Transformations: Morpheus

Comments welcome.

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Havana, Cuba

Cathedral of Morpheus

Now

Demona followed the Mother Superior down a marble hall. It wasn't an unpleasant task.

Mother Superior Hecate had an hourglass figure encased in a tight black and white latex nun's outfit.

And she literally oozed with sex.

The woman was bound to one of the few White Witches Demona hadn't met: Cum Slut Cathy.

One look at Hecate was enough to explain the White Witch's fascination with a woman who could literally kill her with a thought.

Demona smiled as she watched the sway of the Mother Superior's hips.

Death might be worth it.

Hecate stopped outside an ornate set of double doors. She turned and faced Demona.

The front view was quite nearly as perfect as the back, if not for the solid black eyes and the look of complete anxiety on the beautiful woman's face.

She 'tsk'ed' and fiddled with the collar of Demona's pink nurse's dress. "Fuck. Couldn't you have worn something more revealing? Does this unzip or something?"

"In the back," Demona grumbled.

"Goddamn it," Hecate hissed. "Well, try to get undressed as soon as possible. Turn."

Demona rolled her eyes and turned around.

Hecate lifted the back of the skirt. "At least you aren't wearing panties. Masturbate a little so she can smell you."

"Oh, fuck you, Hecate," Demona said as she turned and straightened the back of her dress. "Am I here in a medical capacity or as a party favor?"

"I haven't the faintest clue. She showed up unannounced with Sister out of the country and demanded to see you."

Demona had been woken from the bed she was sharing with Courtney Fuchs on Level 10 of Stallion's by an incessant ringing from her cell. It was a message.

DEPART ITHACA VIA CHURCH LEARJET ONE HOUR. LILITH AWAITS IN HAVANA. COME ALONE AND IMMEDIATELY!

Hecate sighed. "You are to address her as 'Demon Goddess Lilith' or 'My Goddess'. Under no circumstances refer to her as 'Lilith'. Understood?"

"So I call her 'Lil', got it," Demona said.

"Goddamn it, doctor! They warned me you were flippant!"

Demona put her hands on either side of Hecate's face. "Hey, calm down, penguin. I can be charming to the royalty when I have to. Chill, baby."

Hecate glared at her with her unsettling black eyes. "You do realize I can kill you with a glance, right?"

Demona winked. "Don't think Lil would like that, do you?"

Hecate gritted her teeth.

Demona laughed. "Relax, I can handle this. Maybe afterward you and I could have a private meeting?"

Hecate rolled her black eyes. "You're just like Cathy. Whore and Professional Castes are oversexed." She turned away as Demona chuckled.

Hecate knocked.

"Come in, Mother Superior," a woman's voice said. It was sultry and smooth.

Hecate opened the door.

The suite beyond was opulent and just as gaudy as the door. Everything was marble and gold.

A huge bed as big as four king sized mattresses pushed together in a 2x2 rectangle dominated the room.

There had been a party. Actually, the party was still going on.

No fewer than ten people lay naked on the bed, some unconscious. Men and women lay tangled together on gold silk sheets.

All of them were smiling.

They looked exhausted.

Only one couple fucked in the middle of the bed: a blonde with curly blonde hair was riding the long, stiff cock of a dark skinned man who lay beneath her. Hands caressed them both as they labored.

Demona smiled. Her annoyance at being rousted from her bed and flown thousands of miles in the dark was fading.

"Join me, doctor. You may leave, Mother Superior."

A woman stood on the glass balcony beyond the room. The lights of Morpheus's Havana spread out below her in a mosaic of neon.

Lilith faced away from Demona, her hands on the glass guard rail as she gazed down at the city. She wore a long, black latex dress that encased her like a second skin and stiletto heels that had to have been eight inches long.

The woman's scale seemed to be wrong. She was impossibly tall and thin, dwarfing the mother superior. Even Ray would have had to look up at her face.

It was the spine - it was too long for a human. The legs and arms were similarly elongated. Even her fingers seemed stretched.

Her raven black hair cascaded down the open back of the latex shell.

Hecate caught Demona's eyes. She mouthed the words, 'Be careful'. Then she turned and left quickly, closing the double doors behind her.

"Come, doctor. I don't bite."

Demona looked at the sleepy orgy on the bed as she walked toward the balcony.

Lilith laughed. "Poor dears, I'm afraid I wore them out. I've chosen a few and marked them. I'm taking them home with me."

