Not much before he must feed

John thought about it. He wanted wings. He thought on the wings, nothing happened. He thought about it, nothing happened again. John closed his eyes, “Alright” he said to himself, “Enough fucking around.” He reached down deep inside himself. He thought about his muscles, his bones, the difference they would need for wings. He focused on his mind the image in the finest detail. In his head he carved it himself with great wings like Isis’s wings.

He didn’t feel different. He opened his eyes and looked over his shoulder to see if he had grown wings. He hadn’t.

“God?! How did you do that,” Isis exclaimed.

John had not created wings but a statue of himself with wings carved out solid marble. It had been close and John was encourage not only by his ability to produce something, but to do something which amazed the succubus; whatever he was he was more than another incubus and this intrigued him.

He tried again immediately. This time he visualized not himself but the wings growing from his back, and not demonic wings but those of an angel. White and pure. It almost worked. The wings he grew were feathered like an angel, but black as a raven’s.

He looked at Isis intensely. The effort had made him hungry, no… not hungry but something like it. ‘of course you fool,’ John thought. He needed to feed on sex or blood, and he did not know which, perhaps both, but whichever he needed he knew he needed it soon.

He glared at his creator, “You look human and get dressed. Take me to Sarah.” He concentrated and retracted his wings. John dressed. As he did, he watched Isis re-clothe. He was amazed at her ability to look erotic while putting on clothes. His body reacted, and when Isis noticed she instinctively began to massage her ample breast through her blouse.

John stalked to the demoness sitting on the edge of the bed. He seized her under the arm and pulled her up. “Take me now!”

Isis smiled, “of course, my sweet.”