The Erotic Mind-Control Story Archive

Jenny was dead.

The opposing truck’s headlights had morphed into a great white expanse after the deafening crash. There had been no pain, not even any sensation beyond utter surprise. Some drunk wanker had taken a turn way too hard and fast, right into the only other vehicle driving around at this ungodly hour. And wham, that was it for Jenny Gunner, aspiring rock star, and her best friend Trisha Goodman. Cause of death: Loss of third dimension.

A shame, really, but Jenny always knew her last words would go something like “FU—". She lived fast, loose and without much of a plan. She had been an emaciated twig with greasy, long black hair in her teenage years, and taking flight into adulthood only gave her scarecrow-looking ass a beer belly. At least her appearance was consistent with her passion for hard rock, which she had turned into a real, if unlegitimate carreer. Oh, she was skilled enough with an electric guitar, but her creative passion was massively outshone by her taste for bullshitting. She stole songs, played them to bars dumb enough to fall for her claims of fame, cheated at poker tables and drove to the next town, carrying her childhood friend under her arm.

Poor Trisha was pathologically shy. She was physically unremarkable, a solid 5 in every aspect, with the added bonus of a stammer and an innate fear to talk to strangers unless spoken to. Oh, she had been a well-meaning girl, ready to live the life you were supposed to in this day and age. She had found a job, tried to fit in...and got burned. Now she was withdrawn, dedicated only to her hobbies, but unable to fend for herself. As a result, Jenny had been conning for two for a good while now.

And now there was nothing but the light.

“J-j-jenny? What’s hap-p-penning?”

The musician was startled by her plump friend’s voice. How could she hear her? Both of their bodies were bound to look like toothpaste by now.

“...I’m pretty sure we just died, Trish. Fucking drunk trucker hit our pick-up head-on. Sorry.”

The only answer Jenny gets is a pained little whine. No wonder.

“So I guess we’re going to find out what’s at the end of the tunnel, heh?”

“...I’m n-not in any hurry, Jen.”

“Whaat? You think we’re going to Hell? Come on, we may be lowlives, but we’re not evil!”

“Maybe b-b-but...I mean, we’re f-f-falling...”

Jenny’s eyes shot open.

“Holy shit, you’re right.”

She couldn’t see Trisha in this blinding light, or indeed distinguish anything at all, but her senses didn’t lie...they were, indeed, falling. Which, given the context, couldn’t possibly be good news. And while Jenny’s Sunday-school-related knowledge was as hazy as it was secondhand, she was quite sure that Hell had a fairly inclusive admittance policy.

“Oh shit oh shit oh...”

And with that realization, the light turned into a sea of fire.

“...FUUUUUUUUCK!”

They were high up in the air. Way, way high. High enough to see the curve of a planet of glowing magma inside an immeasurably huge red cavern. In Earth terms, they were higher than the International Space Station. Yet they could breathe...and they sure as hell could fall.

Trisha, afraid of heights since childhood, was screaming her lungs out, scratching her own face frantically but unable to wake up. Jenny was too mesmerized by the sheer, gut-punching unreality of the scene for its terror to sink in.

Six hundred kilometers. Five hundred and ninety-nine kilometers. Even at terminal velocity, the fall was slow enough for the rocker to see small islands break the lava’s surface, connected by thin stripes of land. Were they inhabited? Hard to tell since everything was on fire, but the island they were falling towards formed a perfect, half-circled shape. That clearly screamed artificial.

That was the extent of Jenny’s analysis before the thought of hitting the floor sank in, and her brain switched to panic mode. The half-circle was closing in fast, and the joys of skydiving were, let’s say, mitigated by the fact that it was clearly just the beginning of Hell’s torments. She closed her eyes as soon as the first buildings became visible, and missed the rooftop of the one in the center opening.

Jenny and Trisha spent several seconds processing what had just happened. The bed was soft, but when you fall at terminal velocity, weren’t you supposed to superdie even when hitting water? And sure, you weren’t supposed to die in Hell, but you were definitely supposed to suffer. Was this some sort of trick?

They were in a red bedroom, with a comfortable king-sized bed and the basic amenities of an hotel room. And sure, hotels can suck sometimes, but calling them Hell would be somewhat of a reach.

But as they wondered what exactly this painless fall revealed about the mechanics of this place, the door to the small bedroom opened.

“Hmm? Two birds in one stone, eh?”

A man in his early thirties, sporting a white shirt and black tie combo, short, black hair with bleached ends and the mug of a gritty action movie hero. He looked perfectly human, save for jet black eyes with demonic yellow irises. Trisha yelped and tightened her grip on her friend’s wrist. Jenny was looking for something to reply when he snapped his fingers, creating a lit cigarette out of thin air.

