Drea always enjoyed the way her flesh sang as the potions transformed her. The heat that no thermometer could measure, making her flesh bubble up from the inside like sensuous magma within its uninspiring outer shell. She swelled from the inside out, adding breasts where before there'd been none, and gloriously wide hips, and plumper, bigger, more generous thighs. She felt her hair - disappointingly girlish in her day-to-day femboi life, become lusciously thick, long, and totally womanly. Enough for a lesser feline to get lost in.
But not Drea. The familiar transformation turned her from a slender little tom-kitten into a growling, prowling lioness, proud of everything she had from the curvy cushions that served as buttocks to the feminine lines of her shoulders and upper arms. Everything began to purr with a satisfaction only she could hear, but man, she could feel it like the deepest most throbbing instinct.
She felt herself swell beyond the confines of the disappointingly boyish body Mother Nature had granted her and become an earth goddess all of her own. Strong. Beautiful. Sexy.
She was so used to these transformations that she barely noticed the bitter after-taste of the potions she used. Not any more. She'd run out of Polos months ago and hadn't needed to buy any more to mask the after-taste. And what was more, Drea had taken so many different types of growth potions that she had a set of muscle-memories that automatically adjusted her centre of gravity, no matter what order or speed the potion worked. She could accommodate fast-growing tits, expanding derrieres, shrinking feet, lightening shoulders, heavier hair, all without stumbling, all without Drea's conscious direction so that when she grew, all she had to do was watch the show.
Drea admired herself in the mirror, wiping a big sheaf of her dark blonde mane away from her face and hooking it over her shoulder, partly exposing a dainty feline ear. Her cleavage was perfect: plump and shady. Her hands and feet delicate and begging to be shown off in all their alabaster perfection. Her cock semi-erect from witnessing the glory of it all. Her navel a coy little dot set above the heart shape of her hips and thighs like a cherry perched on top of a cupcake.
Not that Drea had a cherry. A body as amped-up as this deserved to be worshipped, and had been many times, in many different ways. Maybe it would be tonight.
If only the potions lasted forever, Drea would be the happiest femboi alive. But they never did. The vibrant flesh inevitably faded away after a few hours and after that, Drea always became the same as before: flat-chested, snake-hipped and with the same frustratingly boyish, angled jaw.
"Well girl," she said to her reflection, pushing her fingers under her hair down to the scalp to ruffle it up. "I think you deserve the wet-look miniskirt and stockings tonight."
Mmm, Drea thought to herself as she swung along the sidewalk. The shift in gravity from right, to left, to right, to left - the satisfying solidity of her hips as she strutted along, the sensation accentuated by the demands of walking on high heels. The effort and the body-warmth it all generated. The slight chill of the night air on the bare parts of her legs and midriff and chest and arms.
A slight wind blew in Drea's favour: square towards them, making her hair billow out behind like a flag. She couldn't resist glancing in the big windows of shops as she walked along, anything to catch the quick pale movements of her uncovered portions of flesh, the flick of her long slender tail, the bounce of her tits, the shadow and light of the angles of her feminine-shaped face.
Why shouldn't she look like this forever? It wasn't fair!
Drea's sensitive ears picked up the boom-boom-boom of the nightclub ahead and she couldn't help but cheer up. It was time to head into the lioness' den.
Drea strutted past the bouncers who stood, hands patiently linked in front of their groins and puffer jackets proud, to either side of the entrance. Being a sober apparent-woman meant that Drea got past without any trouble and barely afforded the men a look. Once beyond the security staff she turned towards the entry booth to pay and looked at the girl operating the desk: straight, dull brown hair, student's acne and a funky tshirt.
The catgirl looked jaded already, as if she expected it to be a frustrating night. Or maybe she felt outclassed from seeing such a superior example of femininity before her. She tore a ticket off the reel as Drea fished a bill out of her handbag and each presented the other with the paper.
"Thank you honey," said Drea with the satisfaction that she was more woman than the entry clerk, and opened the inner doors. Music and humid heat pumped out, washed over Drea like life-blood. She didn't pause, but certainly savoured it as she stepped inside.
The club was already just full enough to feel populated. And to generate a little of that body-scent that Drea loved in nightclubs. And already there was some competition: a woman in knee-high platforms and a mini dress full of holes, and separate sleeves. All in leopard print. A heavy tan and shimmery pale make up.
And smaller tits than Drea. Much smaller.
It wasn't that Drea saw this catwoman as competition. Not really. It was that the woman clearly fancied herself so much that Drea found it amusing.
In many ways, Drea simply saw this queen as a starter.
She didn't speak to the woman as she swung past to visit the bar, just caught her eye and gave her the quick once-over. I've seen better, said Drea's look with practised precision. And then, with a warmer demeanour (mostly for the leopard-woman's benefit, to serve as a contrast with the derogatory look she'd just given her) she called out to the barman: "Hi. I'll get a porn star martini."
Drea leaned against the bar and sipped her martini, crossing one ankle attractively over the other for effect. Then she had a stroke of luck: the leopard-woman's companion, a man who Drea presumed was her boyfriend, looked over with curious eyes and attentively tilted ears.
The leopard-woman touched her boyfriend on the arm and said something to him. She looked annoyed, and the boyfriend raised his hands in surrender. After a few seconds of bickering that Drea found inaudible because of the volume of the music, the woman reluctantly settled down. But in the wake of the argument she seemed to be doing her best to ignore Drea even though the two were more or less facing each other. Drea noted that her expression had the disinterested look of the rival who knew she'd been outclassed but wanted to pretend that it didn't matter because she didn't care.
A couple of minutes later the woman was distracted by rooting around in her handbag, and the boyfriend turned enough to glance at Drea again under the premise of leaning more comfortably against the bar.
He was definitely interested.
Drea graced him with a seductive smile and a flicker of a glance down his body, and walked away with her martini.
She'd leave that little situation marinading for a while.
In the meantime the music promised a lot of eye candy on the dancefloor, and she was adamant that she'd compare herself to the others there and be the best.
She squeezed her way through the crowd into a good spot on the dancefloor. Sure enough, the darkness of the room gave way to the occasional flash of swaying bodies all around her. A slender girl in a vest top, capris and neon-bright heels pulled her hair in sweaty strands off the back of her neck and puffed with exertion, painted in a momentary flash of pink and purple light. A feline man who moved his hips and arms with such art that he somehow made his jeans and buttoned-down shirt look like the hottest garments a catperson could buy. A black cat with a cheery afro and an even cheerier floral halterneck who danced in her own, carefree way and smiled as the lights turned yellow and red.
But Drea would be better than any of them, she was quite sure about that. She danced, and swayed with a combination of ferocity and grace that left all of the others, male and female, in the dirt. She had the tits, the hips and the hair to outdo every one of them and she was going to make sure that she was the best eye candy here. The others were just a warm-up act compared to her.
And that was how most of her night went, punctuated with a few flirtations with the available men and with much sizing up against the female competition.
She forgot all about the leopard-woman's boyfriend until the club started to empty out in the witching hours and he approached her.
He introduced himself by grinning at her.
"So you're still here," she said, and looked confidently around as if searching for something. "So where's your girlfriend?"
(Not that she wanted to remind him that he had a girlfriend, of course. The point of mentioning the leopard-woman was to test whether he was going to dismiss her as his partner or not.)
