morning*:  Hello, there, Delight.  Chess isn't around, I suppose?

D-Lite:  Now, how did you know that?

morning*:  She always monopolizes the chat window when you both are home at the same time...either that or you're always going down on her while she's talking to me ;)

D-Lite:  :)  I'll have to tell her when she gets home, she'll hate sounding predictable.  No, she had to go to work tonight.

morning*:  Oh, that's right, she does work the weekends.  At...was it the Prayboy Club?

D-Lite:  That's it, yes.

morning*:  She told me about that before, some sort of work-study program for school.  I'm not sure I should approve, a demon her age working in a sex-oriented business... ;)

D-Lite:  As if those rules apply to succubi/incubi ;)


Messaging Morning*


Copyright 2004 Michael J. Hansen


Part the Fourth:  Paulita


          I straightened the crimson cuffs at my wrists, silly little things, wearing like-colored cuffs and a collar with bow-tie while my matching sleeveless, backless one-piece had nothing to attach either...sometimes, we demons carried our penchant for mimicking the mortal world far too far, in my opinion at least.  Some hellspawn gets called to the mortal world, sees a string of businesses owned by some magazine or other, and suddenly Prayboy Clubs are popping up in all the planes of the nether realms.  Even if working there still amused me a bit--plenty of other attractive demons did, too, all having to wear clip-on ears that always tried to dip off into the drinks we served, and a puff-ball of a fake tail that would unerringly fall on the floor sometime during the night.  My ears and tail, thankfully, came indelibly attached.  No picking them up and refastening them fifteen times a night for me.

          Tugging at the material that attempted to cover my bust (while far from bashful, I was still determined to stay in the costume for at least a little while before my tits popped out), I surveyed myself in one of the locker room's floor-to-ceiling mirrors.  Or the 'myself' that I assumed for the place, at least.  Bizarre as this altered form was to me, my normal furred self was likewise for the usual customers at the club, so I adapted.  Bare skin colored a pale almost-white shade of pink (tonight; I often used other hues, sometimes even the deep brown that hid beneath my fur when I was in my normal body), gleamed in the lights.  Red hair, a nod to my usual pelt, framed my face and cascaded down my back, the thick tresses hiding my lack of more humanlike ears.  Since I was working as a Prayboy Bunny anyway, I left my ears as they were, along with a trace of my rabbit's muzzle (albeit with buck teeth among the fangs) and a powder-puff version of my tail; enlarging my green eyes to near-impossible proportions, as one of the other 'Bunnies' had suggested, somehow added to the overall cuteness in ways I didn't totally understand, but went with.  Remolding my horns into ram-like ones, each curling back from my brow to circle around and press their tips forward level with my cheekbones, also suggested by a coworker, helped as well.

          Naturally, I still sported my phallus and ballsac, the latter arrayed between my thighs pouching out the clingy stretch material of my one-piece, while the former was pushed up along my belly, the tip of it nearly between the single pair of breasts I maintained in this form, but that was all right.  All attempts I'd made to change to a single-sexed body had failed miserably--the best I could manage was to hide my male parts somehow, though pretending to be completely male also seemed a lost cause, shrinking my tits down I could do, removing them, or even hardening my feminine physique, never worked.  Perhaps both sides of my nature, male and female, had to stay eternally in balance.  Or perhaps being what I was, a hermaphrodite, was just too much a part of me for me to change it.  Whichever, my dual makeup was an asset here, not a liability.

          Nodding my satisfaction, I bent over to lace up my shoes--an added benefit of my going around on cloven hooves normally, while some of the 'Bunnies' would sometimes fall off of their own several-inch-tall high heels, I got along famously on them.

          And often was grateful for the chance to put them on.  I was forever tripping over my own human-type feet.  The dratted things just plain didn't move right.


D-Lite:  You ought to go to the club sometime, I did when I was researching her, it's enjoyable watching her work.

morning*:  Enjoyable?  Watching a waitress?  Shuttling drinks to the tables?  Hardly what I'd call entertainment.

D-Lite:  Oh, none of the Prayboy workers are 'just' anything.  She waits tables and bartends, but there's more to her work than that.  The clubs are one of the places where souls new to the Nether Worlds are winnowed to find which would make good demons.  They specialize in former mortals whose lives were ruled by sins of lust.

morning*:  Ah.  So she's...?

