Chapter 10: The Blooming of Candy
The dream was of fire.
Not the clean, purifying fire of a hearth or the righteous blaze of a paladin's smite. This was something older. Something hungry. It crawled through her veins like molten gold, thick and slow, burning everything it touched. Candice tried to scream, but the fire had filled her throat, her lungs, her—
She woke with a gasp that turned into a shriek.
Her stomach was on fire.
The Succubus Mark—that perfect, cursed sigil that had haunted her for a month—was blazing with pink light. Not glowing. Burning. The Lust Mana that had been a quiet hum beneath her skin for weeks was now a torrent, a flood, a tsunami of power that crashed through her body with the force of a battering ram.
"Candice?" Morgana's voice was thick with sleep, confused. "What's—oh gods."
Candice couldn't answer. She was arching off the furs, her spine bending at an angle that should have broken bone, her mouth open in a scream that wouldn't come. The pain was everywhere—in her bones, her muscles, her blood. It was rewriting her from the inside out, and she could feel every cell screaming in protest.
But beneath the pain, something else.
Pleasure.
Her cunt clenched around nothing, spasming with an orgasm that seemed to have no end. She came and came and came, wave after wave of ecstasy crashing over her, her slick soaking the furs beneath her. The black blood that wept from her mark was thicker now, almost viscous, and it smelled like honey and sin.
"Thresh!" Morgana was scrambling off the bed, her own mark pulsing in sympathetic arousal. "Thresh, get in here!"
The iron door slammed open hard enough to dent the wall.
Thresh stood in the doorway, naked, his cock already hard and leaking at the sight before him. His eyes—those burning amber eyes—went wide, then narrow, then hot with a hunger that made Candice's new body clench with anticipation.
"Fuck," he breathed. "It's happening early."
"What's happening?" Morgana demanded. "What's wrong with her?"
"Nothing's wrong." Thresh crossed to the bed in three long strides. "Everything is right. She's transforming."
Candice heard the words through a haze of agony and ecstasy. Transforming. The thing she'd dreaded. The thing she'd begged to avoid. It was happening now, a full level early, and she couldn't stop it.
Her hair was the first thing to change.
She felt it growing, the dark strands lengthening past her shoulders, past her shoulder blades, cascading down her back in waves. But it wasn't just growing. It was changing. The black bled out of it like ink in water, replaced by a cascade of blonde so pale it was almost white. And threaded through that blonde, like veins of precious metal, were streaks of pink. Not subtle. Not natural. Whore pink, bright and shameless.
"No," she gasped. "No, no, no—"
Her face was next.
She felt her cheeks hollow, her jaw soften, her nose refine into something dainty and delicate. Her lips—gods, her lips—swelled, plumping into fat, pouty pillows that would look obscene on any human face. They were made for one thing, and the Lust Mana knew it. Her eyes, already blue, brightened into something almost luminous, framed by lashes that grew thick and dark without any of the coal or kohl Morgana used.
And then her body began to change.
Candice screamed as her breasts swelled.
She'd always been modest—a handful at most, practical for a warrior who needed to move freely. Now she watched in horror and fascination as they grew. And grew. And grew. The flesh stretched and filled, heavier by the second, until she was staring down at tits that would make a whore blush. Massive. Obscene. Perfectly round and firm despite their size, with nipples that hardened into thick, sensitive peaks.
She could feel the weight of them, the way they pulled at her back, the way they bounced with every ragged breath. They were fuckable. There was no other word for it. Tits made to be grabbed and squeezed and covered in come.
Her ass was next.
The transformation rippled down her body like a wave, and she felt her hips flare wide, her waist cinch narrow, her stomach flatten into a smooth, taut plane. But her ass—gods, her ass—expanded into something that would make a man weep. Thick and round and fuckable, each cheek a perfect handful of flesh that would bounce and jiggle with every thrust.
She was becoming a caricature of desire. A living, breathing fantasy.
Her hands clenched in the furs, and she watched her fingernails lengthen. They grew past her fingertips, curving into long, impractical claws—the kind no warrior could ever wield a sword with. The kind that existed only to rake down a lover's back or grip a cock while she sucked it. And they were painted. Painted, as if by magic, a glossy, whore-red that matched the streaks in her hair.
"This isn't me," she whispered. "This isn't—"
"You're so beautiful." Morgana's voice was thick with awe and something darker. Her hand was between her legs, fingers buried in her cunt, fucking herself to the sight of Candice's transformation. "Gods, Candice, you're gorgeous."
"I'm a monster."
"You're a queen." Thresh was on the bed now, his massive body covering hers. His hands found her new tits and squeezed, and Candice moaned—a high, breathy sound that didn't belong to her. "A whore queen. My perfect little slut."