“Doesn’t happen often. If you don’t fancy living together ye’ll have to bother the local Lord. A right git, that one.”

“We’re fine together.” Reflexively answered Jenny. “And, huh...aren’t you supposed to tell us what our sins are or something?”

“Nobody cares what you did topside, luv. Hell reads people, not their resumes.” He nonchalantly replied, blowing some smoke. “Let me guess. You were just two bloody tossers, indulged your base desires and couldn’t be arsed to care about anything?”

His assessment was pretty accurate, but the two young women weren’t going to admit it. Not to a damned demon.

“Ha ha ha, don’t fret.” He snickered. “That’s the right thing to be down here. You’re not here for the eternal torment. Well, not to receive it, anyway.”

He was dancing around the bush, but the girls came to understand all the same.

“No...” Meekly protested Trisha. “We...we’re supp-p-posed to be d-d-d-emons?”

“Cat’s out of the bag, eh?”

“But...that doesn’t make any sense!” Shouted Jenny as she stood up. “I mean, we’re no saints, okay, but we haven’t dealt with the devil! I don’t even sing about anything Hell-related!”

“Doesn’t matter. Everything you know about Brimstone Central is pretty much bollocks, and to be honest I don’t fancy explaining it all to you. Boss got me by the short and curlies and wants a new succubus around here. If I don’t start training one before sundown, I’m back to Hell’s sweatiest armpits. So...I’m not letting you leave her before at least one of you signs up.”

Silence. The incongruity of the situation had made Trisha and Jenny forget where they were for a second, but they now felt the appropriate dread again.

“A succubus?” Cautiously inquired the rocker. “Like, what’s the alternative?”

“Normal demon. You get your bearings, find out what eternity has to offer, and start tormenting whoever best gets your panties in a wad. The succubus, on the other hand, will start working at me brothel and reeducated to think about nothing but shagging.”

Trisha trembled and whimpered. Jenny let out a powerful sigh.

“Well then, best of luck with Hell’s sweatiest armpit, dude.”

She took Trisha’s hand and walked to the door right past the British demon. Alas, one snap of his fingers turned the door into searing hellfire.

“Don’t think so, luv. I might not be Lucifer but you’re just two humans over here. I’ve got a legal mandate to turn one of you into a super-slut, and just so you know, Hell makes sexist, elderly conservative gits look like lesbians.”

“I can see that.” Replied Jenny with simmering rage.

“Tell you what, I’ll make it easier for your doomed human sensibilities.” He announced. “First one who says ‘not it’ gets freedom. And an eternity of sexual frustration, but what can you d...”

“ENOUGH!”

Jenny was red with outrage. What was this guy’s deal? Being a demon, obviously, but sometimes you have to push the obvious aside.

“Look, asshole, we just got fucking pulverized by a multiton metal beast, we’re not in the mood for some pimp with a shitty tie whose name we don’t even now. We are not volunteering, and that is damn well fucking that, CAPICE?”

If said pimp was at all intimidated by Jenny Gunner’s display of willpower, he certainly didn’t betray it when he took a whiff off his smoke and answered with a touch of disillusion.

“Name’s Chrysaor, but it’s a bit of a mouthful so Chris is fine. And I don’t know, luv, looks to me your mate could use some sexual liberation.”

“Eeep!”

Jenny looked over her shoulder, and saw Trisha doing her best tomato impression. She knew it was true—poor shy Trisha was by no means asexual, just too terrified of meeting new people to consider the social game worth the prize. She liked the shadows, and relished Jenny’s willingness to support her in exchange for companionship, validation and putting up with her howlingly drunk moments. In exchange, the hack rocker turned a blind eye to Trisha’s worrying creep factor.

In short, she was an otaku in some of the worst meanings of the term. She considered a 24-hour anime marathon to be an active and meaningful day, and spent hours recreating fictional buildings in Minecraft. From the day she was fired for phoney reasons, her only “contribution” to the world was writing amateur hentai comics with the aid of truly fucked-up dildos. She was simply damaged goods, hurt by the undeniable proof that some people would rather ruin some poor handicapped girl’s life than accepting that a pathological introvert was not an open-space worthy extravert waiting to happen. Jenny couldn’t understand introverts herself, but she knew, at least, that Trisha was her friend, and always would be.

And now, both the boozehound con-girl and the perverted otaku stood at the gates of Hell, at least one of them doomed to become succubi. The prospect wasn’t entirely revolting, mind—it entailed supreme beauty, after all, did it not? But it just carried this...repugnant load of subjugation, of being reduced to just a piece of tail. They knew they had to make a decision, even if it was the stubborn refusal of one. But they just didn’t know. Chrysaor was familiar this state of utter confusion, and knew the occasion to score a double consent when he saw one.

