A blue and white bus glided through puddles and over the asphalt of Ninth Avenue, slowly carrying its load of passengers southward through Manhattan. Most New Yorkers preferred to take the subway, of course. Trains were faster, without the unpredictability of traffic, had greater capacity for crowds, and went further than a few blocks between stops.
Others had reasons to ride on a bus rather than underground. Tourists peered out of the large windows, pointing at and snapping photos of the skyscrapers and street life of Manhattan. The elderly, people with mobility impairments, and parents with young children climbed aboard or disembarked, using the bus to get closer to their destinations. And a few passengers took the time afforded by a slow journey to read, study, or stare at the passing cityscape.
In a window seat at the very back of the bus, Una Belmont sat with a slim notebook open on her lap. She’d dressed for the weather in a long wool coat, dark leggings and boots. Father Michael Belmont had enjoyed the bracing air of cold weather, though he hated getting caught in the rain. Yael, unlike her human host, despised winter; the succubus preferred the heat of a desert or a balmy summer thundershower to the damp chill of New York winters.
Una, as both and neither of the pair, had to figure out for herself what she liked, which meant experimenting with layers and style and finding out the hard way what worked best for her. She looked up from her notes and adjusted her scarf. She’d chosen the garment to hide the burn scars along her neck and shoulder, which refused to fade. Her horns, barely noticeable at their current size, proved easy enough to conceal under her thick waves of hair, and her tail was tucked into her waistband at the moment. But the burns mottling her pale face and arms drew more attention than she wanted, marking her as something other than an average passenger.
The drizzle outside cast an opaque haze over the streets for a moment, then seemed to vanish as rays from the autumn sun found their way through a gap in the cloud cover, bathing the streets in warm light. Her bus passed the Holland Tunnel, and Una gazed out towards the riverfront. Buildings mostly obscured her view of the Hudson, but she glimpsed open water beyond, and thought for a moment of the mermaid, Sia. Did she make it home to the ocean? Birthed her baby, partially named after me?
Una blinked and looked back at the small laptop resting on her thighs. After a restless night at Susan’s apartment uptown, she’d awakened in the late morning to find her girlfriend missing, with only a cooling cup of coffee and the computer sitting on the kitchen counter to greet her. The screen showed Susan’s most recent message, sent an hour earlier.
> Going on ahead to make the ritual preparations! St A’s at noon sharp. Don’t worry about me; focus on yourself. You need to be in the right mental state for the ritual. But also, look at my spreadsheet before you get to church!
The spreadsheet in question had ten rows of data with the names of individuals changed by Una’s transformative powers, either directly or through Maria. It was a chronological list of the havoc wrought since Yael first appeared to possess Father Michael Belmont. And Susan had provided dates, information on people’s occupations, identities and the outcome of their transformations, along with her own notes. Una sighed and went over every row again.
3/4/26. Una Belmont. Catholic pastor / supernatural investigator. By Succubus (Y). Phenotypical female with demonic traits, smoking hot red demon chick, multiple forms. Exhibits some abilities of succubus, absorbs other abilities. Female identity (relatively stable). Powers still emerging, control uncertain, continued observation recommended.
4/21/26. Maria Johanssen. Hedge fund trader / supermodel. By Demi-Succubus (UB). Phenotypical female with demonic traits, tall blonde Heidi Klum type. Exhibits bursts of succubus powers; possibly demi-succubus. Female identity (stable). Powers mostly out of control, strict observation needed.
Una frowned. Maria is stable and I’m only “relatively stable?” What does that mean? And these descriptions are… Susan’s personal takes, I guess? If Maria saw this, she probably wouldn’t be happy with her entry either… She kept reading.
5/28/26. Names Unknown. Wannabe rapist scum. By Demi-Succubus (UB) with demonic assistance (Y). She-goats with tentacles. Unknown (non-verbal). No powers demonstrated. In OSA custody; no action recommended (or possible).
This time, she blinked in surprise. The entry referred to the men who’d assaulted her in Prospect Park, back when she thought of herself as Micki. They’re still alive, she realized. And the OSA has them… locked up somewhere? She tried to imagine the beasts, as they’d been transformed by the spell she’d recited at Yael’s instruction. Maybe they were sitting in an underground goat pen somewhere? Una shook her head in wonderment. No action recommended or possible. That’s not ominous at all.