He adopted a casual look. "Oh, she's around here somewhere. But we're not really like that. It's not really that kind of relationship," he said, avoiding Drea's eyes for the duration of the lie.
"Mm hmm," said Drea. "So you're single."
"Pretty much," he said, encouraged by her knowing smile.
They both knew what was up.
Or rather, Drea did. The man looked like he only knew that he was up. Well, some felines found Drea's mixed gender a pleasant surprise, some an unpleasant one. There wasn't any way for her to know the boyfriend's reaction until he saw what Drea had beneath her miniskirt and there was only one way to find out.
"Follow me," she said and led him into the toilets.
Experience had taught Drea to visit the ladies' toilets at times like this, even though she'd usually choose the mens' for the toilets' usual purpose. Taking a potential lover into the ladies' meant that he identified Drea as female so would be less likely to revolt when he saw that she had a dick. And being in a cubicle of the ladies' made the men behave less violently if they did object, perhaps because they already knew they were somewhere they shouldn't be.
They squeezed into a cubicle together, and she knelt down and set to work unbuttoning his designer jeans. She looked up for a moment and they caught each others' gazes; she saw the hungry anticipation in his eyes.
He was an attractive one, with a shortish haircut that set off his black-tipped ears well. He was reasonably well-built and she decided that he probably worked out. She definitely wanted some of him. She pulled out the long bulge hidden in his pants and released him for a blissful moment's sucking.
"Oh god," he moaned and leaned his back against the cubicle. His hands appeared on the crown of her head and massaged her in silent thanks, and his tail softly brushed her knee.
"Better than when she does it, huh?" Drea asked before taking it in her mouth again.
"She never does this," he murmured.
Drea basked in the glory of this.
Suddenly she heard the main ladies' door slam open and heels click towards the cubicles. "Has anyone seen a tomcat with black ear tips and a red chequered shirt?" demanded an angry female voice.
The boyfriend gasped and stood up straight with a start. Drea eyed the square pattern of his shirt as he tried frantically to stuff his dick back into his jeans.
One of the cat-women outside the door must have pointed at their cubicle because the angry woman started hammering on the door. "Paul! Paul!"
Drea heard Paul catch his breath and suspected he wanted to stay quiet in the hope that his girlfriend would go away. Then he seemed to think better of it. "Yes?" he called out tentatively, almost as if he didn't know what the problem might be.
"What the fuck are you doing in there?"
Hoo, thought Drea, almost amused by the situation. She's mad.
"Nothing," he called back with a strange kind of tentative conviction. He bent down to Drea and whispered to her, "Say we were snorting cocaine in here." His eyes begged her to play along.
Drea nodded but made her own decision as to whether to put the toilet seat down or not. Help with the illusion or show the leopard-bitch that her boyfriend's a liar? She left it up.
Paul seemed in too much of a panic to realize this.
Drea stood up in the cramped space, backed off enough not to get squashed behind the door, and motioned to him to open the door. As he slid the lock across she glanced down at her tits to adjust them in preparation for the face-off to come... and noticed that the potion was wearing off. Fuck it! she thought in a panic. Fuck it, fuck it, FUCK IT! The idea of facing the leopard-woman without her full compliment of cleavage was, was... Paul had nothing to fret about by comparison. What did he think he had the right to look worried about?
Fucking drama queen.
The door was pushed inwards from the other side and the leopard-woman was revealed. She looked at Paul and Drea, and her face fell in horror. "What - the fuck..."
"We were snorting coke," said Paul, but sounded too nervous to come across as convincing.
The leopard-woman looked at Drea, who gave her a sneering smile, and then at the toilet behind them. "Paul, the toilet seat's still up. What did you do, snort it off the fucking seat?"
His face dropped and his eyes, wide-pupilled with fear - darted from his girlfriend to Drea. "We just put it back up."
She cuffed him across the face. "Don't fucking lie to me, Paul! And who the fuck are you?" she turned on Drea, her expression and body language full of bitterness and rage. Drea was just gearing up to react to that when the woman's look turned to one of disdainful confusion. "Are you wearing an inflatable bra or something?"
Drea clamped an arm across his chest. "Mind your own fucking business, bitch!" They were getting smaller by the minute. He could feel himself starting panic. He needed to get out of here. Now.
He went for the blunt approach and shouldered his way past Paul and his crazy girlfriend, and strutted out of the toilet.
"Yeah, that's right. Fuck off!" Called the leopard-woman.
Drea ignored her. He could feel his miniskirt starting to get loose around his butt. And his hair no longer had the glorious weight of the start of the night. So, with all the dignity he could manage he left the club and walked home, his shrinking tits hanging loose, his bra gaping.
Drea sipped coffee and painted his nails the next morning to cheer himself up after his humiliation at the nightclub. A variety of pink and purple shades, chosen for their dramatic impact when seen together. It helped a little but he still felt sore about it.
And then the doorbell rang. He scooted his chair back in a hurry and blew on his nails as he speed-walked to the door.
Drea usually didn't like to study, but he knew pretty much all of the options when it came to developing a feminine body. He had a whole bookshelf full of Wiccan recipes, voodoo potions and spells with much, much stranger origins. He'd tried most of them and remembered the results until he'd developed an encyclopaedic memory for which did what and how well. In fact, the potion of the previous night was his favourite, derived from an ancient British witch community and improved by Drea himself until the effects were absolutely maxed out.
But it still wasn't good enough.
It wasn't permanent. Even the most long lasting spell (a surprisingly pleasant-tasting brew of East-European origin) still left him shrinking back into a flimsy boy again when what he really wanted was to stay potent and feminine forever.
But then he'd read something exciting on a San Franciscan shaman's Feminization for Men blog. It said this:
This is really interesting. I spoke to my Japanese pen pal and I begin to question whether the potions brewed by the witch population outside Tokyo are among the best candidates for 'big-chested' results. Often we just embrace the temporary results that Western brews give us, either because that's our gold standard and we've just come to accept it or because we've trained to develop more feminine bodies the hard way...
Recently, it continued, the Japanese witchcraft community had become more open about their practices, and a few books had been written - and even better, translated into English. Needless to say, Drea's curiosity had got the better of him and he'd bought a copy of what reviewers had described as the most comprehensive one.
Today was the due date for arrival. He opened the door and almost skipped with pleasure at the sight of a bored-looking man in his courier's uniform - carrying a big, rectangular, cardboard parcel.
"Hi there!" Drea chirruped, feeling all flirty, all of a sudden. "Where do you want me to sign?"
"Erm. Here," said the courier and handed over an electronic device with a stylus.
Drea signed his name as best he could (and smirked to himself as he realized that the courier must have noticed his nail polish) and handed the device back. They executed an awkward hand-over of the parcel. ("Oops! Must mind my nails!") and Drea scurried inside, kicking the door shut behind him and struggling with the book's weight.
Half an hour later Drea held his temples in his hands, blinking dumbly at the open page. His tail, unusually, was still and his ears pointed forward as if attentive, but in truth he was stuck deep with his own thoughts, doing his best to get over the news that apparently he was going to have to get his hands on a fucking demon. He'd secured himself some obscure ingredients for potions and spells before, but this one spell, the one that promised permanent femininity, was ridiculous.
Where the fuck was Drea supposed to get a snake-demon from?
Well, he already had the book, so he decided to see what it said on the matter. He turned hopefully to the index.
There was a reference. He flipped back through the pages to find it.