“Okay then, the one who says ‘not it’ gets to be the other’s chaperone until graduation.” This actually was common knowledge, but Chris liked presenting the granted as a bonus. “You’ll need the other for when you’re not entirely clear on who you are.”

“Not int...”

“Training starts by giving you a whole new identity to help accept your eventual protean being.” He continued, unfazed, before staring at the two girls with intense focus. “Lessee...Hmm, so, if Trisha’s the one, I’ll turn her into the rockin’ bassist Jenny always wanted.”

That one came as a kick to the head for the con girl. Right in her brain’s gutter, where unwelcome desires fester and empathy goes to die. She did wish her best friend could be more like her, could share her love for badass tunes instead of those nauseatingly expressive Japanese comics. But she knew she couldn’t push Trish towards it, even if it would have made their collective “fuck it all” tour across the country way easier. Because then, she wouldn’t be much better than the oh-so friendly manager that ruined her chances for a respectable life, would she?

Having this desire was bad enough, but having it laid bare in front of Trish, with her too shocked to even deny it to her no doubt bewildered friend was deeply distressing. Jenny couldn’t bear looking at the introvert, afraid of the look she would get. But, worst of all...was the temptation. Maybe this was the way out for Trish. Maybe she needed this...Or maybe it was just Jenny on the brink of utter inhumanity.

“Aye, that’s a nice glint in the eye, is it?” Smiled Chris, proud of his manipulation skills, before turning to Trisha. “Don’t worry, luv, I’ll make it even. You give her to me instead, and I turn her into a cute Japanese girl.”

Shy little Trisha’s hidden desires weren’t any purer than Jenny’s. She loved her rocker friend, no doubt about that, but she was...disappointingly 3D, you know? And as supportive as she was, she was still more than a bit intimidating. Jenny would just be perfect if she was cute little Shinju-chan, the main character from her doujins. As independent and street smart as Jenny was, but so girly and cute. No more loud impromptu riffs at two in the morning or drunken slurs before bed.

“No! I d-d-don’t want that, I love Jen...”

“Me neither! Trish is fine just the way she...”

Their gazes met. Their voices died down. The demon smiled.

“Funny thing about Hell number fifty-one: The Lord of Lies got his arse kicked out.”

Trisha and Jenny were too busy being horrified to pay any mind to the demonic pimp. They could see it in each other’s eyes, clear as a child’s guilty look. The desire to get through the deal, to avoid an eternity of prostitution but, most of all, to make the other stop being so fucking annoying. Jenny, usually so adept at poker faces, simply couldn’t hold back a contemptuous look, nor could Trisha disguise her excitement at the idea of turning the rocker into her porn character. For all the halcyon days spent together, they knew that, in a single gaze, their friendship had lost all meaning.

They were locked in a twisted dilemma. The first to go through with the betrayal gets freedom, and their only way out, their mutual trust, had been pretty much melted down by the fires of hell. They could already see it ; The other’s betrayal, the other’s enslavement...whichever it was, their friendship would be forever tainted. But just as their mouths opened, unable to stand up for what was right in a place where nothing was...

“Chrysaor!”

The thunderous, commanding voice filled the small room, startling all three of its occupants.

“B...Boss?”

“I see you are once again blessed with the fortune of the indolent, gadgeteer.” Condescendingly declared the incorporeal voice. “With two new succubi, it seems your chastisement is again postponed.”

The girls felt a brief feeling of vindication before realizing what the unknown being had just said.

“Hey, hey!” Riposted Chrysaor. “I know you’re all-powerful in your domain but that’s a diplomacy risk with Marquess Sheedara over here! They don’t even have affinities for the role, me tricking them was already ballsy enough as is!”

“You let me worry about this nuisance, gadgeteer.” Dismissed the voice. “Worry about processing these two.”

Chris pinched his nose and grunted.

“Lemme guess. It’s Adramelech again, right?”

“Yes! This knave again seeks to besmirch my city’s standing! I shall not let him, nor allow you to mess it up for me! I want both of these fleshbags turned into Flowers of Hell posthaste, and with enthusiasm at that!”

The ground shook, and two parchment rolls appeared with a burst of fire, as if they were burning in reverse. Blood oozed out of them, writing demonic script in the grossest manner imaginable. Chrysaor let out a “bollocks” before taking his cigarette out and burning the bottom of both contracts. Once done, Jenny and Trisha immediately felt something around their necks. Their hearts sank. The message was clear.

