Michael stepped into the hotel room, knowing and not knowing what to expect. He smiled though, as the outcome - however it unfolded - was sure to please.
And why shouldn’t it? He had been suave back in high school, leaping from sexual adventure to adventure with the ease of a trapeze artist. Being star of the boxing team had its perks, from hard muscle to potent endurance. He could ride girls for hours, melting them to jelly in orgasmic bliss wherever, whenever he wanted.
He was king of campus. He became king of the town; he owned the only bar and social club, adding the prestige of a successful businessman to his portfolio. That was the benefit, he thought, with a small town. In a more metropolitan setting, he’d be nothing much. But here, where the nearest major city was almost an hour’s drive away, he could own what he wanted, and demand whatever he desired.
What he desired, in this moment, was Samantha.
She was tall, exotic in her triangular shape, broad shoulders and narrow hips stacked atop legs that towered upwards from the floor. Short, blonde hair was cut into a bob, edge level with her chin, level with the silver hoops dangling from her ears. Her black blazer and blood-red blouse curved over ample breasts, while slender fingers set her purse down on the bedside table.
That Samantha was once the boy he’d bullied for four years only made the conquest of her more intoxicating.
* * *
He’d approached with clear intent. She looked sensuous from the back, sitting at the hotel bar, the noise of his 25th high school reunion melting into meaningless noise behind them.
Pressing his hands to the bar top, he smiled at her. “May I buy you a drink, ma’am?”
She blinked; long, curved eyelashes sliced through air. She slid the her cosmo into better view. “I already have one.” Dark red lips curled into a smile. “You’re welcome to join me, though, Mr. Clauson.”
Michael blinked. He was used to people knowing him; it was strange, though, how he didn’t recognize her. “Are you here for the…” he started, pointing into the air between them.
“The reunion?” She laughed; a deep, but musical sound. “Go Garretsboro Patriots, right?”
He joined her laughter. “Of course. I feel like I would remember a girl like you though. You’re stunning.”
She turned back towards her glass, lifting it. Lips parted, sipping pink liquid from the conical vessel. “I looked a lot different in high school.”
“A late bloomer, then?”
“A very late bloomer.”
Turning on her barstool, she faced him for the first time. Crystal blue eyes stared out, deep set into her painted face. She gestured to the sticker at her breast, pulling back the front of her blazer so it could be more easily read. “Samantha.” Below it, in parenthesis, “Charles.”
Michael paused, eyes widening. Charles had been a ruffled-haired nerd, always bent over a book on some topic most others their age could care less about. Charles gave no resistance when slammed into lockers or shoved down into the mud. He whimpered, but never fought back, when kicked in the stomach. He’d only blushed and cowered when hazed in front of the other boys in gym.
And here he - rather, she - was, feet crossed at the ankles, skirt fitting close around hips and thighs. “I,” Michael said, struggling for words, “had no idea.”
“Neither did I, until college. I’d always felt wrong. It took theater, and and playing a woman there more than a few times, to realize who I was at heart.”
“I’m shocked you got on stage.” Michael sat up straight, at last, easing back into his confidence. He summoned the bartender over, ordering a beer on tap. “You barely made a peep in school.”
“The stage freed me to escape the role I’d been pushed into.” Samantha’s fingers touched her glass, stroking over the smooth surface. “It’s as simple as that.”
“That’s beautiful.”
Samantha turned towards him. “I see you’re not much different. Still the dashing playboy,” she said, a curl to a corner of her lips.
* * *
He suggested. She accepted. He was eager to explore what was transformed in her.
He stepped forward, bringing his lips to hers. He startled, though, when her hand grabbed the front of his shirt.
“Not like that,” she said, a chill to her voice. She spun on her feet - how she managed that in heels was nothing short of spectacular - swinging him around with ease, and pushed him down on top of the bed.
He laughed after finding his breath, smiling at her. “You like to take charge,” he said, chuckling. “Though I still think I can give you a run for your money.”
“You’ll do no such thing,” she said, voice crystalline. A flicker of red in her eyes; shadow crept around the edges of her form. A chill shook down Michael’s back. His beer must have been headier than he thought.
“Look, let me make perfectly clear…”
“You have no need to,” Samantha frowned down at him. “You’re an open book,and I know you exactingly. You might still be the playboy you were, but what I’ve become is far beyond your imagination.”
Her clothes dissolved into particles around her, evaporating into the air. In their place, two leathery wings rose from her back, while curling horns rose above her head. What were once bright, blue eyes now glowed a fiery red, sparking like flickering candles in the dim room light. Claw-like nails sliced easily through the fibers in Michael’s shirt, cutting down into taut skin at his shoulders.
“You’re…!”
“I didn’t just find myself in college, Michael.” Samantha leaned down; her teeth, visible behind the cherry red of her lips, were sharpened barbs. “I became something. I invited something wonderful into me, and I have been happier, more extraordinary, ever since.”