Kyosei hebi live in the Mexican lowlands where they can find enough sunshine to bask in, along with rocks and vegetation to hide and hunt in. However, they are always watching for a large enough male animal to act as a host, whereby they use their demonic powers to fuse with the host's penis and serve as a replacement for the organ. The host's testicles also change to become the snake's digestive organ.
After the transformation is complete the snake can bite and 'suck' femininity out of female animals and 'feed' it to their host. The host will gradually become more and more predominantly female, eventually developing exaggerated feminine features. The snake will be partly subject to the will of the host and can be withdrawn into the body so that the demon's mouth becomes a surrogate vagina. Please note that the snake will retain a level of control over its own movements, and developing control over the snake is part of the bonding process for the host.
In order to deliberately bond a kyosei hebi to oneself, a catman must find a clutch of kyosei hebi eggs and keep them until they hatch. The newly-hatched snakes must be kept together in a glass container and not touched directly by a male catperson, as they will very quickly seek to bond with him. For this reason catwomen are often employed in the black market to care for the demon snakes until they are big enough to bond.
The newly-hatched kyosei hebi is too small to make a suitable bond with a catman's penis. It is recommended that they are kept in the above manner until they are around 12 weeks old.
Kyosei hebi can grow to up to 2 meters in length. Catmen are discouraged from seeking such a large specimen with which to bond as the magic of the demon can be too strong for the host to withstand. Catmen with kyosei hebi longer than 12 inches generally lose the battle for suitable control over their symbiotic body and become ruled by their snake's desire to bite and mate. The larger the snake the less control the catman will have.
Catmen who have bonded with a snake demon become permanently infertile and will thereafter only be able to father kyosei hebi offspring. Once a year in late winter, catmen in symbiosis will experience an unignorable urge to seek other, unattached kyosei hebi to breed.
The rest of the article focussed on irrelevences about kyosei hebi breeding.
Drea spent the next couple of days searching for kyosei hebi suppliers on the black market in the USA. There had to be some.
He located a supplier a few tens of miles north of the Mexican border.
The black market kyosei hebi he bought turned out, ironically enough, to be from an actual market. At night. While Mexican folk sold street food, clothes, entertainment of various types and much more, Drea's guide led him through a jewellery stall held by a jaded-looking catwoman who more or less ignored the two men. Drea had assumed that the rear wall of the stall was just that: a wall, made more presentable by hanging brightly-coloured fabric in front of it. But the guide pulled the fabric out of the way to reveal a doorway. Drea glanced uncertainly at the stall owner - she looked like she had an energetic rebuke on the tip of her tongue. She certainly didn't look pleased, although the tirade never came - and ducked through.
"How old are they?" Drea asked the guide, just to make conversation.
The young catman with tattered ears and hostile eyes looked like he hated Drea too much to bother answering and didn't particularly care whether Drea repeated himself.
"How old?" he asked again, carefully keeping the irritation out of his voice, when it was clear the guide wasn't going to ask him what he'd said.
"Fourteen weeks," came the curt reply.
Okay, he thought and hoped they wouldn't be too big.
They came to a room with three older catmen sitting on a couch, apparently gambling, who looked up as Drea and the guide entered. Well, that was the first thing Drea noticed. The second thing he noticed was a fairly large vivarium against the far wall, and felt a thrill of excitement.
The guide said something in his native language to the men. One of them nodded and called out something that Drea didn't catch but turned out to have probably been a name, because then he heard the clicking of shoes on a hard surface and a dull-eyed catwoman entered the room from a grim hallway to his left. The catman waved a hand in the general direction of the vivarium.
The woman glanced at Drea and then went to the vivarium and lifted off the top. "Come an' pick one senor, a hundred dollars each," was technically what she said, although what she actually conveyed was more like: Well, are you going to come over and pick one or not?
He walked over and then noticed that the three catmen were smirking at him. He wanted more than anything to keep looking confident in this strange place so he looked away from them and kept his head high as he went to inspect the snakes.
They had been mostly still, huddled together in coils and nonchalantly tasting the air. But when they sensed his presence they went nuts. They hissed - loudly! - and tried to climb up the side of the glass. He backed off, alarmed and with the hair on his tail standing on end.
The men laughed but the guide continued to look sullen and the woman... well, she simply looked hard-faced. He noticed then that her womanly features - her tits and hips - were pretty much flat. Her hair was scruffy and short, and looked like she'd done her best to make it presentable but really, that it wasn't up to much at all.
"Uh, okay... How about that one?" he said. They all looked the same to him and he didn't feel a special instant bond with any of them. He would've reached in and picked one out himself but they looked like they'd all try and bond with him if he did.
The flat-chested woman nodded stiffly and picked out the one he'd randomly pointed to. It hissed. The sound was unusual, stuttering and sinister. It tried to keep itself stretched out and horizontal. "Follow me," she said and clicked across the room back the way she'd come.
Drea followed, trying not to look freaked out about the bonding. Because this was it, wasn't it? The bonding came next. This was his last chance to turn back. He wished there weren't several pairs of eyes following him full of unfriendly laughter but there were, so he pretended not to notice them.
She took him to another, equally grim room. He looked around: it was certainly no operating theatre. There was a bed (that he presumed she'd ask him to lay on) with no duvet or top blankets on it. Just a mattress and a thin blanket, which he got the impression was hiding all kinds of stains. Don't think about it. Don't think about it, he thought, fighting the gorge in his throat. He tried to ignore the faintly visceral, druggy smells and forced himself to notice the sight of the room again. Apart from a chest of drawers and a window with depressed-looking curtains, the room was pretty much empty.
If I hadn't known better, I'd have guessed this was used as a brothel.
"Take off your jeans and lay on there," instructed his companion, and looked stonily the other way while he obeyed.
Brothel... Is that what happened? Were you a prostitute and got bit by a guy's attached snake?
He cleared his throat to get her attention. She glanced. "Do I remove these too?" he asked, pulling self-consciously at the waistband of his underwear. He felt surprisingly like a bad little kid in front of her and he realized that he felt almost as nervous of her as he did about the bonding procedure.
"Do you think I can get to your cock if you don't?" she snapped, then rolled her eyes and made a gesture with her free hand as if to say, Yes. Take them off.
He slid them off over his ankles and lay down on the bed, embarrassed by his completely flaccid state. Still, in a short while he'd never have to be flaccid again.
She approached and unceremoniously took a hold of his cock. The snake, so far relatively calm, squirmed in her grip to get at him. Or more specifically, his groin. He fought the instinct to scramble away but didn't completely relax because something about this felt not quite right. Clearly it was facing the wrong way because it was acting as if it wanted to bite his dick. And then the Mexican woman put it closer to his groin so that his penis and the snake were eye to eye, as it were.
That was obviously wrong- "Hey careful!" he blurted, scurrying back against the bed. "It's gonna bite me!"
She looked so annoyed that he almost expected her to turn around and leave the room. "Do you want this or not?"
"I do, but it's meant to be..."
The book hadn't said exactly how the snake attached. Now that he thought about it, what did he expect it to do? Wrap its tail around his dick and melt into his flesh? That's what seemed right because in the pictures, the snake's head faced outwardsfrom the bonded catman's groin.
"Look, jus' shut up. I'm doing it right," she said, pushed at his knee which he'd bent to shield himself from the snake so that his leg lay flat, and put the snake's head to his manhood.
