Chapter 3: Baptism by Cock
The weight of Aisling’s body was a solid, demanding pressure. Brogan’s consciousness, a tiny, screaming thing trapped deep inside, could only watch as her demonic form arched its back, a wanton moan tearing from its throat. The scent of their arousal—sweet, musky, and tinged with that underlying note of sulfur—filled the air, thick enough to taste.
“That’s it,” Aisling whispered, her voice a husky thrum of power. She shifted her hips, the plum-dark head of her cock nudging against Brogan’s slick, swollen entrance. It was impossibly broad, a blunt, unyielding pressure that promised to split her open. The body she was trapped in didn’t fear it; it craved it. Her hips bucked upward, a desperate, involuntary movement.
“Please,” the voice that controlled her begged, “now, Aisling, fuck me now!”
Aisling’s answer was a low, guttural laugh. She didn’t thrust. She pressed. There was a moment of intense, stretching pressure, a burning fullness that made the trapped Brogan whimper in silent terror. Then, with a wet, tearing sound, the head forced its way inside.
Oh, fuck, yes! Finally! Feel that stretch! You’re so tight, you little slut, just swallowing the tip. You were made for this. Made to be filled.
The demonic body screamed, a raw, ragged sound of pure ecstasy. The pain was a bright, sharp flare that instantly melted into a pleasure so profound it felt like dying. Aisling’s claws dug into Brogan’s hips, drawing thin lines of black blood that beaded on her crimson skin.
“So fucking tight,” Aisling grunted, her own composure slipping. She began to move, not with gentle rhythm, but with sharp, punishing thrusts, each one forcing more of her thick length into the clenching, desperate heat. The bedframe, a relic from a human childhood, groaned in protest, the wood splintering with a sharp crack.
Brogan’s consciousness was drowning in sensation. Every nerve ending was on fire. The feel of Aisling’s cock pistoning inside her, the scrape of her sister’s claws on her skin, the way her own massive breasts jiggled and swayed with each violent impact—it was an overwhelming symphony of filth. Her tail lashed wildly before coiling around Aisling’s, their spade-tips gripping each other like locked hands.
“Look at you,” Aisling panted, her thrusts becoming deeper, more rhythmic, grinding into the hilt with each one. “Look at my big sister, getting her virgin cunt wrecked. Is this what you needed? This fat demon dick pounding that ache away?”
Yes! Gods, yes! Don’t stop! It’s so deep! I can feel you in my guts!
The words poured from Brogan’s mouth, a continuous stream of obscene praise and pleading. “Don’t stop! Fuck! It’s so deep! You’re stretching me so good, filling me up, oh gods, right there, right there!”
Aisling leaned forward, her mouth latching onto one of Brogan’s nipples. She suckled hard, her fangs providing a sharp, exquisite counterpoint to the deep, grinding penetration. The dual assault shattered the last of Brogan’s resistance. The tiny, horrified part of her was swept away in a tidal wave of demonic pleasure. Her body was no longer her own; it was an instrument of sensation, played masterfully by her sister.
The pressure built, a coiling, unbearable tension in her core. Her inner muscles fluttered and clenched violently around the invading length, trying to pull it deeper, to milk it.
“I’m gonna… I’m gonna come!” her voice shrieked.
Aisling released her breast with a pop, her eyes blazing with feral triumph. “Then come, you filthy slut. Come all over my cock. Show me what a good little succubus you can be.”
The command was all it took. The climax detonated, a white-hot nova that erased thought, memory, and fear. Brogan’s back arched off the bed, her entire body seizing as wave after wave of convulsive pleasure wracked her. Her cunt clamped down on Aisling’s cock in a series of brutal, milking spasms, a gush of her own fluids soaking the sheets beneath them.
The raw, overwhelming sensation was a key turning in a lock deep inside her. As she convulsed, something new awakened. A faint, shimmering energy began to bleed from Aisling, visible as a pale, gossamer light. It seeped from Aisling’s skin where they touched, from her mouth with each panting breath, and it flowed into Brogan. It wasn't a physical thing, but it felt more vital than air—a vibrant, buzzing essence that sank into her bones, soothing a hunger she hadn't even known was there.