She leaned down, bringing her mouth to his, kissing deeply; his eyes bulged as her tongue thrust inside, his body softening beneath her grip, beneath the straddle of her hips. He groaned, horrified at the inhuman thing that sat over him, but intoxicated on how furious and passionate her kiss was.
She sat up, licking her lips. Blinking, he stared up more vertically at her than he had. His feet swung above the floor. They kicked for purchase, finding only the side of the mattress.
“You’re wondering where the floor is,” Samantha laughed, raking her fingers - were her hands so big, before? - down his chest and belly, tearing his clothing to ribbons. “You’re wondering how it is that I seem a little taller now. Is that it, jockey?”
“What… What’s happening?”
Samantha’s hips settled back, her body turning parallel to him, mouth meeting his again. Her tongue felt gigantic within his mouth now, taking up every bit of space between his jaws. He struggled to pull air in through his nose. Yet he found his throat gurgling out a moan, body shuddering as her hips pressed down, shoving his against the mattress.
When she rose up this time, he could no longer see her face over the crest of her breasts where they rested over her ribs.
“Samantha, answer me!”
She looked down. His eyes locked to hers. Pain rolled off of her in waves, crushing as their massless force flowed off her. “Why should I answer you,” she said, hissing. Wings stretched wide over the room, arcing from side to side, a canopy over the bed. “I remember everything you ever did to me.”
He cringed. “Look, we were just teenagers…”
Her hand clamped down over his face, cutting off the air to his nose and mouth. He stared through her spread fingers, the edges of his vision hazy. “I remember every time you pushed me down. Every time you kicked me into the dirt.”
“It couldn’t have been that many…”
“Every locker you shoved me into. Every crowd you brought down on me, laughing at me, taking my books, taking my dignity.”
“I wouldn’t say I took your dignity,” Michael said, laughter nervous and quick as he shook his face loose enough from her grip to get air into his lungs. “I mean, it was just the books, and some pushing, and, well, y’know, just bullying between school boys…”
“You’re lying,” Samantha said. Her hands planted to either side of him. The span of her shoulders felt enormous; his body thin, slight, small compared to her own curves and breadth. “I can taste the lies streaming off of you,” she hissed. Her tongue - long, pointed, violet and slick with saliva - snaked over her lips. “You might refuse to admit to it, but I remember.”
Her hips lifted; she crawled forward, a titan moving an inch at a time, gigantic body swaying from side to side. Michael’s breath rushed, senses struggling and failing to process what made no sense. The pointed barb of a tail shot down between her legs, landing fractions of an inch from piercing his loins. He screamed, but the sound felt small, lost in the vastness of the room, lost in the vastness of the woman looming over him.
“I remember what you did to me,” Samantha snarled. Her thumb pressed against his mouth, prying his jaws wide apart. “Would it help if I reminded you?”
His throat twitched. Her hips loomed over him. Pointed down at him, massive in contrast to his doll-like form, was the gracefully arcing shaft of Samantha’s penis.
Drool trickled from his mouth, meeting the tears flowing him his eyes. “Please,” he said, “Please…”
Her hips sank downwards. The crown of her phallus met his mouth.
Then, it pushed inside.
* * *
“Please,” Charles said, knees buckled and sore as they hit the floor of the gym changing room. “Please, just leave me be.”
Michael laughed, though. He crouched down, his thumb thrust into the mouth of the young man at his feet. “Hey, don’t feel bad. You’re doing me a favor, after all. It’s not fun to jerk it into a cold hand, after all. It feels much, much better to stick it somewhere warm.”
Tears rolled down Charles’ cheeks. Michael’s hand withdrew. The pull of a zipper rolling downward, the shifting of fabric against itself and against skin, felt horribly loud in the otherwise empty room. “Besides,” Michael said, shoulders rolling into a shrug, “this’ll probably be the only action you get before graduation.”
He stepped closer. Musk filled Charles’ sinuses, followed by Michael’s penis filling his mouth.
* * *
The demon’s hips rolled, pumped, pushed down upon the miniature man beneath her. His voiced melted into indistinct gurgling; her’s into deep moans the rolled up from her belly and out between panted breaths. Fingers curled and clawed the bed, her spine twisting as she sank her length deeper into the figure under her.
It was with a final chain of deep groans that she released herself, every muscle loosening, become more elastic, all at once. Her chest dropped to the mattress, face laying on her cheek. Her hips rose, the lingering, watery drops left from her orgasm dripping off her erection.
Rolling onto her side, Samantha looked down at the space that had been beneath her. There, the tiny, foot long body beside her, oozed the thick liquid of her come from every orifice. A wicked smile crossed her lips; he looked broken now, but with a little care and cleaning, and a little magic to mend bones and muscle shattered by her orgasm, he would be useful to play with again.
It didn’t matter if he would remember that day in the locker room, and the humiliation on her face. And he would never know the raw power that pulled him up and out of that darkness, onto the light of a stage, into the fiery light of a demoness the ebbed and flowed through her blood.
All Michael had wanted was sex. And now, she would make it clear, that was the only thing he was good for.