Drea cried out in shock. Harsh male laughter came from the other room and his breath felt rough in his throat and chest. The pain didn't come at first but then it seemed to bloom - in his nose and eyes which watered uncontrollably, in his arms and legs that somehow managed to develop nausea, and in his skin which tingled unpleasantly all over.
And then the pain came. He wanted to throw up, he wanted to grab the snake's tail and pull it away, to force his fingers into its jaws and prise them open and fling it across the room where it couldn't do any more damage.
The bastard thing was going to ruin his dick!
He nearly rolled off the bed as his limbs moved frantically to get away from the agony. The snake's body flapped against his thighs but didn't let go, didn't even weaken its grip. The angry woman said something but he didn't catch what it was and then he fell hard onto the floor. She might have sworn and then she stormed away.
Oh god, I don't want it to chew my dick off! Please! Please...
And then he noticed something. Through the pain he could feel something odd. A kind of flowing sensation. Warmth and glowing. It felt unreal, uncanny. Magical, even. He'd stiffened his neck against the agony and fought the tension to look down, to refocus his eyes.
He didn't understand what he was looking at, at first. And even when he realized what was happening, he couldn't have described it or drawn it.
The snake was metamorphosing. Inside-out, or back-to front, or some combination of the two. No, it wasn't quite inside-out but it was somehow making its head end it's tail end, and its tail end its head end. Biology moved, morphed, changed, reformed itself around his cock and as it did, it swallowed up more of his feline length.
The pain still made him wince and he clenched his fists again, forced himself not to clutch his groin to relieve the pain. But he noticed with relief that the agony was receding.
He laid his head back against the side of the bed and focussed on the details of the mould marks on the ceiling, and did his best to calm down as he felt the changes take place. As his heart continued to beat extra-hard he hoped he hadn't made a terrible mistake.
He went dizzy for a moment and the room span around him. He struggled to the closest he could to an upright position and waited it out. When he got clarity back again he felt different, ever so slightly different. He blinked, and questioned within.
What's happening? It was like... it was like there was someone in there with him. And yet... maybe not. But there was something more than before. Wh-who's there?
Nobody answered, and he wondered whether this extra-ness was sentient. He examined this newcomer to his inner self and it moved at his will. Like an extra limb. Or... appendage. He felt his ears lay back in shock as he realized what he was experiencing, and looked down.
The snake had finished its transformation and waved as if ready to take on an enemy. Drea froze in fear and it cowered, and stilled. And he felt it do that, as if it was a part of his own flesh. Of course... it's part of me now. Can I look myself in the eye? So to speak... He concentrated and tried to turn the snake's head with his will alone. It jerked and then bent slightly, but that was the best he - and it - could manage. He craned his neck around to try and look at the snake's face, but although it responded it wasn't with a smooth movement or even in particularly the right direction. It didn't seem to have its bearings.
Tentatively he took hold of it. It hissed and he jerked his hand back. Then he felt fear. It was the snake's fear, he realized with a flash of insight, not his own, so he took hold of it again. It hissed but he grasped it more firmly and manipulated it to look him in the face.
It had slitted pupils and a reptile's grin. An exploratory tongue and perfect black, glossy scales. In short, it was beautiful.
He opened his jaws to see if it would copy him. It tensed its own jaw and looked like it was spasming a little. He stopped, relaxed, concentrated on the difference in the psyches between himself and the symbiotic demon, and slowly and deliberately opened his jaw again.
Slowly, shakily, it opened up. He - and it - tilted their heads back a little and he saw its fangs, lined up against the roof of its mouth.
How do I bring them out? He tried, but they wouldn't budge. He and his snake closed their mouths and stared each other out for a moment. They'd come back to that one another time.
Drea took hold of its head and it relaxed into his grasp, barely hissing at all this time. He stroked its cranium with his thumb and concentrated on what he could feel. The truth was, he could feel something but not very much, and he hoped he hadn't lost too much sensation.
The room lurched and he got a little dizzy again. The snake seemed to struggle with this and in all honesty so did Drea, but he felt more in control of the situation than he had before. So he took hold of the snake's head and pulled it taut, and felt from its jaw down to the point at which it connected to his groin. That led him to his balls, and he instinctively prodded them to feel a reassuringly intense sensation.
He got very little. Oh god, my balls! he thought and scooted his butt forward to check them. He loved having sensitive balls. Please don't tell me they'll never feel like that again..?
They'd turned black and smooth, covered in scales. Exquisite scales, and not a single hair. Well, at least they were pretty, insensitive balls. He sighed.
The slightly-swimming room snapped to, and he shook his head. He opened and closed his snake's jaws once more - it was easier this time. His connection with it was getting clearer, stronger! He took hold of its head again to see if it would hiss, and not only did it accept his grip, it felt delicious. His expert touch was enhanced by his new smooth, glossy flesh. He ran his grip down its length and made another delightful discovery. The muscles in the snake's torso rippled as if trying to climb through his fingers, and he realized on the spot that he was going to do a lot of masturbating in the following few weeks.
He almost continued right there and then, except that he heard the click of the woman's heels through the hallway. "Uh... Just a second," he called and grabbed his clothes. He struggled into his pants and covered his butt, but his snake didn't really want to be put away. It struggled and when he tried to stuff it in, it hissed. "Look... I'm just trying to- Stop it! Just get in, you bastard."
It bit (Drea was struck dumb with shock for a moment as its reflexes blasted through his own consciousness), and got a mouthful of pants cotton for its trouble. He could feel its severe disquiet in his mind and put on his jeans anyway, fighting through the shock of its bite because he really didn't want the grumpy lady to be looking at his butt any more. It'd calm down. It had to. He couldn't walk naked onto the coach home.
He managed to calm and smooth it down just enough to put it away. It squirmed under the tight strength of his denim and he found himself calming it, soothing it with a gentle internal voice.
Finally he felt ready to turn around. "Hi. Okay, thanks for this."
The woman shrugged, her arms folded. "Time for you to go now."
So much for after-care. "Sure. I guess I'll go, then."
Drea's heart thrummed with excitement! He couldn't wait! The catboi started unbuckling his belt almost before his front door had slammed shut into its frame. He'd managed to stay quiet on the ride home, just about, but inside he'd been sharing a fascinated dialogue with his snake, trading feelings and imperatives instead of words about sex, about their urges and needs, and curiosities. Or Drea's curiosities, anyway. The demon had been able to answer some of his questions but not many. As a result, Drea had experimentation to do and an almost frantic desire to do it.
His snake had felt frustrated. His blood supply kept it fed but it'd made clear that it wanted more. It wanted to hunt, bite, consume. It had wanted to stretch and feel cool air on its skin. It'd wanted stimulation, to see its local environment, to be touched.
Touched? Well, the time had come for that! He pulled his jeans half-way down his thighs and squirmed his butt to release his tail from the rear hole in his jeans almost without thinking about it. He felt as much as saw the front of his briefs move eagerly, bunch and stretch and push, as his snake struggled to get out, irritable about its incarceration. It didn't know how to escape so he pulled his underwear down to let it pop out.
He felt the demon's pleasure at finally being free and stretched upwards a little himself in empathy with its feelings. I'll have to wear miniskirts more often.
