff choked first, scrambling backward until his stool clattered against the wall. "Mitch?" he croaked, voice cracking. "Is that...?"

The succubus laughed—a low, wet sound like stones grinding underwater. "Mitch is sleeping, more or less" she purred, stretching languidly. The Gemini suit strained at her hips and breasts, silver fabric tearing at the seams with a soft *rriip*. Beneath it, smooth pearly skin gleamed. "But I am very much awake."

Paul stumbled backward, tripping over his unraveled bandages. "What did you do to him?" he shrieked, voice cracking.

The succubus arched an eyebrow—a perfect, dark crescent. "Me? You all chose him." She flexed her fingers, examining them with detached fascination. The silver suit tore further at her shoulder, revealing alabaster skin beneath. "This tin-can monstrosity, though..." Her amber eyes flashed with irritation as she struggled against the stiff fabric. "Help me peel it off." Her voice dropped to a honeyed command that vibrated deep in their marrow. "Unless you'd rather watch?"

Jeff swallowed hard, unable to tear his gaze from the curve of her exposed collarbone. Chip lunged forward with trembling hands, fingers brushing the suit's metallic weave near her thigh. The moment his skin touched hers, a jolt shot through him—electric and suffused with forbidden warmth. He gasped, jerking back as if burned. The succubus chuckled, low and throaty. "Ticklish?" Her gaze slid to Flint, whose vampire cape pooled forgotten at his feet. "You. Strong hands. Unzip me."

Flint hesitated, Adam's apple bobbing. When his fingers fumbled at the hidden seam along her spine, the suit peeled away like brittle foil. Beneath, the tank shirt Mitch wore clung damply to contours no linebacker ever possessed—high, heavy breasts straining cotton, the dip of a waist flaring into hips that swayed as she stood. The Gemini trousers tore at the thigh as she stepped free, revealing white skin shimmering like pearl under sweat. That strange hump resolved itself: a pair of wings—leathery, bat-like, ink-black—unfurling with a sound like unfolding parchment before settling against her back and a tail like a black whip, tipped with a rattlesnake bell, curling possessively around her ankle.

"Better," she sighed, stretching. The burnt-sugar scent deepened as her wings flexed, stirring the stale air. Her amber gaze slid over them—lingering on Jeff's single wide eye, Chip's parted lips, Paul's bandages slipping off his shoulder. "Now," she purred, tapping a nailed finger against plum-dark lips. "Who's first?" Flint scrambled back, tripping over his fallen cape. Ethan crossed himself. The succubus laughed—low, wet, like stones dragged through mud. "Relax, boys. I don't bite... hard." Her tail snapped playfully. "Unless you beg."

Chip found his voice, thin and strained. "Is Mitch... gone forever?" His throat tightened, remembering Mitch’s crooked grin, the way he’d snuck extra beers into the fridge.

The succubus tilted her head, horns catching the wavering yellow candlelight. "Forever is such a heavy word," she murmured, tapping a long nailed finger against her chin. "Think of him as... folded away. Like laundry you forgot at the bottom of the hamper." Her amber eyes narrowed, lingering on Chip’s trembling hands. "He’ll come begging when it gets more fun. Right now, though?" A slow, predatory smile spread across her face. "My turn."

She stepped forward, the torn Gemini suit pooling around her ankles like discarded skin. The bat-like wings unfurled slightly—a leathery whisper—as her tail slithered across Jeff’s boot. He froze, breath hitching. "You," she requested, finger tracing his cheekbone. "Get naked right now!"

Jeff’s eye widened behind his eyepatch. Chip choked on the cloying peach-rot scent thickening the air. The succubus leaned closer, her burnt-sugar breath ghosting over Jeff’s lips. "Still thinking about Mitch?" Her laugh was velvet-edged ice. "Don't worry—he’s watching." She tapped her temple, where Mitch’s frantic consciousness beat like a trapped moth against amber glass. "He’s loving this."

Her hand slid up Jeff’s chest, tearing his pirate shirt. Nails like chrystal shards traced his collarbone. Jeff shuddered—not from fear, but from the electric current humming beneath her touch. His knees buckled. The succubus caught him, pulling him flush against her. Her skin was fever-hot, radiating waves of cinnamon and crushed nightshade.

"Sssshh," she breathed, her voice velvet smoke curling into his ear. "No more talking." Her lips—bruised plum, impossibly soft—hovered inches from his. Jeff’s gaze flickered to her amber eyes.

Her kiss wasn't gentle. It crashed into him like a rogue wave—hot salt and cinnamon, drowning his gasp. Her tongue slid against his, a slick, demanding invasion that tasted of burnt sugar and ozone. Jeff’s knees buckled; she held him upright with effortless strength, one hand tangling in his hair, pulling hard enough to sting. The other slid down his spine, leaving trails of electric fire beneath his pirate shirt.

