An epic-length, romance/transformation novel about a mighty female-demon, who forces a young man to give up his manhood for the power only a 'female-body' can wield.
Alone and scared, Sylvine must come to grips with his feminine side, for the joy he found in womanhood can not be suppressed. However, because of his contempt for Lady Tania, who granted him his womanhood, he's placed a wall of mannnish pride before him, and refuses to succumb to the temptations of his hidden female-self.
That is, until he meets a girl named Illiana.
Illiana - Prologue
By Kayla Lavander
B eauty like yours should never wither, but bloom into something far greater. She spoke the words in a mere whisper, a soft alluring soprano which dizzied him. To you, my lovely child, I will give all of my power, and all of my beauty.
The boy ran towards his place of residence, his thoughts twisted into a maelstrom of panic and confusion. He could still hear her voice, the seductive chants ringing in his head. Such a pretty boy you are–truly, a child of Lar’Shea. Sylvine, you will be my Sylvine.
Never before, in his fifteen years of life, had Arandis been called beautiful. It felt odd being referred to as such, considering he was in fact, a boy. Even more shocking was the feel of the woman’s lips upon his–a sensation he had never before felt, and wished to feel again.
Dead! That man was dead! The memory woke Arandis from his rousing thoughts, and he coughed, his lack of breath from fear as much as fatigue.
She killed him! His mind reeled. Who was she? What was she?
Arandis neared his cottage, the soft moonlight above, illuminating his way. Not much time had passed since the murder, and he was confident no other villager had seen the corpse–not during these hours of night.
Turning around, he wondered if the woman trailed him, and prayed she did not.
Do not be frightened, dear child. You will see. You will understand. I will show you true beauty and power. The thoughts running rampant twisted his mind and tangled his feet. He tumbled into the cottage before him, his lanky body smacking against an oaken table, shaking the four room abode–just enough force needed to rattle his mother from her peaceful slumber.
The soft swishing of slippered feet heading in direction caused him to sigh. Arandis tried his best to stand, not wanting his mother to catch sight of him sprawled about the floor in a heap of tangled limbs. His kin had already deemed him clumsy, and he did not wish to further his reputation.
“Arandis?” a groggy voice asked with obvious amusement. “Why are you up so early?"
Lifting his head, Arandis met his mother's sea-green gaze–a woman of average stature, standing at about six over five. She had the look of forty, and still beautiful despite her age. Over her body, she wore a rust-brown, patchwork nightgown, woven with her own hands. Such could be expected. Sansly was a poor village with nothing brought, and everything made.
Despite his embarrassment, Arandis managed to smile. They were like twins, his mother and he. Both of them wore the same ocean-green eyes, set into pale faces of ivory. Locks of raven fell over their shoulders, framing delicate features. He stood just two inches over her own head.
“Mother,” Arandis shouted, “come quick!” He jumped to his feet, grabbed his mother's arm, and dragged her outside. The skirts of her colorful patchwork nightgown fluttered behind her.
"What is this, Arandis?" Shanda asked. "Why are you hauling me outside like this?"
The boy ignored his mother’s questions, leading her through the twists and turns of cottages and cobblestone roads. Long minutes later, they reached the edge of the village–where several people huddled about in a circle of chatter
His heart sank at the sight. Somebody else must have spotted the corpse and informed the masses. Arandis felt himself on the edge of panic and clenched his mother’s hand for support.
“Arandis?” she gasped, her free hand covering her mouth. “What is this?” Shanda walked forward, working her way through the cluster of people–a nervous fifteen year old boy shivering behind her.
The events of the night suddenly came to him, and he made a silent prayer to his God, hoping no one could bear witness to the events that transpired.....
...
...
...
.....At one hour before the mid of the night, most of the town’s residence had already retired from their daily chores. Arandis, however, strolled along the village border on his way home, lost in his own thoughts.
It was very rare for the boy to be out this late, yet one last errand sent him astray for a few hours. Now, as he headed home, it was the sounds of heavy breathing and moaning–echoing along the barren cobblestone streets–that caused him to falter in step. Curiosity struck, and the boy found himself in a quest to seek out the source of these unusual noises.
The village fields, where the streets end and the crops begin, was where the young man found victory in his little quest. Needless to say, that at such a tender age, he was not ready for the sight that befell him.
Arandis froze in place, witnessing the forms of a man and woman, holding each other like two vines entwined in passion–making love right on the cobblestone ground, and just a few yards from his spot. The silver eye of the moon failed to fully illuminate the spectacle, so he found himself squinting to make out the activity. What did stand out with striking clarity in the night was an eerie violet glow which seemed to form a silhouette around the body of the female as she thrust herself upon the man below her.
For a brief moment, the woman paused in her task to give eyes to this new spectator enjoying her show. Arandis felt a cold chill run through his body as the woman’s eyes locked his own in place. With one graceful motion, she raised her arms to the sky. Much to the boy's surprise, the shadows seemed to vanish at her very gesture. He was now able to see everything clearly–perhaps too clearly. The boy saw the woman’s features in perfect clarity, she in turn, smiled to admire his stare.