The catboi threw himself down on his couch and put both hands around his snake. Immediately his legs contracted and his eyes pinched closed with the sensation. So enjoyable! He rubbed it, fascinated by the smooth feeling coming from both sides of his awareness - the silky scales against his fingerpads and the pleasure of his new genitals slipping perfectly through his hands. He decided he wanted to exaggerate the sensations, got up to fetch the bottle of olive oil from his kitchen and returned.
He unscrewed the bottle and almost tipped a little over the snake's head. It questioned him wordlessly so he paused, and explained the concept of what he was going to do in mental images and thoughts about how it would feel. That was the way it seemed to like him to explain things. It responded reluctantly with consent, so long as he only used a little and avoided its head. He obeyed its wish.
One oily stroke made him cry out, singing his pleasure the way only a feline person could, circling his hips and slowing the rubbing movement of his hand. He shuddered and felt their mutual pleasure, twin ecstasies. It agreed with sensual abandon for him to rub its head with the oil and the pair fell into a rhythm. It pushed its head through his fingers of its own accord and he felt its muscles climb their way over his palm.
Drea looked down at the scene, at the way his curly pubic hair gave way to this hairless snake, its oiled black beauty, at its attentive eyes and waving tongue and the way it lengthened and contracted, lengthened and contracted.
He felt an orgasm on the horizon and kept on rubbing. He couldn't bear to stop but as he did it he wondered, What happens when I cum? He didn't have testicles any longer, so...
His - and his demon's - orgasms came simultaneously and absolutely floored his newly-rearranged brain. He arched against the couch. Among the ripples of orgasmic bliss he felt his utter powerlessness (the demon felt this more acutely and he noted that it didn't like the part of an orgasm that involved being helpless) and the prickles of his raised hackles as they were trapped between his back and the couch. A few seconds passed before he regained sensibility, and when he looked down felt surprise that there wasn't any semen. But neither had anything else strange happened. His snake kept its head up and alert, and he could tell it felt stimulated yet relaxed, refreshed and happy.
How short can you get? he thought as he wondered at this fantastic new addition to his body. He could feel its ability to contract but hadn't really tried it yet. So he concentrated.
It retreated. And retreated. And retreated...
Soon only its head remained, and he smiled at the fact that it could do that. He could feel the pressure of its contracted body inside his groin but also that he could keep it there for a while. It looked a bit strange, just a snake head poking out of his pubes.
It licked its tongue out, testing the air.
And that gave Drea an idea. He tried controlling the tongue. After a few attempts he found that he could lap the air just as smoothly as the demon did by its own choice. The sensation was... exposed, somehow. Enjoyable! And he could taste what it could taste, a dual sensation that was there and wasn't, at the same time. Its great sensitivity to the flavours of his apartment. He tried reaching a finger down and licking it with his snake's tongue. He liked that too.
He tried opening those jaws. With great concentration they did so, hesitantly as he used his recently-gotten neural relationships in this new way, but after a few opens and closes, he got the hang of it.
He reached in carefully with a finger, his ears tipped forward in concentration. Running his fingertip around what would have passed for the snake's lips if it'd had any gave him a new thrill of excitement. It was... a teasing feeling. He focussed his awareness of its fangs, bared and retracted them.
He dared to poke his finger inside its mouth. The snake may have been reluctant to allow this, only... just about everything he tried with it, it enjoyed with the same sexual abandon that he did. It let him, aware that this was an intrusion but as curious as Drea about how it would feel.
Sensitive! He bucked his hips before he could stop himself. Sensitive and, and... Mmm, he thought as he realized just how intimate, how right it felt. He stroked its tongue as it lay in its bed, ran his claw along its fangs in their place along the roof of its mouth. And then, his breath shuddering, he tried sliding his finger towards the back of its mouth and, careful as careful could be, down its throat.
Then Drea had an idea. He'd always enjoyed being female, but this could take it to a whole new level. He pulled the snake in as far as it would go and stretched its jaws open. With a little bit of a strain he could hold it flush against his body.
A makeshift vagina.
A fanged vagina, come to that.
He slipped his fingertip into its throat and entered a whole new world of sexual abandon.
Over the following few days Drea trained himself in the control and use of his snake-demon. In turn the demon itself became more aware as it aligned its awareness more securely against his. It didn't have the capacity for true sentience - Drea always found he had ultimate control over the creature - but it developed a certain ability to function on its own initiative while he wasn't paying attention. In its actions it spoke his subconscious thoughts. By the time he'd had it for a week, Drea felt that he and his snake were a team.
And so came Thursday night. The catboi admired himself naked in his full-length bedroom mirror. His skin was fair and white and contrasted with his snake in both colour and texture. He raised the snake without the use of his hands (it was so easy to do that now!) and it looked at itself in the mirror, hovering proud from between his legs which he'd splayed wide. The effect was rather elegant, so Drea thought, especially with the long furry sweep of his tail swaying behind him.
All you need now is a woman's figure.
He caught his own gaze as he thought of the reason he'd done all of this. Sipping femininity straight from a woman. The true test of his new abilities. Biting into her with his symbiotic demon and supping her womanhood from her, building himself up as she was emptied of her attributes.
And he knew just where to do it.
With the approach of the weekend came the local student nights, and he happened to know of a local one named Bangers and Mash. Always popular, always full of young women. There, he would hunt for his first 'meal'. He knew what he'd be looking for when he got there: somecat green, who wanted male contact enough to let herself be led somewhere quiet where he could bite. Somecat with big breasts for him to feed off, and a chunky ass for him to take and make his own.
And make infinitely better use of.
Drea toyed with the idea of turning up as somewhat female but on second thoughts, remained in his natural male form. He may not have liked his body this way but he knew he could come across as confident and that was what mattered. Student girls loved confident guys. And Drea didn't want to be too noticeable by the security staff - he looked older as his woman-self, and too... experienced, too street-wise, to fit in at a student club. As a youthful, slender femboi he'd blend in much more easily.
The light was dimming and the moon rising. He put on his best tight jeans and microscopic tshirt and prepared to go out.
Drea walked into the nightclub and found himself immediately surrounded by the mewling cacophony of catboys singing Heeeeeyyyyy, hey ba-by, I wanna kno-ow, if you'll be my girl, of tidy feline lads in white shirts, of the familiar yet comforting bitter scent of beer, of try-hards scanning the crowd through neon-coloured plastic slatted shades, of groups biting limes and downing shots of tequila on a count of three and rolling their ears back at the acrid taste, of acid house smileys, of guys standing still on the dancefloor with a clawed finger plugging their ear and shouting into a cell phone pressed hard against the other and straight-haired, skinny girls in bikini tops and little shorts that showed off their well-groomed tails.
He'd always had a funny attitude towards the petite girls. He could see they were pretty and how much attention they got for their efforts, and he'd always wanted to out-compete them. But to him, feminine beauty was in all the curves of the female body, the bombshell presence of breasts and the va-va-voom of wide hips, the way shiny fabrics like leather and PVC exaggerated those curves to make them look even bigger. To him, womanhood should be big, bold and unapologetic. Slenderness was for skinny catboys, not for powerful lionesses.
A part of him wanted to drain them of all that sex appeal but, now that he could do it, he saw that they didn't have much for him to drain.
No. What he needed was...
A pale grey Persian girl walked by and Drea's attention was instantly locked on to her. Her nose was characteristically squashed for her breed, her tail a glorious plume and her top a vision of rich fuchsia satin. And packed into it - along with her big-yet-tight jeans, were just the attributes Drea had been looking for. Tits until Tuesday, handfuls and handfuls of butt, and attention-grabbingly chunky thighs.