Demona glanced back at the bed.

Several of the men and women had an 'L' branded into their foreheads.

Demona was walking on discarded clothing - the latex outfits of priests and nuns. "They're Religious Caste?"

"She speaks! And she doesn't address me properly."

"Sorry. Are they Religious Caste,

Demon Goddess Lilith

?"

"Yes, I asked the mother superior for her prettiest, and surprisingly? She didn't disappoint. And, please, call me Lilith. I abhor titles, don't you?"

Demona smiled as she stood beside Lilith and looked down on the Cathedral of Morpheus complex and the city beyond. The balcony was just above the head of the crystal statue of Morpheus. Far below, she could see people walking in and out of the Cathedral beneath the crystal phallus of their god.

She looked up into Lilith's smiling face.

Her beauty was captivating and profoundly disturbing. The face was long but well-proportioned with a sensuous mouth and lips painted black. Thin black eyebrows arched above her blue eyes - eyes slit vertically like a snake's.

The neck was long and regal.

The breasts though were mesmerizing.

Demona stared.

Lilith had four breasts.

Two above and two below.

The top breasts were at least a G cup, the lower DDD. The dress had openings for both cleavages held closed over the nipples with gold buckles. Below her breasts, the midsection of the dress was open, revealing her long, muscled abs.

She had two navels, one above the other, both pierced with inverted pentagrams.

An inverted pentagram tattoo stretched from just below her lower navel to her clit, which was almost visible.

Demona simply stared with her mouth open.

Lilith smiled. "Yes, you may."

Demona blinked. "What?"

"You may touch them, doctor."

"Telepath?"

"Of course." She nodded.

Demona reached up and undid the buckles allowing the breasts to fall free from the latex dress.

She didn't bother with nipple clamps, the Ambrosia flowed freely from her breasts.

Demona caressed the breasts one after another, her hands coating with Lilith's milk. "How? How did he?"

Lilith ran her long fingers through Demona's dark hair as Demona caressed her. "He admires you. Do you know that? He's proud of you. He considers you an artist and scientist every bit his equal. That's quite a compliment, Dr. Demona."

"I don't even know how he could begin to make something as beautiful as you," Demona whispered.

"I'm not a surgeon like the two of you. But I do know he cloned me. The clone grew inside me without a brain."

"In your womb?" Demona asked.

Lilith shook her head. "No. Inside my torso. Over time, I grew to become what you see."

"How long?"

Lilith smiled. "Decades. I was asleep. I don't know for sure."

"Could I possibly study you? The advances I could make..."

Lilith held up a small USB drive. "All his notes on my creation. I anticipated you would want this."

Demona reached for it with a smile.

Lilith held it tight. "There is a price."

Demona loosened her grip. "What's the price?"

"Turn."

Demona turned around and gasped as Lilith found the zipper to her dress and eased it down. She let the dress fall to the balcony floor.

She turned Demona to face her and studied Demona with her reptilian eyes. "He said you were beautiful."

Demona smiled as Lilith shrugged free of the latex sheath and stood naked in the warm night air.

Lilith pulled her close.

"I think I'm going to be okay with the price," Demona whispered.

Lilith smiled down at her. "You don't know what it is yet." She led Demona back into the bedroom.

Upon the return of their goddess, the priests and nuns on the bed made room in the middle.

Demona and Lilith crawled into the middle of the bodies and lay on their sides.

Arms immediately enfolded them both. Fingers caressing and kneading their flesh.

Demona felt her leg lifted and a hard cock pressed against her pussy. It slid into her and she sighed. The man behind her fucked her gently.

A woman slid her head between Lilith's long thighs and began tonguing her sex.

Lilith smiled at Demona. "I have a story to tell you, and, afterwards, a favor to ask."

A woman kissed Demona's neck.

Demona listened as the group made love to them both.

***

Lilith

Caribbean Sea

1979

I have a story to tell you. It's my story, but it's also his. Because there is no Lilith without Morpheus. So, I'm going to tell you a story within a story, like Russian nesting dolls - Maria Marapova would enjoy that.

And I will start it by asking you a question.

What would you do if you met a god? Would you bow down? Would you run away screaming? Would you become his devoted slave? His acolyte? Would you worship him? Love him? Try to kill him?

I met a god in the summer of 1979 and my life changed. Because of him, of course, everyone's life will change, but this is my story.

