Chapter Five: Succubus Milk

CHAPTER FIVE

Succubus Milk

“Excellent,” replied Salem, grinning. “I will send for Lady Rosette Crawford. She is of the Elysian bloodline, a very fine lineage.”

I nodded, nervous as could be. I’d made my decision, but that didn’t mean I lacked anxiety.

Lady Rosette arrived shortly after, and turned out to be the most beautiful woman I’d ever seen. She was tall and slender, with bat-like wings that looked smooth to the touch. Her dark hair was wrapped up into an exquisite bun, crowned by a pair of goat-like horns. She wore a long dress, a tight corset, elbow-length gloves, and an extravagant choker, which draped semicircles of black chains beneath its collar. Resting on the bridge of her nose was a pair of spectacles, masking her brown eyes. An excessively long cigarette holder stabbed out from between her fingers. Purple smoke wafted out from the cigarette’s tip, stinking of perfume.

I was not sure whether to fear her or idolize her.

“You’re the girl, then?” Her voice was sultry and haughty. She brought the perfumed cigarette to her puffy, dark red lips. Condescending eyes rose and fell as she considered my body. “Marry-anna, was it?”

“Muh-rain-ah,” I corrected. My nose itched from the smell of her cigarette.

“Ah.” Rosette’s eyes shifted to Salem, and her gaze become even less impressed. “Lord Sotirios?”

“Of course,” said Salem, handing her an envelope. “You’ll find it all there.”

He didn’t specify how much he was paying to have me turned. Perhaps he didn’t want me to know how much I was worth to him.

Salem led us into a room with stone walls and no windows. It was empty save for the chains hanging from the ceiling, a looking glass, and a table, upon which Rosette put a small purse. I wondered what the purpose of this room was most of the time, but when I turned to ask Salem, I saw that he had not followed us in.

Rosette squashed her cigarette butt against the table. “Take off your clothes, Miss Blackwood.”

I was taken aback. “What?”

“Your body is about to undergo a change, and it must do so comfortably.”

I was embarrassed, but too afraid to argue. As the bloody dress fell, I crossed my arms to cover my breasts. I was ashamed of my body, but Rosette made no snide comments. Instead, she merely unlaced her corset, freeing her own breasts. One of her arms wrapped around my neck and pulled my face to her nipple.

I felt a surge of discomfort. “What are you doing?”

“Do you want to become a succubus, or not?”

It seemed she was to be the wet nurse of my rebirth. I hesitated, but latched onto her breast nonetheless. Sweet milk flooded into my mouth; indeed, it tasted sweeter with each mouthful. I found myself unwilling to stop suckling at Rosette’s teat—gulping hungrily, gleefully, until I felt an inner rupture that forced me away.

I began to shake violently. The tumult ran from my toes to my temples, until I fell to my back. My limbs seized, and my teeth rattled. I couldn’t control myself; couldn’t stop it from happening now that it had begun. Rosette looked down at me, cocking her head to the side, as my body convulsed in a crescendo of change.

The pain was excruciating. Heat burned through me, scorching all in its path: my arms, my digestive system, perhaps even my heart. It was as though Rosette’s milk had become molten lava once it was down my throat.

My bones rattled, becoming strong but hollow. I felt a brutal tugging on my hair, to the point where I believed it to be falling out, when in reality it was growing at an alarming rate.

“Make it stop!” I cried, reaching for the hem of Rosette’s dress with a shuddering hand. I was unable to grab it; I was writhing too severely.

Even my senses were changing. My eyes felt like they were being squeezed as the dark room became clearer. A rush of scents hit me with the force of a train. Suddenly, I could smell the stone, and my hair, and the perfume of Rosette’s cigarette.

I wrapped my arms tight around me and lay on my side, milk still dribbling from my swollen lips. I felt exhausted. I breathed and breathed until my body became still. Slowly, the pain eased into a gentle soreness, and the heat faded enough that I noticed how cold my skin felt against the stone floor.