5/29 - 8/3/26. Names Unknown. Unknown number of former CSW trainees. By Demi-Succubus (UB, under Archdemon Influence). Unknown, possibly minor changes. Unknown. Various. N/A.
8/6/26. Bill Sherwood. Bus driver. By Demi-Succubus (MJ). Phenotypical female, curvy brunette cutie. Male identity and dysphoric. No powers demonstrated. Reversal recommended ASAP.
8/9/26. Cesar Jimenez. Unclear (cable technician? pot dealer?). By Demi-Succubus (MJ). Phenotypical female, busty short Latina butch. Male identity, but conflicting behavior. No powers demonstrated. Further assessment needed ASAP, reversal possibly necessary.
Una’s mouth twisted in a frown as she considered the last few entries. She felt responsible for the people transformed by her brainwashed alter-ego, Mick—though perhaps Thomas Spencer was really the one to blame. But as far as I can remember, those changes had been voluntary. Not to mention far more predictably directed by “Mick,” she thought ruefully. For whatever reason, the false identity that had suppressed her true memories and gender had come with a hefty dose of confidence and simple control. She’d lost that even as she’d regained herself and her free will.
The two following entries, however, worried her the most. The transformations of Bill and Cesar had been entirely accidental on Maria’s part after casual hookups. They’d left both men to cope with unfamiliar bodies while Susan researched how to change them back safely.
8/16/26. Alexandros and Alexandra Gavras. Event promoters / import-export. By Demi-Succubus (MJ). Identical male and female muscle jock twins. Male and female identity (stable? linked?). No powers demonstrated, but divided from one individual into two. Claim to be happy in current state but further assessment needed.
8/24/26. Zayd al-Hashimi. No occupation; representative of his family’s business? By Hybrid Succubus (UB). Phenotypical male, handsome Arabian prince type. Male identity (seems stable, transitioned prior). No powers demonstrated. Light observation.
8/25/26. Tina Chaturvedi. Software engineer. By Hybrid Succubus (UB). Phenotypical female, slender cutie with pixie cut (mixed race?). Female identity (seems stable, began transition). No powers demonstrated. Light observation.
8/25/26. Mary Kowalczyk. Construction foreperson. By Demi-Succubus (MJ). Exaggerated phenotypical female, hyper-feminine pinup version of Marilyn Monroe. Identity unstable, uncertain about transition, mental effects. No powers demonstrated. Immediate assessment needed, partial or full reversal likely necessary.
Of these latest four, Una thought, Mary is the most concerning, for obvious reasons. I guess she wasn’t even sure if she wanted to become a woman, and now her body is so extreme that she can’t really interact like a typical person. That might be all right if she’d chosen it, but… phew. Maria’s the one who changed her. But still… I can’t help feeling responsible. I have to make it right for her.
Una looked out the window to check her location and saw the elevated pillars of the High Line, noting that she had only one or two stops to go. So Zayd is X’s given name? Or maybe the one he’s chosen. And Chaturvedi, Kowalczyk. I’ve been involved in transforming all these people, and yet I know so little about them or their backgrounds.
After reviewing the list, she couldn’t help noticing that Susan had only highlighted three as in need of immediate action: Mary, Cesar, and Bill. They’d somehow gotten lucky with many of the others; Maria and the twins, despite undergoing accidental transformations, seemed to be just fine. X and Tina were willing participants in the reshaping of their own bodies and lives, and seemed ecstatic with their new selves.
I hate to admit it, she thought, but maybe Maria wasn’t entirely wrong. Maybe we’re doing some good, or we could be if we figured out… proper protocols? If we had the help of healthcare professionals and social workers? She shook her head. I’m not the shepherd of a flock or a servant of the people anymore. I’m a succubus who’s barely in control of my own power.
Una shut off the laptop and closed her eyes, resting her head against the window glass. The cool sensation of condensation on her cheek felt soothing as she tried to relax for a few more blocks, letting the rhythm of the wheels rolling across the pavement soothe the anxiety in her chest. But then it was time to push her way past other passengers, and hop off at the nearest stop, at Bethune Street.
Pulling her phone from her pocket instead of the netbook, she tapped out a quick text to Susan about her biggest concern, finishing the message as she walked east through the maze of the West Village.
