The fallen nurse

Iris heads off to the changing room, where she keeps a spare uniform in case a patient gets sick or is a heavy bleeder. Or apparently if she gets fucked by a demon, her uniform shredded and she becomes an irresistible succubus. But the clothes aren't why she's here—she could just use a glamour to appear ready for another boring human day on the job. No, she's here for the cookies. Iris likes to bring in treats for the other staff members—brownies, oatmeal raisin, lemon bars, snickerdoodles—and today’s batch promises to be sinfully delicious.

She cups her enhanced titflesh, mewling at the sensation, and tweaks the black nipples. Oh, it would be so easy to stay here and play with her new body until more doctors and nurses came on at the shift change, but she has a task to do. She carefully coats the chewy cookies in her unholy offering and waits for the tainted milk to be absorbed. It quickly is and she's walking down the hall, slipped back into her human guise, tweaked just so to show her ass swaying under the (simulated) uniform, with slight added heft up top to match.

She finds the trio of doctors in the break room as she expected, William Palmer and Alec Smith seated at the small table and Laura Owens lying on the couch, eyes closed and dark face turned toward the ceiling.

“Hey, guys!” the improved Iris says, strolling into the room with the hellish treats. “I thought you might want a snack right about now.”

“Do I!” Dr. Palmer says. “I'm starving. I could use a cookie or two to get me through the rest of the night. Didn't really plan ahead. Thanks, Iris!” The redheaded internist takes a couple and bites into one right away, smiling and voicing his approval.

“Ah, chocolate chip?” Smith says. “Again? Yeah, I'll take one, I guess.” The proctologist grabs three and chews one wordlessly, his stubble-covered jaw moving up and down.

“Laura?” Iris asks, glancing over at the third doctor. Dr. Owens stirs, stretching her tall frame back and forth and sending her necklace from side to side. Her small breasts tilt toward Iris under the lab coat and blue top.

“Hmm? I'm up, I'm up!” she says. “Oh, hey, Iris,” the gynecologist continues, seeing the nurse for the first time. “Are those cookies? That might be just what I need to wake up.” She adjusts the hairband on the top of her head and takes a couple of the diabolical offerings, placing them in the palm of her left hand.

“They'll definitely wake you up,” Iris says, the implication lost on the doctors. “You'll be ready to go another 12 rounds. I bet Dr. Palmer and Dr. Smith feel better already.”

“They're not going to make me hyper, are they? Did you use some sort of super-sugar or -chocolate in here?”

Iris chuckles. “Don't worry, you'll be able to work. I wouldn’t give you something bad for the patients!”

“Well, OK,” Dr. Owens says. She breaks off a piece and chews. “Mmm. Did you use some new spices in here? Orange zest and … clove?”

“My lips are sealed!” Iris says, placing the cookie tin on the table.