I have a story to tell; it isn’t really part of the Realm, mind you. Still, I have been nudged by some to “try and write something more evil”, for whatever that might be worth considering. However, my idea of “evil” and theirs, I think, are two completely different things. There are some things in the universe that should never be allowed to have what might be called …
The Second Coming
There are some sounds which are unmistakable. The sound of someone crying out in passion is one of them. Of crying out as they orgasm, their bodies covered in sweat, their breath, if they can catch it, taken away … or stolen … or worse still.
“Harder, you worthless worm!”
For those that called this particular little four story brownstone apartment complex home, such sounds were very uncommon, at least up until the last few months or so as some recalled things. The place hadn’t been known for wild parties, loud neighbours, or, really, anything untoward or bothersome to anyone.
“Give me your hot spunk!”
Even when the mousey twenty-something had moved in, there was no sign at all that she was anything other than a respectable woman starting out in the world. Rather bookish, nothing flashy about her, she’d been quite friendly to everyone there. Many of the more mature individuals had thought her to be more than pleasant and were happy to see that the calmness of their little slice of the city would remain the same.
“Fuck me harder! Oh fuck yes!”
Something changed about her, what it was exactly no one was really sure when they thought about it. Her eyes seemed different; she changed her hair colour. The most apparent change was the pornstar cleavage that she must have been hiding under those baggy sweaters of hers became very prominent in the corsets and leather she was suddenly wearing.
“You’re mine, slave.”
Most had turned their eyes away from what started to happen. At least most were able to ignore the thumping sounds at first, assuming she was moving furniture or something. However, the occasional boyfriend—though in many cases that was questionable—who came to her apartment, then left in the middle of the night, was something many couldn’t ignore.
“Use your tongue!”
One of the other tenants had confronted her about the noise and the seemingly endless stream of men and women that came to her. Afterwards, they didn’t seem to mind very much about her, the noise, or anything else, for that matter.
“You fucking slut! On your knees!”
It was the weekend before Halloween that one tenant in the building was speaking—in confession, of course, as such things that were happening weren’t the sort of thing spoken about in polite company—with her pastor. She told of her concerns about the young woman, how strange things had become, the sights and sounds they had heard.
“Join us! Oh my fuck, yes!”
The good man explained that times had changed and sex was not evil. The parishioner left, worries calmed, for the moment. However the same couldn’t be said about him. There was one particular comment made which brought a frown.
“Gawd, you’re a hot fuck!”
It was meant as a joke, a commentary on the sexual frenzy the young woman seemed to be capable of now. How almost otherworldly her sexual appetites were, how those that entered her domain didn’t seem to be quite right afterwards. How she didn’t, for lack of a better term, seem right somehow. Almost as if she wasn’t quite human.
“What the hell’s that?”
There are some secrets held in places that few are able to see. Knowledge of the past, of legends and things thought to be legends, but actually very real. Some are shared among the trusted, to act as tripwires in the world, to warn of impending dangers, beings coming to this world. To attempt, if possible, to stop such things long before they can do harm.
In the past, such reports were carried by messenger, taking months to engender a response. In the modern world, such reports, when they were made, took but moments to find their way to those that could understand such things. A report transcribed, pictures attached—one in particular very concerning for what it showed. A click of a mouse and it was away, leaving the sender to pray for the soul of the young woman and hope for the best.
“mmmm. Fuck … yesssss …”
Elsewhere, in a place that simply didn’t exist to the world at large, a soft chime sounded, announcing the receipt of an email. The computer waited, patiently—for it was a computer, after all, and couldn’t do much else without someone using it as the tool it was. It wouldn’t matter if it was hours; the email would sit there waiting. A creaking sound gave notice that a door had opened, the sound of feet shuffling across the room making it clear that someone had entered. A slim hand reached out, shook the mouse attached to the computer, and set about reading the email.
She had heard of many things in her time, been taught about the comings and goings of spirits, angels, and devils in this world. Things that the world in general didn’t believe in, or, when they came to see such things, if rarely, they ignored or obfuscated, save on those occasions when they went mad.
Sometimes she envied the ones that had gone mad. She traced a finger along the glowing text, her frown deepening and her concern growing. Finding the attached pictures, she clicked through them, one by one, until she stopped at the very last one.
“Well, damn us all.”
With another click a printer started to make whirring noises, putting the report to paper. She mulled things over in her mind as it did so, her thoughts not as they usually were about why the bureaucracy of the Church needed to have everything on paper. She hadn’t been needed; her role had been changed from dealing with demons and the like to dealing with bureaucrats. It had been ages since the last time she’d had to face this. She remembered what happened then, the threat she had faced, what she had been forced to do. More ominously, she remembered the promise made to her …
“You will be mine.”
As the last sheet of paper came out of the printer, she gathered the sheets up and made her way across the room to her desk. It seemed that she was needed again, whether those above her liked it or not—likely not. The threat was clear; at least the report made it so. Now the problem was to overcome the inertia of those around her. Settling into an old, well-worn leather chair, a stray lock of ash-brown hair fell out of place and she blew it away from her nose.
“You look happy, Cleo.”
Cleo looked across the room as she tucked her hair into place and frowned: “I’m not. Come in, Mandy. Close the door.”
Mandy, proper name Miranda, frowned: “Okay, if you’re not calling me by my proper name, whatever it is has to be a ball of suck.”
The sigh was a long one: “Oh … it is.”
Cleo watched as her protegé, née assistant, closed the door and locked it. An idle thought, one she had had many times, passed: “Young, confident, attractive. Who did she piss off to be here?” She had always wondered about her: how she came to be involved with the church, how she wound up being assigned to Cleo’s own little personal hell. It seemed to her that a vibrant young woman like Miranda should be out in the world acting in a public relations role, possibly on television, being interviewed about the church and dealing with the many issues it faced. Her thoughts were interrupted by Miranda settling into the other chair in the room, after putting a stack of papers that were in her way on the floor.
Miranda didn’t look like the typical nun. Cleo had never seen her looking anything but casual. She liked running shoes, blue jeans, and T-shirts with sayings written on them. Today’s shirt was no exception: “All I need today is a little coffee and a whole lot of faith.”
Cleo smiled, she couldn’t help it. Mandy winked, her blue eyes sparkling as she gathered her hair into a ponytail with a scrunchie: “You like?”
“I think it’s very apt.”
Her brown eyes narrowed slightly as she replied: “How well do you know me?”
Mandy paused in the midst of getting her hair under control: “Professionally or personally?”
Finishing gathering her hair, Mandy picked up a pair of Cleo’s glasses off her desk and put them on. “Professionally, you have been director of the catacombs since 1991. Your guidance has taken what had been a loose collection of scrolls and books whose contents were unknown to the world and made it a wealth of information about the legends of the past.”
Resting a hand against her cheek, Cleo sighed as she thought, “I wish I could keep you thinking that.”
Miranda continued: “By 2000, the collected wisdom and teachings had been collated and sorted into what is the largest collection of lore on Earth. Following that marvel, you pressed onwards and drove into a ten-year long personal project to examine every artifact held here, entering them all into the database and cross-connecting them to the texts involved.”
Another breath of air directed at that lock of hair covered up her shiver at remembering one particular artifact and what happened late one might when she was left alone with it.
“Currently, you are … teaching …”—the pause was telling, as was the look Mandy was giving—“… Miranda Meyer to take over your role here when you retire, sometime in the distant future.”
She smiled: “Nice summary.”
The glasses went back on the table as Mandy took the scrunchie out of her hair, allowing it to fall in waves around her petty features.
“Personally … well, that’s something neither of us has quite figured out yet, but … I’m having fun.”
Cleo’s mood brightened: “Tease.”
A blue-tipped fingernail was poked in her direction: “I’d say the same about you, but then you are my boss, so I’d better not.”
Taking a sip of coffee, Cleo replied: “I still don’t know why I put up with you.”
Mandy returned to putting her hair back into a ponytail, her thoughts betraying that she wanted to know what was bothering her friend, if not quite lover: “So. What’s crawled into your panties and can I be the one to … pull them down and take care of it?”
The reply was unexpected and the choking fit went on for a few minutes, Mandy sitting there and looking as innocent as she could. Cleo was older, yes, but to Mandy that only meant she was more experienced, in a lot of ways. Yes, she had a crush on her—she wasn’t exactly hiding it either. Still, the flirting didn’t go much further than that and the one kiss they’d shared left Mandy wondering what it would be like if Cleo was her age. That particular thought was the source of a lot of daydreams that she wasn’t all that sorry about.
Wiping tears from her eyes, Cleo sighed: “Ah yes, now I remember. It’s your sparkling personality and all of the times you’ve told people to … what was it …”
“… go and fuck themselves when they wanted to get in your way?”
The reply to that was a raised coffee mug and a nod. Mandy was very good at running interference, but at the same time she was more than capable of dealing with the bureaucracy and keeping Cleo out of it.
Mandy’s expression turned earnest: “Okay. Spill it. What’s going on?”
Cleo put the mug down and gathered the report into her hands: “This morning a report came in from a diocese. It tells of … well …” She handed the report over: “… you read it.”
The earnest expression turned from Cleo towards the papers, becoming quizzical. With a shrug, Mandy started to read the report, skimming over it at first, then suddenly stopping when she came to the middle of the second page and starting over again. When she was done, her eyes returned to Cleo: “Okay. A girl’s on a sex kick, screwing left, right, and centre, and someone didn’t like it, complained about it in confession and then … this appears in your box.”
“What do you make of it?”
“Nothing. She sounds like a randy tramp that’ll fuck anything in sight.”
Reading the report again, Mandy pursed her lips when she came upon it: “That’s … impossible.”
Cleo handed over the picture that sealed things for her: “No, it isn’t.”
Mandy stared at the picture in disbelief: “Cosplayer or something … has to be some kind of fetish.”
“No. I wish that was true, but … no.”
Her eyes flicking from Cleo to the picture, Mandy asked: “You’re seriously telling me that she’s some kind of devil?”
Learning back, her blue eyes watered: “No, she’s human, mostly. It looks like she’s been possessed by a succubus.”
“How do you know?”
Still looking at the ceiling, Cleo didn’t dare look at Mandy: “Ever wonder why there’s that sealed-up section of the catacombs?”
“Not really. The signs say it’s unsafe, structurally unsound.”
Cleo’s voice lowered: “It isn’t. It contains … things that should never have been found.”
“Cleo … What are you saying exactly?”
“You know all of those legends? The stories about devils and angels, possession and so on?”
Leaning forwards, she looked across the desk: “I was there, around the witching hour one Halloween. I found a locked chest in which there were … things. Dark things.”
Mandy started to laugh, but when she saw the look in Cleo’s eyes she choked it away: “You’re serious?”
“There are two kinds of sex demons. Name them.”
Mandy’s reply was by rote: “They are the succubus and the incubus. They seduce mortals, take their souls and … are you telling me you encountered one of them?”
A short nod was the answer.
Cleo’s eyes wandered around the room: “I found myself at the mercy of an incubus. He wanted … a succubus mate. Needed one to start his conquest of the world. I was … handy …”
“I came within a soul’s breath of being made a succubus. He had everything needed save one thing. I didn’t know what he was talking about, he searched, trying to find it. He ran out of time, was banished back to where he came from when his time was up. When I came to my senses, I got out of there. The next day I had the place sealed off.”
Mandy put the picture on the desk between them: “And this?”
Cleo looked at the picture again: “She seems to have come into possession of what he was looking for, and then been possessed.”
Her finger tapped the picture. It showed what might well be the most sexually alluring women either of them had ever seen: deep cleavage, a wild mane of hair. That wasn’t strange; there were a lot of beautiful people in the world after all. What were haunting were her red eyes and the green emerald that was nestled above her cleavage, one that was glowing, seemingly merged with her body, tendrils of similar green spending out from it under her skin.