Aisling gasped, her rhythm faltering for a moment as she felt the draw. “That’s it… feed, sister. Take it.”
With a final, guttural roar, Aisling drove herself to the hilt and held there, her own body shuddering as she emptied herself inside Brogan. The feeling of being filled, truly and completely filled, sent another, smaller aftershock rippling through Brogan’s spent body.
For a long moment, there was only the sound of their ragged breathing and the faint, sickening smell of splintered wood. Aisling collapsed on top of her, the weight both crushing and comforting. The pale energy continued to flow into Brogan for a few more seconds before fading away, leaving her feeling… solid. Real. Sated in a way she had never imagined possible.
Aisling finally shifted, pulling out with a soft, wet sound. She rolled onto her back beside Brogan, staring up at the ceiling with a dazed, satisfied smile. “Fuck,” she breathed. “Your trait is insane. The feedback loop… I’ve never felt a come that hard.”
Brogan—the real Brogan—slowly surfaced. The internal voice was quiet, purring with satisfaction, but it had relinquished control. She was herself again, lying in the wreckage of her childhood bed, covered in sweat and other fluids, her body thrumming with the echoes of an impossible pleasure. The horror was still there, a cold knot in her stomach, but it was muted, distant, overshadowed by the profound, cellular satisfaction thrumming through her.
She looked at Aisling. “What… what was that? That light?”
Aisling turned her head, her grin lazy. “Lifeforce, dummy. Essence. The good stuff. What we eat.” She poked Brogan’s side. “You just had your first real meal. How does it feel?”
Brogan didn’t answer immediately. She flexed her fingers, feeling a new, steady strength in her limbs. The constant, low-level anxiety that had plagued her since the transformation was gone. The empty ache between her legs was, for the first time, completely silent. She felt… whole.
The door to the bedroom creaked open. Moira stood in the doorway, her expression unreadable. Her eyes took in the scene: the two naked, crimson-skinned daughters, the tangled tails, the shattered bedframe, the scent of sex and power hanging heavy in the air.
Aisling just waved a casual hand. “Hey, Mom. We were just, uh, bonding.”
Moira’s lips twitched. She looked directly at Brogan, her gaze piercing. “I see the lesson has progressed.” She stepped fully into the room, her presence causing the shadows to deepen. “The hunger is sated for now. Good. That means you’re ready to learn what it’s for. The Conclave meets at midnight. They’ve sensed your awakening. It’s time you saw the family business.”
The Conclave convened not in some crypt or cavern, but in the sprawling, modern kitchen downstairs. Three figures sat at the granite island under the harsh glow of LED pendants, their demonic forms a stark contrast to the stainless-steel appliances. Moira took her place at the head, her presence silencing the low murmur.
Aisling, now dressed in a tight band t-shirt, nudged Brogan toward an empty stool. "Don't worry, they don't bite. Much."
An ancient succubus with skin like cracked leather and horns that swept back like a ram’s fixed Brogan with a milky, knowing gaze. "The fledgling has fed. The connection is made. The hunger will return, sharper each time." Her voice was the sound of dry leaves scraping stone. "You must hunt."
Brogan’s stomach tightened. "Hunt?"
"A young man," Moira stated, her tone devoid of the warmth she’d shown earlier. It was pure business. "Your first solo harvest. Your body is your tool. It will… adapt to the preferences of your prey."
The ancient one nodded, a slow, creaking motion. "His deepest, most secret desires will sculpt you. Your form will become his perfect fantasy, a key for his lock." A thin, black tongue darted out to wet cracked lips. "Once you have consumed his essence, you will revert. This is our nature."
Oh, fuck yes! We can be anyone! Think of the possibilities! A shy virgin’s pure, innocent wet dream? A jock’s fantasy of a big-titted cheerleader? Some lonely farmer’s dream of a sturdy milkmaid he can bend over a hay bale? We’ll be the perfect little fuckdoll for whatever pathetic mortal we find.
