Bevan wins [TF]

“It’s mine, you bitch!” Bevan twisted violently, tearing the contract from Dora’s grasp and knocking her to the ground.

He wasn’t very strong, but he outweighed his smaller opponent by at least forty pudgy pounds. She went sprawling in a ungainly tangle of limbs.

“Creature, restrain her.” The pompous prick ordered, shaking the paper at me. “Do as your master commands.”

That was the second time he’d called me “creature,” and I wasn’t loving it. I do have a name, not that anyone asked. Still, I’d been called worse, and incapacitating Dora was hardly an effort.

I merely intensified my succubus aura until she and her fellow cultists were jelly-legged with carnal longing for yours truly.

The temperature in the cool basement soared as though someone had cranked the thermostat. Hoodies were flung back and unzipped, revealing a collection of utterly unremarkable young women who suddenly began sweating and pawing at themselves.

Blockheaded Bevan insinuated himself into a bevy of girl nerds. Quite the accomplishment for someone with all the charisma of a diseased toad.

Lust steamed off them in unseen clouds, which I happily consumed, shivering with pleasure.

“Wow. Ummm… what did you do?” He asked, dropping the imperious act to glance about nervously. “They look like they’re… uh, you know…”

Let me fill you in on some facts about our boy Bev here.

He’s deeply entrenched in that ‘Manosphere’ rubbish online. Red pilling, anti-feminist hostility, imagined societal gender inequalities–all the incel rage bait.

He thinks Andrew Tate is an unfairly persecuted voice of the downtrodden, but wouldn’t dare express such opinions without the anonymity the internet provides.

Yep, Bev was the kind of swell guy who’d absolutely **** a girl’s drink if he possessed anything resembling a spine. The noodle-dicked invertebrate was marinating in toxic masculinity.

Easy pickings for one of my demonic ilk.

I was warming to him already.

“I merely subdued them as requested, master.” I said, sauntering over to him.

Now, when I saunter, I do it properly–all rolling hips and outthrust tits and swishing hair, swaying decadently to an unheard rhythm. A bug like Bev never stood a chance.

Wood sprouted in his pants like a sapling growing in quick time. I devoured his lust as though I were starving.

“Is there anything else I can do for my big, strong master?” I cooed, stopping well inside his personal bubble to trace a fingertip along his sagging jaw. “Anything at all?”

That appeared to be a step too far. As my contract-bearer, ol’ Bev had some protection against my inhuman wiles. Nothing a smooth operator like me couldn’t work around, but–

“Get back, creature!” He cried, swatting aside my hand. Talk about rude. “You will obey me and cease your unsolicited advances!”

Ah, we’d returned to the domineering master and subservient **** schtick. Fine, fine. I could play along.

“Apologies, master.” I slid to my knees, head bowed in mock repentance. “How can this humble creature best serve you?”

Around us, Dora and her butter-faced cronies also knelt with their hands stuffed down their pants, openly masturbating as they stared reverently at me. Heated moans and breathy gasps filled the air.

Clearly misinterpreting their actions, Bev puffed up like a peacock.

“As I said, I want to be a lady killer. A chick magnet. Irresistible to women. I wanna be balls deep in hot bitches twenty-four-seven.”

Jesus Christ, would you listen to this dumb-ass?

His request was so poorly worded–his phrasing so open to interpretation–I had to smother the urge to change him into a wanted murderer, a rooster, a bar of chocolate, or an oversexed Chihuahua.

Instead, I took a different tack.

Vacuuming every iota of heady lust from the room, and climaxing as it condensed in my demonic core, I unleashed it upon Bevan in a surgical strike.

“GAAAAH!!” He howled as the power coursed through him.

Fat evaporated, replaced by lean muscle. Chronic acne disappeared, a flawless complexion resting in its wake. His roly-poly physique slimmed down to a male ballet dancer's willowy frame, as his once-chubby face attained perfect, narrow-boned symmetry.

Even his hair lost that greasy quality, restyling itself into perfectly coiffed eye-curtains with frosted tips.

What few vestiges of masculinity Bev once possessed vanished, leaving him completely androgynous, his extra-large clothing drooping off him like Dali’s melting clocks.

For my grand finale, I spiked his pheromonal potency into the stratosphere. One whiff of his BO would drive a devout nun to acts of heinous debauchery.

Bevan looked down at himself, horror dawning on his beautiful face.

“Wha–what is this?!” He cried, patting his chest. “I wanted muscles! What did you do?!”

“Exactly what you asked, master.” I giggled drunkenly.

All the ambient lust had gone right to my head.

“Pretty.” Dora moaned, staggering to her feet. “So pretty.”

“Pretty boy.” Her fellow cultists panted, discarding their baggy clothing before forming a mindless mob. “The prettiest. Want… Want!”

They shambled towards Bevan like a pack of ravenous sex zombies. Their pale, out-of-shape bodies converged on their target. The most attractive among them ranked a soft five at best.

Nothing like the supermodel nines and tens he’d imagined throwing themselves at him.

Well, maybe he’d find some if he survived the night.

“No, no!” Bevan screamed, vanishing beneath the oncoming tide of female nerd flesh. “Not them. Not like this! Anything but that!”

Poetic justice served, I twiddled my fingers in farewell before hell reclaimed me in a puff of fire and brimstone.

Shortest. Contract. Ever.

And as every succubus knows, there’s nothing wrong with a good quickie.

The End