D-Lite:  They call her a Punisher.  I hear she's one of the best.

morning*:  That's hardly a surprise, knowing that girl.


          "Chess!" a voice which rang in the tiled confines of the locker room called out.  "You're here!"

          Laughing, I accepted Desire's hug, which practically enveloped me, the matronly succubus' body dwarfing mine in most every respect, particularly the breasts I about lost myself in.  With this red-skinned voluptuous demoness, I could cheerfully go to sleep resting on her soft belly and mammoth mammaries, draped in the long ebony hair she was blessed with, and which I envied.  And had, I'd spent the night in her bed after a bit of after-closing lovemaking, curled up like a kitten on her belly, more than once.  "Have I ever missed a night of work, Boss?"

          Portly body jiggling with her laugh, that more-than-generous frame seeming made for laughter, every titter creating a groundswell that resembled the quakes that rocked some parts of the Worlds, she grinned at me as she set me back on my high heels, her fleshy chin wobbling.  Multiple chins, rather.  While not terribly obese, Desire was nonetheless made for those who preferred their women large.  She was still a stunningly attractive demoness, of course.  We embodiments of mortal lust were designed that way.  "There's always a first time.  All you imps are so unreliable, can't count on any of you," she declaimed, though the twinkle in her eye showed she meant none of it.  At least where I was concerned, a few of my coworkers were a trifle on the undependable side.  "We can really use you tonight.  There's new souls in the Green Room, just two at least, that...I'm not sure the other bunnies are quite up to the task, with them.  I'll understand if you'd rather not punish them, though."

          Blinking once, I tilted my head to one side as I looked up at her, the ear on that side flopping over.  "Why wouldn't I?  What's so different about these from all the others I've worked on?"

          Something about this made her uncomfortable, I could tell, watching her expression when she didn't answer for a moment.  Finally, she nodded to herself, and told me, "These are habitual sinners, not that that's anything unusual.  But in their lives, they were babykillers, either their own children or others.  Habituals deserve the worst we can give them, and your innovative ways--no one else could manage as well."  The last part was flattery, I knew, I wasn't the most experienced of the Punishers by any means, but still I did have that rarity among demons, an imagination.  Where the others would mostly be chastising our charges by rote, with formulas they may well have been using for centuries, and those they'd learned the tricks from might've used for millenia, I could improvise.  It was nice to know that my imagination, practically a social disease among demonkind, was good for something.  She went on, "Experienced Punishers balk at cases like these, though, and I know your feelings about children.  You've my permission to turn down this job, I won't think any less of you for it."

          Running my forked tongue along my fangs, I thought for a few heartbeats perhaps.  I did have strong feelings about children, wanting to father thousands, mother even more if I could.  That, at least, wasn't uncommon among succubi and incubi, though my paternal/maternal instincts seemed stronger than normal, maybe because my father had turned me into a bunny.  One of the only things that bastard had ever done right, in my biased opinion.  Still...  "It'll be a challenge.  The Green Room, you say?"

          Visibly relieved, Desire smiled down at me, looking more like a proud parent than an employer.  She nodded, her row of chins quivering.  "Don't go there just yet, though, give them some time to stew," she instructed.  "A few hours would be good.  The anticipation will make what you do even more effective.  Besides, one of your regulars is back for his monthlies.  Err, 'hers', I should say."

          One of my eyebrows raised, then, remembering, I nodded.  "Must be Paulo--um, 'Paulita'," I corrected myself with a giggle.  "Good, that'll be a nice warmup for the punishment later."


morning*:  You saw her at work, then?

D-Lite:  Last week I went.  She really put on a show, I got so horny watching it I tackled one of her regulars myself and ravished her right there.  I so wanted to nab Chess for a rut when her shift was over, but meeting me before I was supposed to would've ruined your plans.

morning*:  Regulars, even...she must be doing well.  I wish I could go see her in action.

D-Lite:  Too busy?

morning*:  Too visible.  I'm Lord of all I survey, there's only so much I can do to disguise myself, somebody could recognize me and cause a commotion.  Besides, best our girl doesn't know just how much of an interest I'm taking in grooming her.


