Visit the sleeping parents' bedroom

Prompt: Visit the sleeping parents' bedroom and assess their susceptibility, keeping the room flooded with pheromones.

Turn 12:

You move silently down the hallway, your true form casting no shadow in the darkness. The master bedroom door stands slightly ajar, and you slip through the gap like smoke.

The room smells of spent sex and human sweat. Howard and Linda lie tangled in their sheets, their bodies separated by perhaps a foot of space but still touching at the hip. Linda wears nothing, her body sprawled on her back with one arm thrown above her head. Howard has pulled on boxers and a t-shirt at some point, though both are twisted awkwardly from restless sleep.

You release more pheromones, saturating the air until it becomes thick and heavy. The scent seeps into their sleeping minds, threading through dreams and lowering barriers that civilization spent millennia building.

Linda stirs first, her breath quickening. Her free hand moves unconsciously to her breast, fingers kneading the soft flesh. A small sound escapes her throat—not quite a moan, but something approaching it. Her dreams are changing, you can sense it. Whatever innocent imagery occupied her mind is being replaced by something darker, more primal.

Howard's breathing has grown heavier as well. His hand has moved beneath the sheets, and you can see the slow rhythmic movement as he touches himself in sleep. His face is flushed, lips parted.

You bring two fingers to your mouth, gathering saliva on the pads. The liquid that coats your fingertips is more than simple moisture—it carries your essence, your corruptive influence, concentrated and potent. Not enough to transform without the soul being consumed first, but more than enough to strip away inhibitions, to dissolve the carefully constructed walls of morality and propriety.

You move to Linda's side first. She's deeper in sleep, less likely to surface. Your fingers touch her parted lips with gossamer gentleness, painting the saliva across the soft skin. Some of it slips between her lips onto her tongue. Linda's throat works reflexively, swallowing. Her tongue emerges to lick her lips, taking in more of your essence.

The change is immediate. Her back arches slightly, her nipples hardening to points. The hand on her breast squeezes harder, rougher. In her dream, she's no longer the careful school administrator who triple-checks attendance records. She's something rawer, something that wants without shame or hesitation.

Howard requires more care. He's closer to waking, his sleep less deep. You gather more saliva and approach from his side of the bed. His mouth hangs slightly open, and you let a single drop fall from your finger onto his tongue. Then another. His throat convulses, swallowing.

Howard's hand beneath the sheets moves faster. His hips begin to rock against his palm. The resistance you sensed in him earlier—the discomfort, the **** to surrender to pheromone-induced lust—it's dissolving like sugar in hot water. Whatever he's dreaming now, it's consuming him utterly.

You step back, observing your work. Both parents are breathing hard, their bodies responding to dreams they won't remember but that will fundamentally change them. When they wake in the morning, they'll be different people. Still themselves, but with key restraints removed. The voice that says "this is wrong" will be quieter. The urge to resist temptation will be weaker.

They'll be ready for the final corruption.