Boots, blow jobs, and bastards

As I write this tale about a succubus, I've noticed that I'm hitting a lot of my own buttons about rape. It's not okay, not ever, not in any circumstance. Maybe as we go, we'll find the main character punishing more and more people who engage in non consensual sex. Or maybe not.

Please let me know what you think of the story. I'm really curious.

When I stopped being a Succubus

I'd been a succubus for about a month before I stopped being one. I still didn't know what I was, exactly. I didn't have a word for it. If you'd asked me what I was, I would have told you I didn't know. I probably also would have told you my name was Maxine, and that I wasn't going to hurt you. Unless, of course, I was.

I knew a few things. I knew I was stronger than anyone I met, I knew I could move a bit faster than I used to. I knew I had wings, and could hover or at least slow down a fall enough to not get hurt. I also knew I healed at a freakish speed, and I knew that I was sexy.

I'm not bragging; I never really thought I was all that attractive. But once I died, I became the sexiest thing in the world. I didn't look any different. Except, you know, the wings. But everyone I met wanted to sleep with me. I'm not just saying that. I didn't just think they did. I knew they did. I could smell arousal, and it always increased as I got closer to people.

I was homeless, almost completely destitute, and still a virgin. I was also under eighteen. I was also a prostitute.

I don't know why sex workers get such a bad rap. Yeah, those who suck cock for crack are not the best people. And yes, there are people who want to take advantage of you. Some people have to do it just to make ends meet, and have to say yes to whoever comes along. I guess I should have been in that group.

But I wasn't. I didn't have a pimp; didn't need one. Anyone who messed with me found out very fast that I could take care of myself. And I could afford to be picky. Everyone wanted me, and so all I had to do was say no; I knew there'd be someone else coming along soon.

I was pretty good at smelling cops, too. And I mean that literally. If a cop was trying to get me for solicitation, he had that smell about him, the guilt, the knowledge that he wasn't going to go through with anything. He would get turned on as I got closer, but not enough. So I never actually propositioned any cops.

I also never slept with anyone. Like I said, I was a virgin. I didn't want my first time to be with a stranger for money. So I wouldn't actually fuck anyone. At first, that just meant that I would give head. And I was good at that.

I also learned that giving head was like having a meal. The men would be practically unconscious; if I wanted to, I could rob them. Sometimes I did. It depended on whether or not they tried to use my hair as a handle. But I also realized that after two or three guys, I didn't need to eat anything that day.

It's liberating to be able to support yourself doing something you love. My dad always told me that was the secret to happiness in life; find something you love to do, then find someone to pay you to do it. I doubt he meant for his little girl to be sucking cock in cars, alleys, and motel rooms. Still, I was happy. Ish.

I stopped being a succubus once I started going to clubs. Getting in wasn't hard; no one questioned me or even carded me. They just smiled, checked me out, and let me in. Sometimes, I'd slip them some cash. Sometimes I wouldn't have to. But as long as I dressed sexy, I could get in.

And I always dressed sexy. There's something about a fishnet sleeves over a corset, a pleated leather skirt and knee high boots laced up the front, with a chunky treaded heel and shiny steel toes that makes people want to let me wherever I want to go.

Some clubs are better than others. Eventually, I'd find fetish clubs, and see how much fun leather, rubber, vinyl, and latex can be. But at that time, I was just at a college bar. A bar where I felt like I could blend in, even if everyone was looking at me. I fit, at least age wise. Or rather, I looked like I did.

I wish I could tell you a sweet story. A story about some really nice, kind of nerdy guy at the bar. Someone who was uncomfortable being surrounded by all the frat boy jackasses, who came out only because he didn't know what else to do. I wish I could tell you about his shy smiles from across the room, or about how he came over to talk to me, clearing his throat and clearly expecting me to blow him off. About the cute little smile and blush when I talked to him. I wish I could tell you that he talked to me about Tolstoy or Shakespeare or whatever. That he wrote me a sonnet, that he offered to walk me home. That we talked long into the night, eventually ending up in his dorm room, where he made gentle but awkward love to me. I wish I could tell you that we had a wonderful time, that we both surfed on a wave of endorphins and orgasmed together, then lay on the bed. I wish I could tell you that he held me until I fell asleep, and that he was still there when I woke up. I wish I could tell you that the next day, the sun was shining, birds were singing, and the world was a brighter place.

But I can't. I can't tell you that because it isn't true.

