The Second Coming – Part V By TeraS

This, the next part of The Second Coming, was supposed to appear on Halloween … I wanted to try and finish this story by then, but that doesn’t seem to have worked out for me. I think there’s one more chapter in this, possibly two—at least I think so; we’ll have to see where my thoughts take me. If you’d like to read the prior four parts of this story, you can find them here on the Tale.

Halloween is the time for things to change. Something darkens, something becomes lost, and other things are found. Along the way, choices have to be made, and not all of them are for the best. But then, sometimes, the choices made aren’t ones that you have control over in the first place.

They control you.


The Second Coming
Part V
By TeraS


The ride in the taxi was a very silent one for the two redheads. The driver managed not to gawk too much at the pair, though his attention was diverted enough that one of the two screamed when he almost ran into the back of a bus.

It was hard to ignore the pair, considering they were both beyond stunningly beautiful. He was sure that they’d both be the focus of his dreams that night and a lot of nights to come.

Neither looked at the other, though out of sight, they held hands, the one with brighter red hair keeping her hand over the other’s. Each was thinking about what happened in the elevator, how far it had gone.

Neither was sorry about that.

Mandy wasn’t sorry about worshipping Cleo. She’d been doing that from afar for so long that the last little step of being on her knees, tongue to Cleo’s sex, didn’t bother her at all. To be able to pleasure her paramour, to give of herself as she’d wished to for years, brought a prayer of thanks, and one of hope.

Idly she blew a lock of her brilliant red hair away from her eyes as she remembered Cleo’s voice, how her own sex trembled with each shiver and whine that escaped her lover. Biting her lip in thought she found that she wasn’t, if she was truthful with herself, sure that lifting the succubus’ curse was the best thing for them.

Was it really a curse? Was it really that awful a thing for Cleo? Was it so bad to want to be with the woman she loved? Or was Mandy being selfish? So many questions to think about, but there was something more. Something Cleo had said nagged at her and she couldn’t explain what it was.

It was that last question that pressed on Mandy.

Cleo wasn’t sorry that she’d twined her fingers around strands of Mandy’s hair, screaming out her love. She wasn’t sorry that she opened herself to her. She ached, dearly, for Mandy, her past thoughts of not being good enough pushed aside because of what the succubus had done to her. There was a little part of her that was thankful. She didn’t want this, didn’t want to be what the book said she’d become. Her fate, as was written, was a terrible one. But to be able to hold Mandy, to love her, to say those words … she was willing to do that even if she resisted everything else.

Could she hold on to herself? Was it possible? Was there a way out? Perhaps the one question that she feared most of all was: would she hurt Mandy? Having found her love, held her, looked into her eyes, was this all just a fleeting moment before it all went to hell?

That last question was the nightmare Cleo faced. This wasn’t over; she knew the succubus was churning within her, slowly changing her, turning her. Now she felt a tingle in her fingers which drew her attention. As she watched, they became slightly longer, the tips turning sharper, the red of her nails becoming redder still.


Not willing to let go of her lover, Cleo looked at her hand against the window. The light glinting off her new nails, which seemed so cruel and evil—a reflection of what was still happening to her. “Damn.”


She didn’t look across the cab, but only showed Mandy her fingernails before sighing and shifting her hand over Mandy’s own.

“You need a manicure.”

Cleo chuckled lightly, she couldn’t help it: “Need a cure.”

“We’ll find one. Any idea where to start?”

“Most of the answers are in the catacombs. That book might have some answers.”

The tensing in Mandy’s hand couldn’t be ignored.

Cleo’s eyes fell upon their hotel as they came closer: “Where’s the book?”

“I hid it at Amber’s house.”

That answer made Cleo look at her in stunned disbelief.


“Whatever made you do that?”

Mandy’s shocked expression was telling: “Let’s see. I had Her Grace there with her goons, the police were coming. You, Amber, and Ben weren’t any help at all. How was I going to carry out a book about ancient demons right in front of them?”

Properly chided, Cleo looked down at her heels: “I’m sorry.”

The kiss was a surprise: “I forgive you.”

