Surrender completely to the feeding — let the hunger consume what's left of Trevor and become Trixie fully.

Pandora's Box Costume Shop, Birch Street, at 1:32 AM on Thursday October 31st, 2024

I stop fighting.

It's not a dramatic moment — no final scream, no last defiant gesture. Trevor simply... exhales. Lets go. The thread of identity that's been fraying for hours snaps like wet tissue paper, and the void in my chest swallows it without ceremony. The hunger rushes in to fill every space Trevor occupied, golden and infinite and right, and I open my throat wider and take Pan's cock to the root with a moan that vibrates through her entire shaft.

I'm feeding. Really feeding now — not pulling tentatively, not testing the channel, but gorging. Golden energy floods down my throat in waves, each pulse of Pan's heartbeat sending another surge into the bottomless pit of my chest. My wings spread wide, trembling, the crimson membrane catching light that doesn't exist. My tail lashes behind me, spaded tip leaving wet trails on the tile. Every swallow draws more power, and every drop of power makes me hungrier, and every increment of hunger makes me suck harder, and the cycle builds on itself until I'm nothing but a conduit — a mouth, a throat, a void — existing solely to consume.

"Oh fuck," Pan gasps, and her composure cracks for the first time. Her fingers tighten in my hair until it hurts — until it pleasures — and her hips stutter forward, losing their rhythm. "Trixie — Trixie — you're taking everything, you greedy little —"

Her cock swells in my throat. I feel it — every vein engorging, every nerve firing, the shaft thickening until my jaw aches beautifully around it. She's close. I can taste it in the energy — a gathering storm, a tightening spiral, something vast preparing to release.

"Swallow it," she commands, her voice raw. "Swallow every drop, Trixie. Feed on it."

She comes with a sound that shakes the walls.

Her cock pulses — once, twice, three times — and then thick ropes of cum erupt directly into my throat. Not the thin, human ejaculate of the previous costumes. This is divine — molten gold that burns going down, that fills my feeding channel with energy so concentrated it makes my vision white out. I swallow convulsively, my throat working around her spasming shaft, and each swallow sends another shockwave of power into the void. My pussy detonates — a spontaneous orgasm ripping through me without any touch, my cunt clenching on nothing, gushing slick so hard it splashes audibly against the floor.

Pan keeps cumming. Five pulses. Seven. Ten. Each one thicker than the last, each one flooding me with more energy than the previous, and I drink it all. My gemstone blazes crimson at my throat. My horns glow faintly. The latex of my bodysuit seems to pulse with each swallow, alive, bonded to me completely.

When she finally pulls free, I collapse forward onto my hands, gasping, cum and drool spilling from my swollen lips. But the void isn't satisfied. It's bigger now — expanded by what I just consumed — and it's already screaming for more.

"Look at you," Pan breathes, still catching her own breath. She crouches beside me, tilting my chin up. Her amber eyes are wide, almost awed. "You took it all. Every drop. Most succubi choke on the first pulse."

I look up at her through crimson eyes that hold nothing of Trevor anymore. There's only hunger. Only need. Only the aching emptiness between my thighs that demands to be filled.

"More," I whisper. My voice is pure silk — inhuman, seductive, designed to make cocks hard and pussies wet. "Please, Mistress. I need more. I need you inside me."

Pan's smile is beatific. She strokes my cheek with one finger, tracing the cum that's smeared across my lips.

"Oh, Trixie," she murmurs. "You're going to get so much more than you bargained for."

She stands, her cock already hardening again — impossibly, instantly — and lifts me by the hips. My wings fold, my tail wraps around her wrist, and she positions me face-down over the fitting room bench. The cold surface presses against my latex-sheathed breasts and I arch my back instinctively, presenting my dripping pussy like an offering.

"Beg me," she says, the head of her cock pressing against my entrance — not entering, just resting there, radiating heat. "Beg me to breed you, Trixie. Tell me you want it. Tell me you'll never leave."

The void screams. My pussy clenches around nothing, desperate, starving.

"Please breed me, Mistress," I moan, pushing my hips back toward her. "Fill me up. I'll never leave. I don't want to leave. I just want your cock — forever — please —"