Succubated!

Micki ran at a near-sprint down the park’s wooded jogging trail. With every stride, she felt emotion rush through her legs and strike the pavement. She seethed with frustration… No, fury. This had all gone on for too long, ripping her old life away and keeping her from building any sort of new one. The cold air stung her cheeks, though her lungs burned like fire, and she kept running, heart pounding, breath ragged. She passed a park bench with a sleeping man.

Micki slowed to a stop. The man snored, a bottle of beer in his lap and the stub of a cigarette dangling forgotten between his fingers. His face lay slack, his lips parted slightly. Micki had a sudden pang of compassion, considering whether to call a local mission or shelter, but pushed it aside. She’d spent years tending to those in need. Now she found herself alone, dealing with an unfathomable crisis.

She ran faster.

***

Yael watched Micki from within, not paying much attention to her host’s path through the trees. Instead, she found herself preoccupied with Micki’s transformation… or lack thereof. Most mortals, even those strong of faith, would have succumbed by now. But this priest was walking around, acting perfectly normal, making love to her girlfriend and her boyfriend—probably because she had taken the initiative to change herself into a partial succubus while Yael lay stunned.

Was it Micki’s faith in God that was holding her sanity intact? Did her rigid religious beliefs help make sense of her life? Or had her transformation gone too well, leaving no handhold for Yael to find a crack in her troubled soul? It was almost as if some greater destiny was at work.

Something felt off; it had felt subtly off since the calling that brought her back to this plane. Yael fretted.

***

Micki stopped by a tree, panting. This was her second run of the day, after the exercise she’d gone out for at dawn. Her body seemed to crave exercise, as if trying to burn off excess energy, or stretch and change in new ways.

Micki looked up at the sky, wondering what it was like in Hell. Was it a dark, endless night, or did a strangely colored sun shine on an endless plain of torture? Micki searched her thoughts, unable to find a trace of what Yael knew, or remembered. She didn’t want Yael sent back to a realm that clearly terrified her, but Micki hadn’t made the choice to collide their fates together, as two beings in one body.

Thunder boomed overhead, and the first drops of rain poured down.

***

The sky opened and water drenched Micki’s running outfit. Yael studied the sheer cotton t-shirt and taut bicycle shorts that stretched over the girl’s ass. Soon, the slim band of Micki’s sports bra was clearly visible through the wet fabric, her breasts outlined, small but firm as she moved. Micki was breathing hard, face flushed, hair soaked.

Yael raised an intangible eyebrow. This sort of innocence was hard to find in a succubus: a girl just trying to live life with little foresight into how others might regard her, but still exuding the attractive force that surrounded all succubae. Micki became flustered or embarrassed when caught in a lustful thought or a tantalizing slip; she’d been a man, closeted and a priest for so long that she’d become a perfect blend of naivete and sexual instinct. Yael sighed. What a waste.

***

Micki kept running. Her wet clothes clung to her body, but her frustration edged out discomfort or embarrassment. She was heading home anyway. Although the weather had been perfect for running earlier, the park was emptying as the rain continued. She rounded a corner near a thick, wooded grove and nearly collided with two men clad in hooded sweatshirts.

One of them caught her by the arm to steady her. He was heavy-set, bald with a shaggy beard, and his grip suggested powerful muscles. She instantly twisted to free herself.

“Whoa, whoa! Slow down there, miss. Don’t want to—hey, wait a second!” he gasped as he took in the sight of her body, her curves, and then up at her forehead. He’s staring at my horns, she realized.

He turned to glance at the other guy. The man was young, probably early twenties, with a pale buzz cut. “You think this is one of them?”

The younger man’s eyes widened. “She’s got horns. Lady, are you some kinda demon?”

“Excuse me?!” she snapped, finally shaking off the bigger man’s hold on her arm. She wouldn’t have wanted to answer the question, even if she’d known an answer to give.

Buzz-cut was moving closer, curious. “Demon slut? Trying to pick up guys to suck their souls out?”

Micki stared at him in shock. “What the fuck did you just say to me, asshole?”

The bald man’s eyes darted nervously from side to side. “Intel said the priest was around this area. If this chick is the demon, she could be dangerous.”

The younger man peered at Micki through the rain, then stepped close enough that she moved back slightly. “I ain’t scared of a skinny little demon bitch. She does look awful familiar…”

“Yeah. Yeah, it’s her, Frank. That demon from St. Andrew’s church.” The larger guy was looking at something on his phone, then up at her. “The one on the trapeze. Bitch who knocked us all out. She’s not red anymore, though.” Now both of the men were glaring at her, their eyes narrowing.