          Paulita--who'd had, in life, a ridiculously long name like Paulo Alonso di Vega Jesus Rodrigo Something Somesuch Anothername Yetanother Something-Or-Other, he had told me what it was when I first met him and I promptly forgot it all but the first name, who he had been didn't matter overmuch here anyway--had been a womanizer as a mortal, worse, one who had the power to make a good many females miserable, amongst other things by sending out gangs of his troops to capture women and bring them back to barracks for raping.  Not something we demons minded much, we did much worse things on a regular basis, but still, it was a sin, and sins had to be punished.  He'd been a general, or the Spanish equivalent at least, yet another addition to his daunting pedigree.

          Here, he--or as I was making him more and more all the time, she--was coveted by the war demon ranks, who dearly wanted her in their forces if I proved able to make a proper demon of her.  Rank-and-file soldiers they had plenty of, but a proven military strategist was rare, and quite valuable.  First, though, she had to be punished for her sins in life, a two-edged sword for us; if she repented strongly enough, she might get a reprieve and wind up 'upstairs' (as we sneeringly called the Pearly Gates); if, however, she grew to like the humilitation I inflicted on her, embrace it, or at least fail to repent, she'd be given demonic form and power.  That was all according to the terms of the treaty that kept our worlds and the more virtuous ones from colliding in eternal war.  Sometimes, unfortunately, even we hellspawn had to follow the rules.

          Of course, I had no intention of letting Paulita go if I could prevent it.  The appropriate punishment for a womanizer, in my opinion, was to make of him a she--a 'she' appropriate for a war demon's life, but still one of what Paulo would've called the 'weaker sex'.  It had certainly occurred to me that having me, a female-appearing demon, be put in charge of the ex-general's castigation had to add something to his/her penalty.  I'd started off slow, beginning by giving him (still a 'him' then, of course) a physique worthy of a god, brimming with muscle, a good nine feet tall and four feet wide at the shoulders.  He also possessed a cock and set of balls a god would have to envy, his phallus over three feet long when erect and about as wide as one of his huge forearms, the sac below it heavy and everfull.  Paulo had been delighted with his new body.  There were two catches, though.  The first, for all his body's power and virility, his ability to have an erection, much less to come to climax, depended on his wearing women's underwear.  Constantly, at that, even an hour without some frilly underthings against the skin of his crotch would mean two days of him being unable to get it up.  He was forced to sleep in them, bathe in them, even have sex while not taking them off, just pushing them down to let his cock jut out over their waistband.

          The second was more telling; I had addicted him--err, her--to my semen, making her crave it (and crave it up her backside or down her throat, at that, something Paulo would've been horrified about, and Paulita likely still was deep down), even as the power in my cum changed her more and more into what she'd abused in life.  Simple changes at first, giving her blonde hair that grew back to its waist-length if she tried to cut it, modifying her physique bit by bit to give her a feminine mein despite the muscles and the cock, a voice that crept slowly from its original baritone to a more womanly was a slow process, but all the better for it, she and I both had time.  The inevitability of watching herself become more and more a she when she'd revelled in her masculinity in life surely made the 'feminizing' all the more potent.

          Potent enough for her to be getting pleasure out of it, I thought as I looked her over now, an impish grin stretching my pink-skinned cheeks.  For months she'd been resisting the changes, mainly in wearing men's clothing over her panties; not now.  "Very nice, Paulita," I told her, looking over the black dress that clung to her everywhere but at the chest; it was clearly made for breasts, not pectoral muscles, to swell its front.  Blinking, I looked again, tugging her bodice down slightly to reveal black lace.  "A bra?"  I laughed.  "That's not necessary, you know."

          "I know, but I may as well get used to such, si?" she answered with a shrug.  "It feels good, too...I should damn you to hell for making me like how that feels, this and the things below," she brushed a hand across herself, just below the waistline, "but..."

          "But it would be a little late, yes?"

          "No, I could be sincere no longer.  Especially not when I want to strip down to bra and panties and bend over for you think," she bit her upper lip, "do you think you could use part you made, down here, this time?  I've kept it clean and pure for you."

          Eyes widening, I gave a pleased laugh.  "Do you mean you want me to take your virginity?"

