Everything goes according to plan

Abi opened the bedroom door without pause. She snarled, smelling the musk of 3 bodies: Her love, the prude who lived there, and a third. A stranger.

She inhaled deeply once more, placing the scent to a male in his early 20s. After a few seconds of exploration she found a pile of clothes on the floor. It was his. Whoever he was, he had to be extraordinarily powerful to have resisted and subdued her favorite sister, she reasoned. They would need all the help they could get.

Luckily, the fool left his wallet and identification in his back pocket. She would exact her vengeance soon.

Tammy entered behind her. It was only the two of them, as the rest of the coven were doing their own thing for the night. Shedding her clothes and human disguise, Abi’s sister spoke in a hushed tone, “There’s nothing in the kitchen or living room to suggest a third assailant. Do we really need to call Trish to back us up?”

The Queen’s adopted daughter said nothing. She pulled the man’s ID out of his wallet and tossed the latter aside. Her tail was the first to transform, and her skin and lips followed. The light of the living room hit the left side of her face, now fixed in a scowl. Abi held the card out behind her, staying silent. The redhead behind her grabbed it out of her vice grip, then bent down to pick up her phone. Her crimson udders hung in the air as she dug around for it. If the apartment wasn’t deserted, this action would’ve been enough to drive any man insane with lust.

Lifting the device to her head, Tammy dialed her other sister and walked out of the room in her black stilettos, her plump backside swaying from side to side in contrast with her tail. A chill travelled down her spine and out of her phallic limb, one unlike any that she had felt during intercourse. The last time that she had seen that look in Abigail’s eye, Tammy had been incensed and soaked in rainwater, merely mortal…

“We’re coming for you, my love,” thought Abi, her thought filled with images of Brandy.

Roth flapped his wings and began a quick descent, landing with a loud *thump* onto the roof of his apartment building. He remained thankful that his father could afford to construct the tallest building in the borough, as he now occupied the top five of twenty-three floors in a complex just down the road from the university campus. Nobody would be complaining about the noise level tonight, he mused as he set his captive demoness down onto the helicopter pad. Grabbing the carbon fiber rope from the pulley system which held the tower’s window washing platform in place, he began to raise the catwalk up to him. Not minding the downpour as much as he did earlier in the night, he gave the pulleys another tug, as the fully raised platform was ripped off of the steel fixtures that supported it. Having already readied himself for the exertion that would follow, he glanced over at the drenched succubus, still ****, sprawled on the steel landing pad. With a sadistic grin, he pulled the heavy platform onto the roof in front of him. It was the perfect width and length to us in order to restrain two full-size succubi. He grabbed the masked crimson beauty and threw her over his shoulder, bounding towards the door that led to the 23rd floor.

Dahlia had never felt anything like the arousal that she experienced in her bedroom not fifteen minutes ago. As the storm continued to buffet her skin in its torrent, she could feel the intoxicating effects of a night full of drinks flush out of her bloodstream.

“From wet to dry, to wet again,” she remarked aloud.

Her head cleared, in rushed a wave of countless questions for her friend.

Among them:

How did he get up onto the fire escape?

How did he manage to grow a 14 inches taller at will?

How did he know what Brandy’s goal was?

& most importantly...

Why the fuck was he not in costume??

The Jessica Day look-alike felt her phone ring through her purse. Grabbing it, she brushed a wet clump of her slicked blonde hair behind her shoulder. Shivering in the cold of the New York night, she put her phone to her ear.

“Hello?”

“You almost here?”, the man replied, ignoring the greeting/question.

“Turner, you better tell me what the fuck is going on once I get out of that elevator!”, she demanded.

“I’m an open book. No need to get testy, Dahlia…”

“Speaking of testes, have you covered up yet? Or is inviting me over just your sick way of saying sorry?”, the blonde retorted.

“No time for that. Get up here as fast as you can. 23rd floor”

*click*

Good. She wasn’t in the mood for it.

Roth had dried off and slipped into his sweatpants by the time he heard the key unlock his front door. He rushed into the foyer just in time to see Dahlia stomp in under the weight of the water. All 90 pounds of her were working overtime to hold that body up under the water’s weight. He grabbed her a robe from the laundry room as they passed it, noting that she didn’t look amused or aroused. Fuck- he hated it when she was serious. She always asked too many questions.

“So what is that thing, and what did it do with Brandy?”, she asked.

“That ‘thing’ is a succubus, and it is Brandy.”

She paused in confusion for a minute and trailed behind him, stripping off her wet ‘New Girl’-inspired dress in favor of the dry burgundy robe. The cold she endured had her needle-thin nipples poking through the fabric, despite her having returned to her prudish self.

Past the kitchen and dining room, they finally arrived at the den. Roth moved to the window, seeming lost in his train of thought. Abi was coming for her kin, he had made sure of it by leaving his wallet on the floor of Dahlia’s bedroom. She had to be on the roof for this to work.

Snapping out of his trance, he turned to the skinny girl, “Could you do me a favor? Go down the hall,” pointing to the right side of the bar that she faced, “and grab the box on my workshop table.”

She paced down the long hall, water still dripping down her slender legs. Stopping at the end of the hall, she noted two doors; a dark metallic door with a fancy camera mounted on the wall to its left, and the plain wooden door with a normal lock in front of her. She undid the lock with his key and turned the knob of the white door at the end of the hall, silently wondering what was behind the mysterious metal one.

To her right hung a full-body hazmat suit and emergency shower. On the left there was a tub marked with the biohazard warning symbol. to the right of the closed steel tub was a metallurgist's forge. What was he using this for?She didn't want to linger and test his patience, so she looked towards the back wall of the workshop. Spotting the table and the box that Roth Turner had requested, she bent over the gridded table and lifted the cardboard container. It was heavier than she suspected, and on her way back to the bar, she noted the jingling of metal coming from inside of it.

As she placed the box on the bar, Roth slipped past her and quickly walked down the hall. Glancing at his exposed back, she marvelled at his toned physique and the wings tattooed across his upper back.

The tall man leaned towards the optical sensor for the anthracite door. The lock beeped and unlatched. He entered a sound-proof room.

Inside his dimly lit dungeon, his eyes fell to the crimson-skinned succubus, still ****. Her failure to feed on the soul of his partner had left her exhausted. Unclasping her tail and feet, he folded the seat upwards, perpendicular to her flat torso. Moving to the short side of the metal table, he undid the knots around her outstretched arms. Next, he reached beneath her hip and hoisted her over his shoulder once more, leaving the room and hearing the door lock behind him.

“Thank God she’s still ****,” Dahlia remarked.

He rolled his eyes at her misplaced gratitude.

“Come with me. Bring the box.”

She lifted it and walked in line behind him. She would be a good girl… for now.