She threw her head back, sending silky tresses of bright golden glory up into there air, right before cascading down to her slender waist like a stream of molten gold. A few locks remained at her front, to cover up a pair of nipples in convenient tease. Her facial features were fine, almost too fine. A nose, small and dainty rested between a pair of eyes which mirrored the color of the ocean waters under sunlight. She bore an unnatural beauty, with bodily proportions appearing as if Lar’Shea–the Goddess of Beauty–had crafted them herself. The porcelain skin wrapped around her slender frame was completely unscathed, neither was it blemished in the slightest
The woman raised a finely shaped brow at the boy, and parted a pair of sensuous lips the color of faded raspberries. She lowered her hands with a slow, careful grace, then dug her sharp nails into the flesh of her victim’s arms in a savage passion. The man howled out in pain, but the woman appeared to enjoy every second of his suffering. Fingers now deep crimson with blood came lose and wiggled with a sick invitation at the boy watching them. Arandis wanted to scream, wanted to run at the sight, but found his limbs unresponsive.
He was paralyzed–not with fear, but by some unnatural force holding him in place. As if sensing the vain attempt at escape, the woman let out a haughty laughter that echoed along the barren streets.
She returned to her task, and the poor boy watched, helpless as a deer under a tiger’s paw–unable to move, unable to run, unable to even close his eyes. All Arandis could do, was stand there, watching as the woman’s pelvis moved up and down with the man’s in an unseen rhythm. A white light enveloped her body, and one could say she actually looked angelic for a brief moment. The man howled out–something not of agony, but a howl of pleasure unlike any Arandis had heard before. In turn, the woman answered with a sweet call of her own as a thin white stream of light formed between the two. The thin ethereal line emitted from her victim’s body, then moved into her own. It seemed as if she was stealing something from him. Moments later, the man lay there on the ground–pale, naked, appearing much older, much thinner did he did moments ago.
It seemed as if the very life was drained from his body!
Oddly enough, the woman stood up, calm, cool, as if nothing had happened. She took slow strides towards her prisoner and Arandis thought his heart would leap out of his chest with every step she took.
The woman closed in, and Arandis could see her eyes moving up and down, examining the whole of his appearance. He shivered in terror, and she smiled to see it.
“Pretty,” the woman whispered. Her words echoed all around him, a haunting, feminine sound which nearly caused him to feint. “Such a pretty young male.”
The woman stood directly in front of him, and Arandis turned away, tears of fear rolling over his cheeks. “Do you know what I see, when I look at you?” She asked.
When Arandis did not answer, she whispered, “I see a child of Lar’Shea, a creature of beauty that I can not let wither and die.” She paused, narrowed her eyes at him. “I see a boy at the age where adolescent beauty is at its height… I do not think I will allow you to age anymore.”
Lips trembling, Arandis turned to face her, wondering if she would end his life. Under the curtain of his own dark hair, he could see they shared a similar stature. She was maybe just a half-inch below his own height.
The pressed her naked body up against his, and seemed to take joy in his sudden fit of shivers. Reaching up, she gently tucked a few dark locks behind his ears.
“You should not hide your face behind your hair,” the woman whispered, brushing a long, red nail across the length of his cheek, She waved a pale, slender arm, and something gave way–Arandis founds his limbs free.
The mystic grip that held him in place faded, and he seized the opportunity right away. He turned around to run, but only made it a few steps before a soft hand grabbed the lower end of his forearm, locking him in place. He struggled, strained to break the grip but failed.
To his embarrassment, he noticed it was only the woman holding his arm. This dainty, pale creature locked him in place, non-straining, unmoving, as he tried to match his strength against hers. It proved to be a futile struggle. The woman was strong... unnaturally strong.
With great ease, she shoved him against the stone surface of a nearby dwelling. The woman took his hands in hers, raised both those hands high into the air, and pressed them against the wall. “You’ve never been overpowered by a woman before, have you?” She laughed, bathing in the joy of her own carnal pleasure.
The boy, however, was terrified of his life.
“Do you know what I am?” the woman asked in a whisper, and the soft allurement of her voice was unlike anything, he had ever heard before.
Arandis trembled in her grasp. “I don’t... know,” he stammered. "Please..."
Her naked chest shook with laughter. “I am something greater than you can ever imagine. Do not be frightened dear child. I will not hurt you.” She released one of his hands, and grabbed a lock of his long raven hair, twirling it around her fingers. “Beauty like yours should never wither, but bloom into something far greater.”
The woman leaned forward, brushed her lips against his ears, and whispered, "To you, my lovely child, I will give all of my power, and all of my beauty."
In a futile attempt to get this woman off of him, Arandis placed his free hand on her right shoulder and pushed with everything in him. Like a mighty statue, she stood there, not budging one inch. The woman released his tresses, lowering her fingers to sensuously trace the line of his lips. “Such a pretty boy you are, truly a child of Lar’Shea.”
“What are you?” Arandis breathed, giving up the struggle.
“You will see, you will understand. In time, I will show you the beauty and power of my people.” The woman narrowed her eyes at him in concentration. Her faded lips thinned into a smile of satisfaction. “I have seen your soul. You are touched by Lar’Shea, my child. Do you know what that means? You belong with us; you will do well with my people... I will... save you.”
Arandis cocked his head sideways, stealing a glimpse of the dead man in the distance. The woman cupped his face in her hands, forcing him to look upon her
“Sylvine...” she whispered, her voice slow and seductive.
“P..Please... let me go...,” the boy pleaded. “You mistake me for another, my name is not–”
“Sylvine,” she repeated, cutting his speech, “a pretty name for such a pretty boy.” Tightening her grip on his face, she forcefully brought his lips towards hers. “Your name will be Sylvine... my Sylvine.” She smiled as the boy clenched his eyes in fear. “Have you never... kissed a woman before, my beautiful Sylvine?” she breathed.