          "I am not sure I am ever the virgin, but...yes."  She giggled self-consciously, patting the growing bulge deforming the smooth line of her dress.  "Odd that this part would awaken now, with me wanting that other filled, but I can't help it.  Surely it is a sin, but I...I do not care."

          Feeling my own 'part' begin to stiffen against my belly and between my breasts, I couldn't have complained if I'd wanted to.  "I won't be able to get you pregnant yet," I warned.  "You've got the makings of a womb, but no ovaries yet, that'll be a month or two in coming in."

          She stared at me, then closed her eyes, shaking her head.  "Blessed Virg--heh, whoever I may pray to now, your Morningstar, I should say--Morningstar forgive me, I find myself disappointed I could not be made with child.  Yet, you say?"  At my nod, she smiled.  "Something to look forward to, then.  Shall we start in the usual way?"

          I nodded again, and scooted up onto a barstool, sitting facing her with my legs spread.  Our heights were different enough that she still had to kneel in front of me, looking much like a supplicant praying to her deity.  What she was worshipping was something much more physical.  She pushed aside the flap covering my uniform's buttons, and undid them one at a time, starting at the top and working down toward my crotch.  Our Bunny outfits were designed according to our natures, to let us do our more intimate work without taking off the costumes, most (succubi being the bulk of the Bunny force) having hidden flaps to expose their cunts and breasts as required.  Mine was special-made, sporting that, plus what an incubus required.

          Reverently, Paulita eased my maleness out from the flap, then my ballsac, letting the latter hang heavily between my thighs.  She moaned as she watched my cock swell before her eyes, growing a trifle larger than her own.  Imp's play for any incubus, doing that, in fact I often had trouble keeping it from growing so large; originally, I'd made myself so over-endowed around her as an added bit of humiliation, but she had learned to enjoy it.  Even expect it.

          It was my turn to moan when she opened her mouth wide and slid my length down her throat, holding it there.  An adaptation of hers that I had given her out of purely selfish reasons, I'll admit.  War demons didn't often have reason to swallow a thick pole down and still breathe, though anyone who had sex with me often did.  Paulita's technique had improved had her shyness, there was only a trace of a blush on her face, despite the public surroundings.  I grinned toothily at the lookers who were staring at us rather hungrily, plainly wanting some of what I was getting, or possibly knowing what my companion would be receiving after this warmup.  She had balked at doing anything with me out in the open, but knew better by now than to even ask about going someplace more private.  Normally, I wouldn't object, but the possibly-soon-to-be-demoness was supposed to be getting humiliated.  The 'demonizing' wouldn't count, if I didn't do all I could to demoralize her.  Little though I wanted her to possibly wind up fitted for wings and a halo.  Sometimes, being a Punisher wasn't easy...still, by the treaty's guidelines, if I didn't follow the rules, it wouldn't stick.

          I sighed, leaning back against the bar, tempted to let things run their natural course...but this was only the opening, and I had other things I needed to do.  So I moved it along a bit, willing myself to send heavy gouts of demonseed right down her gullet, enough a fair amount of it followed along my cock to explode back out again around her lips.  She swallowed valiantly, but had no chance to get it all, her black dress's bodice soon dripping with my semen, while the stitches at her sides burst with the expansion of her belly.  I gave a playful aww and a giggle, looking at the garment I'd ruined, then reeled myself in, spewing a bit more of my seed onto her face before squelching the mini-orgasm.  Too bad, but I wanted that outfit off of her anyway before the real fun began.

          Apparently following my reasoning, Paulita doffed the dress without my even saying anything.  She also notably didn't bother to clean off her face, letting my semen drip down, though her tongue did quest out from time to time to lick some of it up.  Still in panties and brassiere, the black lace looking lovely with her tanned skin.  Even if I did have to giggle again; she had cheated, the panties were crotchless, letting her sac and phallus push out from the slit, the latter's reddened flesh twitching with her arousal.  Noticing my look, she smiled and turned around, bending over slightly to reveal how her puckered anus and the 'new part', the tight little vagina I'd given her, were completely accessible.  "You never did say...will you take my..."  She fingered the new opening.  "M-my vagina this time, or would you rather..."

          Pointing a forefinger at her, I shook my head.  "You know the deal, Paulita.  Say the words, or come back next month."  I smiled at her.  "You have to get used to having these 'parts' as you call them anyway, and enjoy them.  That includes saying words like 'fuck,' 'cock,' 'cunt,' 'asshole'..."