> Are you absolutely sure you’ve picked the right location to do this? Have you really thought it through?
After a few blocks, frustration pushed her to type again.
> If anyone finds out, it’s not just my collar, of course. It’s John too!
Susan replied a minute later.
> Don’t freak out before you get here. I’ve got precautions covered. We gave the best chance for a good outcome here, geospatial reservation—argh, stupid autocorrect. I’ll explain when you get here.
Una sighed. Susan usually has everything under control, but the times when she doesn’t are—
The succubus’s train of thought cut off as she rounded the corner and saw St. Andrew’s for the first time in months: her old church, the house of God the Church had appointed her to serve in, and a place where she—or Father Michael—had found some semblance of peace, for years on end. It looked exactly the same, aside from the heavy chains on the front doors, which she could see from across the wide avenue. The familiarity was comforting; that it still sat here without her, lonely and shuttered, felt like an accusation.
She took a breath and walked across the street. At the fence in front of the church grounds, a short young man with a puffy coat and slick brown hair was chatting with two girls, one of whom giggled at something he said. Una caught a stray tingle of desire from their direction; they were clearly flirting, both girls vying for the young man’s attention.
“Buh-bye, CJ!” The taller girl, a black girl with long box braids, turned to leave, pulling her companion after her. “We’re gonna see you later at the party, right?”
The object of their interest nodded and gave a wave. “Yeah, for sure.” His tone was gruff but high-pitched, and as Una approached, she realized the person in front of her wasn’t a teenage boy, after all. Wide hips and a generous bosom strained against a sports bra and track pants. She saw CJ’s face and recognized the unusual amber eyes.
“Cesar?” she asked, blinking in surprise. She’d last seen the transformee on the day he’d shaved the back and sides of his head, but since then he’d let the top grow into chestnut waves. He raised a finely plucked eyebrow at her.
“How you know that name?” CJ looked her up and down and waggled his eyebrows suggestively. “Damn, Mami. You looking for Cesar, then I might just take that name again. You are damn fine with those freckles and that ass.” He peered at her closer. “Wait, you look familiar. Are you Raph’s cousin? Shit, I meant to call you after we made out at the Kittybox, girl… I just got caught up with business, you know…?”
Una’s lips quirked into a smile, but she shook her head. “No, Cesar. Or CJ, if that’s what you’re going by. I’m not Raph’s cousin. It’s me, Una Belmont.”
CJ’s eyebrows shot up and his mouth hung open for a few moments. “Madre…! You’re the succubus? What happened to your horns and red skin and shit? You figured out how to shapeshift or some crazy powers like that?” He waggled his fingers, which poked out of the oversized sleeves of the coat.
Una smirked. “Something like that.”
CJ whistled. “Nice. So all this transforming back shit is for real, huh?” A shadow of doubt crossed over his eyes, and he glanced down at himself. He looked like a woman, albeit one with a decidedly masculine presentation and swagger.
Further assessment needed ASAP, thought Una. Okay Susan, why don’t I assess our young victim? “It’s definitely a possibility, CJ…” she began. “At least from what Susan says. But how are you doing? You seem to be, uh… getting around?”
“Getting around, you mean with all this?” He gestured up and down at his body, then leaned closer. “You were right, Padre. Shit, sorry… Sister? I’m not good at this pronoun shit yet. You were right. There are hella fine lesbians in this town! I never even knew. Well, except when they told me to get lost, but I used to think they were lying about it to fuck with me, you know what I mean?”
The former priest couldn’t possibly nod in affirmation of such a sentiment, so she just opened her mouth, then closed it.
CJ dropped his voice into an even more conspiratorial whisper. “And they all think I’m a real girl! I mean, I kind of am, I guess, but… they think I was born like this, and that I’m a butch top. Those two who were just here—do you know what I spent last night doing with them?”
“I somehow feel sure you want to tell me,” Una said.
“Damn, Sister! I had my face buried in one pussy and this slim little fist buried in the other, while both of them fine chicas screamed my name.” C J’s grin split his face in two. “Wait, is this like confession? Secret?”
His volume was loud enough that Una looked around before she shook her head. “Does this look like a confessional?”
CJ ignored her and continued, lowering his voice again. “And you didn’t tell me about… you know. The equipment.”
Una looked at him blankly. “I thought… I did tell you when you asked me about that?”