Oh, the cute guy was there. But he never came over and talked to me. He didn't have the time. One of the frat ass holes found me first. Bought me a beer. Flirted with me and talked about how sexy I was. Asked me if the rug matched the curtains. He was crude, he was stupid, and I fell for it. I was so enchanted that an older guy liked me, without wanting to just pay me to suck his cock, that I giggled at him. I smiled at him. I drank the beer. I even let him buy me another one.

And I didn't even notice the bitter taste in the second beer. I didn't notice the way the world started to swim. And I didn't notice the monster behind the smile when he watched the roofie working.

Or maybe I did; I don't remember.

The next thing I do remember is waking up in a little twin sized bed with an erection. I have to say, that was even more surprising than the wings. I had a penis. And testicles.

I figured I must be dreaming, and just admired myself for a while. I was definitely a boy. And a well endowed one at that. Maybe all guys think that when they're hard. I don't know.

I got out of bed and stretched. Ran my hand through my hair. I rolled my shoulders and looked down at my muscular arms. Then I tried to stretch my wings, but they were gone.

It's weird missing something that you aren't supposed to have. People aren't supposed to have wings. But I did, I had for weeks. And now they were gone. And in there place was a penis.

A moan from the bed drew my attention. I looked over, and there was a very attractive young woman. She looked familiar, but I couldn't place why. My memory from the night before was fuzzy. Plus, I'd been a girl then.

The woman in bed opened her eyes and looked at me. Then she screamed and backed up, covering her waist with a bed sheet and putting her hands up like she was going to fight. “Who the fuck are you?” she asked. Then her eyes opened wide at the sound of her very feminine voice.

She looked down at her bare breasts. Then at her very feminine hands. She lifted the sheet and looked at her crotch, then screamed. “What the hell is going on?” she asked.

I don't know why I found it funny. But I did.

“This is a dream, right?” she asked.

I shrugged. “I assume so,” I said. “Last time I remember, I didn't have one of these.” I pointed at my crotch, where my erection was straining to make itself known.

She looked at it, and I smelled her arousal. But there was something else there. Disgust. Not at me. At herself. That was funny too. I started laughing.

“This has to be a dream,” she said.

“If you say so.” Then I gave her my slyest smile, one that years of being a woman had taught me. “You know,” I said, “As long as this is a dream, that means we can do whatever we want, right?”

She nodded. Then she took a deep breath. “It's just a dream,” she said. “Just a dream.”

The smell of disgust started to lessen, and she focused more on my cock. Then she pulled aside the sheets.

I've never been hornier than I was at that moment. So I did it. I got into a strange bed with a strange woman, pretending it was all a dream, and I fucked her. I fucked her hard. She was screaming in pleasure, ordering me to pound her harder. She had an orgasm, and so did I. Hers was long. Intense. It was so intense, I felt the warmth. It's actually what pushed me over the edge.

Then she passed out. I wasn't tired. I was actually really energized. And besides, I was curious. I never got to see what happened to a guy after he came. They always put their cocks away before I could get any real detail. So I wanted to watch.

I stood in the middle of the room and looked down at my naked cock. It started to get smaller, to get limp. I watched as long as I could, but my breasts blocked the view after a few seconds. I leaned forward to get a better view, and flapped my wings to keep my balance.

I reached my hand down and felt my pussy, right where it was supposed to be. I looked in the mirror. Same body I'd had for a month. My clothes, which had been tossed around the room, still fit.

I went to say goodbye to the very sexy girl I'd had sex with, but she was gone. In her place was a guy. A guy I remembered from the night before. A guy who had slipped me a roofie and raped me.

The second time had been consensual. But with a girl. A girl who had been disgusted by her own arousal at the sight of a naked man.

That made me smile again. I found a marker on his desk, and wrote “It wasn't a dream, cock lover” on his chest. Then I took the money out of his wallet, his Ipod, his laptop, his watch, and a stash of unmarked pills that I assume were roofies; I don't know for sure. I flushed them.

I left the room and walked out into the frat house. One guy snickered at me and asked if I'd had a good morning.

I took his cash too, after I broke his jaw.

On the way out, I threw a table lamp into their big screen television.

It was less than they deserved.

I probably would have done more, but I was confused. Really confused. I wasn't a virgin anymore. But more to the point, I wasn't human anymore. No more denial. No more pretending that everything was going to go back to normal. I'd changed genders, twice, in the last twelve hours.

Nothing was ever going to be the same again.