Uninvited Guests

Sinclair Beauty sat on a quiet side street in the city center, nestled between a small café and a closed bookstore. The large display windows were clean and clear, and behind them the warm lights of the salon glowed. Inside, the air smelled of hair products, nail polish, and the faint scent of lavender oil that Victoria always put in the diffuser.

Victoria “Tori” Sinclair, 43, had built the salon from nothing after her husband left her for a younger woman. She still possessed a remarkably feminine figure: full, heavy breasts, a narrow waist, and wide, round hips. Her dark hair, streaked with a few silver strands, was pulled up into a strict but elegant bun. The tight-fitting dark-red blouse emphasized her generous cleavage, and the black pencil skirt flattered her curved legs and full backside. The previous year had been her best yet. This year, however, everything was different. The damned demons from Sin City had sucked the life out of the town. The register stayed empty, and the young graduates stayed away.

That evening the salon was only sparsely occupied.

At one of the treatment stations sat Skylar Sinclair, Victoria’s 18-year-old daughter. Unlike her curvy mother, she had an athletic build: lean, defined shoulders, a flat, toned stomach, and firm thighs. Her medium-sized, firm breasts suited her sporty frame. Long dark-brown hair fell in soft waves over her shoulders. She wore a simple light-pink sports crop top and tight black training leggings.

Beside her sat the twins Riley and Reese Cole, also 18. The two were nearly identical—slender and graceful, with modest but noticeable curves. Their breasts were small to medium and naturally shaped, their hips narrow, their asses firm and rounded. Riley wore her long platinum-blonde hair loose and slightly wavy; Reese had hers tied in a loose, low ponytail. Both wore simple cream-colored short-sleeved blouses and knee-length dark-blue skirts. On their feet they wore white sneakers.

Their father, Nathan Cole, sat slightly apart on one of the leather chairs in the waiting area. Mid-forties, athletic, with short dark-blond hair. His eyes never left the large tablet in his hands. He was clearly still working for the DSD even while accompanying his daughters.

At the nail station sat 62-year-old Dorothy “Dot” Hale. A petite, well-groomed woman with short gray-white hair and a soft, motherly figure. She wore a pale lilac blouse and beige trousers. Ever since her husband James had gone missing, she often seemed distant, yet today she had arrived at her usual time as always.

Behind the counter stood Zoe “Zee” Mercer, 27. The e-girl had a slim but distinctly feminine figure, medium-sized firm breasts, and a tight waist-to-hip ratio. Her hair was cut asymmetrically—one side short and black, the other long and pink-violet. She wore a tight black mesh top over a red bra and a very short plaid pleated skirt. Several piercings glinted in her ears and nose.

Julian “Jules” Voss, 31 and openly gay, was currently taking care of Dot. Slim and well-groomed, with artfully styled dark-brown hair and light stubble. His tight black shirt emphasized his narrow shoulders, and his dark trousers fit snugly.

While Jules chatted with the older woman and Zee attended to Skylar and the twins, a strange quiet hung over the salon. Outside, the street was unusually empty.

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On the rooftop across from the salon stood Jacob and Holy. From up here they had a clear view straight into the large windows of the beauty salon. The street below was quiet, almost eerily still for this hour. Ten minutes earlier a larger military convoy had passed—vehicles with bright headlights rolling slowly down the side street. A clear sign that open movement here was risky.

Holy grinned while provocatively massaging Jacob’s thick, dark-red cock. “Costumes,” she murmured with amusement. “The actors are already wearing them. Perfect for our film.”

Both of them let Lilith’s dark magic take effect.

A dense illusion settled over them.

Holy appeared in her former nun’s habit. The fabric had been deliberately cut one size too small and stretched tightly over her large, heavy breasts, making the deep shadows between them clearly visible. All demonic features—horns, black claws, fangs, and the tail with its phallus-like tip—were completely hidden beneath the spell.

Jacob shrank his imposing incubus form. He now looked like an average man in his early thirties, unremarkable, holding a professional camera. Nothing about him revealed the demon—no horns, no wings, no tail, no claws, no fangs.

They left the rooftop through the narrow stairwell. The metal steps echoed softly under their feet.

Before they entered the salon, Holy put on a pious, demure expression—the perfect look for the film the world would never forget.

The salon’s doorbell chimed.

Victoria looked up.

A nun stepped inside—the habit stretched tightly over an unusually large bust—and behind her came a sleazy-looking man with a camera.