“She’s the host for a succubus.”
Mandy didn’t say anything for a long time, the shadows in the room moving slowly as the light of the day turned slightly darker.
“Assuming you’re right … what happens next?”
Cleo’s answer made Mandy shiver: “I … don’t know.”
“Okay, where do we start then?”
“Have to gather some things from the artifacts. I’m … going to deal with this.”
Cleo’s expression turned sour: “As my … penance … for what happened … this is my responsibility.”
Cleo had never heard Mandy rant before, but there was always a first time: “Bullshit! Whatever happened wasn’t your fault! They can go and fuck themselves! You? Against this? Bullshit!”
“I know what to expect; she’s a succubus, she won’t affect me like an incubus would. There’s a way to banish them.”
Cleo’s thoughts betrayed her confidence: “Never have, though … no idea what happens if I try.”
Mandy pushed the report and the picture aside: “You’re not going alone. I’m coming.”
“No, you aren’t. I’m not going to risk …”
“Stop. Just … stop. I’m not going to stand aside and do nothing. You can’t do this alone, you aren’t going to. You and I both know you aren’t as young as you were. Let me help you … please?”
Cleo looked very small there in her old, worn leather chair: “Miranda …”
“If this goes badly …”
“It won’t. You’ll see.”
“If it does …”
“… I’ll … take care of you.”
Cleo smiled softly: “Thank you.”
The phone rang in the next moment, the two women looking at it. Picking up the phone, Cleo sighed: “Yes, your Grace?”
The conversation was very one sided, Cleo not saying another word until she put the phone down again.
“I’m expected to be on a plane in the next few hours.”
Mandy smiled as she stood up to leave: “We’re expected. You know … this might be a great chance to do some shopping. I’ve never been over there before.”
Cleo shook her head: “More T-shirts?”
A pair of blue eyes sparkled: “Darn right.”
Five hours later and Cleo found herself sitting onboard a private airplane. It was a new experience for her, one she found delightful, all things considered. Security was a breeze, no fighting for the armrests either. The only thing she didn’t care for was having to wear what made her look like a university professor, 1960s era glasses included. Tweed jackets were not her thing. No matter; she wasn’t a fashion plate, anyway, and appearances had to be taken into account.
There was no sign of Mandy as she heard the pilots warn they would be leaving shortly. She relaxed slightly. She had what she needed in her sealed case. Mandy wasn’t here and she’d be safely away from what might …
“Hey. Sorry I’m late.”
Standing there, a backpack slung over her shoulder, was Mandy … but a far more sexually charged Mandy than Cleo had ever seen. A wild mane of red hair was the first shock, the second was the low riding hip-hugger jeans and the pair of cork-wedge heels she was wearing. But the one thing that made it clear that, no matter what she was wearing, no matter how shocking the change, one thing made it clear it was Mandy: the baby-doll T-shirt, which revealed her underboobs and her cute navel. Or rather what was written on it: Blink if you want me
Mandy smiled as the door closed and the plane started to move. Tossing the backpack onto an empty seat, she settled beside Cleo: “Eight hours plus on a plane, just you and me.”
Cleo managed to blink before the plane took off.
“Cat got your tongue?”
What happened after that involved a lot of blinking, and a lot of tongue . . .
. . . and something nagging at the back of Cleo’s mind.
The Second Coming
There are some that say getting there is half the fun, that the journey is more important than the destination. In fact, there are a lot of sayings which refer to the important aspects of traveling and that one should remember them fondly. As the airplane touched down on the runway, Cleo found herself mulling those thoughts over in her mind, if for no other reason than to distract herself from the flight she had shared with Mandy, time spent being more intimate with her than anyone Cleo had ever been with before. Save for … him.
His words still haunted her dreams sometimes. Damn him to hell, even if he was there already.
She shivered at the unbidden thoughts and looked across the aisle to where Mandy was sleeping, the screech of the tires not waking her up, nor the roar of the engines as they slowed the jet down. Reflecting on the past hours and what happened between them, Cleo didn’t quite understand exactly what pushed Mandy, why she felt this was the time to say what she did, what had made her say those three words:
“I love you.”
Cleo knew this, had known it for a long time, if she was being honest with herself. But she also had to be honest in other ways. Mandy was much younger, or perhaps it was better to say that Cleo was far older. The difference would make any real relationship awkward at best, impossible at worst.
Mandy remained blissfully unaware of Cleo’s thoughts. She curled up under a thin blanket, laying across some folded down seats in an impromptu bed of sorts. Cleo smiled a bit at the angelic expression that her apprentice showed as she cuddled around a pillow.
She wasn’t quite an angel on the flight over. No, that wasn’t the right thing to say. Nor was what Cleo had to explain to Mandy:
“You need someone better than me.”
It wasn’t the truth. She knew that. Mandy did, as well, she suspected, because it didn’t stop Mandy from what happened in the middle of the night, somewhere over the Atlantic.
Thank God for small mercies.
Looking at the sealed case which had accompanied her, as it rested on the floor, the question was if she’d be able to make good on her bravado and contain the succubus. Hopefully the answers were in the case.
The lights of the taxiway streamed by, flashing on and off as Cleo looked out the window. Was she ready for this? Could she do what was necessary? A cough from Mandy crystallized her thoughts.
Yes, because there was no other way.
Rubbing sleep from her eyes, Mandy mumbled: “Hey.”
“Oh … good enough.” The red head—when did her hair get so red?—waved her pillow: “Need a better pillow, though.”
She knew what was coming next, but fell into the trap anyway: “Too lumpy.”
“I like your lumps.”
Turning away, Cleo started to gather her things, trying to hide a light blush as she did so. Mandy had pressed herself against the window and was regarding the scene outside: “So, where to first?”
“Need to pay respects to officials in the diocese that reported this. Then we should go and talk to the pastor involved before getting to … her.”
The plane came to a stop, the engines spooling down in the next moment as the main door was opened from the outside. Mandy considered things, but then offered: “How about you go and deal with the diocese and I’ll go and talk to the pastor. I’ll meet you at the hotel after.”
“Any particular reason?”
Mandy’s answer was to point at her T-shirt: “I’m not exactly dressed for the occasion. You, however, look boring, and I’m sure they’ll love that.”
Cleo peered through her glasses: “Probably right; they’re not expecting you either.”
“But you’re only going to see the pastor, nothing else; right?”
She rolled her eyes: “Fine. I promise I won’t go and do something stupid.”
Nodding, for really there was nothing else that she could do, Cleo gathered her things and left the plane a moment later. Mandy watched from the airplane window as Cleo was driven off to her meeting.
As Cleo’s car vanished out of sight, the cockpit door opened and one of the pilots asked: “Need anything, Miss?”
Mandy had the oddest look as she slung her backpack over her shoulder and made her way out: “Oh, lots of things. But I’m working on them.”
The pilot watched her walking towards the terminal building until she was called by the other pilot about an issue. By the time she looked back, Mandy had vanished.
The drive to the diocesan office was uneventful. Cleo really not paying much attention as she looked through the file and reminded herself, several times, that she was here to make friends and influence enemies. The sigh at not having Miranda there was a long one. Like most bureaucracies, the diocese ran on its own schedule, and she found herself sitting in a reasonably comfortable waiting room for her turn to pay respects and get her marching orders. While she had left many of her things with the driver, she had retained the sealed case with her in case she needed it.
Pushing her glasses up into place, she hoped not to.
“Sister? If you would?”
Moments later Cleo had been ushered in and found herself on the other side of a dark oak desk being stared at.
“Hello, your Grace.”
“We find ourselves in a trying time, Sister. If what this seems to be is correct, it must not be allowed to become public knowledge.”
As if that was the real problem here. “Of course. I shall endeavour to be discreet.”
“Do you require anything?”
Prayers would be nice. Some divine help even better. “I have what I need. What remains is finding where she is, confronting her and putting an end to this.”
“I see. Should you have need of something, contact me directly.” In other words, don’t call me unless it’s dire.
“As you wish, your Grace. Is there any new information you can give me?”
He gestured to a small stack of papers: “That is all we know about the possessed herself. There are some new photographs—shocking. She remains attached to the apartment building.”
As Cleo looked through the papers, her mind reviewed what she had been told was to be her fate so long ago. To build a nest, fill it with devoted lemmings, then use them to open the gates and draw … that … to the Earth.
It seemed like the succubus was starting the process, but she didn’t have everything she needed. Thankfully, that wasn’t going to happen; the nun had left what the incubus had gathered in the catacombs.
But it could still be a trap, and she was the one going into it.
Cleo half-listened to the bishop going on, but her focus was on the photograph of a young woman attached to a summary of her life—Miss Ordinary more than anything else. She seemed nice, all things considered. The diocesan staff had managed to come up with a lot of detail on her: from a small town, small family, no relationships known of, excelled in college—was interested in archaeology, no less—and was working as an assistant to the National Museum before this all happened.
Cleo pursed her lips as she turned the page over and looked at what she had become: “Damn.”
Cleo’s eyes broke from the page: “Sorry, your Grace. Just … surprised as to her transformation.”
“It is … severe.”
You mean that she’s attractive. “Yes.”
Cleo looked at the succubus: “Not my type … Thank God.” Stuffing the papers into her case, her eyes returned to her: “Is there anything else, your Grace?”
“No, I think we’re done here. Please keep me informed.”
She gathered her belongings: “Of course.”
Soon after, Cleo was on her way to the hotel to meet Miranda, hoping against hope that her apprentice didn’t do something stupid.
It had taken Mandy some time to locate the pastor involved. She had even taken the time to make herself look more presentable along the way, trading in her tempting look for Cléophée for something somewhat less sexy. While the jeans weren’t riding so low on her hips and there wasn’t any tummy being shown, the T-shirt still had a saying on it: “Give me cuddles”.
The church was, truly, one of the most beautiful places Mandy had ever seen. Lovely grounds; she especially loved the rose bushes dotted about the landscaping. There was a warmth, a joy that she felt the further she walked into this domain. The redhead, her hair in a scrunchie, had loved the little sign near the walkway leading towards her destination: “He could walk on water. Please walk on the grass.” So, of course, Mandy did so with delight. She had just reached the steps leading to the main building when her attention was diverted.
“Welcome! What brings you here on this fine day?”
Mandy turned towards the person greeting her and found herself in the presence of a kind gentleman with sparkling blue eyes.
“I’m looking for the pastor.”
“It would seem you have found him.”
He offered his hand in greeting and she didn’t hesitate to shake it, even with the gardening gloves he was wearing: “It’s good to meet you! I’m Sister Miranda and …” The handshake turned into a warm affectionate hug which Mandy enjoyed to the fullest. There were so few she had encountered that she liked at first blush, fewer still whom she felt had the wisdom of God within them.
There was no doubt that he was this and far more.
“Oh! Forgive me! I was going to tend to our roses! I’m sorry!”
Her laugh was sweet and unconcerned: “Please, don’t stop on my account … and I don’t mind the dirt. I work in dusty places all of the time.”
He peered at her through his glasses: “Dusty?”
“Yes. I’m … involved in the catacombs of the Synodical antiquities library. I’m Sister Cléophée’s assistant.”
A spark of recognition appeared: “Ah, yes! How is she? I haven’t seen her for years! Is she doing well? I trust she’s looking after herself?”
Mandy shrugged: “Bit stressed, but okay, thank you, Father.” Then she considered him: “How is it you know her?”
He nodded in the direction of one of the larger rose bushes: “Come, please? We can talk while I tend to things.”