“Yeah, but how was I supposed to know? When a girl sucks on your clitty, it’s like a fucking fire alarm goes off in your brain. It’s like she got your entire cock in her mouth and tonguing every inch at once. And then…” He took a deep breath. “I tried getting fucked, too.”
CJ closed and opened his eyes and shook his head. “That was… I’m gonna need more practice, but it’s like a rollercoaster. It’s scary, and you don’t know what’s gonna happen next, but then you just wanna go again once you recover.”
Una smiled wryly. “You seem to be adjusting well, at least to sex. How do the rest of your friends and relatives feel about the changes?”
CJ shrugged. “Truth, I gotta figure that out. I don’t know how to talk to my mom. I’m still lying low at Billie’s place. Or Bill, I’m not sure what he wants to go by right now. Me, call me CJ if the ladies are around, all right?” He gulped. “One night, when I was smoking in bed afterwards? I even told this one girl that my whole name was Carmen. Carmen Jimenez, instead of Cesar.”
“And how did that feel?”
He took a deep breath. “Like I’d stepped into the shoes of somebody else. Somebody… I could be, maybe? That I might like to be for real. But I dunno.” He frowned, then shook his head. “I think I’m gonna stay like this for now, though. That okay with you and Maria?”
Una nodded. “Of course. It’s your body and your choice. Are you… do you want other people to think of you as a woman, or a man, or…?”
CJ laughed, and the easygoing charm of the sound made Una smile. “Shit, Sister Una, I don’t think I know for sure. But I like it, whatever it is. I’m a woman, so for the whole pronoun thing? She and her, I guess. I keep having to tell people that when they ask me, so I’m used to it now.”
Incredible, Una thought. A month ago, CJ was furious and resistant to this unexpected transformation. And now she’s… she says she’s a woman. I shouldn’t feel surprised, since I made a similar leap. But what if her thinking was affected by Maria’s powers somehow?
CJ’s cellphone beeped, and she glanced down at the screen and sighed. “Fuck me, all these ladies up on my jock like it’s the playoffs, but the clock’s ticking on my shift. I gotta get back before the boss lady comes around.”
Una raised her eyebrows. “You’re working, I take it?”
“Hell yes, I’m working! Do you think these femmes buy their own damn mojitos? No. CJ has to wine and dine. Besides, nobody cares if their cable guy is a guy or a cable girl, as long as they get their Netflix and HBO. Look, I didn’t tell Susan about my decision, but will you let her know I’m out for now? I’ll check you crazy demon chicks later, okay?”
Una was about to say something in response, but the youthful butch was already making a call. Her own phone buzzed: another message from Susan.
> Where are you? I want to finish the rites before sundown.
> Sorry, out front with Cesar, or CJ. He’s… decided to be a she for now. I’ll tell you in a second.
Una stepped through the long-familiar gates and went around the overgrown fountain to the side door, which bore a less intimidating chain—one that was merely draped to look as if it held the door closed. She lifted the latch and stepped back into her former house of worship.
Her eyes, still the yellow of a succubus even while the rest of her looked mostly human, adjusted quickly to the dim light of the sacristy, and she slipped through the familiar rooms, with their haunting and memory-saturated smells. Here was the bench where Father Michael Belmont used to sit and contemplate the day’s work; here, the table where he’d prepared the Eucharist with Father John Hayes; and there in the hallway was the closet where Michael had masturbated once while fantasizing about the younger priest.
The nave was predictably empty save for the sunbeams of early afternoon, which lanced down through the stained glass windows and illuminated motes of dust floating in the air. A wooden clunk echoed from near the altar, and with a start, Una saw what Susan had done to her church.
The foremost pews on either side of the aisle had been moved aside to clear space. On the floor, chalk inscriptions in white and red criss-crossed the floor, centered on several large circles connected by lines and arcs that dizzied into whorls and unfamiliar script.
Susan stood at the foot of the steps leading up to the altar, which she’d covered with a sheet and a wide cushion. Una wasn’t sure what startled her more: the transformation of the church’s focal point, or Susan’s incredible outfit. The young scholar had a deep closet full of all manner of fetish garb and costumes, but today she looked like a priestess out of ancient myth.
