Succubated!

A few days later, Father John and Father Michael were finishing loading a large pile of donated furniture into storage. The two priests strode into the nave of the church to take a break, Michael panting a little from exertion, and John--who had done most of the heavy lifting--sitting down in a chair propped up against the side of the pulpit.

"Ahhhh. Time for a break," said John. "Let us labour therefore to enter into that rest, lest any man fall after the same example of unbelief! Right, Father? Even the good book tells us to take a break."

The younger priest bit into a peach as Michael sank into a front-row pew and mopped his forehead with a sleeve of his black clerical jacket. "So, what are your plans once we've finished moving all these things?" John asked, looking over at Michael expectantly.

The older priest rubbed his face, thinking. "Well, I guess we should go visit our parishioners and thank them for all their donations. They provided all this work for us, after all!"

John laughed. "I suppose you're right, and we should be grateful for honest work. But let's chill for a moment first, shall we? Here, have one of these peaches."

Michael stood and walked over to the other priest's outstretched hand and took the fruit. John's hand brushed casually against his forearm, and Michael was startled to realize that he'd rolled up his sleeves while working, completely forgetting to hide his unnaturally smooth arm, devoid of all body hair.

"Wow, Father," said John. "What is your secret? At your age, your skin is so... smooth." A bemused light twinkled in John's chocolatey-brown eyes. Michael blushed slightly, then looked away to avoid the young priest's intense gaze. He was not used to being stared at, being appraised. It made him feel exposed, like something was wrong with him... which of course it was. Did John guess at his secret? Did everyone know?"

"Ah... just good living, I suppose," Michael stammered. Father John seemed to think nothing of it. The man was tapping on his cellphone, playing some music over the church's speaker system. "At Last" by Etta James began to fill the nave, resonant with beautiful acoustics. The two men sat in silence for a moment, enjoying the music and the cool air of the stone church. Eventually, Michael spoke.

"You know, John, I never thought I would say this about a priest, but you're very attractive. I can't understand why a man like you would take the cloth." John chuckled softly and raised an eyebrow at him. Michael was surprised at himself. What was coming over him? Was Yael influencing his thoughts again?

Michael coughed, embarrassed. "What I mean is..." He trailed off, trying to find the words to express what he wanted to say next without sounding foolish. "I'm sorry; I don't usually talk about my personal life. It's just that... Well, I've been having trouble lately."

John nodded sympathetically, the sharp lines of his eyebrows lowering, then lifting in an appraising look. The younger man rose to his feet as the music continued and took his superior's hand. "May I... have this dance?" Michael was so surprised that he didn't even protest, and they began to sway slowly to the music, Michael's heart thrumming with excitement. This was the first time he'd ever danced with a man. His body tingled and burned, and he found himself becoming more and more aroused by John's touch and attention. His cock twitched in his pants, shifting. Suddenly he coughed and tore away, saying "No... this isn't... I can't..."

But his voice sounded strange. Girlish, seductive. A lilting, flirtatious protest. He stumbled, walking backwards.

Then his feet came right out of his shoes. He stared down in disbelief. His feet were suddenly tiny, size four as he'd been joking about that morning. Each toenail was painted a bright red, and he came to rest delicately on tiptoe, as if he'd practiced ballet all his life. His toes, his calves, were suddenly. He heard a voice in his head, a voice that wasn't Yael's anymore, but rather a new female voice speaking through him.

A succubus inside him whispered sweetly, "You're going to make him so happy tonight."

So Father Michael began to dance, as Etta James sang "I found a dream, that I could speak to..." Not dancing with Father John, but for him, a private dance, a sensuous dance. Michael had no control over his movements, but he swayed his hips to the rhythm and swing his head from side to side, his chest rising and falling with every breath he drew, his plump nipples hardening beneath his shirt. Spinning up to Father John, who could only stare in astonishment, he lowered his head...

