Michelle breathed heavily, the air in the room full of suppressed desire. Mark should have known better; Cassie in this form was sheer sex made flesh, and it was impossible not to be aroused around her. Succubi were desire, and not just for men. Mark knew that, before Cassie had come into her world, Michelle hadn't even considered fucking another girl, but now her mind was positively screaming to Cassie "PLEASE FUCK ME!!"
It was hard for Mark to concentrate; Cassie and a hyper-charged Michelle in the same room, both of them majorly horny, made for difficult study.
"You know, Mark," Cassie said, her eyes on Michelle, "We could give this homework a miss, at least for a few hours." Her eyes burned as she looked at Michelle, who was quivering. She was frozen in place, rendered silent with need, shaking. Her mouth was clamped shut, her eyes shimmering with frustration.
He rolled his eyes. "Cassie, if you want to stop for sex every few minutes just because we have a snack in the same room, how do you expect us to get anything done?"
"Surely we could have some fun; Michelle at least needs to relieve some tension. I'll make it up to you," Cassie said, batting her eyelids. She leant forwards, showing off her cleavage to its best advantage. Mark noted that she was flirting her chest at Michelle as well as himself, as he made sure she noticed him looking- it wouldn't do for her to think he wasn't attracted, even if he could feel her shape from miles away.
Mark walked over to Michelle, and cupped her face with his hand.
"What do you think, should we take a break?"
Michelle nodded, and her expression grew strained.
"I-I can't k-keep this-s... y-you both... I can't..." She burst out crying, and Mark drew her, in, and modified his aura, making him exclude a comforting feeling. Michelle relaxed the instant she felt it.
Cassie had the good grace to look a tad ashamed. Mark caught several surface thoughts; she was extremely sorry she had played with Michelle's senses, but she couldn't help it. Furthermore, Cassie was worried; there was no way a mortal could keep up with one of them, much less two. Michelle would burn out eventually, like a drug addict. She didn't know what to do.
Mark sent some images at her, some of his aura stretching towards Cassie. He had already thought of this; he had noticed the effect both himself and Cassie had on Michelle, and knew that she couldn't last long like this.
"Cassie, give me some time alone with Michelle."
Cassie nodded, and walked out.
They were in the basement of Marks house, outside the interrogation room. Michelle had supervised the creation of this room, ordering the computers and other various hardware they needed to track the Cult of the Lamia through both history and via official channels. They had been monitoring kidnappings and strange deaths in the area, and slowly expanding their search wider so that they could obtain a complete picture; they did not want to enter the base without having some small knowledge of the numbers and the discretionary powers the cult may have. It was a large room made small by the sheer weight of hardware within it; a supercomputer that created realistic algorithms with the statistics they had at their command, and collated data from the internet about what they searched for. It also skimmed the police websites, hacking in and adding police statistics that fit the profile to the database that they were creating.
Michelle sat at the computer desk, as Mark stood over her, his arms wrapped around her in a completely non-sexual manner. She sobbed into his chest, and he let her.
"Mark," she said, as she recovered, "I can't keep this up for much longer. Each time I look at you, or at her, I want to fuck and fuck so badly you both kill me. It would be better for me to leave you now than become less than I am. I..." She swallowed hard.
Mark held her. "I know, I've been thinking about that too. You forget, I'm as aware of your desire as you are; sometimes a little more."
She pushed him away, her eyes finding his. "What are you going to do? I don't want to leave you at all, yet I don't want to become as mindless as my desire makes me. I want to help, I just..."
Mark leaned over the computer, and hit a series of keys he had programmed earlier. A bar came up, asking for a password.
"Michelle, I entered into this computer a series of information; DNA, complex analysis. Basically, I wrote a program on this computer that analyses my status, and any possible weaknesses. It was in case we ever came up against another incubus, or a succubus. However, the program didn't do what I wanted it to; I need to update my DOS skills. It is the blueprints to making an incubus or a succubus, if you want it. Everything is in here; all you need to do is type in the password."