Drea felt his snake twitch in his jeans. Not yet, he thought, to himself as much as to it. We have to stalk the prey first, then catch it.
She looked unhappy. She was heading for the toilets.
Drea watched coolly as she walked by and then followed her.
The blaring sound of the DJ's playlist was immediately muted and replaced by the scent of toilet duck and alcohol. He went to the sinks.
"Hey, you can't go in here!" said a lynx with extraordinarily pretty eyes and nylon fairy wings.
"Sorry, sinks in the boys' are out of order," he said flatly and used a little tap water to tease his hair into spiky locks.
The lynx shrugged and left, apparently deciding it wasn't worth arguing any more. Which left Drea with the Persian, who was busily, almost fiercely, fixing her make up in the mirror and looking like she wanted to cry. She seemed to be ignoring the fact that Drea was there.
He opened the conversation. "Rough night?"
She shrugged, her bottom lip jutting out and her eyes showing an over-engineered kind of neutrality. The kind that meant she was very deliberately avoiding showing her pain.
Drea knew that his light build made him come across as a bit camp so he played up to it. "Toms, eh? Can't live with them, can't throw rocks at them."
That brought a smile that she didn't mean to slip through her guard. She gave him a quick look and then moved from fixing her eyeliner to her lip gloss.
Good, good. Relax, girl. "Mind if I borrow the pencil?" he asked casually.
That brought a more genuine and lingering smile. "Sure," she said and half watched, half pretended not to watch as he expertly applied it. His ears tensed the way they always did as he concentrated on the task.
After a few moments she couldn't seem to contain her curiosity any longer. "Do the guys like that? Make up on a tom, I mean."
He rubbed the outer edges to smudge them up a bit. "They love it. But then, so do the girls."
"You're into girls?"
He gave her a meaningful look in the mirror. "Actually, I prefer them. A lot softer and... nicer."
She gave him one of those smiles. The you-can-screw-me-if-you-want smiles.
He looked her up and down, making sure to look appreciative of her charms. He was nearly there. "You're really pretty. Do you mind if I kiss you?"
That was all it took. She snuggled up to him, her flat Persian face exotic and full of a pathetic kind of hope, and he brushed his lips against hers.
She loved it and put her arms on his shoulders. He responded by resting his hand on the sink counter on her other side and brushed at her waist with the back of his thumb. She pressed her breasts against him, and he responded by moving one leg between her thighs.
She understood what he was suggesting (well, pretending to suggest) and broke off the kiss. "Shall we go into a cubicle?" she whispered, her eyes intense and her face never straying far away from his.
"Okay," he whispered back, making sure to look charmed.
She grinned at him, took his wrist and led him into the nearest one. He locked the door behind them and twirled her around so that she had her back against the tiled wall covered in graffiti.
She prised her hands between their close-pressed bodies and unzipped him.
So close. So close! With great difficulty he kept his snake still until she'd pulled the button at the top of his jeans loose. He pulled up her skirt to reveal her inner thigh, flickered his snake-tongue close to the exposed flesh to judge its distance, planted his lips firmly over hers...
She tried to scream. Her eyes bulged and she struggled to push him away, to wriggle out from between him and the wall. But Drea and his snake worked in perfect synchrony with him using his limbs to hold her still as the snake secured its grip and drew the female influence out of her.
Oh, it was like biting into a watermelon and yet, and yet... so much richer, warmer, headier. The snake chomped and sucked, chomped and sucked, pulling one throatful after another down its body and into its stomach.
Her breasts began to recede from where they crowded against his chest, and he pushed himself further forward to keep her pinned.
The Persian queen, already frightened, became all the more frantic as she noticed what was happening to her body.
Drea felt a tickling on the inside of his thighs and risked putting a hand down to feel what was happening. He jumped in shock: his scrotum had become distended and now bulged between his legs, far bigger than it had ever been before. He broke off the kiss as the sudden surge of adrenaline made him desperate for air.
The Persian took his distraction as a chance to push him away, frantically pull the lock open and escape, whimpering and screaming to safety. He heard the toilet door fly open and slam shut. He was alone.
Drea sat down on the edge of the toilet, regaining his breath. He looked down. His snake was working its jaw, pulling its fangs back into alignment with its upper jaw. It felt a deep sense of fulfilment that he could very much connect with: the satisfaction of a delicious and filling meal.
He turned his attention to his huge scrotum and touched it experimentally, gingerly. It didn't hurt as he'd feared. It just felt plump and warm. In fact, as he sat in the silence he noticed something: it was slowly shrinking. He could feel its contents moving upwards, migrating into his body and redistributing to the places where he liked to be full and big.
His jeans were starting to feel strained, especially around his butt and thighs. He looked down at his tshirt. It stretched around his chest. He was developing budding breasts, the sign of womanhood going to work on his body.
It worked! She laughed, and stood up to lock the door and wait for her scrotum to shrink and her womanhood to fully develop.
Drea swaggered out of the toilets a few minutes later. She hadn't been able to zip her jeans back up again but that didn't matter too much: at least her black, scaly scrotum had disappeared. She made sure to keep her snake pressed close to her body to minimise the chances that it would be seen and plunged straight into the dense student crowd so that almost nobody could see her from the waist down anyway.
Her body swayed as she half-walked, half-danced through the crowd and she wished she'd brought high heels for the occasion. A few students gave her funny looks and that was hardly surprising, she decided, given what they could see: a camp young guy (or was it a guy?) with undeniably nice tits under her comparatively mundane-looking tshirt. Smoky black eyeliner and a smile as wide as a mile.
Drea returned home and let herself in. She'd known she had to get home because technically, she was naked and could get arrested, and even more technically, she had a demon attached to her that would seriously freak out anyone who might see her - like, say, a student having a smoke outside a bar or a policeman watching out for drunken night-time fights.
She liked to create an impact, but ultimately the risk of seeing the inside of a prison cell or finding herself the subject of a literal witch-hunt had prompted her to go home and seek appropriate clothing.
Luckily she hadn't seen anyone on the way back who'd paid enough interest to notice the worst of it. She'd been wolf-whistled at by a small gang of guys and shouted at to put some appropriate clothes on by an older teenage girl walking on her own, but the only beings who'd paid any great attention were a couple of feral cats who'd screeched, arched their backs in fright and scampered hastily away.
All of that said, she'd enjoyed being out and about with fabulous tits and a beautiful ass, knowing that she could replenish it whenever it all started to deplete - and knowing that it was all likely to stay in place for that much longer than anything she'd tried before.
But right now, Drea needed clothes.
She found a miniskirt, a high-necked orange-pink top that always looked great with the miniskirt and a pair of heels, and went back out to an after-party at The Big Dapple.
The hour was early when she left home and the sky still perfectly dark, but by the time she'd reached the nightclub district again the sky was starting to show flecks of yellow, the promise of the day. The early morning was chill on her legs, the tops of her feet, her arms, but that was okay. Drea smiled as she went, satisfied and purring.
Part one of the night had gone perfectly: find a well-endowed woman, fill up on reserves. If plan one goes well, move on to part two. Drea's snake could take three fingers in the throat. Could it take an erect penis? Well, she knew it could take a vibe, but how would it cope with a real, biological cock? And more to the point, could she fool a man into having her, filling her snake with his organ?