“It’s finished, dear. You’re a succubus, now. You’re lilitu.”

Between the rivers of my hair, I saw Rosette’s hand reaching out to me. I grasped it, and in the process saw my own hand. How thin the fingers had become . . .

Rosette helped me walk to the looking glass. My movements were stiff and clumsy, as though I had not used my legs in months. My vision, on the other hand, had never been better. There was very little light in the room, but that didn’t seem to matter now. I could see the nooks and crannies of every wall. I could see in the dark.

“You are now Maraina Elysia Blackwood,” said Rosette. “As I am your bloodmother, you will take my bloodline as your middle name. This will show the authorities that you’ve shed your mortal life . . . if they even recognize you. Look.”

We gazed into the glass. Standing beside Rosette was a woman with the hourglass figure I’d so long yearned for. Surely she wasn’t me? Yet she moved as I did.

As the shock wore off, I began to recognize some of my features. My eyes, at least, had retained their basic shape—wide, with heavy lids. But was it still my face? How pretty could I be, and still be me? I’d long ago internalized the idea that I was inherently unattractive—even come to see this as part of my identity. So what did it mean to see myself as beautiful now, when my face was not so different from how it had been before? Had my eyes always been this lovely? Had I simply been unable to see it?

“Do all succubi look . . . like this?” I asked.

“Not all.” Rosette walked over to the table. “We become what we think of as beautiful, and there are many ways to see beauty. Indeed, some succubi look closer to how you did before your change. I think they’re no less lovely for it. But you didn’t want that. You wanted the body you now inhabit.”

I couldn’t deny it: the person in the glass—the person I’d become—was the epitome of what I’d always thought of as beautiful. Had this shape been borne of my self-loathing? My envy of Gladys and those like her? I ran my hands down my waist and hips, strangely ashamed to find myself attractive. But why? Why shouldn’t I think myself beautiful?

Rosette reached into her purse and fished out a dress for me. It was black, lace lining the ends of the sleeves at my shoulders. The cut was low in the back, presumably for when I grew my wings. Next, she helped me into a corset. It was underbust, which was good; my breasts had retained their prior size, and now appeared disproportionately large. It would be an endeavor to find an overbust corset that fit me.

Rosette laced me up. The pressure was comforting, but I worried about the stagnant feeling in my lungs. “It’s difficult to breathe,” I said.

“You don’t technically need to breathe anymore,” said Rosette. “You’re an immortal now. Still, we all find ourselves sighing or breathing out of habit. It’s just a way your body shows emotion or releases tension, like raising your voice when you’re angry.” She finished lacing up the back and looked me over once more. “It wouldn’t be a bad idea to recolor your hair. The blonde does not suit you.” She pulled several colored hairbrushes from her purse and laid them out in front of me. “Which would you like?”

I examined the hairbrushes. One was black, another brown, and another a dark orange. But the color that stuck out the most to me was blood red. My hair had already been stained by the blood of my family. I didn’t want to forget them, no matter what I did to survive.

“That one.” I pointed.

“A fine choice.” Rosette ran the comb through my locks, and they were soaked crimson at its touch. She then moved the comb in wavy motions. The hair followed the comb’s lead into large curves, making it wave like water. I brought one of my fingers up to a strand of hair at my chest, and curled it around my finger. When I moved the finger away, the strand stayed in the curl. I swatted it with my hand, and it bounced, but retained its shape. My old hair had never been so obedient.

When Rosette was finished, crimson hair cascaded down my back in large, curving waves, ending halfway down my waist. From the front, my face rested between two thick red waterfalls.

Next Rosette brought out a box labeled Everlasting Makeup, and applied black eyeliner, eyeshadow, and dark red lipstick to my face. It was more dramatic than any makeup I’d yet worn, and before the change, I likely would have considered it inappropriate. Now, however, I felt the look suited the sense of mourning I felt. The powerful contrast to the whites of my eyes made me realize that my irises were now almost as dark as my pupils.