...then threw it back, long black tresses sprouting from his scalp in an instant as he did so, like a time-lapse capture of a flower opening. Wavy raven tresses spilled everywhere, splashing across John's face. Michael tossed his hair to the side, almost in slow motion, like women he'd seen in advertisements for hair products. John's jaw opened in a gasp, his eyes widening as he staggered backward. The big man was shocked into immobility, unable to tear his gaze from Michael. John sat down hard in the chair he'd leaned against the side of the pulpit, and Michael gracefully tiptoed towards him, bringing their faces close together, almost close enough to kiss...

Michael sneezed, and it was as if the miniature force of that sneeze rippled backwards into his skull. His nose shrank and became dainty, upturned. His lips flourished and plumped, becoming a deep red. His stubble faded to nothing, and his skin became porcelain smooth. His cheekbones lifted, his brows arching gracefully, his jaw softening and his chin melting into a dainty point, his eyes now a deep brown instead of blue, large and liquid.

Father Michael--or what had been Father Michael--smiled at the church's junior priest. The smile of a coquette, a courtesan, a cheerleader who knows the quarterback is staring at her, thinking of taking her hips in his hands.

John released a huge exhalation, having held his breath. "What... what is this?" Michael did not answer, but began to sway and gyrate, right in front of John's seat, as if treating him to a private session with an exotic dancer. Michael's dance moves were graceful, feminine, sensual, and John's eyes glistened as he watched Michael move and shake in front of him, his hands covering his mouth in shock at this turn of events, which seemed to have happened so quickly.

The succubus inside Michael giggled happily, "Oh, you like what you see? You like what you feel? Watch what's next."

Michael raised his hands and spun, and like a block of potter's clay he shed mass, becoming petite, almost childlike. But as he swayed, with each shake his hips popped, his spine cracked. Flesh jiggled from his gut into his backside, which was widening and growing firm, even as his arms became thin and delicate. The supple clay of Michael's form flowed into two places: into his ass, growing luscious and mouth-wateringly round, like two ripe melons rising above ripe thighs, and into his tits, which swelled to female proportions, bursting free of his tight-buttoned shirt and falling into his cupped hands with a pop! He looked down and saw his grip full of tits, perfect, round breasts, a perfect mound of fat, soft flesh.

The womanly priest, grinned with a new set of perfect white teeth behind plump, moist lips and strode towards John, his newly voluptuous form blanketed by the incongruous clerical jacket and trousers, looking like a busty teenager wearing her dad's pajamas. Father John seemed paralyzed, by either fear or desire or both, sitting stock still in his chair, holding his hands in his lap to barely conceal his erection. Michael reached him, standing en pointe, and placed his hands on John's shoulders.

He stood on his toes for a moment, then sank down onto his heels, dropping his hands to John's shoulders like the weight of his body would fall upon him. Michael's changed body was heavier than the petite frame looked. He couldn't keep from moaning as the pressure increased, the older priest's new-grown breasts pushing down upon him.

Michael stood up again, and let the priestly jacket fall to the floor, and ripped off the tight white shirt with the popping of a dozen buttons. Beneath, he was wearing only a black slik bra, each cup emblazoned with an embroidered silver cross. He grabbed the sides of the shirt both hands and pulled it away to reveal his flat stomach and smooth skin, the twin mounds of his breasts pressing John as he heaved his head forward and pushed them outwards, feeling their weight.

John was trembling, but fear had been overwhelmed. One caramel-brown hand held Michael's newly feminine shoulder, an arc of delicate collarbone, while the other gripped his own cock through his pants, strained painfully around his crotch, threatening to burst. Michael's tongue slipped out of his mouth and ran across his plump red lips, tasting John's sweat as he pressed that mouth into the other man's, kissing him.

Michael's lips parted and he bit gently on John's lower lip, sucking a trace of blood into his own mouth. Father Michael moaned in sheer pleasure, and slipped out of his black trousers, which easily fell away from his tiny, girlish waist. Beneath, Michael was only wearing a tiny pair of black panties, cut high above his pubis, with frilly lace trim. His smooth, hairless cock stood at attention beneath it, its head poking out of the waistband.