If Arandis had an answer for the woman, she would never get to hear it. She crushed her lips upon his, forced his mouth open, and kissed him with a passion he never experienced. Her hands found a place on his torso, and she caressed his slender form, her hands teasing his young body, thin fingernails tracing enticing patterns along his chest.
The woman curled her lips up into a smile of delight as she felt Arandis' body give in to his boyish desires. No longed did he resist her, now, he began to kiss her back. Her excitement heightened when the boy–of his own free will–raised his arms and swung them around her body, holding her tight.
Suddenly, the boy felt a body within his arms no longer. He lost balance, crashing into the cobblestone road in a heap of tangled limbs. A gray mist rolled and swirled around his body. From that mist a feminine laugh came fourth, erupting along the barren streets.
A glance at the naked corpse in the distance, and the boy’s senses came back to him. He stood up, shooting off towards his cottage like a bolt from crossbow...
...
...
...
.....Arandis’ thoughts were brought back to the present, as the crowd stared at the dead body in awe–everybody questioning the next person at the nature of this man's death. It was all the boy could do, to keep the secret to himself, and hope nobody witnessed the events of the night.
Notes:
An epic-length, romance/transformation novel about a mighty female-demon, who forces a young man to give up his manhood for the power only a 'female-body' can wield.
Alone and scared, Sylvine must come to grips with his feminine side, for the joy he found in womanhood can not be suppressed. However, because of his contempt for Lady Tania, who granted him his womanhood, he's placed a wall of mannnish pride before him, and refuses to succumb to the temptations of his hidden female-self.
That is, until he meets a girl named Illiana.
Illiana
Chapter 1 — The Girl in the Tower
By Kayla Lavander
There's an important Prologue before this first chapter.
Why was he keeping me alive?
It was a question I had asked myself over and over, all the while, peering out the window of my tall, stone castle-tower. Will he visit me again? Tonight? I was in desperation for another thought, but no matter how hard I tried, I could not stop thinking about him.
I may have lived in the Palace of Misharia, but royalty, I was not–just a mere a fifteen year old handmaiden, serving the Princess Sercana. It was a rather high position, I suppose, considering my kin were always so quick to brag about their daughter, who tended the princess herself.
At four years above my own age, Sercana was considerably older than me, and still unwed at the age of nineteen–a rarity for Misharian Royalty. She was known for her obsession with all things beautiful–which in her own words, was the reason she plucked me from my meager home out in the village to tend to her. My violet eyes held her in thrall, or so she said. But I suspect her admiration in me, lay in much more than that.
Our princess was fickle that way.
Her behavior had been the subject of many conversations between the various hand maidens that tended her. Mayhap her obsession with pretty girls was due to her own lack of physical beauty. Or perhaps her interest lay something more that I really did not wish to imagine. Luckily though, I was not her favorite. That curse lay upon the narrow shoulders of poor Crystia–a long-legged beauty, five years above my own age, with raven tresses falling down to her shoulders.
To be honest, I could not complain. Nobody could really. None of the handmaidens were actually 'forced' to stay here against their will. In my two years of servitude, I’d witnessed several handmaidens quit and return to their poor village lives, unable to put up with Sercana’s queer behavior. The king and queen would scold their daughter whenever she lost another girl; it was quite an amusing sight to behold.
Four towers flanked the main palace–towers in which we handmaidens lived. There were six of us in total, two girls in each of the three towers–the fourth used for storage. My neighbor just happened to be Marianna, one of the newer handmaidens. At only thirteen years of age, she was the youngest of us all.
A gorgeous night sky lay outside my tower, beautiful shades of midnight-blue sprinkled with specs of white which seemed to flicker and fade with each passing second. I have been thinking about him too much lately, I concluded, shifting my eyes downwards, gazing at the city beneath me. The time grated by with all the speed of an encumbered turtle as I stared at the stone and wooden rooftops of the town below–a little something I would do every night while I awaited his visit.
Narrowing my eyes, I made out what appeared to be small clusters of people huddled about, far off into the horizon, and all carrying torches. They must have been performing a night burial, for they were gathered in the graveyard–another night burial… another woman dead. Or perhaps, this time, the victim was a young peasant girl.
The women of my city, Misharia, were all dying of some mysterious illness. Or so our healers have said. I suppose I could not blame our clerics for their ignorance. These women were always found dead, each appearing as if they had been drained of something. When discovered, their bodies were pale and blue, their skin barely clinging to the bones underneath. It seemed as if the life was sucked right out of them–a strange disease indeed... or so they thought.
I knew the truth, however. It was only I, who harbored the secret of this illness, which was no illness at all, but a worse kind of curse. Yes, I knew full well what went on, yet I could not tell a soul because... I was entrapped within his spell.
Our fair city Misharia was cursed with an Incubus, a horrid type of demon, a form of vampire that did not survive through the drinking of blood. No, this entity could only live by draining the life-force from his victims during the height of sexual ecstasy. All this, he had confessed to me himself. But even with this horrid knowledge, I still eagerly awaited his monthly visits. Eagerly... if only because of the spell he placed upon me.
Why was he keeping me alive? The question scorched my mind, and if I was guilty of repeating it over and over again, it was only because, it was a very valid question. For nine months, this demon has sought me out when all of the other women he slept with were dead within three days. What made me so special? Why did I still live, while the others perished? Whatever the reason, I was determined to get an answer with his next visit... whenever that would be.