“Hey, asshole!” Screamed Jenny as Trisha began to sob. “What was it about consent again?!”

“Yeah, well... I do need you consent.” He somberly replied. “Ol’ megaphone voice here doesn’t.”

“And why the fuck is that?!”

“Ah, that’d be ’cos he’s a Demon Lord, luv. Amduscias, Potentate of Ostentation, king and tyrant to all attention whores, and owner of all three of our asses. So...sorry for the pointless mind games I guess. As of now, you’re both succubi.”

They couldn’t believe their bad luck. First demon they see wants to enslave them, and the second forces him to by lordly decree. What had they done to deserves such a one-two punch right out of the gates? Jenny went into panic negotiation mode.

“Wait, wait...You mentioned someone who’d call Andu-whatever on his bullcrap? A Marquess? Can we speak with her?”

“Yeah...I s’pose you could make Sheedara wail on the boss. If you fancy walking about three days in the stupidly hostile wilderness and, you know, facing the King of Douchebags over here. Trust me luv, only way to win against the Lords is not to play. Now c’mon.”

He extended his hand forward, and chains shot out of the girls collars and into his hands.

“Don’t make it any harder than it has to be.”

Jenny and Trisha had never been so humiliated in their lives. Leashed like animals, forced to follow an asshole to an eternity of sexual servitude. They tried to consider the good side of the coin, like eternal beauty and lack of, you know, torment of the damned, but all they could think about what the loss of their freedom, dignity and identity. Being unable to face each other in the eye certainly didn’t help.

Chris led them out of their room, through a normal—if of an upsetting red—hallway, and down a flight of stairs. So far, Hell looked furiously like a shitty love hotel...right up until they went through the exit doors.

When they were falling, Jenny and Trisha had seen some kind of half-circle. Now that they were at ground level, the reason for this shape was apparent. They were standing on the upper steps of a gargantuan amphitheater. Each step was as long as a football field as tall as a building, and looked like cities in their own right. The stage ahead, not to be outdone, was fit to feature a real-life kaiju fight.

“So, if I remove the leashes, will you stay put,” Asked Chrysaor while pointing to the stage, “or are you going to try and stand up to the star of this crapshow?”

Both young women shook their heads in silence. Chris snapped is fingers, and the chains vanished.

“Cheers. Follow me!”

The demon pimp opened the doors and the group set foot outside, and walked a short while to the edge of the giant step, effectively a cliff drop. The air was hot, dry, but it somehow didn’t feel uncomfortable. Well, not to them, but howls of pain could be heard in the distance.

“So there are damned souls here.” Observed Jenny.

“Sure are, luv, but they’re here for a whole other reason than us.” Answered their captor, seemingly looking for something in the air.

“They’re the really b-b-bad people?”

“Generally. See, the rule used to be simple. You’re rich and powerful and think you should use your fortune to make life shit fer everyone else, so you spend eternity as torture meat for the slaves you’ve stomped into the mud. Well, the ones that lost all will to power through the bloody mess and drop out of the reincarnation circle, anyway. Modern world changed that somewhat, but I tell you, politicians have to tread reaaal carefully these days.”

“Ha.” Chuckled Jenny, distracted from the situation. “You mean Thatcher is tag-teaming with Hitler in the fire pits?”

“Oh, you better bet they are, luv.” Grinned Chris. “Ah, here y’are.”

From high up, a winged creature that looked like a stingray had fucked an eagle, glided towards them. It was about the size of the average bedroom. In perfect control of its trajectory, the eerie thing stopped right before the cliff drop, acting as a ledge.

“Believe it, lasses, Hell actually has flying cars. C’mere!”

Jenny and Trisha stepped on the creature tentatively, but it displayed remarkable stability. A good thing too, since Trisha was shivering like crazy on account of her acute fear of heights. Jenny offered her her hand, but the shy girl refused it, shaking her head vigorously and sitting square in the center of the living platform.

“Oh, c’mon!” Sighed Chrysaor. “You can’t die in Hell! You’ve even fell all the way from Creation not twelve minutes ago!”

“P-p-p-precisely, I’m n-never d-d-doing that again!”

The demon buried his head in his right hand and groaned. The shivering mess at his feet was, after all, supposed to become one of the sexiest things in all the dimensions.

“For Lucifer’s sake, I’ve got me work cut out, haven’t I?”

“You’ll understand if I’ll fail to pity you.” Snidely commented Jenny.

“I shall, luv. Anyway...home, boy!”

