Thirteenth Seduction

Her eyes shifted down from his, staring at his mouth. Her own lips parted and he saw a flicker of a tongue as she leaned toward him so very slightly. Her hands began to slide from where they had embraced Janice's cheeks, feeling the wetness glistening on the skin of her thighs, tracing the lines of her swaying pelvis as she face-fucked poor, stupid, Janice, until her hands reached her own breasts. Eisheth's sharp, red fingernails drew circles around her own engorged nipples that were erect to the brink of bursting with the lust she was feeling for him.

He knew that she wanted her nipples touched, and tasted, but above all, twisted. She wanted his hands or teeth to claim the apex of her breast and bring the crisp, controlled pain and pleasure that only he could provide. Her hands were cupping her own impossibly firm breasts with skin that seemed the texture of satin, bringing them closer to him, as an offering. All he needed to do was claim what was already his. When he did, he would also know the ultimate prize — between her legs.

Janice bucked her hips against his cock as an afterthought to the pleasures she was getting tasting Eisheth. Janice seemed to be trying to disappear up Eisheth's cunt. Her lips drank and her tongue lapped what could only be a perfect nectar of liquid sex.

Suddenly, as if she read his mind, one of Eisheth's hands had returned between her legs, stealing some of her own juices from Janice's hungry mouth. Janice mewed in envy and made a biting motion to steal the stolen treasure, but Eisheth moved too quickly, and her hand was out of reach, with an index finger held in front of Michael's face, offering heaven in a single drop.

Michael could smell Courtney's favorite perfume, as well as cloves, cayenne, cinnamon, and sex, and his mouth watered at the approach of her finger. He glanced at Eisheth, and saw her head was hung in gesture of submission, peeking up at him through raven hair hung over her sweat-sheened face. She was making the ultimate submission, offering herself to him, and denying such a gift would be denying himself.

He opened his mouth, and with aching slowness she placed her finger gently on his tongue. He felt the electric shock of Eisheth's touch, and his senses exploded.

Every sight, sound, scent, and sensation in the room was enhanced a hundredfold. The rhythmic rise and fall of Eisheth's breasts, and pulsing of her hips, were hypnotic in their erotic beauty. The smell of her musk and sweat inflamed his desire, demanding that he inhale nothing but her for whatever meager moments remained in his life. He needed to taste every inch of her skin, savoring that of her lips, tongue, nipples, and pussy. He could feel nothing but his cock fucking this nobody beneath him who almost had him at the edge of climax, but who he realized was nothing but a cheap surrogate for the molten heat that lay in the folds of Eisheth's cunt. All he needed to do was to abort his impending orgasm by withdrawing, take Eisheth in his arms, plunge himself between her legs and fuck her until he and oblivion both came. Nothing in his life had ever been so important as ending it inside Eisheth.

Michael braced himself to withdraw, but found himself held in place by the vice-like grip of Janice's thighs. Janice was on the cusp of her own climax, and as Eisheth had promised, was moaning a torrent of "oh"s . Her mouth was all for Eisheth, but some base instinct knew that Michael's withdrawal would deny her pleasure and she wanted him to stay between her legs.

No! He wanted Eisheth, not this useless piece of flesh holding his cock in a wet prison. Janice's cunt spasmed and clenched around him with her own nascent orgasm, signalling the beginning of the end of her own life. Michael fought, but it was too late. A year of abstinence from even himself could not be denied, and he screamed his frustration as he exploded within a woman who was stealing passion meant solely for the succubus spread wide before him.

Eisheth snapped her own head back in pleasure as Janice's orgasm brought her own. She screamed her killsong, and when her head returned forward, fire blazed in her eyes, and her too-sharp cuspids were bared by the smile on her face.

Michael felt the constraining pressure of Janice's legs and cunt relax around him, as her body, the same as all the other victims, lost its form, dissolving into a mist that disappeared between Eisheth's legs — a twelfth soul sacrificed by Michael to feed Eisheth's insatiable lust.

Eisheth screamed once more as she drank in her prey, then sat back staring at Michael with a wide smile, as if waiting for something.

Confusion overwhelmed him. The succubus's spell broke immediately with the death of Janice, and with it came the shock and panic of how close he had came to succumbing. Janice had actually saved him. He had won. Eisheth would die and the power would be his.

But Eisheth did not die, and seemed to have no intent to do so.

"What..." he began to say, but could not complete the question as a sharp pain lanced through his hips, as if his bones were being pulled asunder. He cried out in agony.

Eisheth was beatific. "Oh, Michael, we have waited for you."

We? He wasn't imagining it. His bones were being pulled apart. He could see his pelvic bones spreading and widening under the skin.

"All of us have waited for you. My sisters are coming now. They are on their way, summoned by your consecration of the twelfth victim."

Consecration? They had set him up. Of course they had. This is what they did — seduction. They had planned his overhearing of their conversation. Eisheth had lead him to the book that would tell him what to do, and she had lead him into the trap by insisting she didn't want to go there. He should have been smarter than this. He should have seen it coming.