Mandy found a small rock to perch herself upon as he began to trim: “I met Cléophée … oh … it must be just about 1999 or so. I was on sabbatical, working on some papers I was intending to publish. Found myself needing access to things that weren’t normally available, and so …”
“So you went to visit her?”
“More like came to odds with her. She’s very protective of her charges.”
Mandy just laughed: “Yes, well … that’s Cléophée.”
He continued trimming for a moment, then: “Well, if you know what sort of chocolate she likes, and where to get it …”
They both laughed over that revelation, both knowing instinctively that each had used that particular temptation on Cleo in the past.
He placed some clippings aside, regarding her: “So, what brings you here to visit?”
Mandy considered this for a moment, contemplating how to say something without saying it: “I’m here to … look into something Cléophée was made aware of by the diocese. About a certain woman who has … a very high sexual appetite.”
He was in the midst of clipping off a dried-out branch and paused: “She’s … been sent here?”
“No, we’ve been sent here. Well, in reality the church only knows about her, I’m … working in the background.”
His voice was a whisper: “If you are close to Cléophée … You’ll know her one secret.”
Mandy stood up and walked to him, placing her lips close to his ear: “All Hallow’s Eve … the catacombs, the sealed up section …” She paused, considering, then added: … an incubus, wanting her as his succubus.”
The sigh was telling even if Mandy didn’t see his eyes: “Yes.”
He remained kneeling as Mandy stood next to him, a hand gently lying upon his shoulder.
“Cleo wouldn’t talk about it much; said she came within a soul’s breath of being a succubus.”
He nodded: “Yes.”
The realization hit Mandy and she dropped to her knees beside him: “You … You were there.”
He nodded again, not saying anything.
His focus was on a single rose, partly turned black: “It was All Hallow’s Eve, 2001. I was looking for what was rumoured to be some tablets telling of the earliest days of the church. She had started her work on cataloguing everything there, and she suggested we have a look in the deepest annex. We … didn’t find what we expected.” He picked up the shears and cut off the dying rose: “We found dark things that never should be touched. We were … lucky.”
She nodded: “Lucky enough that Cléophée was saved, the place was sealed and that would be the end of it.”
“Now it seems that someone found the missing link in the chain, has been possessed by it.”
“You knew immediately, didn’t you?”
“Yes. I … saw Cléophée, turned, on the way to being a succubus.”
Mandy’s mind reeled at the thought: her Cléophée a succubus? At the same time she found herself wondering what she looked like … and rehearsing some of her desires for Cléophée. “How do we stop this succubus?”
“I … don’t know. But I had to let someone know about this. They have to be stopped. Can you imagine the power they have?”
“I … have an idea.”
“No, you don’t. I hope you never do.”
He pushed the shears into the soil and turned to Mandy: “Whatever happens, don’t let her fall. Don’t leave her alone with the succubus.”
“She’s meeting with the diocese. I … offered to come here and talk to you. She didn’t exactly put up much of a fight over that idea.”
“She … probably never wants to have anything to do with me.”
Brushing his hands on his apron, he considered: “Would you want to be reminded about what happened? I still have nightmares about it.”
Mandy wasn’t satisfied with that answer: “Okay. You aren’t telling me the entire story. Out with it: what aren’t you saying?”
“I’ve spent my life trying to get over what happened. What we did to each other, how close things came to both of us losing our souls.” His eyes scanned the grounds: “I came here seeking solace for my sins. This is the only place I’ve found where I’ve been able to rest since that night.”
He turned to her once more: “When you crossed onto these hallowed grounds … what happened?”
Mandy didn’t hesitate: “There’s … a warmth here. Like …”
“Like Goddess herself was here with you?”
“You mean God?”
“We each see God out of our own experience and perceptions. Some see him, some her, some see something other. All are valid ways of seeing and seeking the Divine. Each of us has our own path.”
“So why ‘Goddess’ for you?”
He smiled: “That, my dear Sister Miranda, is a matter of faith … and of using a reference that the listener most appreciates. ‘Goddess’ seems to fit for you.”
Mandy was silent then, watching him return to his work. A soft buzz brought her attention to her phone: “Cléophée is on her way to the hotel. I should be going.”
“Do you call her ‘Cléophée’?”
“Only when we’re being very serious about something. She’s ‘Cleo.’”
“Mandy … most of the time.”
“Don’t lose her. If you need me …” he dug into a pocket and handed her a card, “… call me … anytime.”
She fingered the card, the only thing written on it a phone number: “You haven’t said your name.”
“No, I haven’t.”
“Names have power. Lesson one from the hell we unearthed.”
“I need to know more, a lot more.”
“You know everything you need to know; more than I did.”
“You’re speaking in riddles.”
“They do, as well.”
Mandy’s frustration came to a head: “Why aren’t you telling me what I want to know?”
“Because … I was the incubus to Cléophée’s succubus.”
The revelation made Mandy step back: “Stay away from me.”
His expression was hurt, almost to tears: “I was the host to the incubus. I was the one used. I was the one that fell and almost took Cléophée with me.”
He left the shears in the dirt, standing up: “If she falls, then I will. She will come for me. She’ll come for anyone she loves because that’s what gives them power. If she falls, she’s coming for you, too. Then all will be lost.”
“She’s never said she loves me!”
“But you love her … don’t you?”
Mandy covered her eyes, sobbing loudly: “Oh, dear Goddess …”
He didn’t answer her. When she could see again, he was gone, leaving only the shears embedded in the earth, a single red rose cut and laying at Mandy’s feet.
“Damn you, Cleo, you’d better be waiting for me or I swear I’ll never forgive you.”
At that moment, Cleo was being driven towards their hotel, the car passing in front of a certain apartment building. A tenant within the building looked down as Cleo passed by, her long black fingernails leaving scratches as she drew her hand over the glass.
“Little foolish Cléophée. Run about, chase your tail.”
She pulled back from the window: “Now, as for you, slave, I have need of you.”
The shrieks of pleasure echoed down the concrete canyon in the wake of Cleo’s passing, she never hearing them … But, from within her sealed case, a faint red glow seeped past the edges, as if trying to escape before it faded away.
The Second Coming
The hotel was a speck in the distance as Mandy fumed, time ticking away from her. The cab was stuck in traffic, and it was taking ages to get to Cleo, time that she feared she couldn’t afford to waste.
It did, however, allow her to think about what she’d learned about her Cleo. Thinking of Cleo as being her’s, even if that wasn’t exactly true, caused a smile to appear. She loved Cleo, really had from the moment they’d met, ages ago. The guilty wish that she made with shocking regularity came to her thoughts once more: “If only …”
The rest was between herself and those above that might be listening.
The smile ebbed away as the apprentice put the pieces together as best she could. Cleo and … whomever he was—damn him for not saying his name—had been caught in the whims of otherworldly beings and had suffered for that. Somehow, and she didn’t know how, exactly, they’d both managed to get free, cover up the mess and moved on.
At least Cleo seemed to. He, on the other hand, Mandy wasn’t so sure about. She scanned the buildings around her as the cab started to move again, her thoughts now picking apart his story. Was he the one to be possessed first, or was it Cleo? Did she take him, or vice versa? The story she had didn’t say one way or the other.
Either way, in the end it didn’t seem to matter all that much. He’d become the incubus and Cleo had been transformed … probably … it was so unclear … into a succubus. Mandy couldn’t help but pull on her hair in frustration over that, wondering why it had failed, how they had become themselves again. But most troubling of all: how was it that someone else had been possessed by a succubus, and what did she want? Something in all of this didn’t make any sense, and it was bothering her.
The rumbling of the cab over a curb finally announced that she’d arrived at her destination. Throwing more money at the cabbie than the ride could have possibly cost, Mandy shoved the door open, rushing into the hotel in the next moment.
It wasn’t the most modern of hotels, and, if Mandy had cared, she might even be somewhat surprised at the “old world” charm of the place. But she didn’t, her focus being on the young receptionist. Idly, in passing, Mandy thought she looked a bit stern for her age, but then she supposed that was more a reflection of the hotel than the woman herself. “Room key for Sister Miranda, please?”
There was a palatable pause as the holder of the keys looked Mandy over, considering that the young nun didn’t exactly look like she was “religious”—whatever that meant. But Cleo’s assistant she had already slung the backpack onto the desk before pulling a card out of her pocket and handing across the oak tabletop. The pause continued a bit further, as Mandy wondered if, had she appeared in a habit, there’d be half as much delay. Her temper got the better of her: “Is there a problem? Shall we call Sister Cléophée?”
Her card vanished behind the desk and a bronze key attached to a plastic fob was placed in front of her. “Sorry, Sister. You …” again there was a pause, a delay, “… don’t look like what I expected.”
“How do you mean?”
The answer was, in its own way, telling: “I was expecting someone much older.”
And there it was, the entire issue between Mandy and Cleo: their ages.
“Of course you were. Sorry to disappoint.”
What came next was … confusing. The strawberry blonde smiled: “Oh … so not disappointed.” That smile followed Mandy right to the elevators … and it made her shiver.
Many floors above, Cleo was sitting beside the bay window in her room, not seeing the view outside—which only consisted of another building’s brickwork and a sliver of light that was heating the bricks. She had been considering what to do, and she didn’t particularly like where her studies had taken her. The case she had brought was resting between her chair and the window, the seals broken and one item from within the case now laid on the table in front of her. An ancient work, telling of banishing spells, orders of control, and more darker things that were, so it was told, the only means to overcome a succubus, or incubus for that matter.
Sacrifices would have to be made.
That thought was interrupted by a key rattling in the door: “Damn it, Cleo! You’d better be in there!”
Mandy? So soon? Cleo hadn’t expected her, wasn’t prepared for her. Her eyes fell upon the open page and, as Mandy threw the door open, she closed the book, hiding away what she knew she had to do.
Time came to a crawl. Mandy was framed in the doorway, her expression a mixture of worry, concern, and something approaching terror. Cleo’s hand rested on the book, her expression as neutral as she could make it … until Mandy spoke: “In God’s name, Cleo. I want the truth no matter what, and I want it right now!”
Cleo’s eyes turned away: “You met him. How … is he?”
She didn’t look as the door was slammed shut, nor as she heard the sound of Mandy’s backpack being thrown into a corner of the room. Cleo did look—she didn’t have a choice—when her cheek was touched by Mandy’s fingers.
Mandy stood there, her red hair wild, her expression pained and hurt. The saying on her shirt, asking for cuddles, made Cleo sigh: “Is … he …?”
“He’s there. Said to say ‘Hi’ … among other things.”
The senior partner brought her hand to touch her junior’s, carefully moving it aside: “Mandy …”
“No! Just … Damn it, Cleo, tell me what the hell’s going on!”
She didn’t want to. She was certain that telling Mandy everything would likely get her young lover damned. She’d be as cursed as Cleo was … and she wasn’t going to do that. This was her burden, and she’d make things right no matter the cost.
“He and I were … attracted to each other, a long time ago.”
Mandy nodded as she took the other chair by the table and focused her attention on Cleo: “I figured that.”
“Does that upset you?”
Mandy’s expression was hurt: “No! Why would it? I wasn’t around then, so how can I be upset about you being happy? For fuck’s sake, Cleo, haven’t you figured out that I just want you to be happy?”
“I’m … too old. You’ve got your entire life ahead of you, and …”
“… and it’s my choice who I want to be with, to care about, and yes, believe it or not, Cleo, you don’t get the right to tell me who I want to fuck, either.”
Cleo’s eyes were wide as she peered through her glasses, her voice being lost in that admission. But they got larger still as the redhead continued: “I don’t care about your age or mine. I don’t care who’s older. What I do care about is that I love you.” The dark-haired scholar was going to protest, but Mandy’s hand covered her own resting on top of the book: “You care about me, Cleo, I know that. You don’t have to say you love me back, but I am telling you I love you.” The passionate novice nodded at the book: “I want you to know that. I know you well enough to know that you, dearest Cléophée, are about to do something incredibly stupid. But, before you do, you’re going to know that I need you, that I’m not leaving you, and that I’ll do whatever I have to.”
