Feed again — the hunger is already returning, and Mistress's cock is still hard inside you.

Pandora's Box Costume Shop, Birch Street, at 1:51 AM on Thursday October 31st, 2024

The hunger returns before Pan has even pulled out.

It's not a gradual thing — not a whisper, not a suggestion. It hits me like a fist, the void in my chest yawning open the moment her last pulse of cum settles in my womb. I can feel it: an emptiness shaped exactly like her cock, exactly like her energy, exactly like her. My pussy clenches around her still-buried shaft and I whimper, pushing my hips back, grinding my soaked cunt against her.

"Already?" Pan laughs, her fingers tracing down my spine between my folded wings. "Greedy little thing."

"Please," I moan, and my voice — Trixie's voice — wraps around the word like silk around a blade. "Please, Mistress. I'm so empty. I need —"

She doesn't let me finish. Her hips draw back and slam forward, and the sound I make isn't human. It's a raw, animal keen that echoes off the fitting room walls as her cock drives into my cum-flooded pussy, stirring the thick white fluid inside me, pushing it deeper. The wet squelch of her first thrust is obscene — her own seed serving as lubricant for her second breeding.

Hours blur together after that.

Pan fucks me on the bench until it cracks beneath us. She bends me over the fitting room mirror and breeds me from behind while I watch my crimson eyes roll back in my own face — watch my massive latex-sheathed tits bounce with every thrust, watch cum overflow my pussy and run in thick rivulets down my thighs. She pins me against the wall with my wings spread and my legs wrapped around her waist and fills me until my belly rounds slightly with the volume. She lays me on the floor and mounts me missionary, staring into my crimson eyes while she pumps load after load into my womb, whispering mine, mine, mine with every pulse.

I lose count of orgasms somewhere around the fourth breeding. My pussy squirts with every climax — clear fluid gushing around her shaft, mixing with the white cum already overflowing me. The floor becomes a puddle. My voice goes hoarse from screaming. And through it all, the hunger cycles — filled, satisfied, then yawning open again, demanding more, and Pan gives it without hesitation.

Somewhere between the sixth and seventh time she cums inside me, I notice light changing through the shop's front windows. The black of deepest night softening toward grey. Dawn approaching.

Pan notices too. She slows her thrusts — still buried inside me, still hard, but gentler now. Her hand cups my swollen belly, feeling the warmth of accumulated divine seed.

"Halloween night," she murmurs against my ear. "Your party."

The word party triggers something — a distant echo, like hearing a sound underwater. Megan's party. A costume. A boy named Trevor who was supposed to go.

"Don't worry, pet." Pan's lips curve against my neck. "We're still going. You'll attend as my plus-one." She pulls out slowly — the sensation makes me gasp, cum flooding from my gaping pussy — and stands, tucking her softening cock beneath her skirt. "I'll be going as you. A werewolf costume — very masculine, very convincing. Everyone will think I'm Trevor."

She extends her hand to me.

"And you, Trixie? You get to go as yourself. The prettiest succubus at the party."

Her amber eyes gleam with mischief.

"Won't that be fun?"