She broke the kiss abruptly, leaving Jeff swaying, lips swollen. Her plum-dark mouth curved. "Too much?" Her voice was a husky whisper, thick with mock concern. "Poor little pirate." Her nailed fingers found the ragged tear she'd made in his shirt. With a lazy flick, the cheap fabric ripped wider, exposing his pale chest. Her nails traced his ribs lightly, making him shudder. "Better." Her amber eyes flicked to the others. "Watch closely, boys. Lesson one."

Jeff gasped as her hand slid lower, tearing his trousers' waistband. The metallic scent of panic sweat mixed violently with her burnt sugar and violets. Chip couldn't look away, transfixed by the way Jeff’s muscles trembled beneath her touch. Ethan crossed himself again. Paul whimpered behind his unraveled mummy wraps. Flint stood paralyzed, vampire cape pooled around his ankles like spilled blood.

Her tail lashed, snaking around Jeff’s thigh possessively. "Too slow," she hissed against Jeff’s jawline, her breath hot cinnamon. "The rest of you—clothes off. *Now*." The command vibrated in their bones, a low thrum beneath the floorboards. Chip fumbled with his shirt buttons, fingers numb. Paul’s bandages slipped entirely, revealing pale, trembling skin. Flint swallowed hard and reached for his ruffled collar. Even Ethan moved with jerky motions to unbuckle his belt.

Jeff gasped as her bruised-plum lips trailed down his neck. "Focus, pirate," she murmured—a velvet-wrapped command. Her nailed hand tightened on his hip, jerking him closer. The Gemini suit pooled at her feet like discarded metal skin. Jeff’s trousers slid to his knees. He whimpered—not protest, but helpless surrender—as her nail traced the lean muscle of his abdomen down to his hipbone.

Flint tore off his ruffled collar, fingers trembling. Ethan’s belt buckle clattered to the floor. Paul scrambled free of his mummy wraps, pale skin gleaming with sweat. Chip hesitated, knuckles white on his shirt buttons. The succubus’s gaze snapped to him—amber, unblinking—and Chip’s fingers flew open. Her tail lashed against Jeff’s thigh, possessive and sharp. "Good boys," she purred, the words vibrating through the stale beer-stained air. Jeff arched as her nails scraped lower, tearing his briefs. "Lesson one," she whispered against his throat, "is surrender."

Her mouth descended—not gentle, but claiming. Jeff cried out, a raw sound drowned by the slick slide of her tongue. Her hips rolled against him, grinding him into the sticky floorboards. The burnt sugar scent thickened, laced now with musk and salt. Ethan gagged, crossing himself again. Flint froze mid-undress, transfixed. Paul whimpered, curling inward. Only Chip moved closer, drawn like a moth to flame.

Her tail coiled tighter around Jeff’s thigh as she lifted her head. Plum-dark lips glistened. "Lesson two," she rasped, amber eyes sweeping the circle, "is participation." Her smooth hand shot out, snagging Chip’s wrist. He gasped as electric heat jolted up his arm. She yanked him forward, pressing his trembling hand against Jeff’s sweat-slicked chest. "Feel his heart," she commanded. Chip flinched—Jeff’s pulse hammered beneath his palm like a trapped bird. "Now feel mine." She pressed Chip’s other hand against the swell of her own breast. Beneath alabaster skin, her heartbeat thrummed slow, deep, ancient as tectonic plates shifting. Chip swayed, caught between terror and dizzying arousal.

The succubus released Chip, her tail unwinding from Jeff with a final, possessive flick. She turned to Ethan, crossing himself furiously. "Put that hand to better use," she ordered, voice sharp as shattered glass. Before he could react, she seized his trembling fingers—still forming the sign of the cross—and dragged them down her flank, over the curve of her hip. Ethan choked, frozen. Her skin burned beneath his touch. "Stop praying," she hissed, leaning close, her breath hot cinnamon against his ear. "Start touching."

Chip’s hand remained pressed against succubus chest, feeling the slow, deep thrum beneath her alabaster skin—a rhythm older than the frat house itself. His trembling fingers traced the swell of her breast, the heat radiating like a forge.

"Third lesson," the succubus breathed against Chip’s ear, her voice a velvet snake coiling around his spine. Her tail lashed, wrapping around his trembling wrist still pressed to her heartbeat. "No more hesitation." She guided his hand lower—past the swell of her breast, over the dip of her waist, down to the flare of her hip where pearl skin met the torn edge of Mitch’s tank shirt. Chip’s breath hitched as his fingertips brushed the dizzying curve beneath.

Jeff whimpered beneath her, pinned against sticky floorboards by her knee between his thighs.