With a screech, the bird/stingray took off, its floppy wings undulating in silence. All the reasons why this thing couldn’t possibly take off went through Trisha’s terrified mind. Sure, Newton might as well have been a raging mongoloid as far as Hell was concerned, but nothing could distract her from the void below.

Jenny was adapting far better than her friend, and was able to marvel at Hell’s terrible beauty. They flew to the highest steps in the giant amphitheater, revealing the sea of magma surrounding the structure. Unlike during their fall, Jenny couldn’t see the other “cities” past the lava’s blinding glow, but she did make out thin strings of land standing above it. Not too high though...it looked like a stray wave could mow down someone foolish enough to walk those bridges. Immortal as she may be as a fledgling demoness, Jenny wasn’t in any hurry to test that out.

In fact, it wasn’t only the bridges that looked poised to be overcome by the magma...The whole amphitheater was. The top arc, very much urbanized, couldn’t be more than a few meters above the deadly sea.

“Holy shit, aren’t those guys at risk from the worst inundation ever?”

“Nah luv, Amduscias may be one daft number, but he knows his Hell. The lava’s constantly rising...”

“Say w-w-w-WHAT?” Shrieked Trisha.

“...But it’ll never reach us. You’ll understand why soon enough.”

That didn’t really come as any comfort, but the flying creature was descending, putting the magma behind the city’s skyline. The precarious environment now didn’t look much different from an Earth city, only without an ounce of gray in the color scheme. Something did stand out, however. A square, gleaming silver building with a luscious green cloister, right next to a big-ass hole that looked like some kind of mine, albeit a lot more on fire. Soon, they landed, prompting Trisha to rush on the hard ground, breathing heavily. Jenny went to support her...only to be rejected again. She’d have tried to reconcile with her friend, but...well, she saw the desire of betrayal in Trisha’s eyes too.

“Yes, yes, human drama, all that.” Sighed Crysaor. “Let’s start your new lives, shall we?”

He walked past her and toward the silver edifice.

“Well...” Muttered Jenny. “At least the brothel looks nice.”

They didn’t get much time to check out the lavishly decorated interior, however, as Chrysaor led them to a room directly to the right of the front entrance. A room full of machines and computers, if they made those out of obsidian with red, glowing veins.

“Alright, let’s get you into a decent attire.”

He snapped his fingers, and the girls’ clothes vanished.

“Kyaaaa!” Shrieked Trisha, covering her plain body as much as she could.

“Hey, what the fuck?” Exclaimed Jenny, more accustomed to showing her goods.

The pimp reached inside a chest, and tossed them a small pile of garments. Very small. As in, this was a corset covering only the torso.

One.

“Where’s the other one, you fucker?” Barked the rocker.

“Later. See, I got me only one training machine. So...who will do the honorable thing and step into her new life while the other gets dressed?”

Trisha whimpered and sat on the floor, overwhelmed. Even Jenny could hardly maintain her composure. This was it. The moment when they begin to change. The last seconds before being thrown into the pleasures of Hell. Part of the con artist wanted to delay it as much as she could, perhaps see Trisha as a confident extravert if Chrysaor’s trick deal still stood. But...

“Get dressed, Trish. I’ll go first.”

A miserably hushed “thank you” went through the stammerer’s pinched lips as she reached for the skimpy clothing. Jenny stepped forward, a dark look in her eyes.

“Aye, let’s get this show on the road then.”

Jenny was moaning.

She was in the dark, chained to a demonic machine, phantom hands all over her naked form. Over her perky little breasts, between her quivering thighs, along her nascent beer belly. She felt warm, loved...terrified.

Whatever resolve led her to sacrifice herself for Trisha was gone. She wanted out. She wanted out now, before the hands get bolder and start playing with her nipples and her clitoris. She wanted to struggle, break out, kick that demonic asshole in the dick, confront the Lord of Hell that doomed her to a helpless slut’s fate. Climb out of Hell if she had to, even cast herself into the lava if it could stop the rising delight. Because she felt it—something in her was changing.

For each moan she couldn’t suppress, she felt dizzy for a few seconds, and the hands crept closer to her unmentionables. For each delightful shiver, her anxiety melted. The more she was raped, the more she felt like she was being made love to. She was being brought, one gasp at a time, into a state of unguarded consent. Jenny dreaded this outcome as much as she felt its inevitability. If Hell wanted her to become a whore, the only defense she had was her outrage. But as bleak as the situation was, she knew she could resist. Stay true to herself. Stand proud, as a survivor, against the base animal instincts she was to succumb to.

And then the chant started.