The voice’s filthy enthusiasm was a roaring fire in Brogan’s mind, its vulgar hopes painting vivid, unsettling pictures. She felt a phantom shift in her hips, a tingling in her skin, as if her body was already eager to test its new function.
Brogan’s own thoughts were a cold, scrambling counterpoint. No. I can’t. I won’t.
"You leave tonight," Moira said, her finality leaving no room for argument.
An hour later, Brogan stood on the porch, veiled in her painfully constructed human form. The peach skin felt like a cheap costume, the modest jeans and sweater a prison. The internal voice was a constant, buzzing static of anticipation.
She walked, not toward the town’s neon glow, but away from it. The paved road gave way to gravel, then dirt. The air cooled, carrying the thick, organic scent of manure and damp earth. Endless fields stretched out under a sliver of moon, the silhouettes of sleeping dairy cows like gentle hills in the darkness.
This is boring. Where’s the fun? Let’s find some drunk guy behind a bar. Let’s get used.
"Quiet," Brogan whispered to the night, her breath misting.
She just needed to be alone, to prove she could exist without giving in. A single, distant light glowed from a farmhouse window far across a field. It was enough. She’d stay here, in the shadow of a large oak at the edge of the property, until the sun rose and her failure was complete.
The crunch of boots on gravel came from the road behind her. She froze, her heart hammering against her human ribs. A flashlight beam cut through the dark, sweeping over the grass before landing on her.
"Hey! You lost?" a young man's voice called out, rough with concern.
Brogan turned. The light hit her face, and she saw him. He was maybe her age, dressed in worn coveralls, his face open and honest beneath a mess of brown hair. He lowered the flashlight, his eyes widening just a fraction as he took in her form in the dim light.
Shit. He’s perfect. Look at those big, rough hands. He’s strong. He’ll know how to hold us down. Talk to him, you stupid bitch. Smile.
Brogan’s smile felt like a crack in ice. "No. Just… walking."
"Not much to see out here but cows and dirt," he said, stepping closer. He smelled of hay, diesel, and clean sweat. "I'm Liam. My family's place is just there." He thumbed toward the distant light. "You sure you're okay? It's not safe to be out here alone."
He was kind. The realization was a punch to her gut. His concern was genuine, not a predatory advance. The internal voice cooed in delight.
He’s worried about you. How sweet. He wants to protect the poor little lost girl. Let him. Let him take you back to that big, empty barn. Let him discover what you really are.
Brogan felt a subtle, terrifying warmth bloom deep within her pelvis. It was a different heat from the demonic transformation—softer, more insidious. It was an awakening, an invitation.
Her body was already beginning its work.
The warmth in her pelvis pulsed, a slow, thick beat that echoed the distant lowing of the cattle. It was a siren call her human will couldn’t resist. "A walk back would be… smart," Brogan heard herself say, the words feeling foreign and thick on her tongue. "Thank you, Liam."
He smiled, a genuine, easy gesture that made her feel like a monster. "No trouble at all. Can't have you stumbling around in the dark." He fell into step beside her, his presence solid and reassuringly normal. As they walked, the crunch of their footsteps on the gravel path seemed to sync with the escalating rhythm in her blood.
Her mind, usually a battleground between her old self and the internal voice, became a passive receiver. Flashes of sensation, not her own, flickered behind her eyes. The rough texture of a rope halter. The heavy, pleasant weight of full udders. A deep, submissive contentment at the sound of a bucket being filled.
Oh, you have got to be kidding me. Is this his fantasy? A farm animal? Look at these images, the absolute filth of it! He doesn’t just want a girl, he wants a fucking heifer to milk and breed. This is perfect. It’s so depraved. We’re going to be his perfect, dripping little cow.
Brogan’s stomach lurched, but the warmth between her legs bloomed hotter, a slickness already gathering there. She could almost feel the phantom weight of enormous breasts, swaying with each step, so full they ached to be relieved.