The room was silent for a time, the two looking at each other for several moments before Cleo answered: “It is incredibly stupid.”
Mandy shook her head: “Of course it is.”
“She’s possessed by the succubus. This book explains that she’s a vessel, not in control of what she does. The succubus uses her body, growing in power, feeding. She’s building a nest for her thralls to protect her. That takes time. She probably has at least one by now. She probably has her hooks into a lot of others.”
Mandy’s thoughts turned to the receptionist downstairs: “How can you tell?”
“We can’t. There’s nothing, really, that would be obvious to us. Oh, they might be more sexually active, their sexual congress being a means for the succubus to feed faster.” Cleo nodded at the case: “There’s an item in there that warns when one is close by.”
“Have you checked?”
“I did when I arrived. It seems like we’re safe enough.”
Mandy’s tension ebbed slightly. That woman downstairs must have a thing for redheads or something. “Okay. What’s your plan, then?”
“We go to her.”
“That’s bad idea number one.”
“I have to get in the same room with her.”
“That’s bad idea number two.”
“I’ll have to be touching her when I recite the hymn to banish her back into the emerald she was imprisoned in.”
“Annnd that’s number three.”
There had been little conflict between them in all of the years they’d know each other, but this time there was going to be some. “Who else is going to do this? You? You haven’t a clue what to do!”
“I’ll learn! Cleo! Listen to yourself!”
“No! You are not! I will not let you!”
“Fuck that, Cleo! I’m not going to lose you because of some bitch from hell!”
“I won’t be lost!”
“Bullshit! You’re going to be a martyr, and I know what that means!”
Cleo’s next words were a whisper: “Miranda … I do love you.”
“Then … why?”
Cleo looked almost ancient as she replied: “I’ve been through this. I know what she’s feeling, trapped inside, not being able to act, to do anything to stop … it. Even if I had to kill the soul trapped. It’s what I would do if it was you that was possessed.”
“You cannot understand what it’s like … The … need … how strong it is, what you’d do to feed it.”
“No, I can’t. Please …”
“I wasn’t possessed by a succubus, I was the succubus. I was—every part of me—a succubus in all ways that mattered. I threw him to the ground, rode him, fucked him, and made him cum over and over.”
Mandy’s eyes widened at Cleo’s admission. She’d never talked like this often, if at all.
“I craved his lusts, I suckled on his needs. I drove myself on his cock relentlessly. I was sex incarnate. I wanted more and more, but I couldn’t reach that perfect orgasm that I knew was there, just out of reach.”
“What … stopped you?”
Cleo laughed a bitter laugh: “I couldn’t have the orgasm that would complete me. Not that I didn’t try, not that he didn’t try. We fucked in the catacombs for hours, every possible and impossible way you can’t imagine.”
“What happened when it was over?”
“We were a sweaty mound of flesh, covered in dirt. Anything that I cared about him wasn’t there any more: a … pound of flesh for my not becoming the succubus that he wanted. We couldn’t even look at each other. We sealed up the damned place and went our separate ways.”
Not the complete truth, but good enough that Mandy nodded, accepting it: “Which explains why he went where he did, but not why this succubus appeared near him. Why not you?”
Cleo thought for a moment: “I think that Amber, the girl possessed, found the emerald somewhere on her travels; she’s an archaeology assistant. Her home’s here, the apartment the succubus is using as her nest. She might have come into physical contact with it at the university. The succubus would know that he was nearby and tried to draw him to her.”
“Instead, he called.”
“Yes. He did.”
“And now you’re here.”
“You do realize that this is a trap?”
“I know. I still have to stop this.”
Mandy’s eyes fell upon the book: “Wonderful. When do we …”
“The tomes say that we have to catch her feeding.”
“After midnight … before three in the morning.”
Mandy looked at her phone: “A lot of time till then.”
“Better get some rest.”
Neither did, if they were honest with themselves, but sometimes sleep isn’t as important as being.
They arrived at the apartment at one in the morning. The entire building was silent, lights out or dimmed. The hallways weren’t lit up, but why would they be? Sane people weren’t creeping around at one in the morning, after all.
The only light that was seen outside was coming from Amber’s apartment. But even if there hadn’t been a light on, the moans were calling out to Cleo and Mandy as the two made their way upwards.
Amber, or what had become her, was very much awake … and feeding … loudly. It should have been enough to keep the entire building awake, someone making that much noise would wake the dead, Mandy thought.
“The place is under her spell. She’s feeding off their dreams and the one she’s …”
Mandy nodded: “I get it.”
The rest didn’t need to be explained.
The door to her apartment opened easily. It wasn’t locked; why would it be? The succubus controlled Amber, she controlled the building. There was no reason for it to lock the door. Once inside, they found a typical university post-grad’s meager apartment: put-together furniture, books for tables, a living room was strewn with take-out boxes, some empty, some not so much so. Clothing was strung here and there, some women’s, some men’s. It was clear that nothing really mattered around them.
Save for whatever was going on in the bedroom. Cleo held the book in her hands, a finger marking the page she needed in case she forgot the words. Mandy was beside her, waiting for the moment to rush in with Cleo. They hadn’t noticed the change when they came in, but it suddenly struck Mandy. The screaming and moaning had stopped. The apartment was as still as a tomb: “Fuck. She knows we’re here.”
Cleo nodded as they approached the bedroom door. Cleo motioned to Mandy to stay behind her as she looked around the corner. She hoped, dearly, that it wasn’t going to be how she remembered things from so long ago.
It wasn’t. But it was worse in so many ways.
Amber—what had been Amber—was hovering over her victim, who had a glazed look in his eyes. Her hair was red, so amazingly red, cascading down her back in a mangled wave of curls. But it wasn’t as red as Mandy’s. Somehow that thought made Cleo nibble her lip and catch her breath.
Amber bent over at her waist, her hands on either side of him. Cleo couldn’t see exactly what the succubus was doing, but the sound of her thrall sucking in a breath made it clear. She’d wrapped her lips around his cock, taking him deeply. Cleo was mesmerized by her back undulating as she caressed his shaft with her tongue and lips. He bucked every time her lips bottomed out on him.
Cleo tried to look away, but Amber’s hand, her long red nails appearing between her legs then starting to toy with her clit, held her. Cleo shuddered, her vision held by the scene, her ears hearing nothing but the slurping and needful moaning of her thrall.
It took Mandy pulling Cleo back to break the spell. Even so, the sounds didn’t stop now. Amber’s moans mixing with her thrall’s as she continued to take him deeply. Mandy looked at Cleo with worry. Cleo nodded and managed a wan smile, even as her sex trembled and weeped from what she’d seen. Mandy pushed her way around Cleo, then looked herself to see what was going on.
The assistant found the succubus’ host stoking her thrall’s shaft, it being slick and wet with her saliva. She licked the tip, he cried in need, and she pushed him back on the bed. Many watched the succubus tie her victim up with scarfs, holding him fast, before she straddled him and his cock, which was pointing upward. He tried to thrust himself upwards, to envelope his need in her slick hot sex. but she refused him.
He was hers. Not the other way around.
Mandy looked back to her mentor, she reading the page in the book, mouthing the words to herself in preparation. The succubus wasn’t feeding, just yet. Cleo had explained what that moment was. When she looked again, Mandy found Amber playing with her food. She lowered herself, achingly slowly, onto him. No human could possibly have managed what Mandy witnessed, as it took almost an entire minute for Amber to edge him slowly within her sex. Inch by inch she took him until with a lustful cackle of pleasure. She had trapped him beneath her.
As Mandy watched, Cleo stifled a moan in surprise. She could feel it. She felt every bump and ridge as Amber lowered herself upon him. It became far worse when the succubus started to ride him, her glistening folds gripping his shaft, milking him, drawing from him what she desired. The elder nun’s hips bucked in time as the succubus screamed in pleasure as she came … as she fed.
That realization broke the spell, and Cleo rushed past Mandy before she could react. The door slammed shut the moment Cleo was inside and all that Mandy could do was beat her hands against it, screaming Cleo’s name.
The succubus didn’t turn to look: “Cléophée.”
In spite of the slickness of her sex, Cleo managed a growl of anger: “Demon spawn.”
Amber laughed: “It takes one to know one.” A grunt of pleasure came, then Amber turned to look at her visitor, her wild mane of red framed seduction. Her curves were mesmerizing, and there, in the middle of her cleavage, was that damned piece of jewelry, bound to Amber’s body, warping her.
Cleo’s hands gripped the book tighter: “Release her.”
Amber giggled, then looked at her thrall and purred: “Cum.”
His scream was ecstasy, pain, and submission mixed into one unforgettable sound. Amber licked her lips and savoured the taste: “mmm … Never. So deliciously wanton they are. So easily corrupted to serve … me.”
The wave of his soul that washed through the room drove Cleo to her knees. The book fell to her side, one hand on top of it, the other desperately searching for her clit, trying to make herself orgasm in spite of herself. Her breath caught, her vision blurred.
“Nnnnnooo … I … I won’t let you.”
Outside of the room, Mandy heard the screams, and her banging on the door became more and more frantic. Seeing no other choice, she ran outside of the apartment. A fire axe was nearby and, in the next moment, she was trying to smash through the door, screaming Cleo’s name at the top of her lungs. The pastor’s warning echoed in her mind: “Do not leave her alone with the succubus.”
Cleo stumbled to her feet, the book left on the floor. Her legs wobbled, her sex drooled, her mind was awash in the pleasure the succubus was taking. As her fingers took hold of Amber’s hair, Cleo’s thoughts were of Mandy.
Then, she spoke the words. Words of banishment, her other hand taking hold of Amber’s arm. Words of damnation, her body pressed against Amber’s back. The Word as her hand moved from Amber’s hair to touch the jewel above her cleavage from which the succubus had come.
Mandy smashed the door open as a wave of red light exploded from within and threw her away from the door, leaving her crumpled in the middle of the living room. She looked at the open doorway, the room dark, the red light vanquished. She groaned in pain, crawling over to see within, fearing, praying.
The scene within was nothing that she expected. On the bed was the man Amber had been feeding from, out cold, but alive. draped over him was … Amber … Amber from before the succubus came into her life. Mandy stumbled over to them both, checking to be sure they were breathing. Amber was face down on the bed and Mandy turned her over. Amber was just another ordinary girl, nothing more. Between Amber and the man lay the emerald. It looked harmless, ordinary, nothing like the threat it was holding within itself.
Then she saw Cleo’s legs on the far side of the bed. It was but a moment before she was holding Cleo in her arms, her body like a rag doll. Mandy said a prayer as she watched Cleo’s chest rise and fall.
They’d won. They’d saved Amber, Cleo was alive, and things were going to be okay. She hugged Cleo’s body to her own, her hands stroking through Cleo’s hair aimlessly. Cleo looked to be asleep, she didn’t seem to have any broken bones, and there weren’t any bumps or bruises.
Mandy smiled softly as she pushed some of Cleo’s hair, with its enchanting red highlights, away from her forehead, which she kissed gently.
Then something brought her up short: Cleo’s hair had never had any red in it.
But this red was almost as brilliant as her own.
The Second Coming
The room was still and quiet, a shocking change from what had been moments before. Mandy held Cleo in her arms, Amber was out cold, as was the unfortunate young man that Amber, as a succubus, had sunk her claws into and fed from. The book laid nearby, the cover scored with what looked like claw marks, and Goddess-knew-how many pages beneath were destroyed. The emerald was cracked, dull, no longer a deep green as the pictures had shown before.