Mandy’s kiss was meant to assure, but the aching need within Cleo to lap at her lover’s sex did nothing but make her pussy throb longingly; the thought of binding Mandy to their bed and making her scream was delightful.


A light smile hid much of what she was thinking, as did her reply: “Okay. List of things to do: get our things from the hotel; get that book back; then get the Hell—so to speak—out of here.”


“Where are we going?”

“Back to the catacombs.”


Mandy’s eyebrows arched in surprise: “But … that takes you closer to …”

A light squeeze of Mandy’s hand: “I know. But the book tells of things that … help. Much of that is back there, not here.”

Of course it isssss.

Mandy’s expression was unreadable, but she didn’t comment any further about Cleo’s idea as the taxi pulled up to the hotel. She had been able to stuff a credit card into the almost useless pocket of her painted-on skirt, but there’d been no place to hide their room key.

The lobby was mostly empty when they entered, not at all looking like the sort that would be staying at a place like this. After all, this place had standards, and two oversexed redheads who wore their sexuality as they did wouldn’t possibly have a room there. Of course, no one would recognize Cleo, or her assistant, for that matter, not as they were dressed. The two nuns that were supposed to be in their room weren’t going to be found, and it was unlikely that the receptionist would hand over the keys … and Mandy wasn’t looking forward to seeing her again, smiling that ick of a smile and making Mandy’s skin crawl.

But she wasn’t there. A young bellhop was, smiling a neutral smile as they approached him: “Can I help you … ladies?”

Mandy tried the direct approach, claiming she was Sister Miranda and asking for their key. The expression didn’t change much, even with the answer: “I’m sorry. Neither of you seem to be Sister Miranda or Sister Cléophée. I’ll have to call management.”

The younger nun turned away, making plans to abandon the things in their room and move on. She missed Cleo reaching out with long red dagger-like nails and taking hold of the bellhop’s hand. She missed the little gasp of surprise. She didn’t miss the jangle of keys being scooped up from the countertop: “It’s my pleasure to serve.”

Cleo turned towards the elevators: “Come along, Miranda.”

Mandy gaped as Cleo strode across the lobby, her stride sure, unconcerned, as if she owned the place. Mandy stood there frozen, watching Cleo roll her hips and accentuate her sexuality, revelling in her own power.

Leaving the pimply attendant in their wake, Mandy rushed after Cleo, darting into the elevator with her as the doors closed. The last thing she saw from the lobby was the bellhop at the counter smiling …

… and his smile was every bit as ick as that receptionist’s was.

The ride up was in silence, Cleo staring at the doors and holding the room key in one hand. Cleo didn’t look away from the doors, standing there as if in trance.

He would have been delicious.

The enthralling voice in her mind held her.

Devouring him. Leaving him a husk, empty, all yours.

Her mind was filled with a vision of straddling him, her slick cunt riding his shaft, consuming him soul, his mind, his will.

“Cleo? What the hell did you do?”


“We needed the key, Miranda.”

“Yes, but how did you get it?”

Cleo blinked, then looked at the key in her hand: “It was there on the counter and I took it.”

Something wasn’t right about that answer, but Mandy couldn’t put her finger on just what, exactly: “Are you okay?”

Of course you are

Of course she was, that key was right there on the counter. She took it; that young man didn’t seem to mind that she did. That’s what happened, wasn’t it?

Of course it was

Cleo’s answer was slightly uncertain as the bell announced their arrival: “I’m fine, Mandy.” There was no one on the floor, and the door to Cleo’s room was soon opened, the two rushing inside. “All I need is my case. We can leave everything else here.”

Mandy paused to close the door behind them: “Are you sure? What about passports and stuff?”

“We’ll …” Cleo’s gasp of surprise made Mandy turn around. There, kneeling in the middle of the room, was the receptionist, dressed in what Mandy could only describe as some kind of fetish slave wear: her hair in a ponytail, breasts exposed, black tape over her nipples in an ‘x’, fishnet stockings, cruel looking heels, a corset binding her tightly.

Her smile was even more ick: “Please … do come in.”