Her breasts hung proud and bare, painted around the areolae and over the nipple with ochre dye. Susan had braided her hair for a change, and woven it through with beads, feathers and shells. A gauzy shawl of white linen hung on her shoulders, with gold thread embroidered in swirling patterns. The rest of her outfit resembled nothing more than a long loincloth, but the material was filmy enough to show off the curve of Susan’s buttocks and the cleft between her legs.
She turned to greet Una with a bright, red-lipped smile, and as she moved, bells on her wrists and ankles jingled. Una felt transfixed by her girlfriend’s eyes, shining with excitement and lined heavily in dark kohl. “There you are, finally!”
Una blinked. “I didn’t realize you’d both be… so dressed up.”
Maria lounged nearby on a pew, her outfit just as elaborate as Susan’s but in a very different direction. If Susan looked like the priestess of a forgotten fertility cult, Maria’s style suggested a modern-day queen of the revels. The blonde’s hair cascaded over her bare shoulders and down her back, and her antler-like horns twined elegantly back from her forehead.
A latex minidress in panels of red and black wrapped Maria’s torso from neck to mid-thigh, with a cutout in the shape of a cross revealing her navel and ample cleavage. Her boots were knee high and spiked, and her makeup was dark and smoldering. A glittering black tiara perched above her horns and matching bracelets adorned her wrists.
The blonde succubus rolled lazily off her pew and onto her toes, yawning. “Didn’t you read Susan’s text about the dress code? We’re supposed to look like sacred manifestations of the primal energy of sex.”
Una raised an eyebrow. “So you went with slutty Catholic goth girl?”
“What are you supposed to be, Una? Ordinary uptown girl waiting in line for a pumpkin spice latte?”
“Ladies, ladies!” Susan raised her hands, which jangled pleasantly. “I realize we’re all living out our fantasies of becoming living sex goddesses… or maybe fears about that… or both? But I have a few things to go over before I bring in Mary, Bill, and our assistants.”
“I ran into Cesar outside,” said Una, inclining her head towards the church’s main portal. “But she’s going by CJ now.”
Maria pursed her lips in an O, but Susan just nodded. “I talked to her earlier. What are your thoughts, O dark mistress?”
Una put a finger on her cheek and tilted her head. “She’s certainly still herself and seems to have accepted things in her own way. Reminds me of how I felt six months ago, if I had almost the diametrically opposite personality.”
The raven-haired succubus glanced at Maria. “However… I remember you said something about calming Cesar down, right? Back when she was panicking after your first fateful encounter. Is it possible that your persuasive powers are influencing her calm acceptance of her new body?”
Maria pursed her lips. “She calmed down at first, but she was just as pissed off later. You saw her at the Haven. She just wasn’t freaking out.”
Susan shook her head. “I had the same question, so I ran some tests last week. She doesn’t even have a residue of energy from Maria anymore, so anything that shifted her mind? It’s over with now.”
“Then there’s not much else to do for her right now,” Una said, shifting uneasily. “But if she wants to opt out of this process for now and find her own way, we should let her.”
“My thoughts exactly,” Susan agreed.
The scholar stared at her succubus girlfriend with a mischievous look. “Now, I know you’re wearing something else under that, dearest. Why don’t you slip out of your streetwear and show us?”
With a cool gaze, Una shrugged off her overcoat, then pulled her sweater up over her head, revealing her nearly naked flesh. She’d capped each breast with a black leather pastie to cover her nipples, each borrowed from Susan’s accessory drawer and emblazoned with a silver star. A thin chain looped around her neck, connecting them, while a second chain circled her waist, hanging on the prominence of her hips. A tiny triangle of fabric covered her vulva, and the tip of her tail curled playfully out from beneath it, its end ringed in metal.
Susan whistled. “Simpler than I’d expected, but the effect is quite pleasing.” Maria nodded warily.
Una smirked in return. “I don’t need to dress up like a sex demon. I am the sex demon.”
Maria rolled her eyes, but Una just stretched, arching her back to show off her body to full effect. She felt confident in her appearance, but also strangely disconnected. Her human form, pale-skinned and with only a short tail and nubs of horns, sometimes felt foreign compared to the succubus self she’d revert to during intense moments.
“Should I bust out the horns and hooves?” Una asked. “Or wait until later?”
“Not just yet,” said Susan. “You’ll know the time.”
Una rolled her neck. “All right. Let’s get this magical fuck fest underway.”
TFTC
TFTC