It appears, he will not visit me this tonight. I concluded in disappointment.
A soft breeze blew through the window, causing my black, silk nightgown to flutter slightly, tickling the thighs of my legs. The silk smooth brushed against my skin, and the breeze gave me a swift reminder of how chilly the world outside the palace was.
He favored me in black. He felt it complimented my red hair and violet eyes.
Amusing how everybody seemed to have an obsession with this extraordinary birth defect of mine–perhaps because it was a rarity here in Misheria. I’d yet to see another girl, or man for that matter with eyes the color of mine–a soft violet, the color of blue gone wrong. Where I received these eyes from, I have not the slightest. There were many deformities in this world, this I guess, was just one of them... a rather lovely deformity.
To say that I did not feel special for it, would be a complete lie.
I closed the wooden shutters nailed neatly along the thin stone slabs outside of the window before heading to bed. The silence was terribly boring, and the funeral taking place over the horizon began to depress me.
Boredom, I could withstand. Depression, I could withstand. Put the two together, and I yield.
So I grew weary of waiting, and soon found myself drifting to sleep, dreaming of that omnipotent creature as I have for the past nine months. In reality, I only had him one day out of an entire month. At least, the other twenty nine days I could feel his touch in my dreams. Yes, his spell was that powerful; It even affected me as I slept.
"Illiana... Illiana..." His gentle calling was soft as the pillow beneath my head.
Illiana was not my real name, but a cognomen he endowed upon me for his own convenience. ‘Such a beautiful name, for such a beautiful girl,’ he would tell me. And I loved it, even more than my real name.
My body responded to the sound of my name upon his lips, and I sat up, turning towards the window–his favorite entrance.
And there he stood.
In all of my fifteen years of life, I’ll tell say now, Sylvine was most beautiful man I'd ever laid eyes upon. It seemed as if he actually went into the depths of my mind, and saw what I pictured to be the perfect man, then molded himself into that image. This was actually one of the ways the Incubi and Succubi would seduce their victims. But he swore that what I saw, was his real form.
Not that I believed him.
He had a good stature, standing at an even six feet in height. His gorgeous facial features told a tale of someone very young, right about twenty or so. Rich black hair flowed a bit past his neck, lying over a pair of beautiful eyes, green as the Jade sea of Edon. I made a habit of brushing that hair from in front of his face whenever I could.
Sylvine was not as old as he appeared. He confessed this to me once, and I loved him for his honesty. He had the look of twenty, but he claimed to share my own age of fifteen. Many times I begged to see his true, younger self, but he could not bring himself to show me. Surely, this just left more questions burning in my mind.
If he was this 'beautiful' at twenty, I could only imagine how his adolescent body would have appeared.
Secrets, he had so many secrets, and I was in dire desperation to unlock them all.
"Sylvine!" I called out his name in excitement, making sure to keep my voice low, as to not wake any of the other hand maidens up. Although they lie in adjacent rooms, this tower was known to carry echoes great distances. Such was proven when Takaya, a former handmaiden indulged in a midnight rendezvous with one of the captains guards a bit over a year ago. Poor little thing, she could not bear the teases and taunts, that erupted soon after. The girl quit a week following the event.
The matter did not seem to upset the guard any though.
Sylvine stepped out of the shadows where I could see him. The window shutters appeared to be undisturbed, and I wondered what manner of spell he used to invade my quarters this time. His dress consisted of a long, black hooded cloak, a white, silk tunic, and short, black breeches.
"Sylvine..." I whispered his name again, and he made his way over to my bed.
As far as I could tell, his footsteps were as hard as any mans, yet they mysteriously made no sound as his hard, black heels seemingly clashed against my marble floor, my heart beating with every step of his. He took a seat on my bed, and I closed my eyes, leaning into his chest in sweet serenity. I could feel his slender, long-nailed fingers running through my course hair.
"Hello, my violet-eyed mistress." His voice was soothing as the hands that stroked my hair. Although gentle, his deep, contrasted his actual physical appearance.
Talking to him would be an annoyance at times; his hair always hung in his face, making it hard to look at him. Mayhap a habit from his childhood, or perhaps a way of hiding himself from the cursed world he lived in.
Ironic how a powerful being would feel the need for such a security blanket.
He was very quiet, very secretive, and I could see in his eyes, that events from the past tortured him. he was tortured by past events.
However, I was here for him, if only his tortured soul would open itself up to me, allow me be his security blanket. I did care for him so.
I removed my head from upon his chest and raised my hand, gently brushing the stray hairs that hung in front of his face. He was a bit jaded at times, but he always smiled whenever I played with his hair. I grabbed one of his rich black tresses and twirled it around my smallest finger, before pulling it out into one strait lock which hung beautifully from the back of his ear. He then flashed one of those very rare smiles which gave his face a beauty that almost made me jealous. I then proceeded to stare intently into those green pools of his.
What I was about to ask him was extremely important to me, and I needed to emphasize this.
"Sylvine," I repeated, "for nine months, you have come up here while I have slept, and ravished me in ways I thought not possible. Yet I know nothing about you. I would like to know your past. I wish to know how you became what you are. I... I want to know about your first love... your first heartbreak, what your mother was like. Your sisters or brothers, anything Sylvine. I just want to know who you are." I could not help but stutter nervously in my speech as he stared into my eyes. I hated when this happened to me. "I... I wish to be more than just your mistress," I finally sighed out.Flushing, I cast my eyes downwards, breaking his gaze in embarrassment.
