Rose, just learning she's a succubus

Rose was a girl who lived a fairly normal life so far. Born 21 years ago, people thought she was a boy for most of her life, including Rose herself, until she discovered and announced otherwise shortly after coming to college. Aside from the bravery inherent in that, she otherwise kept to herself and stayed in the background. Her hobbies all involved sitting in front of a screen or holding a book, and despite being proud of who she was she tended to dress in baggy, concealing clothing. She didn't totally know what she wanted to do with herself, having only chosen an English major as a matter of needing to declare one before the deadline, she was essentially watching the clock tick down as she went through the motions until she left school.

One such motion was going to a museum at Ass 'o' Clock in the morning as part of the art history class she needed to take as a general education requirement. The material was interesting enough when the professor didn't have his head up his own ass, and it was neat that Solomon College was close enough to the city that she could just take the subway to the museums but it was less enjoyable on a dark, windy morning when she'd had maybe 3 or 4 hours of sleep the night before. Her alarm went off at 5am, and she groggily slid herself out of the bed with a groan. Her short black hair was a mess, and the soft features of her face scrunched up as she flinched from the sudden light as she flipped the switch in her attached bathroom. She was lucky enough to have her own room on the ground floor of her dorm, and so she felt no discomfort leaving the door open as she slowly shed her sleepwear, her small, black shorts falling to the floor to reveal a perky bubble butt, a small but growing set of hips and thighs, and a below average cock and balls, rock hard with the inexplicably horny dreams she'd been having for the past few months.

The pent up dreams of a shy little loser, the voice in the back of her head said, though like any thought at the moment it was quickly lost in the fog of still being mostly asleep. Her tank top quickly followed her shorts as she turned on the hot water, revealing a small, perky, and (she hoped) growing pair of breasts. The water always took a moment to go from freezing to not-really-but-close-enough-to-warm temperature, which gave her a moment to look herself over in the mirror, noting the pudgy stomach and patches of bad skin. She had a love-hate relationship with her own body, proud of how far she'd come but still never quite satisfied, but she didn't have time to dwell on that this morning. Deciding that the water's temperature would have to be good enough, she hustled into the shower and rushed through the rest of her morning routine so that she could get to the museum at the designated meeting time.

Rose let out a deep breath as she walked between the massive marble columns and into the front hall of the art museum. The wind was biting cold, cutting through her beat up sneakers and simple jeans as if they weren't there, and her triple layers of coat, hoodie, and t-shirt didn't do much to keep her warm up top, even as she ran to get inside, though she did undo the top layer as she walked further into the building. The professor apparently couldn't be bothered to get up as early as he asked his students to, as the TA was the one gathering everyone up. Rose had gotten there a little late; only one or two more people came in after her before the TA decided that was everyone who was coming, and with a brief spiel about being respectful of the space, started further into the building.

It wasn't that Rose didn't find the material at least a little interesting, but she was so tired. Both in a very literal sense, as someone who wanted to turn around and go back to bed, but in general as a person. She felt stagnant and aimless, unsure of where to go in life or how she would get herself there if she was. The paintings and sculptures around her just made her think about her own failed attempts to be creative or constructive for the last chunk of her life, transition aside. So, she wasn't paying much attention, taking a half-hearted note every so often when the TA glanced her way, until the group walked past a certain painting. Rose glanced up from her phone on a whim, saw it, and stopped in her tracks, letting the rest of her classmates move on without her. The painting wasn't too remarkable at first glance, about 3 feet tall and 2 wide. It depicted a figure, hard to tell what gender, rapped in silk and seemingly falling from the sky, a distant landscape below.

An oddly accurate depiction of an airborne angle for something that seems to have been painted before air travel, Rose thought, and briefly wondered if mentioning that kind of observation would get her brownie points on a paper. The figures eyes were closed, but their expression was hard to place- they were smiling, but it was hard to say if it was calm and serene or something more emotional. What really drew Rose in were the little details- the darker spots in the silk could have just been the way the fabric was folding in the air, but the artist had taken great care to show the material as semi-transparent, the green grass below visible through the bottom end of the silk, for example. The faint black patches around the figure then, almost seemed like they were coming from the figure's body, one off of each shoulder.