All were promising things, save for one that gave Mandy pause.
Cleo’s hair. There was red in it. She’d been warned by the pastor not to leave Cleo alone with the succubus. She feared that she knew the reason why, but prayed silently that she was wrong about it. More, she didn’t know what she was going to do next. Cleo wasn’t in any condition to help, nor was Amber—or her ex-thrall, for that matter. Reaching one hand into the pocket of her jeans, Mandy fingered the card the pastor had given her. She didn’t have any other options.
His voice was staticky: “Hello?”
“Cleo was alone.”
There was a telling silence. She thought her phone had lost the connection, but his whisper came through: “How… is she?”
The question brought the young nun up short, her eyes returning to her paramour: “She’s got some red in her hair. She’s out cold. Can’t say more.”
There was a tremor in his voice: “It starts with that. She’ll change. It’s inevitable.”
“Nothing is inevitable. How do we stop this?”
“You can’t. I can’t.”
“You said if I needed you, to call. Well, I need your ass and I need it now.”
The connection was fading in and out: “It’s not the time.”
“What are you talking about? I’m going to lose Cleo! I need you!”
“They’ll be coming for her … for you.”
The sound of footfalls in the hallway outside drew Cleo’s attention and her eyes darted around the room: “Who?”
“Don’t leave her. Don’t let them take her, no matter what.”
The line went dead.
Mandy stuffed the card away as they came into the room: “Right.”
The first person into the room made Mandy gasp in surprise. The voice was authoritative: “We’ll take over from here.”
Mandy’s blue eyes hardened as they came closer: “Don’t touch her.”
“Sister Miranda, step aside.”
“Not going to happen.”
“You have no choice. Leave her.”
Mandy’s first answer was to wave her cellphone at them as a voice came over the speaker: “911. What’s your emergency?”
Her second response as the interlopers glared was to raise her middle finger: “I need the police and an ambulance! My God! Something’s happened and I can’t wake them up!”
“We’re on the way Ma’am. Say on the line with me.”
By the time the police and ambulance arrived, the visitors were gone. Mandy had little time to gather up the book and the remnants of the emerald, stuffing both underneath the cushions of Amber’s couch outside. Not the best hiding place, but it would do …
… she hoped.
Mandy hadn’t left Cleo’s side, leaving the aftermath of Amber and her victim to the confused police in her wake, speeding away with the ambulance. She’d managed to turn on the gas stove, leaving a strong small of natural gas in the apartment. That would explain why everyone was out cold. Not the signs of sex, or the whips, or bondage paraphernalia, however. Mandy expected an article in one of the checkout rags to have pictures next week. The headline wouldn’t be near to the truth. Thank God … Goddess … whomever.
She didn’t sleep through the night, remaining by Cleo’s side, hoping she’d wake up. His warning kept her awake, praying that she’d not have to see the intruder again. But the visitors were back the next morning as Mandy held vigil in Cleo’s hospital room.
The sun hadn’t come over the horizon as the leader spoke: “None of this will help her, Sister. She needs to be taken to a place where she can be contained.
Mandy should have been cowed by their presence; she should have given in to their demands. She did, however, manage not to tell them to go and fuck themselves. That would have been pushing the limits and she couldn’t afford to do that, not with her.
“Sorry, Your Grace. Cléophée stays here.”
From across the room, her superior rested on an old hospital chair, the image of the proper head of their church, wise in all things … or so it would seem: “She is a threat. We cannot allow her to be free. It’s best we restrain her and exorcise what lurks within her. We have some theories, and …”
The revelation made the redhead shiver with realization: “You have no idea how.”
“The … method … has not been used in centuries.”
“What? Burning her at the stake? Drowning her?”
“They are options.”
Mandy couldn’t breathe. They’d given up on Cleo already, made up their minds. Damn them all!
The prelate moved to leave, placing a card on the other bed in the room: “You will keep me informed?”
Mandy didn’t look. Her focus was on Cleo’s pale features, her reply out of rote: “Yes, your Grace.”
The sunrise came, which found Mandy brushing her fingers through Cleo’s lovely ash-brown hair. Even with the red highlights, she held on to the thought that Cleo was still there, still … Cleo. Her fingertips were brushing over Cleo’s cheek when Cleo took a breath and whispered: “Mandy?”
“Hey … You scared the shit out of me. How are you feeling?”
Cleo looked much older as she sighed and opened her brown eyes, squinting at the light in the room: “Tired. Hurts all over. What happened?”
“You, my sweet dear Cleo, were an idiot. You said you were going to do something stupid and, by God, you did.”
Cleo’s thoughts weren’t of herself: “Doesn’t matter. How’s Amber and that poor man?”
Mandy couldn’t help her smile: “Amber’s been freed, he’ll survive. They’re both in the hospital recovering. Neither remembers exactly what happened.”
Turning on her side, wincing, Cleo pulled a pillow underneath her as she looked towards Mandy: “What … about me.”
Mandy took hold of Cleo’s hand: “You were out cold when I came in. Cleo … you’re …”
“No, you don’t. Her Grace was here. They want to imprison you, and that’s the best part of what they want to do.”
“I meant … I know I have the succubus in me.”
Mandy turned away, sniffling as she did so: “Seems so. Your hair’s got some red in it now.”
“It’s … different than what happened before.”
“In the catacombs it was a split second and I was turned. I don’t understand.”
The younger soul smiled: “I’ll take what I can get. There might be a way out.”
“There’s no way out, Cleo.”
They didn’t have another visit from the powers-that-be of the church, though Mandy couldn’t ignore the two men, looking out of place in their ill-fitting suits, positioned in the waiting room nearby. Not thinking much about the idea of leaving Cleo alone, she managed to convince the nursing staff that it would be quite fine for her to use the other bed in the room to watch over Cleo.
It had also been nice of that receptionist at the hotel to send over a bag of her and Cleo’s things. She still didn’t like that smile, however. Creepy didn’t come close to how ick it was. The evening came with Cleo sitting up in bed, poking at her tray’s contents: “The apple pie is almost edible.”
Mandy’s reply came from the other bed, her focus on the ceiling tiles: “I can bake a better one. I have a family recipe that you’d love.”
Cleo swallowed her bite: “What are you thinking about?”
“They’ve released Amber and Ben. They’re going to release you tomorrow.”
“Which means they’ll be waiting for you to leave. They’ll probably grab you and spirit you away.”
The sound of Cleo’s fork clattering to the table drew Mandy’s attention to her: “What’s up?”
She watched as her mentor pulled herself out of bed, gathered up a robe and some towels: “I need a shower. I’d rather have a bath, these old bones don’t like showers much.”
“You’re not old.”
Cleo didn’t answer that, save to shuffle past Mandy, closing the door to the bathroom soon after. The next thing that Mandy heard was the shower running, and, to occupy herself, she started to gather things for Cleo to wear when she was finished.
The shower ran as Cleo looked into the mirror. She was old, worn, tired. Sighing, she frowned and mumbled to herself: “What are we going to do?”
The steam soon covered the mirror and she turned away, pulling the curtain closed behind her. The soap was barely a sliver, being that it was supplied by the lowest bidder, as was the shampoo. Cleo stepped under the stream of water, soon soaking her short hair before beginning to rub the shampoo in.
Washing the shampoo out took a moment, then she splashed the warm water over her cheeks before her attention turned to soaping away the grime that was covering her skin. As she did so, she said a little prayer, her thoughts of Mandy as she did so. The smallest glimmer of a fantasy caused the smallest of embarrassed smiles to appear.
The first real change, the one that Cleo wasn’t quite aware of, was the wave of red that cascaded over her hair. Bit by bit, inch by terrible inch, Cleo’s lovely ash-brown hair turned to flame, the red that was almost, if not quite, as red as Mandy’s own.
She then felt her hair growing longer, the waterfall of red tickling down her back, the added weight of the water from the shower head making it now impossible to ignore. A few stray locks of hair came over her shoulders, the ends tickling over her chest and Cleo’s hands took hold of the errant red, lifting it to her eyes.
There wasn’t time to think, to cry out for Mandy. A spark of heat, centred deep within her, a need, a throbbing pulse of want, curled itself around her clit, causing Cleo to stumble backwards against the wall of the shower. Hot and wet now, her pussy made her shudder, her back arching. Gasping for breath, her cheeks flushed, she bit her lip as one hand toyed with her folds, the other cupping her breast, pinching a nipple.
“This is what you want. Open yourself to me.”
Cleo shook her head, mouthing a no, trying to resist, but there was nowhere to run to. Still, she couldn’t hide from the voice in her thoughts pressing on her, pushing her, demanding that she give in.
A flash of Mandy, nude, her sex open and weeping, took Cleo’s thoughts. Her want opened the door and the succubus crashed through it.
Mandy didn’t hear a thing.
Cleo’s pupils dilated, a surge passed through her skin, rippling as it traveled from her sex up to her forehead and down to the tips of her toes. She was groping her cleavage now; her body began to change, a gasp and moan escaping her finally, but not in her voice as it was. On the edge of her perception, it sounded lighter, breather, seductive and erotic.
It wasn’t her.
“But it is.”
With nipples far more perky than she had in her younger years, her breasts began swelling, her hands not able to hold them. Her nails lengthening, her skin became young, flawless, inhumanly perfect. Another wave of power cascaded through her, making her younger by the moment, ten years, twenty, even more, and still it didn’t stop.
Cleo shrieked, her body becoming hypersensitive, no longer the Cleo of learned years and knowledge, but a young, seductive woman whose body wanted one thing. That cry, and the sound of Cleo falling in the shower, Mandy heard clearly, and she rushed inside.
She found Cleo curled up on the shower floor, the water raining down on her. It was Cleo—there was enough there for Mandy to know it was her, without question. But the tears that came, seeing Cleo changed, were also accompanied by something she had forgotten:
Be careful what you wish for. You might just get it.
Mandy didn’t care about the water as she struggled to help Cleo sit up in the shower, her clothing being soaked through in moments. Cleo’s hands covered her face as she cried for what she’d lost.
“You should be happy for what you’ve gained!”
“Oh, God, Mandy.”
“Shh … It’s okay. Look at me.”
Cleo’s tear reddened brown eyes looked into Mandy’s blue: “What am I going to do?”
Mandy’s words hid the little shiver of pleasure she had in seeing her lover transformed: “We can’t stay here. You don’t look anything like … you.”
They looked at each other, Mandy holding Cleo, she shivering in her arms. The two redheads held each other’s gaze, a long moment passed, neither moving. It wasn’t clear which of them was the first, it didn’t matter. The needful kiss of two lovers, their desires opened at last, did.
The kiss was deep and soulful. Both were gasping in surprise when they had to part, their desire for one another now having no need to be hidden from view.
“Mandy … I …”
“I know. Cleo, I’ve always known.”
Cleo twined some of Mandy’s wonderful red hair around one of her fingers: “What are we going to do?”
Mandy had a smile that made Cleo shiver: “Oh … I have an idea about how we’re getting out of here.
The ache of the succubus within her grew a little, assuming that soon Cleo would be feeding. The whisper was heartfelt: “Please, don’t let me hurt anyone.”
“You won’t. I promise.”
With Mandy’s help, Cleo stood up and left the shower, wrapping the robe she’d brought around her waist. The mirror was still steamed over, but she could see the red of her hair reflected in it.
“Close your eyes.”
The sound of a towel being wiped over the mirror came.
“Have a look.”
The woman in the mirror opened her eyes, her lovely kissable red lips parted in surprise. Her hair. It was like fire now, but looking at Mandy, Cleo was, somehow, pleased that Mandy’s hair was brighter than her own. The robe parted in a way that left no illusion that her cleavage had doubled, possibly more than that. The hourglass figure, which the terrycloth robe did nothing to disguise, was mesmerizing.