The Big Dapple would be full of catmen eager for a good-time girl.
She entered and was immediately hit by the rush of sweaty air, the piquant scent of dry ice and alcohol, and the sight of thrashing, dancing limbs and tails. She went to the bar and leaned the way she liked to lean: to showcase her tits and push out her butt enough that anycat brave enough to touch it could do so.
Nobody touched her butt - more was the pity - but the barman's eyes and ears pricked at the sight of her, and he gave her a secret smile.
One apple and catnip martini later Drea stood beside a pillar and began to gather an idea of the local talent. She sipped, savoured the flavour and enjoyed the view of a scrawny manx with a good talent for dancing.
"Very nice!" shouted someone in her ear, and she turned to see a slightly grubby but confident-looking leopard who clearly liked the sight of her.
"Thank you!" she called back. "Do you come here often?" she continued with a wink designed to say, I know it's corny. Let's do it anyway.
The conversation went smoothly and swiftly, but she didn't want to pick the first catguy she saw, neither did he want too much to break off from dancing, so between them they parted. Drea went back to watching out for single guys, or coupled-up-but-dissatisfied guys. Whichever.
Soon enough she finished her drink and ordered something in a bottle, easier to dance with. Her hair in her eyes and her ears high and proud she danced, swaying and enjoying the weight of her body. The music was a primal beat, full of attitude, and it felt right at this time, in this place, in this body.
A caracal with a casual look about him occasionally danced with her, and sometimes paid attention purely to the music. He looked cool, distant despite the closeness of the crowd, and... as if he might be very much in control, if not for the amount he'd drunk, which had made him a little drowsy and unfocussed. Drea thought he looked like he simply didn't care too much about anything.
That said, his amber eyes kept coming back to her, to her figure.
The third time he zoned out she got impatient and put her hand to his jawline, turning his head so that he'd face her again. Their eyes connected and she gave him The Look. We can have sex, you and I. I know how much you want it. You're a guy, and believe me, I know what you want.
"Why don't you come with me?" she said. It was not truly a question.
The caracal gave her the subtlest look up and down. "Put anything in the cloakroom?"
"Me neither. C'mon, then."
And just like that, they left.
Outside was much quieter, and Drea noticed the sharp contrast of being crushed up against so many other catpeople, and the spaciousness of the street outside.
The caracal didn't seem to want to hug close to her, neither did he look at her to check if that was what she wanted. But hey, she didn't.
"So what's your name?" she asked, after a minute or so when he'd said nothing.
"Xavier. You?" he asked automatically.
They walked on in silence.
He was a solitary one, no doubt about it. He looked the picture of indifference, his eyes clicking casually about to take in the night-time street and occasional walkers coming the other way, twitching the black tips of his ears. His limbs moved smoothly and with unaware confidence. And yet, there's nothing at all larger-than-life about you. If Drea wasn't so convinced of her own fabulousness she'd be fascinated by him. She found herself glancing at him out of the corner of her eye.
Under any other circumstances she'd have probed him for compliments. But perhaps the compliments would come once they were in her apartment.
But she couldn't resist the temptation to dig for some kind of recognition. "You go home with random queens often?" she asked slyly, swaying her hips to inject a little sass into her swagger.
Xavier shrugged. "Yeah. S'pose."
Maybe those compliments would be non-verbal, Drea decided, chagrinned.
They got home and Drea led him wordlessly in. Only a few moments and I get to try out this new body! She closed the front door and a few seconds later, the slender caracal turned and looked at her. His expression remained impassive but his eyes roved over her curves.
Drea knew that look. The look of a horny guy used to being with other guys, used to having sex without engaging his emotions. Did you recognize something in me, tom? she wondered with a sudden sense of misgiving, retracting her snake on impulse.
But that was crap. He'd seen her amazing new body and he'd wanted it. End of.
"Come here," said Drea and took his wrist. She put his hand on her waist where he could choose to ease it forward to her crotch or her ass, whichever one he most wanted. And she kissed him, locking her lips on to him with an animal feeling. He snogged her back with his curious mix of indifference and lust. The relaxed carnality of two horny cats who both knew they were going to get it.
The caracal slid his hand to her ass. She could feel him kneading it, feeling her flesh for firmness or softness, for its shape, for how his hand could disappear into it. The snake felt it too and twitched, and Drea had to shift her hips quickly so that Xavier didn't feel the movement.
She believed she'd got away with it when he stepped forward and pushed his hips against her; his combats betrayed his excitement. She sneaked a look at his face. His expression didn't show any of the same.
"You're cute," she smirked, just to get a reaction.
"That so?" he asked. And shoved his hand up her skirt, his clear amber eyes fixed on hers.
With a flash her hand gripped his wrist. "Nah-ah-ahh," she sing-songed, her heart pounding from the close call. "In the bedroom, big boy." She turned him with a push on his shoulder towards the bedroom behind him and followed him in, stepping with her legs wide for a moment while he couldn't see, to settle her snake thoroughly inside her flesh.
He gave her a funny look on the threshold and let her overtake him. She guided him to sit on the bed and straddled him.
"So what's off limits then, love?" he asked with all the enthusiasm of a burger van seller asking if she wanted onions with that.
"Let's just say I prefer to be in control," she purred and reached down between them to pop open the buttons of his combats. She reached in. "My my, what do we have here?"
"'S called a cock," he said and leaned back on his forearms. "Want to take control with that?"
So she did, stepping back off the edge of the bed so she could give him a suck.
Drea had planned ahead for this moment. Fingering was out - she didn't trust that a partner wouldn't feel the strange contours of her snake-pussy without getting very interested in taking a look. Fucking would be okay - great, in fact! - if only she could get the angle right and do it in a position where the tomcat wouldn't figure out that her vagina was too far forward. And she needed to lubricate first. The snake was never going to tolerate a thorough shagging without it.
She glanced up at the caracal. He'd closed his eyes. So she reached into her jacket pocket for a small bottle of lube, chicken flavour, that she'd stowed there. As she pleasured him she squeezed the lube into the snake's mouth and made it move its jaw, its thin tongue and its long throat, to coat everything with the stuff.
"How are you with being in handcuffs?" she asked. She couldn't take the risk of him trying to rub a clit that wasn't there half-way through the act. But he didn't need to know that. She made it sound as if she was just being mischievous in the hope he'd humour her.
"Go for it," he said.
Yes! Drea thought at this little victory. She retrieved them from her bedside drawer and, with them in hand, kissed him and coaxed him so that his wrists were by one of the bedposts if he put his arms over his head. With a wicked grin that he barely returned she snapped the cuffs into place.
"Now, let me have my wildcat," she purred and stretched out on top of him.
He was as hard as a rolling pin against her pubis and the knowledge of the effect she was having on him excited her. The demon bristled as well as it could with such smooth scales and flexed its jaw slightly, impatient to swallow its prey in that savage way that only the purely instinctive could be. Nonetheless she took a while longer to kiss him behind the veil of her long hair, to push her tits against his chest until he couldn't forget their size or presence, and sigh and whisper sexy nothings until at least half of his attention was on her upper body.
Then she shifted to guide his cock under her miniskirt and down her snake's throat.