“This makeup is enchanted,” said Rosette. “It will never rub off, not even onto someone else’s face, unless you apply the remover product.”

I couldn’t even feel it on my face. It was as though it wasn’t there at all.

“How is it that these magical products exist?” I asked.

“Magical is indeed the word,” said Rosette. “They were created using rituals. Spells. We demons have been using them for some time now, but they haven’t been made available to mortals, because that would require their manufacturers to explain how they’d been created. It was all quite secret before the Nightfall. Of course, that’s all going to change now.”

“I suppose so.” I continued to stare into the glass, still overcome with disbelief. My belly began to ache with an irritating emptiness, but this emptiness spread further down than any hunger I’d ever felt before. I felt soft, slippery, needful.

Rosette sniffed. “Your pheromones are already discharging. You need to feed.”

I think I knew even then what feeding would entail, but I didn’t want to admit to myself what I craved. I let Rosette lead me upstairs, becoming more certain with every step that my suspicions would be proven true, but I cared less with each passing moment. My fear became a whisper, and my hunger a roar. Salem had given me a taste of pleasure, and now I wanted more.

As we reached Salem’s room, Rosette gave me her card. “Here is my address,” she said. “Should you ever need me, don’t be afraid to stop by.”

She pushed open the bedroom door, and I stepped through into Salem’s room. My benefactor was standing by the bed with a book in his hand. As he saw me, he put the book down, his eyes lighting up in excitement. It looked almost as though he wanted to kill me.

The door clicked softly behind me. I was alone with Salem once more, but this time I cared not whether it was improper.

“You turned out magnificent,” he said. He circled me, appraising me from every angle, and his gaze felt like the caress of flames against my skin. At that moment, the desire I’d repressed for so long exploded from the prison I’d been forced to keep it in.

This time, I didn’t wait for him to ask. I grabbed him by the cravat and pulled his lips to mine, taking what I wanted. He tasted sweet and salty and like exquisite death, and as I felt him give into the kiss, I felt powerful for the first time in my life.

He pulled away, whirled me around, and quickly unlaced my corset. I exhaled as it fell. One of his wing-thumbs hooked onto the sleeve of my dress, and as he pulled it down, he kissed each new inch of exposed flesh—my neck, my shoulder, my arm. A warm shiver ran down my spine, from the small of my back to the hungry place between my legs.

I let Salem guide me to the bed. I leaned back against the pillow, and he positioned himself on top of me, his chest a marble ceiling, his arms its pillars, his long black hair a curtain of shadows. Salem kissed my lips, my neck, and both stiff nipples, before continuing down my stomach, until he was grinning at me from between my legs. All it took was a tiny flick from his tongue to make my body reel backwards.

His hot breath ghosted between my legs, joining his fingers and tongue as he teased me into opening for him. Waves of pleasure spread through me, until I was liquid and air and agony. I felt even more sensitive than before; more prone to becoming addicted to the pleasures of the flesh.

Salem was delicate and devoted, bringing me to climax after climax, weakening me further with each new release. Soon I was shaking, my thoughts sluggish, my hunger all-consuming, my body no longer under my control. Salem let out a quiet, cruel laugh, amused by the helpless thing he had reduced me to. Then he finally stood to remove his trousers. I stared hungrily as he revealed his tumescence, aching for him to enter me, to feed me, to fill me. He rubbed the lips between my legs, teasing me with the taste of his manhood, making me squirm with frustration. Then he slowly shoved himself inside, and it was like a seismic breach. I inhaled in a sharp, quiet gasp; it hurt, but the pain somehow only intensified my hunger. Slowly, he pressed into me, stretching my inner walls with his girth until he could get his manhood up to the hilt. The overwhelming pleasure squeezed my body like a vice.

It struck me, then, what I was doing. I had become a demon; was making love to another demon; and worst of all, it was the most wonderful thing I’d ever experienced. I felt as though I would die if he stopped, but I was disturbed by my helplessness, my inability to control my twitching limbs. “I’m going to Hell, aren’t I?” I whimpered.