Wings? Is it supposed to be an angel? Rose thought, but then she saw another, thinner patch coming from the figure's lower back. Angels didn't have tails. And poking out from the figure's curly, auburn hair.... horns? Definitely more of a demon than an angel, but they looked beautiful; Rose could tell they poured devotion into every inch of skin, delicate lips, curve of their thighs as the silk passed between to barely hide what was between...

"Miss?"

Rose jumped at a voice behind her, breaking her concentration. It sounded like the person had been looming right over her shoulder, but as Rose turned, she was a good few feet away; a name-tag reading 'Constance' pinned to a smart black jacket, the tall, svelte, olive-skinned woman seemed to be a museum employee. Her hands were held behind her back, and her face was held in a patient smile, but Rose was finding it hard to draw away from her eyes, a curious sparkle in them. Her black lipstick caught the light as she spoke.

"Miss, please try to keep some distance from the displays." Rose blushed, realizing she'd been inching forward as she took in the details of the painting.

"Um, sorry, I didn't mean to.... um, sorry," she stammered. Constance's smile stayed static, but she turned her gaze from Rose to the painting itself.

"It's quite alright, Miss. It is a fascinating piece, isn't it?" Constance said as she walked forward, until she was next to the shorter woman. "They call it Angel Descending, but we have no way of knowing what the artist actually intended it to be called." Rose looked to Constance confused, until she followed her pointing hand to the plaque besides the painting, simply listing the artist as 'Unknown'. Rose let out a nervous chuckle.

"I guess whoever named it also had trouble telling angels from demons, too." Rose felt a strangely thrilling chill as Constance blinked a couple of times, and slowly turned to face her, a more gentle, genuine smile on her face, though a no less intense sparkle in her eyes.

"Yes," she said, softly at first, "I do believe they did. You have a good eye, Miss....?"

"Rose."

"Ah, lovely! But yes, not everyone can make out those details," Constance continued, "very well done." Rose blushed under the woman's compliments, and shuffled slightly.

"Um, thank you, ma'am," and Rose blushed harder as the woman let out a soft laugh.

"Please, dear, Constance is fine. Now, you came in with that student group, yes? Better catch you back up to them." Rose simply nodded as the woman walked along with her, answering a few questions here and there about her school, the museum, the painting they both seemed to admire. Rose found herself in an odd fog, and before she knew it, she was standing once again at the back of her TA's tour group, Constance's hand on her shoulder. Rose didn't know why she suddenly felt so out of focus, but she knew she wouldn't absorb any more of the tour, let alone asking about what she missed, until she noticed some students already starting to head for the door.

"Seems as though you're all done here, hm? But feel free to come back any time," the museum employee said, leaning in close and almost seeming to whisper that last sentence, and smiling before walking away as Rose mumbled out an affirmative response. She was probably just tired, she thought, though she blushed as she realized a bulge was forming at the front of her jeans, and quickly did up the front of her coat, hoping that the cold wind would help things subside. Strangely enough, she found that though her body let go of that excitement, she was still lost in thought of both the figure in the painting, and the softly intense woman who caught her staring at it.

Finally back at her dorm, Rose fumbled with her keys, stumbling into the room, dim was it was with late morning light. She tossed aside her coat and hoodie, and kicked off her shoes and jeans, before slumping back into her bed. She yawned and stretched-- her body ached for her to go back to sleep, but the stiff rod between her legs ached for something else, straining the front of a pale blue pair of panties. Draping the blanket over herself, Rose let a hand fall to her waistband, almost **** to begin, but her body made the decision for her as her eyes closed and she began to drift.

That is not to say, however, her dreams were particularly restful...