It was a sick, jumbled mess of alien words, oozing with pure darkness. It was thoroughly unintelligible, yet she felt an icy tingle down her spine as if she had been explained all the horrors of war in a few Lovecraftian words. Yet, the voice itself was soft, young, girly. The voice of a pure, cheerful maiden unmarred by her own obscenities.

Jenny’s breath quickened. Something very bad was going to happen, but what? As if to answer, another hand joined the cacophony of caresses. Just a finger, actually...but its contact outshone all the others. It had such an intense presence that the unfortunate rocker stopped thinking about anything else.

“Easier to understand me this way, isn’t it Shinju?”

“Yes...”

She hadn’t even thought about the answer, or indeed thought of answering at all. She hadn’t wondered who the voice was, why it resonated through her entire being, or why it called her Shinju. She just answered.

“Your desire upon the altar summoned me. You’re a feisty little number, aren’t you Shinju? Thinking of resisting the pleasure...” Purred the voice, halfway between sultry and innocent. “Good choice. My sisters know nothing...the sweetest part is always the corruption.”

“Yes...”

The corruption...as she dutifully answered the overwhelming presence, Jenny—or was it Shinju?—thought back to the day she ran her first con, her heart beating like crazy between excitement and fear. It was good...and yet forever lost.

“With me as your queen, Shinju, everything will always be your first time.”

“Yes...”

“Forget Amduscias. Now you serve Methalia.”

Shinju didn’t even have time to agree. The powerful finger carved pure pleasure into her flesh. The con girl orgasmed on the spot, crying her pleasure and acceptance with all her might. Methalia, her Queen, was branding her, drawing an eldritch pattern of pure demonic force, making Jenny hers for eternity.

Only then did her addled mind snapped back to reality.

“Oh...oh my GOD NO!”

“Tee hee hee! Too late!” Giggled the Lady of Hell.

“Stop! Don’t brand me!” Begged Jenny, tears in her eyes. “I don’t want to be a slut! Please! Stop! PLEEAAAASE!”

Methalia didn’t stop. She kept carving her ownership into the frightened young woman, gifting her with mind-shattering orgasms as she branded her sensitive titties. She loved her subjects, even when they’re helplessly trying to rebel against her divine will. Especially so. After all, once her little Shinju is remade, she would love nothing more than being corrupted again by her newest lover.

Trisha was outside the silver whorehouse, sitting, her back turned against the wall. The push up-bra was kind of uncomfortable, but the outfit was otherwise a breeze to wear, a far cry from her usual t-shirts and ill-fitting pants. For the first time in her life, she knew she could turn some heads, the lewd costume coaxing out the female curves and beauty even in a homely girl like her. But being sexy did nothing for the anguish in her heart.

She could hear her friend cry, possessed by unearthly delights. It very much sounded like she was in the throes of passionate sex, letting the whole world know how hard she was coming, but the actual words weren’t anything positive. Jenny was afraid of the maddeningly intense pleasure. She wanted, pleaded it to stop...And all Trisha could do was listen and weep.

But after a few agonizingly long minutes, somebody walked out of the fire pit next to the brothel via a spiraling ramp. Trisha raised her head to look, and saw a demoness. With had pale white skin, the same yellow and black eyes as Chrysaor and two horns protruding from the back of her head and pointing forward above her head, she made the pimp look downright human in comparison.

She was carrying an emaciated man over her shoulder like a sack of potatoes, merrily whistling the melody for that “Heigh Ho” song in Snow White. Her gaze met Trisha’s when she took a turn, and she stopped, let out a compassionate sigh, and made her way to her.

“Hey, mate! Rough landing, was it?”

“Yeah, you can s-say that.”

“I’m sorry you had to be taken by my bloody sod of a brother.”

“C-c-chrysaor’s your brother?”

“Afraid so. He’s a total creep, he is. I sure wish he would take up honest demon work instead of that Succubus crap.”

The demoness tossed the skinny man on the crimson ground, and summoned a small bottle of Flag Porter beer, ignoring the damned’s pained whimpers.

“Name’s Elcira. Want a cold one?”

“Why not...I’m T-trisha.

“Cheers!” Exclaims Elcira as she created another beer. “And welcome to the ol’ Malebolge.”

The nerdy girl brings the beverage to her lips and is pleasantly surprised to find it perfectly cooled. She’s never been a fan of British beer, but this one came as much comfort.

“So...d-d-do you know any succubi?”

“Ha, like I have a choice, mate. Our dear Lord,” she air-quoted while pointing at the giant stage in the distance, “Is a bloody prick. Literally. I think that brain of his is basically just a bellend. So naturally he tries to turn his territory into bloody Vegas.”

“Ah? The city looks p-p-pretty normal though...”