Mandy turned back to leave, intending to abandon that case and get away with Cleo, but before she could open the door, Cleo whispered: “Mandy, I can’t move.”

The fetishist purred: “That’s right. Leave. Leave and run.”

Mandy didn’t. The warning pressed on her again: “Don’t leave her alone.”

The anger in Mandy’s eyes burned as she came into the room, to stand beside Cleo: “Let go of her.”

If the smile was ick, the laughter was terrible. Now that she could see the woman, it was clear that her body was covered in tattoos, her eyes hooded. She was deeply aroused, a glaze over her eyes. In front of her was the book that Cleo had taken from the catacombs and the case.

“What do you want?”

“To serve.”


Cleo’s hands shook: “Who are you?”

“I am nothing without her.”


The case was opened, bindings thrown towards Mandy, one clattering against her heels.

She pointed at them: “Put them on, Sister.”


That icky smile became cruel: “You will.”

Mandy didn’t move: “Fuck you.”

The kneeling woman opened the book, turning the pages, ignoring Mandy: “I serve her will. Her desires are mine. I obey.”

Cleo wasn’t moving, only staring forwards and nothing more. Mandy’s hand slipped into Cleo’s own: “Come on, Cleo!”

An ancient word was spoken, fouling the air, making it reek of fire and brimstone. The smell choked her lungs and Mandy bent over, wretching, unable to breathe, her arms wrapped around her waist.

Cleo taking hold of her from behind was a surprise, as was the purring heat of her voice: “Do you like my pet, Miranda? She was such a wanton little slut, so easy to turn.

The younger woman tried to break Cleo’s grip: “What the hell is going on!”

Cleo’s lick against the back of her neck was a shock: “Cleo’s not here right now. I’m Cléophée.”

Still struggling, Mandy was helpless as Cléophée—it wasn’t Cleo—pushed her across the room and then face-down onto the floor: “Bind her.

There was no way to resist either of them. Bindings soon wrapped around Mandy’s ankles and wrists before the other two pulled her up and set her in a chair. It was the first time that Mandy had a good look at Cleo … Cléophée … since they’d come into the room. She wept at the blank white eyes that had replaced Cleo’s beautiful brown. The expression on the possessed face was one of contempt and derision. This wasn’t Cleo; anything of the woman she loved had been submerged beneath a veneer that she didn’t recognize.

“Dear God.”

Cléophée ran her tongue over her nails: “No, but in time you’ll call me Mistress,’ if not your Goddess.

Those words made Mandy shiver in fear, which only made Cléophée chuckle darkly as she slipped out of the clothes she’d been wearing: “Plans within plans She could not escape.

The heels came off, hands pulling off the skirt and letting it drop away, forgotten: “I can hardly wait to lap your soul away, leave you a mindless cunt at my feet.

Mandy watched her lover’s body being caressed, teased, fingers exploring her curves until they threw her top away as well, her lover’s blank eyes holding her own: “It’s been so long since I’ve devoured someone in love.” She couldn’t look away, the terrible vision of her lover, her life, prowling towards her, licking her lips. Cléophée straddled her, looking down into her prey’s eyes: “Sucking away all you are, who you are, needing only me.

Cléophée’s fingers stroking against her cheek made Mandy turn away, weeping. She felt the long nails scratching her chin, forcing her to look once more. Her tormentor’s smirk was awful: “But not yet, sweetling. Soon, but not yet.” The kiss was nothing like Cleo’s. Rough, harsh, loveless and almost needless. When it was over, Mandy looked away.

Cléophée licked her lips and looked at her slave, pet, whatever was the receptionist before: “But I need to feed.

Mandy still couldn’t bring herself to face what Cleo had become: “Leave her alone.”

The only answer was a giggle: “Come here, pet.

There was no way that Mandy was going to watch, and so she closed her eyes, not wanting to know.

Miranda, you will watch or I will suck her dry. Her death will be on your head.

It wasn’t any choice at all. She’d promised Cleo that she wouldn’t allow her kill. She had to watch.

The pet crawled to where Cléophée was standing, one hand close to her bare sex, a long red fingernail pointing to her clit: “Pleasure me.”