The succubus’s plum-dark lips descended—not gentle, but purposeful—trailing hot cinnamon breath down Jeff’s trembling sternum. Her tail tightened around Chip’s wrist, forcing his trembling fingers to explore the sharp dip of her waist as she moved lower. Jeff gasped, arching off the floor as her mouth bypassed his navel. Chip’s fingertips grazed the smooth swell of her hipbone; the heat radiating from her skin was furnace-hot.

Her amber eyes flicked up—locking onto Jeff’s terrified gaze—as she hooked her nailed thumbs into the waistband of his briefs. With a lazy flick, the fabric tore away. Jeff choked on a sob. The succubus didn’t smile. Her expression was detached, clinical almost, as she studied his exposed flesh—the frantic pulse in his thigh, the salt-beaded skin. Her tongue darted out, tasting the air above him. "Still thinking about Mitch?" she murmured, her voice velvet-edged ice. Before he could answer, her mouth closed over him—swallowing him whole in one smooth, predatory glide. Jeff’s cry shattered the silence—a raw, guttural sound that echoed off the beer-stained walls. His fingers scrabbled uselessly against her horns.

Chip watched, paralyzed. Jeff’s back arched violently, heels drumming against sticky floorboards. The succubus’s lips—bruised plum against fever-pale skin—sealed tight. Her throat worked with slow, deliberate swallows. Jeff whimpered, a high-pitched keen escaping his clenched teeth. Her hands pinned his hips, nails digging crescent moons into flesh.

Above him, her amber eyes slid shut. A low hum vibrated through her—deep, resonant, like a struck tuning fork—echoing in the cramped basement. The scent shifted: burnt sugar soured briefly, then bloomed into something darker—molten metal and crushed violets. Jeff shuddered, fingers twisting in her dark hair. Her tail lashed, rattlesnake tip clicking against the Gemini helmet discarded nearby.

Chip’s hand remained trapped against her hipbone, feeling the muscles shift beneath pearlescent skin. Heat pulsed there—an unholy furnace. He couldn’t pull away. Her wings rustled—leathery, restless—casting jagged shadows that danced across Paul’s pale face. Ethan’s prayers died to choked whispers... and he licked his lips with desire.

Below her, Jeff writhed. Her mouth moved with devastating precision—not gentle suction but a claiming rhythm, deep and relentless. Each bob of her head drew a ragged gasp from him. The wet, rhythmic sounds echoed—obscene counterpoints to Chip’s frantic heartbeat. Her tongue coiled, pressing firm circles beneath his shaft. Jeff’s fingers tangled in her dark hair, pulling weakly. She didn’t stop. Instead, she hummed—a low vibration that traveled straight into Jeff’s core. His back arched off the floorboards, tendons straining in his neck. A strangled cry tore from his throat: half agony, half surrender.

Ethan’s trembling hand hovered near the succubus’s wing—drawn by the forbidden shimmer of leathery membrane. Flint stood frozen, ruffled shirt half-unbuttoned, eyes locked on Jeff’s thrashing form. Only Chip remained anchored to her, palm scorched against her hipbone. He felt the tremor ripple through her—muscles tightening, wings flexing wider. The burnt-sugar scent deepened, laced now with salt and musk and something metallic, like ozone before a storm.

Jeff’s cries dissolved into choked whimpers. His fingers spasmed in her hair, knuckles white. Her rhythm intensified—swallowing him deeper, throat working with wet, deliberate pulses. A shudder ran through Jeff’s entire body; his heels dug into the floorboards, splintering wood. The succubus’s tail coiled tighter around Chip’s wrist, nails pricking skin as she forced his hand lower still—past the curve of her hip, toward the heat between her thighs. Chip gasped. The fabric of Mitch’s torn tank shirt was damp and thin beneath his fingers.

Her amber eyes snapped open, locking onto Chip’s terrified gaze. She withdrew slowly, lips lingering on Jeff’s slick tip. Jeff collapsed, chest heaving, a wet trail glistening on his abdomen. "Then it will be your turn," she murmured, her voice thick with promise. Chip flinched as her tail tightened, dragging his trapped hand lower still—past the damp fabric edge—until his fingertips brushed coarse, wiry curls. Heat radiated from her core like an open kiln.

"'My turn', what for?" Chip gasped, his fingers trembling against the scorching heat radiating from her core. The succubus chuckled—a low, rumbling sound like distant thunder—and twisted her hips, grinding against Chip's trapped hand. The wiry curls beneath his palm were damp, impossibly hot. "To take over from Mitch," she hissed, leaning close until her cinnamon breath fogged Chip's mind. "To become me... too."

Her tail tightened around Chip's wrist like a burning shackle. Below them, Jeff lay gasping, sweat-slicked chest heaving. The succubus arched her spine, wings flaring wide—leathery membranes casting monstrous shadows across Ethan face. Chip whimpered as her hips rolled again, grinding his palm deeper against molten velvet folds. Electric heat shot up his arm, scorching nerves.