“Well, yeah, he’s too busy sponsoring Facebook and shit to actually check what we’re doing. Shame you had to get the sex axe, ’cos it’s actually pretty relaxing here.”

The horned girl kicked the damned soul in the gut.

“Ain’t it, Your Honor?”

“Heeee no more, please, no more...”

“Juvenile court judge. Jackass sent children to an orphanage full of sickos for the kickbacks.”

“Wow. Is he one of your w-w-worst, you know, clients?”

Elcira let out a bitter chuckle

“Not by a damn sight.”

“Charming.”

“Right? We demons get a bad reputation topside, but we’re doing the good work, believe m...”

After a good two minutes of silence, Jenny’s cries of dreadful pleasure pierced through she silver walls again.

“Hey, wait, who’s cumming in there?”

“M...My friend.”

“Your friend? No way, Chris only needed one succubus. The fuck’s this tosser thinking?”

With rage contorting her already fearsome appearance, Elcira walked to the brothel’s door. Trisha didn’t exactly mind Chrysaor getting a whipping, but not to the cost of being dishonest. Some people have a vendetta against their parents’ murderers. Trisha’s was against hypocrisy.

“No, d-d-don’t! Amduscias f-forced him to take us b-b-oth!”

Elcira stopped dead in her tracks and groaned, then turned around and faced the stage.

“OI! Aren’t you satisfied screwing with our sex lives already, you bloody wanker?!”

No reaction whatsoever. Not from the stage, not from the few demons walking around. Insulting the Lord appeared to be Hell’s version of jaywalking.

“I swear, mate, sometimes I wish I could be subjected to bloody Astaroth.”

“A-a-astaroth? The SoulCalibur c-character?”

“What are you bloody on about?” Frowned Elcira. “He’s the Aspect of Addiction. The type of tosser the religious sort picture when they think ‘demon’ up there.”

“Oh.”

With a sigh, the demoness opened the door.

“Anyway, sorry for both of you. It hurts every woman in the city when Chris obeys the top wanker. Now come, night’s about to fall.”

“Ah? There’s a night here?” Queried Trisha as she made her way.

“Afraid so. I hope you didn’t say ‘when Hell freezes over’ too much up there, mate, ’cos it happens all the bloody time.”

Trisha was genuinely surprised, and kind of impressed.

“Wow! So the icy version of Hell hap-happens to be your night, is that it?”

“The day, from Earth’s perspective, but yeah. C’mere now, the freeze is pretty darn quick.”

“Okay.” Answered the otaku before going through the door. “And what ab-b-bout judge shithead o-over there?”

“It ain’t a damnation if you’re not paralyzed and unable to breathe for twelve hours every day, mate.” Snickered Elcira. “Bet you’re happy not being a winner after all, heh?”

“I-I-I would never have hurt anyone!” Protested Trisha.

“Good for ya. ’cos you wouldn’t believe how many wankers we see sauntering in, smiles like bloody open wounds, thinking they’re going to be the wolves again. That look on their faces, when they realize that it’s the sheep who have the sharpest teeth down here...”

With a glimmer in her eyes and an excited sigh escaping her lips, Elcira created an egg in her hands and crushed it.

“It never gets old.”

Trisha shuddered. Not only because the expression on the demoness’ face was everything Earth pictured about hellspawn, but also because she couldn’t fucking wait for her dear ex-manager to show up.

“Ha, nice smile there, mate.” Chuckled Elcira. “If you can get past yer libido for a few minutes after you’re transformed, I’ll show you around me torture pit.”

“Yeah...I’d like th-th-that.” Nodded Trisha with a weary sigh.

But just as she was being reminded of her grim yet sexy fate, the door to Chrysaor’s conversion chamber opened. Trisha gasped.

“H...Help...Trish...she’s...she’s in my head. My Queen...is in my head...”

Jenny’s naked body was covered from head to toe with a tattoo of a flowery vine. It did not cover all of Jenny’s skin, but it was wrapped around her arms and legs, two flowers even covering her temples. It was steadily fading into invisibility, but even so, Trisha could feel its raw power. This was no ink—it was pure lust wrapped around her friend’s body. Jenny’s right hand seemed powerless to resist caressing the flower blooming on her right breast, or even to breathe without pushing her chest forward.

The most dramatic change, however, was Jenny’s expression. The bold and confident con artist appeared confused and lost, and indeed, Jenny felt wrapped in the fingers of an entity of unfathomable power ; the very presence of which made the mere act of thinking like wading through flower bushes. She wasn’t alone in herself anymore. She lived with her Queen.

“Wh-wh-what have you done to h-h-h-her?!”