          She snorted, her face reddening.  "All right.  Will you fuck..."  She was still bashful enough to have to pause after the word.  "Fuck me up the cunt, or would you rather take my asshole again?"  She frowned, shrugged, and tried again, "Fuck my asshole again?"

          I smiled more broadly.  "That's more like it.  And yes, think I'd better do that...the 'new part'--" I smirked "--is too new, we should wait another month or two.  I don't want to ruin it before it has a chance to settle.  Shall we start?"

          Nodding, she got down on all fours, right there on the floor, something she once would've at least hesitated before doing, giving me even more faith that she might yet become a demoness.  Strange as it might seem, sometimes we demons needed faith.  Having trained her over the months to enjoy my way of fucking, she simply moaned when I pressed my shaft's swollen bell up between her nether cheeks, then rammed inward, forcing myself in to the limit.  Paulita herself seemed to prefer the good old-fashioned, no-nonsense rutting, my hips slamming into her rump over and over, while my shaft widened her rectum cruelly.  She'd complained when we first started about how she couldn't close her legs properly after getting through with me.  Later on, she stopped complaining...she was still bowlegged after one of our monthly sessions, but didn't seem to mind it now.

          Gripping her thighs for support, my high heels digging into the tiles, having to stand behind her to go at it, our heights were so different, it looked rather incongruous that I was the one in charge.  A few of the lookers whispered just that, not softly enough for my long ears to miss.  Paulita was the one submitting to me fully, though, and loving every minute of it from her cries, as well as intermittent gushes of her semen onto the floor.  And on a few spectators, who didn't seem to mind.  Her stomach gurgled loudly, still distended from the earlier fellatio, and getting even more rounded as I pumped precum up her ass--there was no worry about a lack of lubrication, not when I sodomized someone.

          As before, I had other things to do, so I didn't hold back, letting the climax build and build...finally exploding deep in Paulita's belly, making her stomach soon rest on the floor below her, while gouts of my seed sprayed backwards behind us both, dousing a few of those ringing us.  I giggled raggedly at the chorus of cheers while my hips still pumped, more of my magic-charged semen flowing into my client's body by the second.  I'd already decided what I wanted to change by this time, her bra having inspired me.  It was really a trifle early for this, but I didn't care at this point.  I might not be only half incubus, but sometimes my maleness did rule my mind.

          So, before long, not only was Paulita's belly rumbling, but so was her chest.  She gasped at the sensation, like any magic I did there were elements of pleasure in it...if someone's chest could be said to orgasm, hers did then.  And more.  The protodemon's nipples first poked forward against the slack bra, expanded by my power, then pushed out even more as the flesh surrounding them expanded, rounded breasts developing, then swelling to impressive size.  She gave a small sound of wonderment as she put a hand to her chest, feeling the new mammaries expand, giving a slight wince as they grew large enough the flesh was indented by the straps of the now too-small brassiere.

          "Mmm," she moaned, sitting up (with me still behind her and my cock still plugging her backside.   "Thank you...I can't believe I'm thanking you for this," she laughed.  "It appears I shall need to buy larger ones."

          "We can fix this one, at least," I murmured against her shoulder, reaching around to touch the lacy cloth.  I sent a trickle of the energy I'd absorbed from the Tantric overflow of her climax into the bra, making her give a soft 'Ooooo' of pleasure, and the lacy nothing expanded to cover her more comfortably.  "That better?" I asked once I was done.

          "Much, yes."  She put her hands on her new 'rack', and jiggled them.  "I think I'll love having these."

          "Just wait until next month," I told her, giving a giggle.  "I might make them lactate, then."


morning*:  She hasn't figured out what we're doing, I hope?

D-Lite:  I don't believe so, no.  She's an amazingly bright girl, but I've yet to see any indication that she realizes she's being prepared for your schemes.  Would it really matter if she did know?

morning*:  Not really, but still, I find that giving my best operatives the illusion that they're acting of their own free will makes them much more effective.  Besides, since she's one of those rare demons who has an imagination--and a fine one, I've realized--it's better if she does have some free will of her own.  Better for everyone.



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