“Perfect aren’t we? Prey will be crawling to us.”
Cleo was shocked how much she’d been changed. Licking her lips without realizing it, she sighed: “Well, I’m not getting out of here in the nude. I can’t leave wearing a hospital gown, either.”
Mandy’s cupping of Cleo’s cleavage was a surprise. More so when her smile became a little larger: “You won’t be.”
Cleo’s shivering wasn’t from being cold. The need deep inside her was inflamed by Mandy’s touch.
“She’ll be delicious.”
Cleo pushed herself away, trying to get space between them both, for Mandy’s sake.
“Liar! You want her.”
She’d managed to put her bed between them: “Mandy, no! That’s what it wants! It wants … you!”
“I know. But you want me, too. We’re going to use that.”
Cleo’s confusion was plain to see as Mandy turned away, opening the bags that had been delivered: “They are expecting two nuns. They won’t be expecting … us.”
The confusion got worse as Mandy dangled one flame red heel in one hand and a bit of sparkly fabric in the other.
“I’m not going to be able to resist you.”
Her smile was telling: “I hope not.”
The two watchers weren’t paying much attention. They’d been there the entire day and nothing had happened. They weren’t quite awake when the two young women walked down the hallway.
They woke up some when they passed by. It was impossible to miss two stunningly beautiful, erotically so, redheads walking together hand in hand. From the come-fuck-me-heels, to the barely-there miniskirts and the tighter than tight tank tops, there was no ignoring them.
They were, to be blunt, sex on heels.
The saying written on their tops, one of which was stretched to the point where her nipples were pressing clearly against the fabric, was even more to the point. Each had a glittering arrow, pointing at the other. The saying?
Their hips rolled as they passed, thrusting out their chests, their bodies on display in wanton lust. Every few steps one would lick and suck at the other’s neck with her red painted lips, or the other would caress a hand, with their long red nails, possessively over her partner’s ass.
When they arrived at the elevators, they spent the time waiting for one to arrive, lips pressed against lips, tongues playing against each other. The sound of the bell announcing the arrival of the elevator was ignored, at least long enough for one to push the other against the elevator doors. They opened in the next moment, the two stumbling in, giggling, but not stopping their tongue and lips playing with each other. As the elevator doors closed, the last view of the two women was one redhead pushing the other against a mirrored wall, the other gasping in surprise and need.
In the elevator, Mandy pressed Cleo against the wall: “I wasn’t sure that was going to work.”
Cleo moaned, her heat building from Mandy’s own: “You … You need something less slutty as a wardrobe. Some tweed jackets would … gawd … be a start. I … don’t want to know what they were thinking!”
Mandy’s cherry red lips caressed Cleo’s own: “I think … they either wanted to fuck us both, or they wanted to watch me go down on you.”
Cleo’s whimpers turned lustful as Mandy’s fingers dipped beneath her skirt: “Mandy … please …”
Hot breath on Cleo’s clit made Mandy’s next words shattering: “For you? Anything Cleo. Always and forever.”
As a very talented tongue stroked Cleo’s clit, her purr was on the edge of a growl as she moaned: “Mirandaaaaa …”
The Second Coming
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?”
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.
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.”
The Second Coming
The roses weren’t going to tend to themselves.
They grew wildly, given the chance to do so, spreading themselves over the land, claiming it all for themselves. The similarities weren’t lost to the man holding a pair of gardening shears and examining the plants. Looking over the plot where the roses grew, his thoughts passed back in time.
He remembered the first time he saw her, how smitten he was, how foolish he had been: so awkward, but then they’d both been fish out of water. A small smile played upon his lips as he remembered her gasp of delight when he presented the box of chocolates. A peace offering, really: he’d been too pushy, and she’d made sure to let him know how miffed she was. Cleo had, as he remembered, a lovely expression when she was miffed.
A particular branch caught his attention, off towards the low, wrought-iron fence that marked the boundary of the churchyard over which he was the guardian. That thought made his smile wane, becoming a bit thinner as he approached the withering vine. He still, after all of this time, hadn’t come to terms with the past, with not being able to see Cleo, not being able to tell her the truth.
Settling in to tend to the garden, to shape the roses to a purpose to which they were not naturally accustomed, his thoughts were taken again to that terrible night. The moment they’d shared, finding secrets never meant to be unearthed; how everything had changed in an instant for them both; how the truth still hurt and always would until the moment came. He hoped he would be prepared.
His hands were guiding the shears towards the vine that needed to be pruned, to help what remained to blossom, to grow, to form into what he needed it to be. The shadow that fell over the sun brought an uncontrolled shiver. The light dimmed around him, the roses of red becoming brighter in the darkness.
The shiver was then replaced by a heat he hadn’t felt since that night. A wash of lust passed over, making him hard, diverting his attention for a moment, the shears drawing away. His body flushed, his muscles tensed, and his eyes narrowed. Gathering himself, he drew his hand through his close-cropped sandy brown hair, his thoughts being taken to the past, out of his control. Flashes of memory came with nowhere to hide: Cleo being turned from the woman he’d loved into a creature with an entirely different purpose; praying for help, but finding that didn’t help him; not resisting when what happened to her befell him, as well. Looking down into her black eyes, her lips suckling his cock, he threw her over a crate, driving himself into her slickness, her screams of delight in being used driving him onwards. He was consumed with her, with pushing her over the edge, to make her, to make them both, the vessels they were destined to be. The scream of frustration, pressing her to reveal where it was, her confusion, then her keening need to be fucked again, all shattered when the moment passed with their destiny unfulfilled, seeing her lying in the dust, he towering over her. The look in her eyes was one of disgust, knowing that whatever they’d had was forever lost.
A deep breath took the memories away. The shadow was still over him, the heat still gnawing at his shaft. He’d felt this before, he knew, intimately, why this was happening. A lesser man would have cried out, screamed for release. He wouldn’t, not for her.
“How do your roses grow?”
His hand clutched the shears tightly at the sound of her voice. It was her, there was no mistake. He’d heard her laugh, cry out, scream in need. More than that, more than anything any other soul on the planet could understand, he knew her intimately. His reply was, surprisingly, unemotional: “Cléophée.”
“That’s all? Nothing else?”
He didn’t dare to look at her. He’d fall to her, be her plaything in a moment. His eyes remained on the roses even knowing that she was so close by. He thought he could feel her breath on the back of his neck, and was waiting for her fingers to clutch at his hair.
“Aren’t you going to come here and say hello?”
Her damned voice gave him strength. She wasn’t beside him. The shears snipped away in reply; he said nothing, knowing that her eyes were upon him, and he knew, intimately what he would see …
… her mane of red hair most of all.
“Why so shy? You fucked me, didn’t you? I remember you ramming your delightfully long and thick cock into my cunt, how you roared as you dug your nails into my ass.”
His hands trembled, slightly, but that wasn’t reflected in his voice: “I’ve had better.” The reply would, he knew, anger her, but he didn’t care. If she was going to take him, in the middle of the day, he wasn’t going to bend easily.
The chuckle was evil: “I’ve had you before. You’ll be mine again.”
“Hungry thing, aren’t you?”
Her words were wrapped in a purr of delight: “I’m starving.”
The shears were poised to cut as he wondered: “How’s Mandy?”
The growl was like nothing he’d heard before, but he pressed on regardless. The shears made a loud noise as he cut through the stem: “What’s that? Is the powerful Cléophée not getting her way? What a shame.”
“You both will be mine. I’ll have your cock and her cunt.”
Finally, he turned to look at her. She wasn’t as close as he had thought, even if her voice seemed like it was hovering over his shoulder. The object of his past desires had positioned herself on the other side of the fence, her hands trembling as she gripped the iron. He half expected to see Cleo, but instead he was greeted by the sight that had entranced him in the catacombs.
The attraction was there. He felt her claws digging into his soul. His shaft throbbed in desire for her. His breath caught at her display to tempt him. She’d forsaken the look he’d known for one of a woman in heat: flaming red hair dancing over her shoulders, her sexuality enhanced by the red leather dress she wore. He couldn’t ignore her cleavage, overlook the come-fuck-me heels, or miss the slit that allowed a glimpse of her bald sex as it glistened. She was sex incarnate, he couldn’t deny that.
“Cum to me …”
The words echoed within, plucking at the love he had for Cleo and the lust he had for Cleophée. He thought both to be buried away, but now her power blew upon the embers, a spark soon to be leading to a flame once more. The shears fell to the grass as he stood and turned towards her. Black eyes greeted him, her arms outstretched, beckoning to envelope him within her clutches.
They stood there, facing each other, neither moving. Then he opened his arms in a mirror of her own: “Take me, Cléophée.”
He saw the amusement on her lips, he watched as she walked along the fence, turning towards the cobblestone path which led onto the grounds. Her smile of anticipation turned to one of confusion suddenly. Her snarl broke him from the trance: “Fuck you.”
There was a moment of confusion, not understanding why the vision of lust was enraged. He called out to her: “What’s wrong? Come here and take me!”
She remained there, her hair swirling around her, the points of her horns appearing in shadow as her hair whipped around, daggers from her eyes being thrown at him. Then she turned on one heel and stalked away: “You can’t resist me forever!”
He didn’t look away until she’d disappeared around a corner, her power over him fading away slowly. Turning back to the roses, the sight of having pruned away the wrong vine made him sigh: “Never could, Cleo … You have me forever.”
The apartment was empty and silent, the events of the preceding day the source of some idle commentary from the dwellers of the complex. It was a shame that the nice young woman that lived there had suffered that awful gas leak, though it was a lucky thing that she, and the young man that had been visiting her, were rescued before things had taken a turn for the worst. Who could know what terrible things might have happened if they weren’t visited by those two lovely sisters, especially the one who had the most amazingly brilliant red hair.
It was a shame that one of the sisters had been overcome by the fumes, the other having to make the call for help. There had been some gossip about what had been found within the apartment, but representatives of the local diocese had rebuffed such idle thoughts. After all, it was not the business of others to know what someone did within their own home, regardless of how kinky that might well be, or what some might make of it.
A mote of dust was caught in a sunbeam, hovering over an old, well-worn couch as the apartment door swung open with a slight creak. A slim hand with chewed-on nails plucked a note that was taped to the door as its owner sighed: “Well, that was fun.”
Amber had come home, Ben tagging along close behind her, a hurt look in his eyes: “It wasn’t that bad, was it?”
Reading the note, then setting it aside, she rolled her eyes: “No. You were a gentleman.”
“Then, please, tell me what’s wrong.”
She threw her thin shawl over one of the chairs and sighed: “Nothing.”
Feeling him touch her hand was a comfort. So many days lost, her memories missing. They’d said that it was caused by the gas leak, but something didn’t sit right with her. It felt like something was missing, like a part of her wasn’t fitted into place exactly right.
“How long have we known each other?”
Idly looking at the ceiling, she had to think about that for a moment or two. So many of her memories were all jumbled up, confused, and it was hard to focus sometimes. Why she was having odd thoughts at times about sex was a concern: “Couple of years now? I still don’t know why you asked me out for coffee.”
Ben had a really bashful smile: “That’s easy. You’re the cutest woman at the museum.”
It was a derisive snort: “I’m the only woman there.”
“Therefore, the cutest one … right?”
She was going to make a snide reply when her eyes fell upon her bed and she had a vision of being on top of Ben, her nails digging into his shoulders, riding him, fucking him, screaming …
A squeeze of her hand snapped her back: “Hey, you okay?”
The tone of her voice told more than her reply did: “I’m okay … I … just feel like there’s something that I’ve forgotten and I don’t know what it is.”
