"Eh?" I blinked, my brain struggling to shift gears from apocalyptic destruction to... scheduling our sex life. "Are you serious? We just blew up a fortress, stopped a world-ending ritual, and you want to... what? Find a nice inn and screw until the bedsprings give out?"
"Yes," Beatrice said, her tone utterly flat, as if she were discussing the weather. "That's exactly what I want to do. And it's not an inn. It's my place. A bolt-hole. Very exclusive. Very private. And the bedsprings are reinforced. Trust me, you'll need them."
She was already moving. I didn't even have the time to react when she wrapped her right arm around my waist and lifted me up like I was a small child.
"Hey! What the hell?! Put me down!" I squirmed, my mangled leg sending a fresh jolt of agony through me.
"Hush, baby," she cooed, her grip tightening like a steel band. "You're injured. You can't walk. I'm carrying you. Deal with it."
She then pulled out another teleportation scroll and used it.
The world dissolved into the now-familiar blinding blue light.
The reconstitution was rough. I stumbled, my broken leg giving out entirely, but Beatrice's arm was still there, holding me upright. We were inside. The air was warm and heavy, thick with the scent of old books, strange spices, and something else... something rich and musky that was uniquely Beatrice.
And before I knew it, we were standing in a wide, luxurious bedroom.
I didn't even have time to admire the craftsmanship before Beatrice dropped me into the center of it.
The mattress was absurdly soft, a cloud of down that threatened to swallow my aching frame whole. My mangled leg throbbed in protest at the sudden movement, but the sensation was quickly eclipsed by the sheer, heavy weight of Beatrice pinning me down. She didn't waste a second. She was over me, her knees bracketed on either side of my hips, her hands pinning my wrists into the silk pillows above my head.
"Wait—" I gasped, the word catching in my throat as she leaned down, her hair falling like a curtain of fire around our faces.
"No waiting," she growled. The pink light was back, simmering under her skin, making her veins glow like neon filaments. "Do you have any idea what it's like, Aza? Watching you become that? Watching those shadows tear the world apart while you moaned my name?"
"I didn't moan your name," I hissed, though my treacherous heart hammered against my ribs like a trapped bird.
"You did it in your head. I tasted it in the kiss." She leaned closer, her nose brushing mine. Her breath was hot, smelling of copper and sweet ozone. "The ritual was designed to feed a god. You ate a god's dinner, and I ate the leftovers off your lips. I'm vibrating, Aza. If I don't let this out, I'm going to shatter."
She wasn't lying. I could feel it. A tremor ran through her body, a vibration that was more than just excitement. It was the raw, untamed power she had siphoned from me, from the ritual's overflow, and it was coiling in her like a spring about to snap.
She wasn't just horny.
She was dangerously, supernaturally overcharged.
My protests died in my throat. This wasn't about pleasure. This was about containment.
She released my wrists, but only to grab a healing potion from her storage ring.
"Here." She shoved the neck of the vial into my mouth. The liquid was bitter, sharp, but the effect was instantaneous. A cool, pleasant feeling spread from my stomach, washing over my broken leg. I felt the bone shards knitting themselves back together with a series of sickeningly loud snaps. The agony receded, replaced by a dull, phantom ache and a strange, tingling itch as flesh and muscle rapidly regenerated.
"See? All better." Beatrice tossed the empty vial aside. Her eyes roamed over my naked body, no longer looking at me as a person, but as a tasty piece of meat.
"Now... where were we?"
She raised a hand and was about to touch my tits, but suddenly she stopped.
"Aza, could you do me a favor?" she said, her voice husky, her pink eyes burning with an unnerving intensity.
"Eh... sure?"
"Change to your male form."
"Excuse me?" I blinked, my mind reeling. "After all that? You want me to be a man?"
"Just do it. I want to suck a male cock," she pleaded, her voice a strained whisper. "Your male form."
The sheer, unexpected vulgarity of the request was so jarring it was almost funny.
"Fine," I sighed, focusing my will. The shift was instantaneous. My breasts flattened, my hips narrowed, my shoulders broadened. My pussy sealed itself, and in its place, my cock and balls formed, already half-hard from the sheer psychic pressure radiating off Beatrice.
"Good... boy..." she breathed, her gaze fixed on my groin.
She didn't waste a second.
Her throat opened like a second cunt.
No hesitation, no gag reflex, no polite little pauses for air. Beatrice simply took me—all of me—in one long, liquid slide until her nose pressed flush against my newly formed pubic bone and her lips kissed skin that hadn't even existed thirty seconds earlier.
It wasn't gentle.
It wasn't a blowjob.