He walked away, and left Michelle in the basement, her body leaning into the chair.
Michelle typed furiously, her hair getting in her eyes. She was truly, truly sick of feeling helplessly aroused, and being unable to do anything about it. The sex helped, but it was like scratching a mosquito bite; each time she tasted the desire, she wanted it again, more and more and more. She knew it, but she didn't want to be a slave to it anymore. But she longed for it too. It was impossible not to want it. The tension was driving her insane. She felt feverish, hot with need, but she shivered in the darkness, the only light the computer screen, with its password.
She didn't know why he didn't tell her why he had left her to work out the password; she supposed that he would have some great wise answer,- "You needed to find the answer yourself" or "if you cannot find the answer, you do not truly want what it means", something along those lines- but she didn't really care. She wanted this, wanted to find out how to become one of them.
She tried everything. Cult, cultist, Lamia, Astartë, succubi, incubi. Mark's address. Mark's phone number. His birthday, and the day he was turned. She looked through the files, searching through all the historical data for a clue. She tried the Nameless Day, as well as the date when the Templars were found guilty of witchcraft. She tried the names of prominent druids, and anagrams of dead victims they were sure were linked to the cult. Nothing worked.
She was almost asleep when something occurred to her. Something so simple she should have thought of it herself, and she cursed Mark for the cliché.
Michelle, she typed, and hit the enter key.
Confirmed.
There was a low hiss, and Michelle jumped; a panel of the wall opened, running away inside one of the walls like an automatic door. She looked back at the screen; enter, it said.
She got up. She was cold now, but wide awake. Full of trepidation. More than a little nervous. She was stiff from having sat in the chair for so long. There was no noise but the sound of machines whirring, no light but that from the screen. And the writing had changed colour, but Michelle couldn't have said when it moved from a cold white to a dull green. It sent shadows of green light around the room, creating new darkness.
Michelle stepped through the entrance. The floor was hard; stone, Michelle thought. Cut stone. She got her mobile phone out of her pocket to light the way, but it must've run out of batteries. She mentally rolled her eyes at the horror movie-esque-ness to this circumstance- Mark loves his clichés, she thought- but she continued down the steps.
The sound of machines only increased, and Michelle noticed that there was a light growing down the passage. It was dim, the same green as the light from the screen above, but it was stronger, and more radiant. It mutated every surface, creating depth where there was none, and shading everything in this mutant green.
The chamber was round, surrounded as the room above with hardware, but here the machines appeared to have grown themselves, vile plants in their own world. Huge wiring, connecting giant cubicles of microchips and processors, all moving, all waving in the moving light.
In the centre of the room, there was a series of steps, similar to that an altar would have surrounding them. Instead of an altar, there was a flat surface, cold, unmoving.
"Lie on the board, Michelle", a voice came from the corner. Cassie appeared, the green suffusing her features, transforming her completely. Michelle was truly scared now; she was almost thinking of leaving.
"C-Cassie, what... what's happening?"
"Lie on the board. You will see. This is all for you." Cassie cast her hands around the room, spinning.
"These machines are the result of a project created for the Master. He wanted to be able to make one like himself, from you. He wants you to be with him, but be yourself. This is all for him, for you. You will become the Mistress."
Michelle took a step back. "You're not really Cassie, are you?"
Cassie came closer. She moved faster than Michelle expected, appearing beside her, and Michelle could see the differences. Where Cassie was animated, this was almost lifeless; where Cassie was wild, this was dead. And she could feel the difference in the hand that seized her wrist, and slung her to its shoulders.
"Relax. This will be pleasurable for you, Mistress."
She lay her down on the board, and she felt rather than saw the clamps wrap around her wrists and ankles. She felt the board mould around her body, flexing to her contours. It wrapped her in a warmth that was not altogether comfortable under the best of circumstances; and Michelle was not in the mood to take this treatment well.