Ben held her, trying to comfort her, assure her that things would be okay. Even as he did so, she couldn’t help the flashes of fantasy that came, things she’d never actually do, but which were flushing her cheeks.
“I’m not leaving, so you’re going to have to deal with having me around.”
For the first time that day, she giggled: “You’re going to have to learn to cook.”
“I am perfectly capable of burning water.”
Leaning back, she nuzzled her shockingly white hair with its light red highlights against his cheek as he stood behind her: “How about tonight you try burning the grilled cheese?”
Amber felt his hands move lower, cupping over her navel: “You gonna teach me?”
Another vision flashed, of standing over him, cupping his chin with her long red nails, dominating him, her slave, her property. She blinked, her grey eyes confused, the tone of her voice heated: “Oh … I could.”
She felt him tense, his body hot against her own, pressing tighter, feeling his hardness pressing into her ass. Her own need made her push back against him, rubbing herself against him, what she wanted not being disguised at all.
His voice cracked: “Amber …”
It was a needful moan: “Ben … gawd, I love you, too.”
A knock on the door shook them both out of the moment. The spell broken, the need for each other still burning within as they looked into each other’s eyes. Amber called out: “One sec! Hang on!”
In a lower voice she whispered: “I’ll get rid of whoever it is, then I want dessert before dinner.”
Turning away from Ben, Amber was treated to his embarrassed and yet needful smile as she walked across the room to the door. Opening the door, she found a woman with ash-brown hair standing outside. Rather pleasant looking, dressed conservatively, her overall appearance and manner seemed to suggest she was there on business.
Amber was a bit put off by her. She was a knock-out in spite of what she was wearing, and a little bit of jealousy crept into her mood. The woman was beautiful, there was no question of that, and she found herself comparing herself once again to a woman that was more than she was.
“Can I help you …?”
The woman’s brown-green eyes sparkled as she offered her hand in greeting: “Hello! I’m Sister Cléophée, I believe you were expecting me?”
The revelation of who this was snapped Amber out of her jealously and she managed to smile, recalling the note she’d found on the door: “Of course, please, do come in!”
As she entered, Amber marveled at the red highlights in the older woman’s hair before closing the door behind her.
“What brings you by, Sister?”
There was something about the visitor’s voice as she answered the question. It sounded almost like she had an orgasm: “A book.”
Elsewhere, if someone had been passing by a particular hotel room at that moment, they’d be surprised by the language that a woman was using. There was a stream of expletives that would make a sailor blush coming from behind the thin door separating the room from the hallway beyond, a torrent of anger which was clearly meant for one particular target of that woman’s ire.
Mandy was in fine form at that moment, and she wasn’t happy about that in the slightest. She’d only really been this upset when a particularly obstinate woman in the church hierarchy had sent a note to Cleo’s office, to inform her that her services were no longer needed. Once she had confronted her privately with a particularly inspired tongue-lashing, the woman had changed her tone completely. Oddly, whenever they’d encountered each other since, they’d never talked, but Mandy had caught a look of fear in the bureaucrat’s eyes from afar. Somehow that rather pleased the redhead whenever it happened. But at the moment she was anything but pleased: “Shit. Fucking hell! Dammit!”
Cléophée and her pet made sure she wasn’t going to get away. The bindings weren’t the usual bondage gear Mandy had encountered long ago, in a past she’d never talked about with Cleo—but then she’d never asked about tying her up and having her way with her, either.
A thought came as she looked at the slut lying there and fingering herself: could this possibly work? Rolling over onto her side, she looked at the mindless pet still moaning out for her Mistress. The edge in Mandy’s voice was palatable: “On your knees, pet!”
She didn’t expect the blissed-out redhead to obey—after all, she was the thrall of a succubus. However, when the tattooed slut struggled to her knees, Mandy whispered a quiet prayer in thanks for Cléophée’s mistake.
The nun couldn’t help the gasp as the thrall’s white eyes bore into her own from across the carpet. The dripping arousal which made up her existence now came in two needful words: “I obey.” She didn’t desire to be commanded, it was all she was: a blank soul with no purpose save for what was given, dripping from the opportunity to obey.
“Good, pet, very … very good.”
The keening purr of delight in being praised was matched by the thrusting out of her chest, displaying her bound nipples and offering them in submission. None of that was doing Mandy any good, however: “Such a needy cunt, all wet and empty.”
The thrall didn’t say a word, continuing to moan as her legs slid wide, opening her thighs, offering her snatch in submission, begging to be touched, fondled, played with. Mandy bit her lip, pushing aside her dislike for this woman, that smile that was just that side of ick. She had to push past that, there wasn’t a choice. The redhead needed her, even if that meant doing something she didn’t want to: “Cunts like you need to be on their knees, being fucked and fucked hard.”
The words sunk into the toy; she acted on them instantly, ass in the air, legs wide, her sex open, dripping, waiting to be used. Her head, on the carpet, was turned towards Mandy, and there was a mournful wail of need within her cry. Mandy had her on the hook, now to see if she could reel her in: “Lick my heels, you slut.”
The once-blonde must have been submissive before she’d encountered the succubus. There was no hesitation, her tongue being drawn over Mandy’s come-fuck-me heels, the joyful whimper of obedience echoing in the room. Something in that moan told Mandy she was, for the moment, in control, and she took the risk: “Unbind me cunt. Now!”
The thrall, bound eternally, didn’t hesitate to release the bindings on Mandy’s legs. Rolling over, Mandy waited for her arms to be released,
but nothing happened. Mandy thought it was all in vain, that she’d never been in control. Then she felt a long tongue licking along the inside of her thigh and nails toying at her microskirt, tugging it up, Mandy’s anger blossomed again as that tongue danced over her folds, flicking over her clit.
“You cunt! You disobedient slut! Unbind me NOW! You need to be punished!”
It was less than a minute before the temporary domme was freed, then she turned over to confront Cléophée’s whore. What she found was the redhead thrall laying on the carpet, her arms behind her, waiting to be bound and punished. Mandy’s past came back in a rush, the smile on her lips nothing like she’d shown in ages. Her hand found one of the straps that had been binding her, and she looped it around her right hand, raising it into the air before striking with it like a strap: “Whore! Slut! Worthless bitch!”
Each word she screamed was followed by the crack of leather against bare skin, a scream of pleasure in the room. The disobedient fucktoy needed to be taught a lesson and Mandy was the one to give it to …
… her hand froze, about to strike once more in anger. She threw the strap aside: “Goddess, no.”
The room was silent, save for the pleading moans of terror and joy Cléophée’s pet wailed at her. Mandy saw the book on the other side of the room, a dark red glow coming from its pages and her eyes narrowed: “Fuck … you.”
Mandy didn’t have a choice, there was only one thing to do and she needed to act. It didn’t take long for her to bind her victim, hands bound over her ass, her legs bent so that her heels were almost touching her ass. Looking in Cleo’s case, she found a vibrator and turned it on.
The slut’s reaction of spreading her legs wide and humping the floor made it clear what she wanted. Mandy wasn’t exactly gentle as she slid the vibe deep and then pulled the last strap tight, locking the toy into place: “Good pet. Now, tell me where Mistress went.”
They were the first words she’d spoken since Cléophée’s departure: “Gathering! Mistress is taking what is heeerrssssss!”
“Who are you talking about?”
The answer came as she howled for release: “Her vessel and her toy!”
It hit Mandy like a ton of bricks, and she responded in disbelief: “Fuck me!”
Mandy didn’t care after that moment, all that mattered was grabbing the book and getting the hell out of there. The sounds of the pet’s cries followed Mandy as she ran out the door and down the hallway to the elevator. Amber and Ben were in danger, she had to try to stop Cléophée. She’d promised Cleo she would.
As she rode the elevator, her eyes scanned the book as the pages were turned. The text made her eyes water, the smell of sulphur was overwhelming, but it didn’t matter. There had to be an answer, she just needed to find it, or keep it out of Cléophée’s hands. Turning the book to a folded over page she looked at the image revealed there in disbelief.
Something changed in the apartment when Sister Cléophée entered. There was a change in the air, Amber’s dislike for their visitor evaporated, Ben became very helpful, deferring to Amber and their guest. Amber couldn’t quite figure out what was going on, but didn’t focus on that as their visitor settled into a chair. Confused, Amber asked: “A … book?”
The answer seemed to come from everywhere in the room: “A … very special … book.”
Something tugged at Amber’s memories: “I …”
Something pushed at Ben’s thoughts: “You …”
Cléophée purred in delight: “Yesssssss …”
The Second Coming
The sight of the grounds outside of the window were something he didn’t see, as his mind was elsewhere. The encounter with Cléophée troubled him. She had him, there was no question that she could have pushed him to the ground, straddled him, sunk herself onto his shaft and fucked him into submission. The power she held, even weakened as she was, was terrible. He’d felt her call, had been unable to resist her claws digging into his soul. Even now his thoughts drifted towards finding her, pushing her down to her knees. He looked at his hands, a spark of the past taking him back. Red hands gripping Cléophée’s horns, thrusting his shaft between her amazing lips, forcing her to deep throat him. The gleam of lust in her eyes as her tongue swirled around his shaft, a single thought driving him onwards:
fucking her into submission.
A shrill tone snapped his memories away, and he found himself standing by a window in the abby. He’d been dreading the phone call ever since Cléophée had appeared. His tone, once again, was neutral: “Your Grace.”
“What news do you have? Has Sister Miranda been to see you?”
“She has …”—there was a short, telling pause—“… a good soul.”
“What does that mean?”
He considered lying to her, but if this was a test, then he’d fail and any chance they had to save Cleo would be doomed: “It means, your Grace, that she shows promise.”
The next words she spoke were guarded: “Sister Cléophée?”
His hand gripped the receiver tightly: “I’ve … seen her.”
A single word, accusing in tone: “And?”
He couldn’t help his answer: “A Cléophée of sex and wanton power. A creature the likes of which …”
He couldn’t remember the last time her Grace had shouted. “Enough!”
He didn’t in reply and felt rather pleased with himself: “No, it isn’t. She’s starving. She needs to feed, and she’ll take from any unfortunate soul she encounters.”
The threat was clear: “We should have killed you both.”
As was his reply: “Hindsight is a wondrous thing, isn’t it?”
Her threat was, if nothing else, expected: “We still can.”
His sight passed over the roses outside: “You know where I am; best of luck finding Cléophée. I wouldn’t at all be surprised if she was there with you, hovering over your shoulder, biding her time.” He could just make out the frightened gasp, and couldn’t stop himself smiling slyly to himself. “They love bright souls, you know.”
The line went dead.
He put the phone back down and returned to looking out of the window. It wouldn’t be too long before she’d return to sink her claws into him once more. Cléophée was hunting. That hunger inside couldn’t be ignored for long, if she was even trying to.
A little part of him was jealous of her.
A larger part was hoping, praying for her.
The phone rang again: “Yes?”
“What the hell are you hiding from me?”
There was a pounding behind Amber’s temples as she walked around a very different room. The Sister was nice enough at the door, but something was pressing at her thoughts ever since she came in. Something about her seemed familiar, but she’d never met the woman before.
The visitor turned her attention to Ben: “Sit.”
At least she didn’t think she had. Cléophée’s red hair ticked at her, thoughts captivating her, nibbling away at her mind, and she was trying to put the pieces together. There was a hole in her memories—there just wasn’t any other way to explain it—a deep chasm that she couldn’t see the bottom of.
What she could see, however, caused Amber to shiver. The Sister was sitting, almost regally, on the one good chair in the room, her eyes fixed on Amber as Ben settled himself on Cléophée’s right: “Amber, sit with Ben.”