Sylvine removed his hands from my hair. "A fair question I suppose." Those were the words that escaped his lips, yet his frowning face said something different. He examined my pleading face for several moments and said, "Hmm, you are too young to get into details with. Lets for now, just say a Succubus found me worthy enough to join her race."
What an insult! I thought. Honestly, of all the people in Quashia, this man was the last person with the rights to call me a child. "Oh...," I responded solemnly. It was all I could do to show my anger. I was too young to hear a kind of story, yet old enough for him to come up here every month and...
His fingers slowly traced the back of my neck, interrupting my thoughts with much effect. But alas, I just sat there, unmoving, like a cold chunk of ice. He might as well have been caressing a rock.
"I suppose I should take leave, if you choose to behave this way," he said sternly. I felt his hands leave my neck as he began to stand.
"No wait! I am sorry!" I responded, falling for his little mind game. Surely, he would not have really left. However, I was not willing to take the chance. My loin's ached, and I didn’t know how far off it would be before his next visit.
I decided to suppress my thoughts and remain silent for the rest of the night.
Without saying another word, I turned my back towards him, and lifted my hair above my neck, revealing the tie-strings in the back of that black, silk nightgown he adored me in.
Although I could not see his face with my back turned, I could feel Sylvine smiling for the second time this night, and I was satisfied with this. He leaned forward and slowly untied my gown, before proceeding to softly kiss the back of my neck. The feel of his lips upon my skin made my body shiver. It was a feeling I had longed for since his last visit.
I knew this was wrong... This man was a murderer, a demon; my heart hated every minute of it, yet my body loved every second of it.
As much as I loved the sensation of his lips against my skin, I could not help but feel bothered that he could dismiss my earlier questions so easily. Did he not understand how I felt? I loved him and wanted to be closer to his heart. Yes, I loved him, if only because of the spell he placed a hold of me. I had to know... had to know his past.
"Wait..." I said in a timid voice, "one more question before we go further this night." I turned around to face him. "Please...."
"WHAT???" Sylvine roared in annoyance, revealing two very sharp fangs. Incubi were not vampires, but descended from their race, and it showed. Those fangs were more of an affront than a threat. They spread no undead vampire's disease and were nothing more than an elongation of his cavities which extended whenever he got excited. "You are beginning to try my patience!"
I clenched my eyes and reared back. This was the side of Sylvine that I feared, but I cared not. This man had come up to my room for the past nine months, and completely destroyed my maidenhood. I was determined to find out at least something this night.
I deserved that much.
"I-I just wanted to ask... Why have you kept me alive for so long?" I took a deep breath to regain my composure. "Why have you not drained me to deathlike the girls?"
The Incubus stood strait up, and looked down upon me before sighing. To my annoyance, his hair fell over his beautiful face.
Goddess knows how much that irritated me.
"Illiana," he started, "I gave you a name. Do you know what it means when one of my kind bestows a name upon a mortal?"
"What? Sylvine?" I asked confused. "What does it mean?" Never did I even give it a thought, or even care. It was a beautiful name, and I was honored to be referred as such.
"If you do not know, and of course you should not, I’ll not burden you with such details. Let me begin by saying this," he continued. "You know what I am, and you know what I do, yet, you still wait for me every night, knowing I come but once a month. I–"
"Oh cunning," I said, cutting his speech. "I wait for you only because of this spell you waved over me."
I did not know what it was in my voice that caused him to laugh so suddenly, but whatever the reason, I could not help but feel slightly vexed. "Is there something funny in what I just said?" I asked nasally.
"Ahh, my young violet eyed mistress. I hold no spell over you, nor would I ever want to cast one. Yours is of free will." He paused before smiling. "That is what makes you so special... that, is why I have not drained you."
What?
What did he mean--he holds no spell over me? I could never fall in love with a monster such as him, unless there was some kind of divine intervention tampering with my emotions.
He was lying!
"It can't be..." I began to slowly, edge off the bed, backing up from the Incubus. "You lie!"
"No, Illiana," Sylvine said, taking care to keep his voice calm. "Youare the one who is lying. Lying to yourself. You know how wrong it is to love one such as me, a monster, a murderer, a devil. Yet, you still do," he sneered. "Fooling yourself into thinking I have a spell on you is the only way of relieving your guilty conscience."
His words pained me beyond belief, as if I knew they were true all this time. I did not, could not believe him. My heart felt evil and black. As if trying to guard my ears from his horrid words, I placed my hands over my head and sunk down into the bed "Please, please leave me," I cried.
I glanced upwards, just in time to see Sylvine throw his arms up into the air. To my amazement, his body dissipated into a light grey fog which swirled and ebbed about the room. He then spoke, his voice now a powerful booming echo, that caused the doors to vibrate. The girls would surely hassle me about this in the morning.
"I shall leave as you command, my lady. But you shall accompany me," he boomed.
The thick grey mist which now served as Sylvine's form, swirled all about me, moving in and out of my clothing. It felt as if he was caressing every single part of my body... all at the same time. I worked hard to suppress the tides of passion rising within me. I guess if he was not going to derive pleasure from me tonight one way, he would do it the other. But I was confident my body would not betray my anger, not yet anyway. No, he would get nothing from me this
night.
The grey mist hoisted me into the air, swirling about so thick, I could not see the stone walls around me. I flailed my arms around while kicking my legs. "Let me go!!" I screamed without a care of who heard my business that night.