The transformation was still happening. She could feel it in her core, in her cunt, in the depths of her womb. Her insides were rearranging themselves, becoming something that could take a cock the size of Thresh's without tearing, something that would clench and squeeze and milk every drop of seed from a man.
She came again, harder than before, her vision going white.
When she opened her eyes, the pain was gone.
All that remained was need.
"Fuck me," she begged.
Her voice was different. Higher. Softer. It dripped with honey and sin, each word a promise, each syllable a tease. She sounded like a woman who existed only to please, whose body was a temple built for worship.
She spread her legs wide—her new, thick thighs parting with a lewd softness that made Thresh's cock twitch—and displayed her cunt in a way the old Candice would have never done. It was slick with her juices, the lips puffy and swollen, clenching around nothing.
"Please," she said. "Please, Thresh, I need your cock. I need it so bad. Please fuck me. Fuck your whore."
Thresh growled, a sound that came from somewhere deep in his chest.
"You don't have to ask," he said. "You never have to ask."
He mounted her in one brutal thrust.
Candice screamed—not in pain, but in pure, unadulterated pleasure. Her new body stretched around him like it was made for him, every inch of her cunt gripping his cock with impossible tightness. She could feel him in places she hadn't known existed, filling her so completely that she couldn't tell where she ended and he began.
"Fuck!" she shrieked. "Fuck, yes, that's it, that's—oh gods, Thresh, your cock is so big, it's so fucking big—"
"Tight," he grunted. "So fucking tight. Your new cunt is perfect, little bird. Perfect for my cock."
"Yours," she gasped. "It's yours, all yours, everything is yours—"
He pulled out and slammed back in, and she watched her massive tits bounce with the impact. They were hypnotic, those tits. Fascinating. She reached up and grabbed them, squeezing, pinching her own nipples, and the pleasure that shot through her was almost too much to bear.
"Look at you," Thresh growled. "Playing with your own tits while I fuck you. You're such a whore."
"Yes," she agreed. "Yes, I'm a whore. I'm your whore. Your slut. Your fucktoy—"
"Say it again."
"I'm your whore!"
He fucked her harder, faster, his hips slamming against hers with a force that should have broken bone. But her new body took it—welcomed it—craved it. Every thrust sent waves of pleasure cascading through her, a continuous orgasm that never seemed to end.
Beside them, Morgana was moaning.
Candice turned her head and watched her lover bring herself to climax, her fingers buried deep, her purple eyes glazed with lust. Morgana's mark was burning too, brighter than ever, and Candice could feel it—the shared arousal, the connection between them, the way their Lust Mana mingled and grew.
"Touch her," Thresh commanded. "Touch her while I fuck you."
Candice reached out and grabbed Morgana's hand, pulling her fingers from her cunt. They were slick with Morgana's juices, and Candice brought them to her mouth and sucked them clean, tasting the sweet musk of her lover's arousal.
"Delicious," she moaned. "You taste fucking delicious, Morgana."
"Please," Morgana whimpered. "Please, let me touch you."
"Touch her," Thresh said again. "Make her come."
Morgana's fingers found Candice's clit—swollen and sensitive and aching—and began to rub in tight circles. The dual stimulation of Thresh's cock in her cunt and Morgana's fingers on her clit was too much, too good, too perfect.
Candice came with a scream that shook the obsidian walls.
Her cunt clenched around Thresh's cock like a fist, and he roared, pumping his seed deep inside her. She could feel it—hot and thick and plentiful—filling her to overflowing. It seeped out around his cock, mixing with her own juices, staining the furs beneath them.
When he finally pulled out, she was still trembling.
"Fuck," she whispered.
"Fuck is right." Thresh collapsed beside her, his chest heaving. "You're going to be even more perfect now, Candy. My beautiful little half-succubus."
Candy.
The name hit her like a blow. It wasn't her. Candice Dixon was a warrior, a protector, a hero. Candy was a whore, a slut, a creature made for pleasure and sin.
She should have hated it.
Instead, she felt a thrill at the word. It fit her new body in a way Candice never could. Candy would beg for cock. Candy would spread her legs for anyone with the power to take her. Candy would moan and scream and come and come and come.
"I don't..." She swallowed hard. "I don't know who I am anymore."
"You're mine." Thresh pulled her against his chest. "You're my Candy. And you're perfect."
Morgana crawled over and nestled against Candice's other side, her hand tracing patterns on Candice's new, smooth stomach.
"We're both changing," she whispered. "We'll change together."
Candice closed her eyes and tried to remember who she'd been. The disciplined mage. The village protector. The woman who had spent her entire adult life suppressing every desire, every want, every need.
That woman was gone.
In her place was a creature of appetite and pleasure, a being made for fucking and being fucked, a whore queen with tits that could smother a man and an ass that could bounce on a cock for hours.
She buried her face in Thresh's neck and wept.
But even as she cried, her cunt was clenching, already hungry for more.
The transformation was complete.