Salem’s wingnails dug into my wrists, pinning them to the bed. “Still worried about offending God?” he hissed, still thrusting, reveling in his control over me. “You’re a succubus now. A demon.” He thrust faster and faster, panting between his words. “Why should you care about right and wrong?”

I was nearly breathless, but still I managed to say, “Even if I’m condemned to Hell, I still wish to be good.”

“Then you’re still capable of morality, even as a demon.” His fingers scratched down from my back to my pale rump. “Does that not show that other demons can be moral as well?” He slapped a cheek until it was red, giving me tingles of sweet pain. “Most mortals need a reason to be good. They need the threat of Hell. You need not fear Hell, but you desire to be good anyway, simply for the sake of it. How, then, can you deserve such punishment?”

I couldn’t think clearly enough to argue with him anymore. He slithered on top of me like a serpent, his nipples rubbing against mine. He wrapped his strong arms around me, forming a tight cocoon to keep me in place as he penetrated deeper and deeper. I writhed in his grasp, moaning.

“Do you know the real reason why they made you fear sex?” he whispered. “Because they wanted to control you.”

I felt a sharp pain in my back, deep underneath the skin. Salem pulled his hands out from beneath my back. We both stared at the blood on them. Salem’s eyes widened in delight. He grabbed my waist and whirled me around, so that I was the one on top.

Next to the bed was a looking glass, and we both stared into it. I saw the bloody wounds on my back. Sprouting from them were four tiny black nubs.

“Look, my pet,” Salem whispered. “They won’t be able to control you anymore.”

The wings ripped out of my body like blades. I bucked my hips, and with each gyration my wings had another spurt of growth, until they were large enough to support my size. Salem was ecstatic. He reached out and stroked them, and my perversity was such that even this felt pleasurable.

Salem twitched inside of me. Responding on their own, my sensitive inner muscles clenched around him, hastening his climax, and giving me one in turn. I bucked harder, faster, screaming now. I couldn’t help it; couldn’t stop; couldn’t wait for what was coming. Finally Salem groaned as he released his seed into me, soaking my tender insides.

Warmth spread through my entire body, sending shivers of pleasure in its wake. I panted, full and satiated. It was as if every other meal I’d ever had had been a mockery of this sublime moment.

“And that,” said Salem, “is how lilitu feed.”

He pulled out of me, and the warm remains of his seed trickled down onto my inner thighs. He smiled at me, and in spite of myself, I smiled back. My back stung, and I was still bleeding around my wings, but I didn’t care. I turned to the looking glass again to examine my new appendages.

There were two pairs. The higher set was significantly larger, and bat-like in shape, with curly black thumbs. Between the black fingers there was leathery webbing, marked with a pattern like that of a common rose butterfly’s wings—alternating stripes of black and grey, with scattered red dots in the corners. The lower, smaller pair of wings had tails like those of a swallowtail, and they conformed to the same pattern, except red spots ran more plentifully down their sides.

“I’ve never seen wings like these,” said Salem, gaping in awe. “You really are like something from a fairy tale.”

They were beautiful wings, and I was happy to have them. But as the pleasure faded, I wondered what I’d become. I had been corrupted, and in this sweet corruption been reborn . . . but could I accept this rebirth, knowing that it was a perversion of what I’d been raised to be?

~

Salem fell asleep holding me, his face buried in my hair, but I remained awake. I smelled his skin, and gathered more detail than I would have thought possible. It was as though I could sense every person he’d ever made love to, although I had no idea who each scent belonged to. I recognized the strongest as my own smell, but there were other feminine scents lurking just beneath. I presumed that these scents did not include those he had made love to in dreams.

I sat up to examine my wings in the glass once more. This time, however, I noticed a shiny object on the bedside table, and looked down to see what it was. My guts knotted in horror.

Sitting there beside Salem’s head was a silver, ruby-encrusted ring.