But alas, it was useless. How does one fight fog? I gave up and settled down, panting, All I could do, was watch, completely helpless, as he carried me out of the window with such ease... as if I was weightless.
From the depths of my tortured mind, I called Lucifer from the pits of hell as I lay on the brink of suicide–fifty-five pills of vicoden in hand. He came forth with a promise to bestow upon me all the womanish beauty I had ever desired; if I would grant him one favor in return when the time came.
The Devil’s Mistress
By Kayla Lavander
Under the soft white lighting of the moon, I could hear the light tapping of plastic heels against hard, black tar as I walked up Lahaina-Luna Road–each click a chime of victory ringing in my ears, for I could not remember when I had feet this small.
They were a pair of size seven, canvas-colored sandals, a perfect complement to the denim flares blossoming downwards from my knees. A set of well pedicured golden-colored toenails reflected the moon’s light with every careful step.
Many would say that a beautiful young lady of twenty-four had no business walking up a dimly lit avenue at three in the morning. To those people, I would say that I’ve traveled this road many a night, and never has anybody ever attempted to disturb my being.
Then again, who would ever want to rape a six-foot three, monstrous transsexual-female?
Well, such securities had vanished like dust in the wind. That abhorrent birth-body of mine was now, a not-so-distant memory. Only two days had passed since he visited me, granting me my one desire.
Even if I was now, a woman-full, I had only enjoyed this body for two full days, and old habits were hard to break. So here I was, walking home four hours before dawn, two large bags of groceries in each hand. I was used to shopping at these hours. The twenty-four hour marts were always sparse, leaving nobody to point the finger, snicker, or laugh at me.
Of course, nobody would laugh at me now. Not with this beauty I now wielded with more skill than the prima-donnas of old. One could even say those who ridiculed me only two days prior now felt inferior under the shadow of my presence. This loveliness I now wore was not a beauty birthed from the womb of a woman, but a supernatural beauty gifted to me from the hands of God’s own fallen angel–Lucifer himself.
From the stories I’d heard since childhood, selling your soul to the devil always involved eternal damnation in hell at the end of life, but such tales turned out to be pure fabrications. From the depths of my tortured mind, I called Lucifer from the pits of hell as I lay on the brink of suicide–fifty-five pills of vicoden in hand. He came forth with a promise to bestow upon me all the womanish beauty I had ever desired; if I would grant him one favor in return when the time came. When I asked him if this wish would involve my 10,000 years of hellfire’s damnation, he said, very logically, that my suicide would have done that for him.
So, it was not my soul he desired.
What then? I wondered, and it was a funny thing–this voice inside my head.
My mental thoughts still reverberated with a deep tenor, a complete contrast to the beautiful soprano which escaped my lips whenever I spoke.
It would be a while before the mind’s voice matched the body's, I assumed.
I breathed a sigh of relief when I finally reached the white, paint-chipped door of my one bedroom garage apartment. My legs were not as strong as before–walking up Lahaina Luna road took more out of me then I would have imagined.
A fair trade for beauty, I smiled.
Unlocking the padlock of my door, I stepped inside my truly humble abode, the silver key-ring twirling around my long, golden-nailed fingers.
I’d come to the conclusion long ago, that red was a horridly over-used nail color, especially out here in Hawaii, with all the tourist-women who get all dolled up before their sunny vacations. I managed to get by on pale, rosy pinks, and earth tones. I decided to only adorn the majestic red on the rarest of occasions.
As far as my lips? well that’s another story all together.
My quaint little garage apartment consisted of just four major pieces of furniture–a work-desk, computer-desk, a large king-size bed, and one wicker-table. Between the work-desk and fridge lay a decrepit sink which spewed forth water of questionable quality. I had a microwave, but no stove, which worked out just fine considering my cooking skills were limited to rice, ramen, and hot-dogs.
It was Sunday night, and ‘Desperate Housewives’ was airing its fifth re-run on the twenty-seven inch flat-screen TV I carelessly left on. I found myself addicted to that show with morbid fascination. Maybe it’s because I would have traded lives with either one of those women, even the lady who shot herself during the first episode.
Three mice in a one room garage was a fate I would not wish on my worst enemy. To combat this, I installed a black, plastic mousetrap on my work-desk–their favorite stomping ground. With one pea-sized dose of peanut butter, I had caught and trapped my three little friends, all within twenty minutes of each other. After that wondrous event, I just left the peanut butter in the trap to catch the new mice that would wander in once every four days or so.
At first, the notion of trapping and killing mice nauseated me. Such sports were an acquired taste, however. And after a year of this, waking up in the middle of the night to that welcoming *SNAP* had become a near orgasmic experience.
I hated mice.
Normally, whenever I got home from any errand, the first thing I would do is turn on my computer, and browse the web. But this night, internet surfing was the furthest thing from my mind. Ever since my visit from Lucifer two days ago, I had other distractions.
After dropping my groceries by the door, without putting any away, I rushed towards the full length mirror hanging on the wall by the computer table with all the energy of a child speeding towards the Green Tree of Christmas.
My chest hollowed out as I gazed at my reflection. I was still not used to this.
The pretty girl staring back at me blinked with large, alluring, soft hazel eyes, set into a delicate face framed by light auburn hair the color of faded autumn leaves. It appeared as if those light-reddish tresses of mine were reaching for blonde but didn’t quite make it. Down to the middle of my slender back, these locks fell, rippling in natural, full spirals. My sensuous red lips thinned into an innocent smile as I admired my reflection.