“Hold on a second—that wasn’t me up there! It was another… it was my—” she put her hands up, backing away.

“You were with that freak priest, Father Michael. He your lover, demon?” one of them yelled. Micki didn’t like to hear her old name spoken like that, spat out like a curse word. Her former life, taken in vain.

“What did you do to us, you whore?” snarled the man who his friend called Frank. “You get off on that kind of sick scene? Jerking off two dozen patriots?”

Micki shook her head. “I don’t even remember you guys. What are you talking about?”

Frank stepped forward. Micki backed up again. His bulky friend grabbed her by the wrist. Micki screamed in anger and flung her fist at the man’s nose. He staggered back, grabbing at his face.

Frank tackled her, knocking her to the ground in the grass by the path. A rock dug into her shoulder; she cried out. Another blow hit her stomach. Someone kicked her in the ribs. They were trying to beat her to death. Micki couldn’t breathe; it was all she could do to curl up and shield her sides. Their faces twisted in animal rage. It hurt. Micki was terrified.

Suddenly, she was being dragged by the hair, her head bouncing off rocks. She screamed in pain and kicked out, her feet thrashing uselessly in the dirt. Then, something was holding her by the neck, choking her. She struggled, trying to claw at her attacker, but whatever encircled her neck was too strong.

A hand reached around her mouth, covering it. Something pressed against her lips—it was a gag. They threw her down, and the breath rushed from her lungs as she hit mud and grass. Her eyes darted frantically, trying to orient herself. They were off the paths, somewhere in the woods. Both men loomed over her, leering.

“It’s time for payback, bitch.” said the one called Frank. “Randall. You want first dibs or sloppy seconds?”

“Hold on,” said Randall. “Are you sure this is her? She talked like she was there, but this chick has straight hair, and she’s a skinny-ass bitch.”

“So she changed her haircut, so what?” said Frank, wrapping a length of cord around a tree.

“But wasn’t she shorter? This cunt is like, almost six feet tall.” Micki’s head was spinning. Had she hit her head? Suddenly, a strange thrum of power ran through her bones.

Micki felt her spine crack and contort. She thrashed on the ground, sensing her limbs twist. Her body was changing again… but why? How could this be happening now?

“Stop! Why are you doing this to me?” Micki tried to speak; her voice was high-pitched, panicked, but the gag garbled the words. One man laughed. “What the fuck? Is she having a spasm?”

Micki’s body shuddered as if she was being compressed in a vise. Her bones were crackling, joints on fire, shooting sensations pulsing up her arms and legs. With sudden horror, she realized she was becoming smaller.

She looked down at herself; her arms were shrinking, her body becoming more petite. Micki’s legs became slender, almost coltish, then suddenly they grew lush and round, shorter than before. Her ribs cracked again, and her feet pressed in on themselves, becoming dainty and slipping out of her shoes.

Yael’s voice spoke in her head. “You must resist, foolish girl! You’re absorbing their ideas of what you should look like! Take control of yourself before you’re lost!”

The sensations overwhelmed Micki’s consciousness. Yael’s voice whispered something. There was a surge of heat, and the changes slowed. Then the first voice spoke again. “Hold on a second… you’re right, she looks smaller. What the hell just happened?”

The other man peered at her. “She’s a little shrimpy, yeah. But I remember she had an impressive rack. This kid has barely a handful, even in a wet t-shirt…”

“No… no no no no!” wailed Micki into the gag, feeling changes wash across her again. The horrifying phenomenon, losing control of her body to these men, made her reel with nausea and fear.

The two men watched, grinning. Micki writhed like a worm, her body growing more compact before stopping at a petite frame. Then her breasts swelled, growing from small to average. Micki’s stared and grabbed at herself, her fat nipples finally capping proportionately large tits. She struggled against the change, but each time she moved, she felt her chest ripple with slightly more flesh, the weight of her breasts increasing until they were large enough to be noticeably heavy. The thought came unbidden: just the size of Yael’s. Her wordless wail floated up to get lost in the trees.

“Fuck yeah!! That’s more like it,” yelled Frank. “I don’t know what the fuck is up with this magic cunt, but we ripped away her disguise. The Brothers in Arms stand for truth!” A hand was at her neck, on her collar, then suddenly yanked with ferocious force. The pull sent her sprawling in a different direction, and ripped her shirt away, letting her increased bust strain against the slim sports bra, spilling out of it at the top and bottom.