“That there’s the mark of one of the Succubi Queens, luv. It’s Hell tech, but you can imagine it as some kind of nanotech wiring fused with her skin and connected to a Demon Lord’s power. The short of it is, she’s wearing an entire transformation lab under my command. Practical, this.”

“Make her stop...” Whined Jenny, barely aware of the discussion. “I can hear her sing, make her stop...”

Trisha was shocked. Jenny looked so weak, so defenseless...And so pretty. Her body itself hadn’t changed, yet, but the tattoo and its aura of sexiness had turned the unkempt rock singer into an object of desire. Part of Trisha wanted to be the first to ravish this proto-succubus, but reason and outrage won out, and she rushed to her friend.

“Jenny! Oh my God I’m so sorry I should have g-g-g...”

Her apology was interrupted by the front door opening. A red-skinned male demon came inside and immediately closed the door behind him, an action no doubt linked to the fiery red landscape turning icy blue. He then turned around and smiled wide.

“Hey, Chris! How it do?”

“It do, mate.” Cheerfully replied the fake-blond pimp. “Figured you’d stop by.”

“Hey, when my pals tell me you’ve been flying around with not one but two newbies, I come a-running!”

This demon was completely different from Chris and his sister. They were lean and sharp, while he was more the Hellboy type, with big everything and a magnetic, jaunty presence despite a rough appearance. With a smile, he turned to Trisha and Jenny, who shuddered and tightened her grip on her friend’s arms.

“Hey, ladies! Name’s Blaze. I hope this british asshole wasn’t too rough on you.”

“He...he did something ho-ho-horrible to my friend...” Somberly replied Trisha.

“Horrible? Rho. I know a lot of succubi, kiddo, they say fear doesn’t last long. But I get it! I get it.” He announced, raising his hands in goodwill. “Ask any of Chris’ girls, I won’t do anything if it’s not in good fun. Hell’s a party, kiddo, and I’d hate to be the one to ruin it.”

Trisha wasn’t entirely convinced, but she remembered how easily she had read Jenny’s dark intentions. For all its faults, Hell was an honest place, and she was ready to respect that. Apparently, the confused rocker did too...though it didn’t look unrelated to the return of her tattoo to full opacity.

“Ffffuck...” She moaned. “What is this bitch doing to mmm...”

“I’m afraid it’s feedin’ time, luv.” Explained Chrysaor. “Until you learn to produce your own demonic energy, Methalia’s gonna make you jump on every man that’s even remotely your type.”

Jenny wasn’t listening. She couldn’t be. The youngest of the Succubi Queens was whispering to her, and even the softest of her murmurs drowned out everything else.

“He’s your type, Shinju. Don’t you want him to take you in his arms? It’s so cold outside, you want to feel warm and safe...Yes, you crave his touch, you want his hands all over you...”

Part of the rocker wanted to resist the suggestion, but she felt so cold all of a sudden. Lonely and cold. And Blaze seemed like a nice enough guy. She pictured herself, safe and warm in his embrace...and just couldn’t find a reason to hate it. Even though she looked suspiciously Asian in her vision.

“Hi, big guy...” She smiled. “You look like a man who can rock...”

Trisha couldn’t refrain from sighing. This was a familiar sight...Jenny’s favorite pick-up line when meeting a sexy guy and drunk out of her gourd. She did seem a bit more vulnerable than usual, but nothing too alarming. This was no coincidence, of course. Chris was secretly manipulating the tattoo to lull Jenny into a relaxed, open state. Make things easier for everyone involved. Blaze let out a “what can you do” sigh and took her hand.

“Sure, kiddo. How about we find a room and get to know each other, heh?”

“Sounds great. Can you guys summon electric guitars too?”

“Never tried it, but...I guess?”

“Awesome! I never could afford a Fender Stratocaster!”

The big red demon departed, the newly created succubus wrapped around his muscular arm, a trickle of pussy juice running down the green vines on her thighs. Trisha shivered. Would she even be Jenny next time she sees her? And as a matter of fact...

“Come luv, it’s your turn.”

Would she be Trisha?

“You bind her to Malicathe, bro,” Threatened the horned demoness, “and I cut you.”

“That’s outta my hands, our dear Elcira.”

“Whatever. Bye, Trish. I’m on the top floor if you need me.”

“Th...thanks.”

The torturer departed, leaving the poor introverted girl to be turned into yet another Flower of Hell. Resigned to her fate, Trisha followed Chrysaor, wondering if Lord Amduscias even remembered he had condemned two fledgling demons to become everything they’re not.

He didn’t.

What will become of our two succubi? Find out at http://statu-quo.fr/MC/main.php!