I loved my new body. Suffice to say, my showers had tripled in length, and I had always wondered why women took so much more time to clean themselves then men. I stood all of five-foot eight, a tall height for a girl, and weighed 129 pounds according to the scale under my bed. I now wore a pair of size three jeans as opposed to the size twelve I was accustomed to. The fair skin Lucifer granted me with quickly browned under two days of pounding Hawaiian sun, giving me the perfect tan.
Ever since I was an effeminate little boy, I wondered what I’d look like as a woman. I’ll admit, this was far from anything I had in mind. This beauty surpassed anything I could have mentally conjured, and exceeded everything I had ever seen in my twenty-four years of life. No, Lucifer did not mold me from my own mind’s eye. A lock of auburn found its way around my finger as I sat down in my wicker chair, wondering which brain spawned the body I now wore.
Surely, it was not his own.
Could he have molded me into his own personal liking? The silly thought amused me and a fit of girlish giggles escaped my chest.
Once the fit of laughter ended, I just sat and stared at my reflection.
I blinked and smiled–then fifteen minutes later, I wept.
I wept for something too good to be true, wept for something that I’d wanted for so long, wept for these dreams finally made flesh. Burying my face in my naked, slender arms, I cried like a baby–my neglected, unbagged milk warming in the corner.
“There’s no need to cry, little girl.” The rich, deep, masculine voice caused me to jump straight up from the chair, droplets of tears raining from my chin as I ascended. I turned around, and his piercing emerald-sapphire gaze punctured my chest, the very air bleeding from my lungs.
I thought I would die from lack of breath.
“Lucifer?” I managed to breathe. He was a breathless thing to behold, in all his evil malicious beauty.
He stood maybe four inches above my head, with the broad shoulders any quarterback would have killed for. A lock of raven fell over his right eye, the rest swept backwards, falling down to his neck. He smiled at me with full sensuous lips… such kissable lips.
His fair skin glowed under the soft yellow light of my desk-lamp, and his eyes were the color of bright emeralds submerged in the bluest of ocean-waters. The Devil radiated a beauty far above that of any man I’d ever met. Logically speaking, he was still an angel, even if fallen from the graces of God to rule the hells for all eternity.
A pair of black trousers surrounded his waist, and over his torso–a blue button down shirt which did nothing to conceal the massive muscles lying beneath his long sleeves.
“Hello, my little dove,” he whispered, and I shuddered at the sound of his voice. He extended a thick hand towards me, reaching for my left cheek. But I flinched away. “Come now, don’t be like this, Silvia. I gave you this body; I should at least be able to caress its beautiful face.”
“What do you want?” I asked, folding my arms around myself.
Lucifer grinned, a malicious little smile which left bumps trailing the length of my arms. “I’ve come to collect.”
“Collect?” I asked, raising one brow.
“Yes. The favor you said you would grant me. I’ve come for that favor.” The words rolled off his tongue as smooth as liquid fire. And I feared to ask what that favor was, for I knew the answer would burn me.
“Already?” I asked, stalling for time. He was ‘The Devil’, and I feared to know what he required of me. “It’s only been two days.”
“Forty-eight hours, more than enough time to become acquainted with your new body.” He paused, crossed his arms, and approached me. “And more time than I have wanted to wait.”
“Well, what can I do for you then?” I asked, years of over-the-phone customer service working its way in my voice.
“It’s simple really, Sylvia,” he said. “I want you to make love to me.”
My heart nearly jumped into my throat. “WHAT?” I asked, “ Sex? Are you mad?”
There was no way to obey his request. He was Satan, Lucifer, ‘The Devil’, ‘The Prince of Darkness’. And if that was not enough, this body of mine was virgin, untouched and unbroken. I wanted to live out my girlish dreams and save myself for the one I would finally be able to marry some day… and I had never even been with a man in all my twenty-four years of sexual angst.
And again… he was ‘The Devil’.
He approached me, and my lithe body drowned under the shadow of his tall, muscular frame. I shrank back in response, and when I finally reached the desk against the wall, with nowhere to go, I shrank even farther until my buttocks graced its wooden edge.
“Oh, you will do as I ask, girly.”
“You don’t control me,” I said in an embarrassingly shaky voice. “Why should I?”
Fire flashed behind those blue-green eyes of his. Red, green, and blue all mixing together into one violent shade. It was a safe assumption that the High Lord of Hell was not used to disobedience. He unfolded his arms and thrust his muscled white hand forward, grabbing my neck.
Lucifer did not choke me, but pinned me against the wall, unable to move, his hold about my neck forcing me to look him in the eyes. My own hazel globes widened in terror as I found myself humbled under his strength.
If I didn’t know what a woman felt like helpless under a man’s physical might before, I did now.
“Why should you?” he snarled. “Well, I can easily rape you for one.” His words caused me to suck the air between my teeth. “But I would prefer you simply surrender yourself to me. That would make it easier on the both of us,” he whispered too soothingly before releasing me.
Free from his hold, I bolted for the door; just to be halted by that rich deep voice of his. “You run from Lucifer?” Amusement dripped from his tones–and rightfully so. How does one run from the Devil?
He stepped forward, and I shrank back, yet again, against another desk–my work-desk. The wrinkling of paper disturbed the quiet garage as my denim-jeaned buttocks rested on the desks smooth surface.
‘so you would rape me?” I asked, attempting to keep my voice still.
“Actually, no, I lied. I can’t rape you,” he laughed.