"For Mitch," she whispered, plum lips brushing Chip’s ear. "To taste what he tasted. To feel what he felt." Her amber eyes glowed with ancient hunger. Chip trembled, fingers slick with her heat.

Back to the present, at dusk...

The plan had gone well, maybe not perfectly, but Taylor and the succubus had managed to leave Sigma Kappa Beta without any incident. Taylor felt like he was walking on eggshells while driving back.

He'd gotten his car, his books, and other things back from his room—done. He'd shown up at the frat house looking manly—done. He'd excused himself from choosing a dorm room, claiming it was too expensive for his budget—done. And last but not least, he'd been able to get out of there without fucking with any of the brothers or anyone mentioning the succubus's name... done.

In the rearview mirror, Taylor watched the succubus. Instead of appearing in the baggy Hawaiian shirt she'd shredded, she had somehow strangely revealed a female version of the black-and-white striped uniform Taylor had worn during Hell Week.

The succubus had a sad and melancholic expression as she looked at the dashboard, where the time was blinking with its LED lights, and the panorama that could be seen behind the glass window as she passed through the streets of Madison. The sun was setting, and the buildings were painted with a mix of fiery oranges and cool blues. The sight was breathtaking, but she had seen it countless times before, and it didn't seem to hold the same allure anymore.

"What's up, Nis?" Taylor asked the succubus, using the nickname. She looked up at him, her eyes reflecting the neon signs that flashed with a glow of rage as they drove through the city streets.

"Et tu, Taylore," she pouted, her voice tinged with a hint of sadness that was unusual for her sassy persona.

Taylor felt a pang of guilt at her reaction. "I have to call you somehow," he explained, his voice softening. "Or would you prefer I call you Sully?"

Her eyes narrowed, and she crossed her arms over her chest. "Don't call me that," she hissed. "It's so... trivializing. I am not some pet to be named and whistled... Would you like to be called by the wrong name all the time?"

Taylor sighed and gripped the steering wheel tighter, his knuckles turning white. "You know very well that happened to me in fourth grade. Claire Bell called me Tobias all semester," he said, his eyes never leaving the road. "And I didn't dare correct her because she was the cool kid."

The succubus rolled her eyes and released a small sigh, chaste and modest, but she couldn't hide the smirk playing at the corner of her lips. "Oh, your tribulations are not nearly the same as my pain," she said, her tone dripping with sarcasm.

Taylor glanced at her briefly, the vanilla and carmine tones of the late afternoon light making her look troubled and flushed against the violet-blue sky in the background, his eyes returning to the road. "Look, I'm sorry," he said, his voice earnest. This is all a lot to take in and... well, I'm just trying to keep my head above water."

The succubus leaned back into the seat, looking again at the clock on the dashboard, her expression softening. "I know," she said, her voice a gentle coo. "It's okay. YOU can call me anything, really."

Taylor couldn't help but feel a warmth spread through his chest at her words. He'd never thought of himself as someone who could handle the supernatural, but here he was, giving a succubus a ride home. He contemplated at her, trying to read her emotions. "What do you mean?" he asked, genuinely curious.

The succubus looked at him with a wry smile, one that was both comforting and unsettling. "You're my anchor in this world," she said, her voice low and intimate. "You are both my receptacle and the summoner, so if you name me, I'm afraid I won't be able to avoid it... even if it's a bitter pill to swallow, like having a steamroller run over your bowels." she added with a serious tone that seemed to suck the humor out of the air.

Taylor noticed that she was also fastened in her seatbelt when she looked back at the window. She looked glum and sulking at having left that den of iniquity before she could have a bit of fun, and she reflected it (in more ways than one) through her appearance in the rearview mirror.

"I'm sorry, Nis," Taylor said in an exaggeratedly regretful tone, using the nickname again, hoping it would lighten the mood by taking it as a joke. "I'll try to come up with something better."

"No, leave it, I don't care," the succubus waved a dismissive hand. "It's just... I don't know," she sighed heavily, staring at the dashboard clock again. "I just feel like I'm missing out on something important."

Taylor flicked his eyes to the clock, unaware of what was bothering the succubus. "What are you staring at so insistently?" he asked, trying to keep his voice light.

Her gaze quickly shifted from where she was headed and headed toward the street. "How many young people there are these days with broccoli-like hair," she murmured in disgust, diverting attention. "What a horrible fashion and bad taste!"

Taylor couldn't help but chuckle at her attempt at a tangent. "Yeah, it almost looks like an invasion of brainwashed clones," Taylor murmured as he turned the corner to their apartment complex.

To be continued… 

Constructive comments, bookmarks, opinions, kudos, and observed typos are always welcome.