Michael kissed John hungrily, their tongues sliding over each other's lips, their saliva mingling. Michael climbed up John's muscular body, pulling the other man's shirt open. His fingers traced the contours of John's chest and abs, feeling the muscle under his smooth skin. The dark-skinned priest was so turned on he could hardly think straight. Michael took the other man's neck in his hand and began to kiss a trail down his throat.

Michael slid his hands into the waistband of John's pants and tugged the elastic band down over the priest's hips. John willingly obliged, and soon the two lovers were in their underwear, one priest in a pair of boxers, the other in bra and panties. John, to Michael's surprise, bent forward to kiss the head of Michael's cock, and the sensation was like nothing he had ever experienced before, the suction of his mouth so powerful it made his eyes roll back in his head, making him moan loudly. Michael leaned back and John lowered himself further, until his face was buried between the cheeks of Michael's ass, licking up the length of it with long strokes from base to tip.

But Father Michael's member retreated away from the kisses, shrinking and changing, as another transformation wracked the older priest's body. His cock shrank into a nub of sensitive flesh as his scrotum shrank and flattened, parting into two moist labia, the head of the cock burrowing to become a clit, the new woman's pussy opening gloriously, a musky smell of arousal filling the room.

He gasped and arched his back as the pleasure hit him. Michael felt a strong urge to touch himself as he watched John eat his pussy for the first time, a pink wetness coating John's tongue as he licked at her folds and clit, her legs trembling as she held herself up on her knees. Michael was completely female now, from head to toe, an impossibly beautiful starlet with ringlets of black falling around her shoulders and her large, dark eyes fixed on John, who continued to suck her clit and finger her cunt, her juices flowing freely.

"Oh God," she whispered. "You're going to make me come." She shuddered and her whole body trembled, her hands gripping John's hair tightly. She raised his head up, and lowered her sopping cunt onto his lap, slipping her delicate fingers into the fly of his boxers, drawing forth his magnificent cock and guiding it inside her slick, tight pussy, and the two priests moaned in unison as they came together, the heat of their bodies mixing, their orgasms merging in an explosion of lust, their eyes wide with ecstasy as they came inside each other, cumming hard, the younger man's semen splashing against her vaginal walls, painting a picture of lust inside of her.

Michael screamed with ecstasy, then pain, then a kind of unholy rage. The next stage of the transformation began, as a crown of flame burst into existence above her brow. Her hair crackled and snapped and curled, blackened and charred by the fire, and she screamed once more, her voice echoing throughout the church and beyond.

From her burning hair burst forth two horns, a pair of delicate spiraling ram's horns, twisting in black-and-ivory curls around her face. Above her ass, still impaled on John's throbbing cock, her tailbone sprouted a long, slick tail, its glistening length covered with rough pads and its tip surmounted by a bulbous head. Her feet hardened into hooves, and she flexed them experimentally, feeling them dig into the soft carpeting, feeling the tough pads digging into the wood floorboards behind her.

She looked down at her transformed body, then at the male body below her, the priest, who stared back at her with horror-struck eyes, his own hair singed and his penis throbbing painfully. But her own arousal was just mounting, in a new way. Her teeth elongated, and her canines grew into fangs, dripping with saliva.

She opened her mouth to reveal her sharp mouthful to John's shocked gaze, a smile spreading across her lips, a grin of wicked delight. Her hands curled into claws, and John's eyes widened even farther. Arching her back, seizing her horrified lover's thighs between her cloven hooves, her wings burst forth from her shoulder blades, cloaking the two of them in a shroud of midnight-hued feathers.

Then she leaned down and bit into his shoulder. He cried out and writhed in agony, but his cock remained hard within her, and she didn't care about his screams. She bit down again, harder this time, sinking her fangs deep into his shoulder, tearing his flesh open. Blood poured down his arm and dripped onto the floor in rivulets, but still, his cock did not soften. Michael raised her head, ripping a chunk of flesh from the young man's muscles, chewing it, savoring it.

Her vaginal muscles clamped hard against his cock, seizing it, squeezing it, and John howled with pain as he tried to pull away from her, but Michael wouldn't let him go, her talons clutching his thighs as he struggled helplessly beneath her, his cock pulsating within her as she squeezed him, milking him for every drop of his precious seed.