In the summer of '79, I had the world in the palm of my hand. I was twenty years old and beautiful - yes, I was that full of myself. Five foot ten, 36C-22-34 with long blonde hair and blue eyes. I completed two years at Vassar before leaving academia to pursue an 'Mrs' degree.

I planned to marry well. Not that I was an idiot, far from it. However, I had no interest in law or medicine or politics. I wanted the security and freedom marrying a rich man would give me.

And, on the way, I had fun.

The seventies were more interesting than today - well, not counting recent events with Morpheus and his Church. Back in the days of disco and cocaine, we knew how to party.

When I wasn't hunting for a husband with a huge bank account, I was a fixture at Studio 54, just a pretty girl in a short dress rubbing elbows with Blondie, half a dozen Kennedy's, movie stars, and Warhol with a soundtrack provided by Donna Summer and the Bee Gees.

They called me the 'Candy Girl' - my real name is unimportant now. I can barely remember it. Suffice to say you might have recognized my last name if you were anybody who was somebody in the late 1970s.

I was the Candy Girl - I distributed the blow for the rich assholes to powder their noses. Management loved me because I worked for free and didn't skim off the top, product or cash. Hand out the vials, collect the cash, give it to the bartenders. Rinse and repeat till sunup.

I worked for free because I was rich, and all I wanted was admission to Studio 54, aka the hunting grounds. Yes, being filthy rich would get you in the front door, but I wasn't

that

rich. Ugly people were turned away at the door, but even beautiful people like me might not get past the velvet ropes if you showed up every night - they liked to rotate the talent.

But the Candy Girl always got in. The Candy Girl was always welcome.

I was also the Blowjob Girl. My customers knew that a line of blow would buy them a blowjob. Studio 54 was wide open in the late 70s, and I did guys everywhere but the dance floor.

Girls too.

The dance floor was too crowded.

I didn't fuck for blow. I had guys try, of course.

Not that I didn't fuck for fun, just not for blow, and never with anyone from 54.

The Candy Girl kept her head when she was on the hunt.

Then, one night in the fall of '78, Jack walked into the club.

I've heard people describe actual hunting - that moment when the hair stands up on the back of your neck and you know the buck is near and you line up the shot? I felt that. I knew he was there before I actually saw him.

I was dancing with a brunette who looked a lot like Cher. Maybe she was, I'm not sure now.

I was dressed in an open backed silver mini-dress with matching heels, and I could feel his eyes on me.

I turned around and smiled, leaving the brunette who was probably a much better lay dancing by herself.

And there was Jack: mid-forties, slight, an inch shorter than me with thinning black hair and a sallow complexion that spoke of too much time in a boardroom eating take-out Chinese. The suit said Wall Street even though the tie was undone, and the open big collar showed his small, hairless chest.

My Prince Charming.

He was flanked with men who were obviously business associates, but they hovered around him like remoras.

Jack was the big fish, and they were hanging around him hoping for scraps.

I danced, and let me tell you, I could dance. A youth spent in ballet and interpretive dance made me a disco queen.

I looked straight in his eyes and he smiled.

When he stared back, I looked down a little - oh, I could be shy and demure if the situation required. Candy Girl became Submissive Girl in the blink of an eye.

A few seconds later, he left his entourage and walked straight up to me.

Jack danced like a dead walrus - more of a jerking motion than an actual dance. I didn't care, I was counting the jewels in his Rolex and wondering if he had a house in the Hamptons.

He left with my number, and I left with his name written on my hand.

This was long before the internet, so I spent the next day in the New York Public Library pouring over New York Times articles and the social registry. Jack was a never-married, multi-millionaire who made a fortune off something called 'semiconductors'. I had no idea what those were, but the Times assured me they were going to be big business.

His net worth was somewhere north of $500 million and likely to climb higher.

I can remember sitting in the library and smiling.

That night, Jack called me at the apartment I shared with three other girls and asked me out.

Candy Girl retired, and I reverted to being the well-bred, pretty Vassar girl who liked older men.

I sucked his cock on the second date.

Jack was kissing me, and I

innocently

touched the front of his slacks.

That's all he needed. Two hands on my shoulders guided me to my knees. I looked up at him the whole time, giving him the big, adoring, innocent eyes - I deserved an academy award for that scene.

I unzipped him slowly.

Let me say, I've never been a big cock junkie. What looks good doesn't always feel good. Anything over six inches used to make me wince.