What an asshole, I thought, wishing he would leave my home.
“There are certain rules we of the divine ones must follow. Being ‘The Satan’ of earth, I am not allowed to rape any of God’s precious little creatures,” he admitted, much to my relief. “But, if a woman gives herself to me willingly, all bets are off.”
“Why me?” I wailed.
He leaned on the desk, placing his palms on the surface. His thick arms flanked both my sides and I felt so tiny with him over me like this, ‘sylvia. I’ve needed a mortal woman for some time now. But even I am bound by the rules set forth by my greatest rival,” he said with contempt. “I can only be a part of such a union if the woman knows full well what I am. I’ve offered so many gifts, so much power, but no woman will willingly give her body to me, knowing who I am. No woman wants to bed with the enemy of God, no matter what I offer.”
“And you think it would be any different with me?” I asked, almost feeling insulted.
“Oh it will, Sylvia. You will fornicate with ‘The Devil’ this night.”
“And why are you so sure? What makes you think I will crumble, when others have repelled your advances?”
He grinned, and I really disliked the look of confidence on his face. “Because my future mistress, I have never been able to deny any woman her greatest gift, but with you, I can.”
“What do you mean?” I asked. In the back of my mind, part of me knew exactly, what he was hinting at.
“Anything given by God can not be taken away by Satan. That is the rule,” he said. He stood straight up and wrung his hands. “But your beauty, your femininity, your newfound womanhood was not granted by God was it” No, it is a gift from me, an unnatural thing spawned from the pits of hell. And I can take it away if you do not hold up to your end of our deal.”
Horrified, my mouth squared. His words stabbed at my heart, and to drive the sword even deeper, he said, “I’ve given you the body of my own, ‘personal desires’ but I will take it away if you refuse to hold your end of the deal and grant me this ‘favor’ I ask of you.”
“One time,” he continued. “Once you grant my favor, the deal is sealed. This beautiful body will be yours forever, and not even my powers will be able to take it away. For just a few hours, become the Devil’s Mistress, and then go on with your life.”
I stepped off the desk and turned around, unable to look at him “I can’t… you’re Lucifer… I can’t…”
“You can’t?” he echoed. I felt his hands trace the length of my bare shoulders. With a slow, lover’s grace, his fingers lifted the white spaghetti-straps of my tank. “Do you really think you can give up this beautiful body? he asked, his voice soft and powerful. His finger’s grasped the back of my neck, and he tensed his hold, letting me feel the dominating strength of his hands.
I shivered involuntarily under his touch.
“No,” I sighed, “This is not right.”
“No,” he repeated, “I will take it back, I swear. I’ll snatch this body away and you can go on living the miserable transgender existence you had before you met me.”
“No,” I cried, the thought of it made my eyes moisten.
“Yes, and you can go on with your 3:00 AM shopping trips to avoid the ridicule of fifteen year old adolescents, too young to even stay up past ten.”
He pushed himself against me, his hands tracing the length of my arms, and he whispered into my ear, “How does it feel, Sylvia, to be so fragile, so small, so adored… so very beautiful?
I sighed. Satan had a weapon against me, and it was a powerful one.
He let me go, and I turned around to face him. The helplessness in my eyes must have been obvious, for he said, “That’s what I thought.”
The tingling sensation of tears rolling down my cheeks caused me to sniffle. Lucifer grabbed my waist, and twirled me around before I could even “attempt” to struggle. He pushed me against the desk, and bent me over, his strong hands pressing my torso against the table.
I gasped when I felt my denim flares sliding down my legs. He pushed his waist against me. And I felt his hardness gliding slowly across the crack of my buttocks. His pants-covered phallus teased my skin, and I felt the most unwelcome fit of tingles running throughout my abdomen.
Try as I might, I could not even move with him pinning me. The alienistic feeling of moistness between my legs caused me to flush as my body betrayed me, as if answering his wicked call. And I shuddered to think I was experiencing an unknown pleasure in this overpowering.
“See how your body so easily responds to my rising libido,” he laughed. “Either way you look at it, Silvia. You will be Lucifer’s Woman, this night.”
Just when the floodgates that had become my eyes opened even wider, he released me.
Just like that.
Confused, I reached behind myself, pulling the jeans up to my waist. I wiped my eyes and stood up. When I turned around, Lucifer was sitting in my wicker chair, his legs spread wide open.
The lump in the middle of his pants was obviously his covered phallus, pointing upwards, threatening to rip right through the fabric.
On the floor, between his wide open legs, lay a soft pink pillow; one I had no idea I owned.
What is the pillow for? I was afraid to ask.
“The pillow is for your knees,” he said dryly.
My mouth gaped open and my stomach turned. “You wish me to ingurgitate your phallus, Why not just fuck me and get it over with?” I scowled.
He grinned, my anger only furthering his amusement, “On your knees, or it’s back to singing tenor.”
I walked over to him, slowly, and trembled as I obeyed his words. I kneeled down, the softness of the pillow acting as a smooth reminder of my doom. I’d never done anything like this with any man?
I lost breath as my finger’s crept up his thighs, slowly to buy time, and my hands felt cold as I just began to unzip his pants to unsheathe the raging maleness within.
What do I do? I thought, questioning my morals.
I had already tasted the serenity of this feminine sea, and he would take it all away if I did not obey him.
What do I do? What would anybody do to hold on to something so valuable to them? Feeling completely helpless, I just could not give up what he had gifted to me, so I held my breath and unzipped his pants.