Michael suddenly convulsed in renewed agony. It felt like someone had hit him between the legs with an axe, splitting him in two and then setting his cock on fire. Now his screams were loud enough to rip open the heavens — if the heavens had cared to listen.

"I had to try to stop you — not because I wanted to — but because it was in my nature to try to take you. I could no nothing else, even though I wanted to fail."

Now the pain was spreading to his chest, but this was a dull ache, not the fire that had blazed — and was now dying — in his groin. His head itched, and Oh fuck, I seem to be shrinking.

"You were so strong. I had never met anyone who was able to resist me like you in all of my current existence."

He couldn't see. The pain was fading now, with his loins now pulsing with a steady throb that seemed a different type of torture altogether. He felt his body continuing to change beneath him. He extended his hands down to survey the damage, and felt smooth, supple, hairless skin, an impossibly narrow waist, and what was that in the way of his hand? Breasts. Oh my God, I have breasts. Instinctively, his other hand shot between his legs, feeling no pubic hair save for a small tidy triangle pointing down to a small nub where his cock used to be, with a sopping wet gash opening beneath it.

"I had faith in you, and now we are complete again."

Michael still couldn't see. Why couldn't she see? She realized that it wasn't blindness — just luxuriant black hair that was covering her eyes. She swept it away with the delicate fingers of a perfectly manicured hand.

She sat up in bed, looking down at her new body — six inches shorter, sixty pounds lighter, with svelte curves, perfect breasts, and a round ass that she knew would be rolling sex in a pair of stiletto heels. A tickling in her mouth attracted notice, and she probed it with a finger to feel cuspids that felt just a little too sharp. The dull ache between her legs was growing, however, distracting her from her surroundings. She needed something there, and knew her fingers, or Eisheth's fingers, might help for a short time, but were not what she needed. She needed something larger, stronger, harder, thrusting faster. Oh God, what had they done. What had happened. She could feel her mind changing, and realized she didn't even think of herself as male any more.

"Your sisters have come to welcome you."

She looked up, and somehow two others had entered the room. One was taller, with a cruel regal smile. Lilith. The other had the lithe, coltish, body of a youth, but had eyes older than the Pyramids. Agrat. But this wasn't right. She needed to protest. "I don't have sisters." Her voice was unfamiliar - soft, yet dangerous, like silk brushing over the blade of a knife. "My name is—"

"Naamah," Lilith interrupted. "Your name is Naamah."

The name opened up a chasm in her mind, and memories flooded in. Thousands of copulations, penetrations, and ejaculations. She had specialized in bringing down the pure — popes and pastors, kings and queens, knights and nuns. She had violated, and been violated, in every orifice, by every combination of sexual partner imaginable, and she had loved every second of it, hating instead the long torture when all she could feel between her legs was an aching, abyssal void, such as the one now gnawing at her womb.

"We missed you so much," Eisheth said. "Your host was clever enough to find the prophecy, but he corrupted it through translation and he thought the prophecy meant a succubus would die — not that a dead succubus would live."

Naamah's last memory, aside from these false ones as a male human that were thankfully fading, was of an attempt to seduce an American President during wartime. She had thought it would be easy, as the man was unwanted by most women, save for a wife who was borderline insane. The man had been impossibly strong, however, and her punishment at the hands of the Goat Lord had been fatal, until tonight, when her sisters had found a way to raise her again, as they always did when one of them failed and was punished for it.

Lilith stood impatiently by the door. "We only have two hours before the summoning wears off, and we must return. There are scores of the social elite downstairs, just waiting for us, and our new sister is ravenous."

She was right. Hunger. That was the word for what she felt between her legs. She could devour dozens of men and women downstairs, fucking them to extinction. She was the Queen of Corruption returned, and this would be her coronation dinner.

"Eisheth missed you most of all." That was Agrat. "Now she is no longer the youngest of the lilim, and the duty to service our Shaggy-Loined Lord and Master and his Stygian Host no longer falls to her."

Naamah was horrified — then shamed — then pleased — that the thought of servicing her lord and his servants no longer seemed as odious as it once would have been.

The small dying part of her that had been Michael had been the one horrified, not her, but he protested her acceptance of her fate, and opened Naamah's mouth for one last time. "Oh God, I am one of you."

Naamah closed it, and the human would never speak again.

"Oh Darling." Eisheth took Naamah in her arms, and Naamah felt fiery kisses on her lips, and a delicate hand on her breast. "You were always one of us."

Her sisters joined the embrace, and she felt hands and mouths kissing, caressing and prodding every sensitive curve, protuberance, and orifice, elevating her lust in preparation for the incipient feast of carnality downstairs.

"You were always one of us."

---

The End

---

Author's Note: Thanks for reading, and I hope you enjoyed it. Please vote and provide comments below.