Jack was four inches and thin as a finger. I almost felt sorry for him as I mock struggled to suck him off.

I gave him a good blow, but not so good he would know my throat was a well cock paved path.

However, I did swallow with a smile.

Within a week, he was eating my pussy as well as any lesbian ever did - the thing about some men with cocklets: they either become mean little bastards or they learn to compensate.

Jack was a compensator.

He fell in love of course. Who wouldn't? I made quite a stir walking in on his arm in three inch heels, towering over his associate's trophy wives at company functions. And, afterward, I would always become his overheated little whore.

"Oh, baby, can we fuck in the elevator?" He'd press the emergency stop and I would take off my heels, bend over and let him drive his little cocklet in. All the while, I'm panting and grunting like a bitch in heat. He'd squirt a few drops within two minutes, and I'd cry and tell him how wonderful it was to have his hot cum in my tummy. "Oh, what if you got me pregnant?"

He didn't, of course. I'd had my tubes tied years before. I had no intention of getting knocked-up by some errant sperm, and I had plans - plans that were coming to fruition.

Jack was swept off his feet by my hot little whore act. Like a good little fishy, he swallowed the hook, and I reeled him in.

He asked me to sail with him alone on his yacht from Jamaica to Aruba. I fully expected to be presented with a massive diamond in Aruba. And, believe me, I earned that rock. His little cocklet stayed hard as he watched me lying on the deck day after day on the Caribbean Sea, and I found so many unique ways to please him on that deck. The first time he ever fucked a girl in the ass was on that trip - not my first time, I lost my ass cherry on my eighteenth birthday to a guy whose name I can't remember.

On the third day out, I was lying on my stomach on the deck. The sun was warm, and the sea was gentle. I wore only the bottom to my white bikini. We hadn't seen another boat since we left Kingston, and we spent our days and nights mostly naked. I was dozing as I heard the engines stop and the anchor drop.

I smiled. Time to earn my keep. He was standing behind me at the wheel, so I pulled my knees under me and slowly let them slide apart. Head down, ass up, he had a fantastic view of my arched back and firm ass. There was just the thin fabric of my bikini crotch in the way. I took care of that problem by sliding it aside with the fingers of my right hand. I gently rubbed my exposed clit and felt my juices flow.

He was behind me in an instant. I heard his trunks hit the deck. "Darling, I have to have you," he said, and I felt his little cocklet nudge against my pussy lips.

"Lick," I whispered.

He groaned but did as he was told. He was learning to be submissive to my desires. I practically owned him at this point, and, although I didn't abuse the privilege and overplay my hand, I did make sure he knew his place.

His talented tongue replaced my finger at my clit, and I moaned. It was genuine - he would have made an excellent lesbian, which looking back on it was somewhat prophetic. He suckled at my clit and slid his middle finger into my dripping cunt, touching my g-spot the way I taught him.

"Yes, just like that," I whispered. Being married to him for a few years wouldn't be so bad. He was attentive, and he could be trained to be more so. He was a good first husband, and I would leave the marriage with at least $250 million dollars. There would be no pre-nup, even if I had to fuck him on the top of the Empire State Building in broad daylight to get his mind off the legalities.

He moved his finger faster and increased the licking of my clit. I was so close. My orgasm was building.

Suddenly, he pulled away. "I have to fuck you!" he screamed, and then his little cocklet was inside me - a pitiful replacement for his wonderful tongue and thin finger.

I groaned in frustration. I hoped he thought it was because he had skewered me with his massive girth rather than groaning because he had ruined what would have been my first real orgasm on the fucking trip. His hands closed on my waist, and I reminded myself of the expected engagement in a few days followed by a few years of profitable wedded bliss.

He pumped faster, and I thrust back against him, telling him how deep he was, begging him not to make a baby in my closed off womb.

Something landed on the deck to my right, just out of my sight. I started to say something when Jack abruptly pulled out. "Who the hell are you?"

Jack wanted to sound tough, but his voice cracked when he yelled it. He came off as weak.

"Sleep," a man's voice said, and Jack fell face down on the deck beside me.

A man stood over me, immense, broad chested. He wore only loose fitting white athletic pants. His bronze skin was muscled beyond belief, like someone who worked out and took steroids twenty-four hours a day. Short cropped black hair framed piercing blue eyes.

"Who..." I began.