"Family business must keep you busy," she managed, her voice tight, trying to anchor herself in the conversation.
Liam chuckled, a warm, rich sound. "Sun up to sun down. But I love it. There's a peace to it, you know? The rhythm of the herd. They're simple creatures. They just need to be fed, milked, and kept comfortable." There was a possessive tenderness in his tone that sent another jolt through Brogan’s system.
Simple. Comfortable. Milked. Gods, he’s picturing it right now. He’s looking at you and picturing you on your hands and knees, with a pair of swollen tits begging to be drained. He wants to hear you moo for him.
The old Brogan would have been sickened. The demonic part of her, now fully aligned with the internal voice, was thrumming with excitement. The desire was too strong, a riptide pulling her under. She justified it; she was just seeing him home, being safe. That was all.
They reached the large, shadowed barn, its interior smelling sweetly of hay and manure. Liam pushed the heavy sliding door open just enough for them to slip inside. The moonlight sliced through the darkness, illuminating dust motes dancing in the air. He turned to her, his face soft in the dim light. "You know, most girls from town wouldn't be caught dead out here."
His eyes were full of a wondering, innocent lust. He was already ensnared, seeing only the pretty, lost girl he’d rescued. Brogan’s body knew it. The prey was caught.
It’s time. Let’s give him what he’s really dreaming of. Let’s become his fantasy.
A searing heat erupted along her spine. Her human veil dissolved not in a wave, but in a violent, writhing transformation. Her back arched with a series of wet, cracking sounds as her spine lengthened, forcing her into a deeper curve. The sweater and jeans tore at the seams, unable to contain the rapid, grotesque expansion of her body.
Listen to that! Your spine is reshaping, you’re getting a proper bovine arch, you submissive bitch! And feel that? That’s your new skin coming in, so soft and supple, a beautiful spotted white and deep red, just like his prize heifer!
Brogan gasped, her hands flying to her head as a pressure built in her skull. Two nubs of bone pushed through her hair, swelling, curling, until a pair of smooth, obsidian-black cow horns swept back from her temples. From the base of her spine, her demonic tail thickened, the spade tip melting away to be replaced by a long, white-tipped switch that lashed at the air.
Now for the main event! Oh, fuck, feel that? Your tits are inflating! They’re not just big anymore, you stupid slut, they’re udders!
The sensation was overwhelming, a deep, internal burning and stretching in her chest. Her already substantial breasts swelled grotesquely, pushing outward and downward, becoming immense, pendulous orbs. The skin tightened, becoming stretched and shiny, the areolas darkening and widening into broad plates, the nipples elongating into thick, promising teats. The weight was immense, a dragging, full ache that made her groan.
Yes! K-cups, you fucking cow! Each one bigger than your head, just bursting with sweet, warm milk! Can you feel it sloshing inside? They’re so heavy and full, they’re begging for his rough hands to squeeze them dry!
Liam stood frozen, his flashlight clattering to the hay-strewn floor. His jaw was slack, his eyes wide with a mixture of terror and a dark, dawning hunger he would never admit to. He didn’t run. He was mesmerized.
The final change was a pair of soft, velvety bovine ears that pushed through her hair, twitching at the sounds of her own ragged breathing. The transformation was complete. She stood before him, no longer a girl or a standard succubus, but a demonic cow-girl fantasy made flesh: spotted hide, heavy horns, a lashing tail, and those enormous, milk-laden breasts that swayed with a life of their own.
Brogan was horrified. She was aroused beyond reason. The full, aching weight in her chest and the empty, dripping heat between her thighs were a dual demand. The internal voice screamed in triumph.
Now moo for him, you magnificent heifer! Let him hear what he’s created!
She opened her mouth, but no human sound came out. Instead, a long, low, resonant moan tore from her throat, a plaintive, animalistic sound that echoed in the vast, dark barn. "Mmmmmoooooooooooo…"
It was a sound of pure, submissive need. Liam took a staggering step forward, his hand reaching out, not in fear, but towards one of her dripping teats.