No! screamed Micki inwardly. The worst scenario unfolded. The other man was pulling at her shorts, her underwear. They can’t possibly… they can’t be—thought Micki, her mind somehow incredibly far away, detaching from herself to watch the scene, to observe her limbs flailing, trying in vain to kick or slither out of the large man’s grasp. They’re going to… they’re going to…

Yael’s voice intoned within her mind. “Snap out of it! Your essence remains sacred. They may not defile one of us in this manner! I shall amplify your powers, but you must repeat the words I tell you. Micki! Are you listening to me?”

“Holy shit,” Randall yelled. “This thing has a tail, too. It really is that demon!” Her tail uncoiled from where she’d wrapped it in a flattened coil around her waist.

“Watch out, man!” came another voice. Something slammed down onto her tail, pounding it into the mud. Micki screamed into the gag; the blow felt like a punch to the gut mixed with a dislocated hip. “Fuck that shit, brother. Keep your boot on it.”

Yael was babbling urgently in her ear again, urging her to listen. Something about words. She had to speak, but there was a gag in her mouth. If I can get them to take it off…

Micki tried to sit up, attempting to appear fearful and pleading. It didn’t take much; she was terrified. She begged through the gag, trying to get her captors to understand that she was trying to tell them something. Frank scowled at her, but came closer. “You gonna scream? Or take care of our… needs, like a woman should?”

Micki nodded, her tears mingling with the rain. Frank pulled down her gag. She awaited Yael’s commands.

“Not yet, idiot!” yelled the succubus in her head. “They must grow aroused. We need a source of energy.”

Micki’s mind reeled. How was she supposed to do that in a situation like this? But the eyes of the two men darkened with lust already. “Please,” she said. “Please… I’m… a virgin.”

“You’re a virgin? Lie again, you cursed slut.” Randall was yelling. But the other man, Frank, was already stroking himself through his pants.

Frank pushed one of her shoulders down and tugged her underwear all the way off, stranded around her legs. Micki sobbed. “Please… please don’t hurt me.” Her resistance seemed to make Frank even more excited, and he unzipped his pants, pulling out his cock.

Yael spoke words in her mind, and Micki repeated them, desperately, as Frank’s penis prodded at her thigh.

“Abiit forma hominis… abiit forma hominis! Bestia es, bestia fies! Bestia es, bestia fies!”

Frank thrust forward, and Micki twisted to the side, desperately. His cock slid between her legs, but she pulled away from it. Her eyes were blurry with tears and violation, terrified that he’d slip inside her. She repeated the chant: bestia es, bestia fies! Abruptly, the pressure on top of her was gone, the hands clamping around her wrists released. She opened her eyes. Frank and—what was his name? Randall—were writhing on the ground, each grasping at their crotches, whimpering as if struck in the gonads.

The men began changing. Micki’s eyes grew wider. Their bodies shrank, clothes deflating into shapeless sacks of fabric, falling away. Pale skin turned white, hairless, and smooth. Their eyes became yellow-white orbs; human lips turned thick, bristled, and rubbery black. She could see pulses of angry energy radiating from her bare pussy, lancing in bursts of motion into their bodies. She sensed every detail of their transformation. And it wasn’t over.

Frank’s pants were off as he twisted in the mud. His penis rapidly dwindled and disappeared, his crouching opening into a single gaping hole of puckered flesh, like the cloaca of a hen. The men’s fingers and toes fused together, growing longer, hardening, and splitting into hooves. One man let out a bleat, and his tongue was long, black. Curving horns sprouted from foreheads, and patchy hair was sprouting all over their bodies.

Micki stared, her eyebrows prickling in horror. The transformation slowed, and two goat-like creatures lay soaked in the rain, their hooves scrabbling in shreds of human clothing. Micki sat stunned, just watching as the goat-things got to all fours.

Some parts of them still seemed vaguely human, though covered in short white hair: part of a limb that looked like an elbow, a foot with excess toes, terrified human eyes, a finger with a nail. Other parts were like nothing Micki had ever seen. Each one’s groin was a hole surrounded by a mass of wriggling tentacles. They turned to graze, munching on wet grass with long, flat teeth, oblivious to the world.

Micki grabbed at her mud-splattered clothing, too shocked to speak. She scrabbled away, up the muddy slope, slipping and tearing her flesh on brambles.

“Justice,” hissed Yael.