She considered the command—it wasn’t quite a request considering the tone the Sister used—then shook her head. She was being a terrible hostess: “Would you like something?”
Cléophée’s smile was almost feral as she looked at Ben: “I’m starving.”
The shiver that crawled up Amber’s spine made her wet her lips as she rushed from the room: “I’ll … be right back.” If the young woman’s mind wasn’t so muddled, she might have realized the double entendre the nun used: “I’m sure that Ben will amuse me.”
Ben watched his girlfriend leave the room, wanting to call out to her, ask her to stay, but there’d been a force behind the visitor’s command to him. He couldn’t speak, couldn’t do anything except what he’d been told.
A slim hand, tipped with long red nails, appeared in his vision, then snapped fingers in irritation: “Here.” His eyes fell upon the redhead beside him, her expression somewhere between anger and impatience: “So … tell me. Do you love her?”
The words came out with no hesitation: “Yes. Completely.”
She snorted in derision: “Love … How quaint.”
He could only watch as she rose to her feet, smoothing out her skirt: “What you really want is to fuck a hot piece of ass.”
Cupping his chin, she forced him to look into her eyes, for the first time he realized that they were completely black, his thoughts falling into their depths, swirling down, deeper and deeper still.
“You remember don’t you? Hammering your cock into her pussy, fucking her raw as she screamed?”
A memory pushed itself into Ben’s thoughts. A vision of Amber bent over the table in the kitchen, looking over her shoulder, her eyes black. His shaft so hard, hands digging into her ass, ramming himself into her slick and hot depths. But there was something wrong. Amber didn’t have red hair, she didn’t look like a walking wet dream. It wasn’t Amber … was it?
She’d moved closer still, now straddling his legs, filling his vision. Confusion reigned his thoughts now. Wasn’t she wearing something before? He remembered Amber answering the door, the redheaded goddess standing there, nude, tracing her fingers over her thighs and licking her lips. Two sets of memories warred with each other, fighting for control.
“Poor thing … All confused. Goddess will help.”
The sound of fabric tearing was unmistakable, but he didn’t have the strength to resist. Her eyes held him, all else fading away, immaterial to listening to her. She wrapped a hand around his shaft, toying with it and smiling.
“Oh … such a shame … You weren’t claimed. How delicious!”
Her lips found his own, slipping against them, teasing him. Heat from her breath warmed his lips, curling around his tongue and cascading deep into his core. Thrusting his lips, her stroking of his shaft became more instant.
“All mine … every morsel of you.”
A corner of his mind howled that this wasn’t right; he needed to push her away, be free of her. But that corner was being pushed against, driven off to cower in the darkness that was consuming his mind as her will, her power, her being poured into his own.
“Nooo … I …”
Her tongue, impossibly long, slithered past his lips, twining around his own before licking at something within him. Something that screamed into his mind, changing his sense of self: “Toy.”
If he’d been hard before, that was nothing as the word sunk itself into his mind, smoothing over his thoughts, eliminating all else and leaving behind a blank slate to be drawn upon … exactly as the Goddess wanted. Her Toy moaned, anticipating her desires, wanting to please her above all else. The facade that Cléophée had woven over Ben and Amber’s thoughts fell away in the next moment. There was no need now. Her wings were wide, sending her scent throughout the room, covering the small apartment with her taint. Sweat covered her red skin, glistening as her hunger pulled at her, demanding she take from her Toy until he was spent.
Cléophée purred as her tongue, with a wet slurp, pulled free of Ben’s month. He’d been taken before, but Amber didn’t go all the way with him. She left him on the edge of being the toy of a succubus, but didn’t have the time to claim him. Giggling lightly, tail darting behind her perfect ass, she licked her lips, pleased that Cleo had interrupted Amber before she’d finished.
There wasn’t going to be anyone to stop her this time … especially not Amber.
The young woman had been working away in the kitchen, trying to make a cup of tea for their guest, but her thoughts kept drifting off, more often than they had been earlier in the day. Standing at the table, her hands holding the edge, her sex was wet and slick, hips jerking to and fore, feeling a long thick cock pounding into her. She’d stifled the moans, biting her hand, but the feeling just kept coming and coming … she just couldn’t get away from it.
The whistle of the kettle woke her from the daydream, but did nothing to stop the ache between her legs, the slickness between her thighs and the blush of embarrassment she felt knowing that she’d have to go back into the living room as she was. That last thought only served to make her wetter still and moan again.
Stirring the cream into the cup, her mind drifted again: lapping at Ben’s cock, devouring his cream, smacking her lips in delight before coaxing another serving from his aching balls; making him serve. The shock of the cold liquid pouring over her hand made the mesmerized woman gasp in surprise, scrambling to clean up the mess.
Goddess didn’t like messes, after all.
That thought brought Amber up short, clearing her mind for an instant. She thought she heard something from the other room: a moan … a whine … something. Then a tantalizing aroma teased her senses and the sound didn’t mean much anymore. The ache in her pussy did. Her hands were trembling as she picked up the cup and made her way back. Her attention was held by not dripping the drink all over the carpet as she came back into the room: “I’m sorry! All I have …”
Amber’s words were interrupted by Cléophée’s snarl: “Come in, bitch.”
The cup slipped out of the hostess’ hands, falling to the floor and shattering as she fell to her knees in disbelief: “What the hell is …”
Ben was stripped bare, his eyes fixed on the woman … no … the demoness that was straddling his lap. Red … so much red … black wings … a tail … hooves. Amber didn’t resist as a hand found itself beneath the waistband of her pants, one finger toying with her clit as she watched from afar.
“Who … Oh ffffuck … Where’s Cléophée?”
The demoness smiled as her attention turned to the newcomer: “Right here, slut, enjoying the delights of this toy.”
She was rooted to the spot, unable to look away as the redheaded nightmare slid off Ben’s lap and kneeled before him. Black eyes gleamed as she continued to pump Ben’s cock like an afterthought: “But he’s not perfect … Not yet.”
Flashes of long red nails surrounded his shaft, her lips moving closer to the crown of Ben’s throbbing shaft. She licked her way around the purple head before kissing the tip, her fangs scraping on either side, her Toy bucking as the sensation flooded his senses.
“You remember… don’t you?”
The memory crashed through Amber like a tidal wave. Her plain, ordinary body transformed into … sex: long, red hair; seductive curves; a voice that dripped with ecstasy; controlling Ben, forcing him to his knees; fingers clutching his hair, forcing him to lick her twat; keening in delight as she came, dripping; bent over at her waist, her hands on either side of him; wrapping her lips around his cock, taking him deeply; slurping and sucking, stroking his shaft, sinking her cunt down his length, her folds gripping his shaft, milking him; thrusting her ass out, hands gripping the edge of the bed, looking over her shoulder, growling for him to fuck her; screaming in delight as he fucked and kept on fucking until he collapsed, spent, used up. And then it started all over again.
Cléophée’s voice purred in delight: “You want to fuck him, dominate him. That makes you cum, doesn’t it?”
Amber shuddered. The vision was so wanton, so tempting: “No! I love him!”
The giggle made her pussy tremble: “You lust for him.”
She couldn’t help the whisper that escaped as a fingernail scraped over her clit: “Fuuuckkkk.”
Cléophée flowed to her hooves, dominating both of them as her wings spread wide: “Come here, slut.”
Amber felt the pull, the power. Her nipples ached, her clit throbbed. Her lips parted, a string of drool dripping onto the carpet as Cléophée drew a long red nail over her folds and moaned: “Give yourself to me.” Her clothes were torn away without another thought, her need to obey, to worship upon the altar of her goddess consuming her. She crawled on hands and knees, eyes held upon the vision that claimed her mind.
Her goddess had returned her attention to her Toy, bent over at her waist, lips wrapped tightly around his cock and taking him deeply. Over and over, as the slut crawled closer, she took her Toy’s entire length easily before drawing off and starting again. Amber watched her goddess deep throat her Toy six times before her own tongue was licking against her goddess’ calf, whimpering for attention.
Cléophée’s voice took her attention: “What is he, slut?”
Amber answered with a long wet lick of her goddess’ hoof: “Yours, Goddess, forever yours.”
Cléophée pushed the slut to one side, a cruel sneer dancing over her lips as she returned to her chair. The sneer became a smirk as she drew her legs wide, a finger pointing at her sex, still dripping: “To your place, slut.”
Amber’s moan of delight was followed by her crawling to her goddess. Her eyes never left that of Goddess as she licked her way towards her goal: to taste of Goddess upon her tongue, to thrust her tongue deeply, to obey and nothing more. As her lips caressed slick folds, Goddess commanded: “Toy. Fuck her hard.”
Then the slut gasped as her goddess entwined her fingers, pulling on her hair and forcing her lips against her sex: “Lick, slut.”
When Her Toy took hold of her hips, Amber arched her back, baring her cunt to him. When he teased his cock against her cunt, she thrust backwards, impaling herself on him. A thought from deep within took hold of her: “Fucking Toys …”
Cléophée howled in delight as the two mindless slaves started fucking each other, she feeding on both of them as Amber’s tongue slithered within her sex. Two delicious souls at once! Delightful! The front door being kicked open didn’t stop any of them for an instant.
Mandy’s voice overcame all else in the room: “Cléophée!”
Lazily—she was enjoying devouring the souls far too much—the succubus turned her head: “Why Miranda! Mmmm … I will have to punish my Pet for letting you escape.”
Mandy’s disgust was more than evident in her anger and her voice: “Let … them … GO!”
Mandy had never heard Cleo cackle, and the sound was awful: “They … are mine. Their souls are mine … My Toy and my Vessel. I’ll do with them as I wish.”
Mandy could tell that the two others in the room were Amber and Ben, but they weren’t exactly as they were before. Cléophée had dug her claws into them both. Their eyes white, just like those of Cléophée’s pet. Their bodies changed, not like Cléophée’s own, but nonetheless the girl and guy next door now looked like porn stars fucking each other.
Ben was more muscular, more animalistic. His hair was red, almost the same shade as the Pet back in the hotel. He didn’t take a moment to look towards Mandy, his eyes only for Cléophée, his cock only for Amber’s cunt as he fucked her without stopping. Amber looked exactly like she did when Mandy and Cleo had first seen her. Red hair, again, a body made for sex. Her moans of pleasure as Ben fucked her muffled by her lips pressed against Cléophée’s cunt.
“Join me, Miranda. Be one with me.”
The waves of damned power from Cléophée circled around Mandy, her sex dampening, her breath catching, her eyes starting to become unfocused as the trio continued to fuck themselves into oblivion. The sight was raw temptation, feeding on fantasies that lurked deep inside. Cléophée crooking a finger, beckoning Mandy to come closer, to join in, to give in, demanding that Mandy fall to her knees and worship the demon whore.
The anger that rose like bile from within burst out in a growl: “Fuck … YOU.”
Cléophée’s laughter was cruel and unremorseful: “Don’t worry, Miranda … You’ll be cumming for me soon enough.”
Mandy’s voice was seething: “Like fuck I will.”
Cléophée laughed, tugging on Amber’s red hair, Ben still fucking away mindlessly: “Yessss, you will.”
Light flared around the awful scene and Mandy blinked.
They were gone.
The apartment was empty save for the smell of sex in the air and the scorch marks that blackened the carpet and the chair where the trio had been moments before. Turning on her heel, Mandy slammed the apartment door behind her. Cléophée’s next destination more than obvious. He’d warned her, told her exactly what the bitch from hell was going to do.
He was next on that bitch’s list, and he’d better be ready.
Pausing at the stairs, Mandy knelt down to retrieve the cursed book she’d taken from the hotel and sighed: “Not … ready.”
What the book had revealed made that crystal clear.
She wasn’t ready … wasn’t prepared … damn it all to hell.
To Be Continued