It was strange, the feeling, and utterly horny. Like being spit-roasted but... not. She tensed her buttocks until they were like iron, it felt so good. Her snake felt shock as its throat was filled with the flesh of a real, living catperson. But then, its world was not one of rational thought but of instinct, and the shock felt real, like something it was only natural for it to feel. It moved its jaws ever so slightly - not enough for the caracal to notice - and enjoyed the sensations in reptilian silence. More, it sent Drea blissfully through their shared neural pathways. More...
For Drea's part the sensation was as new as it was weird. In her symbiosis with the demon she was unsure where her pleasure ended and its began. To be penetrated like a woman at long last, to feel the odd throat-feeling that was also genital, to be poked so deep inside, was more full-on than she'd ever guessed. It made her fold her ears back and push her hips against him to claim any last inches she hadn't yet.
The caracal groaned and arched his back - and then his hips - with pleasure and then opened his eyes to fix her with his clear but still very casual gaze. She watched every flicker of feeling on his face as she moved her hips gracefully for both their pleasure.
Drea planted her knees to either side of his, the better to thrust onto his length. Her breathing was already laboured so she set it to work like everything else about her body, panting hot breath against his neck to tell him just how hot she was for him.
As she drew back for a moment to check his expression she saw him open his eyes again and swivel his black-tipped ears forward as if to focus on something. He tried to look down at their groins, straight down between her breasts first and then, when he realized he wasn't going to see anything that way, by looking down their collective side. He looked worryingly curious.
Quickly she thought of something to say to distract him. "You usually so keen to get handcuffed?"
He shrugged. "Yeh," he said casually, languidly returning his attention to her.
"And do you like tits?" she whispered conspirationally.
"And a nice ass?"
"And a hot pussy. You're a tall girl, aren't ya?"
"Mmm," she agreed, groaning into his neck to shut down the conversation, and as some shift in her hormones or heart rate or the pressure of blood in her groin ramped up the intensity of her experience.
The caracal said nothing else. "C'mon you horny fuck," she growled and thrusted harder, chasing an orgasm that was well on its way.
The snake revelled in its throat full of meat and stretched before she had time to notice what it was doing. With a shock that almost knocked her off-kilter for the orgasm she commanded it to slot back into her groin and forced it to stay inside her only with the greatest effort. It wanted - oh, it wanted - to act on its own terms, to devour and suck the sexuality out of this catman. But his sexuality wasn't of the right sort: he was male. That didn't stop the demon from being in a blissful torment. It rebelled and battled and fought, anything to break free of Drea's control which she had to keep, had to keep, for fear of being found out.
And the caracal had to remain ignorant of her demon. If the word got out about what Drea had become...
But there was no risk of that, not for now. Her partner was panting fast now, twitching and rolling his hips to try and match her movements, curling his lips in the beginnings of an orgasmic snarl. She heard him, watched him, timed herself with him, until she saw the expression she guessed marked his tipping-over into orgasm. And as he spilled into her - her snake could feel it - she thrusted hard enough to reach her own pinnacle.
As they both sighed with relief Drea slowly let her thighs relax so that his cock would slip deep into her snake one more, blissful time. And then, with a kiss and a stroke to his face that she hoped would distract him from looking down, she pulled off him and settled beside him.
The upkeep of her new body was something half-way between a hobby and an addiction. Drea inspected herself almost daily in the bathroom and in the mirror, checking the size of her breasts and ass, the softness of her thighs and the fullness of her hair. It all drained away, as womanhood by witchcraft always did, but it was reassuringly slow.
Nonetheless, occasionally Drea needed topping up.
In fact, she'd become quite the expert at finding suitable opportunities. She sought out less-popular women, ones who had less of a support network and who would be less likely to believed if they said odd things to their acquaintances like, say, 'A woman with a snake caught me and made my body shrink.'
Drea had kept her distance from her latest target but she knew that her name was Anna and that nobody at Sunset Holidays really liked her very much - even the guys, despite her impressive assets. Drea was there as an office junior and had kept her profile low while she'd waited for an opportunity to be alone with Anna.
Anna, unsurprisingly given her personality, had ignored her.
It just happened that Anna went into the elevator at a similar time each day to visit the Finance department. On this day, nobody else seemed to want to use the elevator at the same time as Anna.
Drea made her move and followed her into the elevator, and settled behind Anna.
"Which floor do you want?" Anna asked disinterestedly. She was tail-less - which seemed fair, considering she was a Manx - but that didn't detract from her enviable curves.
"Oh sure," said Drea brightly as if to admonish herself for forgetting. She leaned forward to press a button and pretended to think more about her choice so that she could stay leaning forward - and closer to Anna. Anna relaxed as the doors closed and the elevator started to move. Drea's actions weren't so strange, after all.
Drea pulled her skirt to one side to release her snake and her snake tasted the air with its tongue.
The demon decided on the spot on the inside of Anna's thigh where it would bite - and struck!
At the same time Drea wrapped her arms around Anna from behind and clamped her hand over the Manx woman's mouth to drown out her screams. "Be quiet and don't move, and I won't hurt you," she murmured.
Anna whimpered and looked at Drea out of the corner of her eye, and decided to obey. Drea felt her tremble in her grip.
Supping a woman's essence via the snake was a strange experience, but it always felt wholly nutrifying. Drea purred and rested her head against Anna's as she felt the snake suck and gulp, suck and gulp. It felt like drinking warm milk: comforting and fortifying but without the cloying softness of milk. It was richer and just a little heady. Drea had developed a habit of thrusting gently as she fed, although she was unsure if it actively aided her demon. But it felt good anyway.
The Manx was becoming skinnier and Drea adjusted her grip. Anna's trembling increased and she mumbled something under Drea's hand.
Drea wasn't about to move her hand to ask her to repeat herself, though. Nor was she going to speak and clarify anything, anything at all for the other catwoman. The mystery, the not knowing what Drea was doing, would be more likely to keep her victim silent - and would help Drea get away both now and in the following few days and weeks while Anna finally started to think about how to retaliate.
Anna, finally, was nearly flat bottomed-and-chested, the essence of her femininity held in what had once been Drea's scrotum. Now it was part of her demon and bulged, black and scaly and heavy.
The escalator slowed.
In one smooth movement, Drea unhooked her demon's jaws from Anna's thigh and helped her to the escalator floor. Without a word she turned so that Anna couldn't see the snake, tucked it away as best she could, and left through the open doors.
On the next floor down was a dozen or so unused rooms, mostly conference rooms. Drea slipped onto the stairwell, took the flight of stairs back down just in case Anna did call for help, and disappeared into one of the rooms.
She took a seat - the executive one, of course - and leaned back gloriously, luxuriating in the fullness of her sac. The snake waved free, alert yet soothed by such a good feed, but it was the drawing of femininity from her scrotum that she focussed on.
Little by little the scrotum decreased in size and as it did, its contents filtered up through Drea's body and fed her. She pulled up her top to let her tits grow unimpeded. She always loved to watch her nipples during a growth period; they changed the direction in which they pointed as her breasts grew. It let her imagine they were as alive as her snake.
The black leather of the chair appeared to cling to her buttocks, but of course it was she who was growing beyond its grip. The extra growth of her hair made her scalp tickle and she swept it back to let its glorious weight hang over the back of the chair. Growth. Growth made her feel beautiful.
She remained there for perhaps half an hour, sunning herself in the glory of her growth, the only sounds and movements her own as she adjusted her position.
It would always be this way, it was what she had always wanted. Drea would keep on doing this as often as she could.