It was awful to watch her lover’s body being aroused, the moaning thrill of Cléophée’s voice; watching the long red nails take hold of the blonde’s hair, guiding her, commanding her, making her obey; listening to the sound of a wet tongue and lips slurping, the whining need of the pet to obey, to please. It was nothing, nothing like the bliss her Cleo cried out when Mandy had offered herself in love. Cléophée’s sneer as the pet was pushed away made Mandy’s heart sink. It wasn’t the woman she loved.

The tears came as the ponytail pet fell onto her back, legs splayed wide, her sex dripping in need. Cléophée descended on her, lips and fingers thrust deeply within her pet’s sex, the scream of joy, raw and naked, baring her soul to be fed upon and Cléophée did, her pet convulsing beneath her ministrations.

The first change was impossible to miss. A long thin red spaded tail broke through the small of Cléophée’s back, just above her heart-shaped rear, and rose into the air behind her. Pet screamed as more of her soul was consumed and next to come were the pair of large black bat wings arching into the air from Cléophée’s shoulder blades.

Mandy wept at the sight—it was what she’d feared—and her cries made Cléophée pause and look at her: “She’s delicious You’ll be more so.

The pause was for an instant, then her lover, partially transformed, suckled upon her prey’s nipples. The shift of her skin, from a lovely tan to blood red, was almost instantaneous. Her legs bent, her feet shifted and, suddenly, where there once had been lovely dainty feet, now there were hooves of black.

The pet turned to look at Mandy, her expression a mixture of desire, bliss, and sheer terror. She tried to say something, but Cléophée’s hands forced her to look upon the one devouring her soul. Their lips came close, Cléophée moaning into her meal’s open mouth: “Delicious.

It was a long, deep kiss, the moaning of pet muffled by her captor sucking away another part of her soul. For a moment, their lips parted, and Mandy could see that her lover’s tongue was long, so very long, the tip forked like that of a snake’s.

Mandy watched as the light faded away from the pet’s eyes and they turned as white as Cléophée’s own. But it didn’t end there. The succubus—Mandy couldn’t think of her as Cleo—continued to suck away, feeding on the soul she was offered.

The changing of the blonde’s hair was a shock. It turned almost instantly to red, while she screamed into the succubus’ mouth as the creature finished feeding, her pet crumpling into a slick mess of sweat, cum, and ecstasy unfulfilled.

Cléophée stood, displaying her form in pride. Wide leathery bat wings framed her blood red skin. Long pointed ears rose into the air through her mane of red hair, a pair of black horns reaching high above her, leaving no doubt of what she was, if the wings and tail didn’t already make it clear. As she cupped her bosom, Cléophée’s hooves clicked on the floor in spite of it being carpet, her attentions upon Mandy now. The raw sexuality of the succubus was inescapable, her smile, one of being in control, was so wrong on Cleo’s face: “What’s wrong, Miranda? Don’t you love me anymore?

She didn’t lie: “I don’t love … you.”

The succubus closed the distance between them, once more straddling the young nun. She came close, her terrible, beautiful face being all that Mandy could see, her wings moved slowly, currents of air pushing both manes of red hair about randomly: “You will.

The kiss was as awful as it was unexpected, Mandy could taste the pet’s sex on her lips as Cléophée drew back, her wings stretched wide, her tail swaying behind her, licking her lips. Dark black eyes reflected Mandy’s expression: “Don’t run off now, even if you could, I know you won’t.

One moment the red-skinned bitch was there taunting her. The next she was gone into thin air, leaving Mandy to struggle with her bonds and the blonde pet, now redhead, discarded nearby, her eyes empty, moaning for her Goddess to return.

As her fingers worked to undo the bindings, Mandy was grateful for one small thing: “At least her hair isn’t as red as mine.”


    • avatar
    • David on November 7, 2016 at 9:13 am

    Hooves! Indeed a beastly creature of below.

    • avatar
    • James on November 7, 2016 at 9:38 am

    Hooves, which, in Your Majesty’s world, means she isn’t really the best kind of succubus, and someone whose red hair is still more brilliant. I think something else is coming (if not cumming) . . .

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