She continued to devour him as he passed out. Her talons raked and ripped, her jaws clamped again and again on the meat of his shoulder, and finally, she released him, letting him fall to the ground with a thud. Then she rose to her feet and turned around, and walked away with a graceful stride, leaving him there with the blood seeping from his wounds.

She opened her wings, and took flight out of the church, crashing through the largest stained-glass window, into the night sky outside. She flew for hours, high over New York City, soaring past skyscrapers, the lights of Manhattan glittering beneath her as she soared. Time seemed to have no meaning; finally, she stopped flying, and dropped to the roof of a building, landing to face someone waiting there for her, another succubus.

"Yael," she said softly.

The succubus nodded. "I have been waiting for you. Little sister, I'm so proud of you. My sister, my daughter, my... what is your name, child?"

The mother demoness smiled at her. She smiled back. "I am Yael."

"And what do you want here, Yael? Do you wish to serve me, to become my daughter? To take my place among the demons, to rule Hell?"

The succubus bowed deeply. "Yes, Mother."

"Very good," Yael replied, for it was she. Then Michael woke up.

***

Michael sat up in bed, screaming in terror. His sheets were soaked with sweat and cum and urine, his body having voided itself in multiple ways during such an intense dream. He frantically felt at himself, his body. Nothing seemed wrong, other than a slight ache in his flaccid cock.

Nervously, he went into the bathroom and looked at himself in the mirror. His head was still covered with thinning grey hair, his gut as flabby as ever, his legs and arms skinny and weak looking. He saw a small mole above his enlarged right nipple. It had always bothered him because he thought it made his nipples look too big and obvious, but now of course his nipples were as fat as cigars.

He ran his finger lightly along it and felt nothing. One thing had changed, he realized from his self-inspection: he had grown breasts! They were small, and hard to detect at first on his flabby frame, but the tissue had a firmer, different texture than the rest of his chest, and the skin had grown sensitive, silky. He rolled his strange new flesh in his hands, feeling their shape.

The skin around the nipples was darker, crinkling at his touch. His fingers slipped across his nipples, and they hardened and swelled. He caressed them, rubbing them gently. He couldn't deny that rolling breastflesh in his hands did feel... pleasurable.

Someone coughed behind Michael. "Feeling yourself up already, huh? The men always do that." Yael leaned forward, coming into view in the mirror. She looked so much the form Michael had taken in his nightmare that he recoiled, half in memory of sexual ecstasy and half in fear.

Yael laughed, a high, bubbly sound of amusement, her goat-like pupils narrowing as her feline tongue lolled out of her mouth in a smile of pure mirth. "It's all right, Father Michael. You don't have to worry about me. I won't hurt you. I need you; I need your body... but you know that. How did you like the preview of the complete new you? Really good show, right? You did such a lovely lap dance!"

Michael blushed furiously.

"You're just jealous of what your own body became, aren't you, Father Michael? Jealous of yourself? You needn't be." Yael taunted him.

Michael stared at her.

Yael's grin grew wider. "How about some breakfast, Father Michael?"

Michael shook his head, confused, unsure what to say.

Yael punched him on the arm, lightly. "No, dumbass, I mean it! Let's go to, like... an all-night diner or something. I want some french fries." Michael just stared at her. "Look... I'm obviously going to win. It's just a matter of time before you give up. But it's taking so long!" the demoness whined petulantly.

"I put a lot into that dream... well, obviously your subconscious contributed too, that John is a hottie... but I'm a little burnt out and bored right now, you know?" Yael curled a dark lock of hair around her long-nailed finger. Michael shuddered.

Michael was silent, lost for words.

"Okay, fine," Yael sighed. "I'll be back later. Or if you're hungry, meet me at the Waverly Diner, on 6th Avenue. Just remember, the sooner you cooperate, the easier and faster everything will get for both of us. Also, don't forget to shave! All the stubble around your little beard gross, especially with the rest of your body so nice and smooth!" She vanished into nothing, and Michael let out a sigh of relief.

He grabbed a towel and started stripping his bedsheets.