Ask Pan what she means by going as 'you' — what exactly does she have planned for Megan's party?

Pandora's Box Costume Shop, Birch Street, at 6:55 AM on Thursday October 31st, 2024

I push myself up from the floor on shaking arms, cum still leaking from my swollen pussy in thick threads that stretch toward the puddle beneath me. My wings fold against my back with a wet sound. The hunger is already stirring again — a low, persistent ache behind my sternum — but curiosity cuts through it like a blade.

"What do you mean, go as you?" I ask, tilting my head. My spaded tail flicks behind me. "You're going to... pretend to be Trevor?"

Pan is already moving toward a rack of costumes near the fitting room door, her hips swaying with that predatory grace. She selects a hanger — something dark and furry — and holds it up with a grin.

"A werewolf costume," she says, tossing it onto the bench. "Very masculine. Broad shoulders, stubbled jaw, the whole package. I'll walk in as Trevor, say hello to Megan, mingle." Her amber eyes slide to me, heavy with intent. "Meanwhile, you walk in looking like that." She gestures at my body — the crimson latex fused to my skin, my massive tits, my horns, my wings. "Every guy at that party is going to lose his fucking mind."

I feel my pussy clench at the thought. The hunger pulses.

"Here's the beautiful part," Pan continues, stepping closer. She cups my chin, tilting my face up. Her thumb traces my lower lip — still swollen from hours of sucking her cock. "You're going to seduce them. All of them. Every horny college boy who can't stop staring at the slutty succubus. You're going to lure them into bedrooms, bathrooms, closets — wherever — and you're going to let them fuck you. One after another. Gangs of them. Their cocks filling every hole while you feed on their energy like the greedy little cumslut you are."

My breath catches. The image blooms in my mind — vivid, overwhelming, delicious. Dozens of thick cocks. Hands grabbing my tits, my ass, my wings. Cum flooding my pussy, my throat, painting my latex body white.

"And while you're being passed around like a party favor?" Pan's grin turns sharp. "I'll be working the girls. Megan. Her friends. Every pretty little thing in a sexy costume who gets close enough to the charming new guy." She rolls her shoulders, and for a moment I see it — the werewolf costume's magic rippling across her form, broadening her frame, adding height and muscle. "I'll take them one by one. Bend them over, pin them down, breed their tight little cunts full of divine cum. By morning, they'll be mine — new pets, new playthings, new additions to the collection."

She leans in close, her lips brushing my pointed ear.

"You feed on the boys' energy. I collect the girls. And nobody at that party will ever know what happened until it's far too late." Her tongue traces the shell of my ear and I shudder, my thighs pressing together. "Doesn't that sound perfect, Trixie?"

The hunger roars inside me. Not just for Pan anymore — for everyone. For the tidal wave of sexual energy that a college Halloween party represents. For the feeling of being used and filled and consumed by desperate, horny men who can't resist a succubus's pull.

"Yes," I breathe. "Mistress, yes."

Pan kisses me — deep, possessive, her tongue claiming my mouth — and then pulls back with a satisfied smile.

"Good girl. Now clean yourself up. The party starts at nine."