It was an act of consumption.
Her lips were a tight, perfect seal, her tongue a coiling serpent that wrapped around my shaft, stroking, lapping, demanding. She wasn't just pleasuring me; she was draining me. Sucking out my essence, my mana, my very soul, just as she had through our kiss.
"Ah... fuck, Bea!" I groaned, my fingers digging into her scalp, tangling in that smooth purple hair.
She didn't slow down. If anything, she got more aggressive, sneakily shoving a finger up my ass. Her finger was ice-cold and slick with something that wasn't saliva—a faint, pink, viscous fluid that made my ass clench with a pleasure so sharp it was almost painful.
"Bea!" I gasped, my hips bucking involuntarily.
She looked up at me, her eyes watering from the sheer force of her efforts. But the tears weren't from discomfort. They were tears of pure, unadulterated ecstasy. Her pupils were blown wide, the pink starlight in her irises blazing so brightly it was like staring into twin suns.
She was feeding.
And I was the feast.
She pulled back, her lips releasing my cock with a wet, obscene pop. A thin strand of saliva and pre-cum connected us for a moment before breaking. She was panting, her chest heaving, a strand of drool running down her chin.
"Your male form is amazing, my dear wife," she said, her voice a ragged, lust-filled rasp. "The taste is... so... potent. Pure demon. No succubus filter."
She kept stroking my black cock while shoving a second finger up my ass.
"You like this, don't you?" she purred, her fingers working inside me, finding that spot that made my vision white out. "You like being used. Being... devoured."
I couldn't answer. I could only gasp and writhe, my body a marionette and she the puppeteer.
"Good," she said, a triumphant smirk on her face. "However, my dear, your male form is still lacking something."
"Ahh~... what do you mean?" I managed to stammer out.
"The royal succubus' male form isn't set in stone; it can change, adapt," she explained, her fingers still working their magic inside me. "We can shape it to our desires. The size, the shape, the texture... even the taste."
'Really?' I thought it's locked since I'm not a real succubus but a Nephalem.
"Close your eyes and focus on my magic," she said, her pink aura intensifying. "I'll guide you."
I didn't argue. I couldn't. Between the rhythmic invasion of her fingers and the lingering, phantom suction on my cock, my brain was mostly static anyway. I closed my eyes, letting my head sink back into the silk pillows.
Immediately, I felt it.
Beatrice's mana didn't just brush against mine; it hooked into it. It was like a hot, neon-pink wire threading through my nervous system, seeking out the root of my transformation. It wasn't a gentle suggestion. It was a command.
"Focus, Aza," her voice echoed in my skull, bypassing my ears entirely. "Follow my mana and let your form adapt."
I felt my body responding, changing, yet I couldn't quite see what was happening.
"Fuck… yes. That's it." Beatrice made a low, reverent sound in the back of her throat. Her fingers inside me crooked again, pressing that spot with surgical cruelty while her other hand guided the transformation.
Ten seconds later.
"There... perfect," she whispered, her lips now back on the tip of my cock, her tongue swirling around the new shape.
I opened my eyes, my gaze falling upon my own crotch, only to get the shock of my life.
"WHAT THE FUCK!" I roared, my eyes wide with disbelief.
My skin changed in color from charcoal black to pale white. Not important.
But my cock... my cock had changed dramatically.
It was smaller, like 4 inches in length.
But the most shocking thing was my entire lower half.
My hips were wider, my thighs softer, more rounded. My waist was narrower, giving me a distinct hourglass shape. My butt was now bigger, plumper, and rounder.
"You... you made me a femboy?" I gasped, my mind struggling to process the image.
"A very delicious one," she purred, her tongue flicking out to taste the pre-cum already beading on my new, smaller tip. "And not just a femboy, my dear..."
Beatrice rose, her movements fluid and deliberate, her predatory gaze never leaving my transformed body.
"My femboy."
"!!!" My breath hitched when I saw the monster between her legs.
It wasn't just a cock.
It was a god-tier tool of impregnation. A monolith of pale, veined flesh that defied all natural law. It had to be at least 14 inches long and as thick as her own wrist. Its sheer size was breathtaking, but it was the details that made it truly terrifying. The head was a perfect, flared mushroom, angry and purple, leaking a steady stream of clear, viscous fluid.
"Beatrice..." I wheezed, my voice now several octaves higher, matching my soft, lithe new frame. "What the hell did you do to yourself?"
"Sorry, dear, I forgot to tell you that I have a strong fetish," she replied with a mischievous glint in her eye as she gave a few slow pumps to the monstrous thing between her legs. "For dominating pretty, little femboys."