Infernal Miranda

This story has interactions between male-bodied people and penises. If that bothers you, please move along and enjoy most of my other stories. There is also more violence in this story than most of mine.

It was foolish, the sort of thing one would do if one had a death wish, but I had done it anyway, and here I was. The bastard had killed my father, John Grant - not directly, of course, but his goons had - and as his only daughter, I couldn't let it lie. I had the cell phone he always insisted I have on me in case of trouble, but trouble would catch up to me before I could get any help from 911.

The guys chasing me weren't Hutton's goons, just a couple of horny thugs strung out on something or other. That, in a way, was the artistic touch.

I ran down the alley. I was making good time, and I thought I had a chance. The two men, barely more than kids really, were a lot larger than me but not particularly fast. With luck I'd out distance them or find help.

But my luck ran out. The alley was a dead end. At the end of it, lounging against the brick wall that loomed so unfortunately, was a man incongruously dressed in outdated formal wear, complete with tails and a cravat. He didn't belong in an alley, and I wasn't sure he belonged in this century, but there he was, looking like he was in a swanky hotel with chandeliers, looking over the debutantes of some other era.

I hadn't gotten close enough to Hutton's operation to make him mad without taking chances when I found them. Maybe he was on my side. Maybe he had a gun. From the look of him it would probably be some antique breechloader, or at best a Colt Peacemaker. Nothing more modern would fit with the outfit. It was a ridiculous thought, one that I didn't have time for, but I was scared out of my wits. I'd love to tell you that I was calm, cool and collected while I was running from jerks twice my size, but I'd be lying. And I only do that on days that end in y.

I kept running toward him because it was the only way to run. "Please! Help me!" If that sounded pathetic and less than heroic, so be it. I could hope he wanted to help a cute girl, assuming he thought I was a cute girl. I'd used my charms to get me in and out of trouble before.

As I got closer I saw that the man had a markedly triangular face and an intense sunburn. The shape of his face was accentuated by a Van Dyke beard. He paired the beard with a waxed mustache that twirled around on each side of his nose.

He couldn't help. He was a fop, someone misplaced from a costume party, and I more likely had placed him in danger than he was to get me out of it. Heavy footsteps pounded behind me, and I was almost to the fop and the wall. I'd have to try to climb it, and I didn't like my chances.

"Help?" The man said calmly, as if we were talking about whether tricorn hats were making a comeback or if the top hat was there to stay. "Would you accept my help, whatever form it might take?"

I didn't have time to go over all the possibilities. "Yeah," I said, on the one in a thousand chance it would pay off. Meanwhile I tried my other long shot. I tried to run up the wall, hoping my bare feet - I'd kicked off the heels blocks ago - could find purchase in between the red bricks and my hands could find handholds, but I got a few feet up and fell. I landed on my feet, at least, although I scraped my forearm in the attempt to climb. My dignity was intact, but I'd sell my dignity in a heartbeat for a way out. I glanced over my shoulder, and saw the two creeps enter the alley. I had less than ten seconds.

The fop touched my arm. "Here," he said. "Have a piece of my soul. And have an interesting life."

That was a curse, in some cultures. "Do you have a gun?" It would be more useful.

"No. Advice. Give into your anger. Good luck."

I blinked and he was gone. I looked around for his escape route, thinking I'd take it too. But I didn't see a door, a trap door, or even a hiding place, just a few kitchen-sized bags of trash.

My pursuers slowed down and sauntered toward me. They knew and I knew I was trapped.

The one I'd labeled Baldy spoke. "C'mon pretty pretty. We just want to have some fun with you. Don't you want to have some fun?"

Scarface had a knife out, which managed to reflect what little moonlight filtered down between three story buildings. He was just a punk, and didn't deserve Al Capone's nickname but it was all I could think of right then.

"All out of fun," I said. "Sorry." I didn't think I could talk my way out of it, but I wasn't going to just panic.

Give into your anger.

They were going to have their way with me, regardless. And when they were done, they'd probably think they were safer with me dead than alive. Probably they hadn't thought it out that far, but I had seen their faces and could pick them out of a lineup. Whatever they intended now, and I had a pretty good idea of what it was, when they were done and had no more use for me, they'd kill me. They wouldn't have to dump the body anywhere; the alley was already the perfect spot.

If I got angry, and got them angry, maybe they'd kill me first, before the other thing. If that was all the fop had meant, it was crappy advice, but I still took it. "You bunch of cocksuckers couldn't get it up to save your lives. What are you even bothering for, you assholes? Can't get laid any other way? You're such losers."

"Big talk," said Scarface. "Why don't you take that pretty blouse off and show us your titties, and maybe we'll be nice. Otherwise I'll have to cut it off, and I might nick you."

Fuck no. I clenched my fists, and glowered. "Try your worst," I said. "I'll pound your face in." It was ludicrous. He had six inches and a hundred pounds on me, probably more. They both did.

"I'll hold her," said Baldy. "You can cut her clothes off. It's okay if she bleeds a little bit."

Give into your anger.

It would have been harder to hold it back. I just had to let go, so I did. I looked forward to adding a few scars to their faces for them to remember me by when I was gone.

Then something ripped. There was a sudden breeze on my chest, but the knife hadn't moved yet, and Baldy was still circling around. I felt stronger, and thought for a moment of mothers who, powered by adrenalin, could push cars off their children. I hoped that wasn't an urban legend, and that it was happening to me.

I grabbed Baldy by the arm and yanked him. He wasn't moving toward me with any great momentum, so I wasn't in the ideal position for a judo throw, and anyway I'd only taken four classes and quit. I didn't expect much. But he ended up flying through the air and colliding with his buddy with significant force.

"You mother fuckers," I said. They hadn't fallen, but they were staggering. I had a chance now to run out of the alley, but I'd lost my temper, and I didn't fucking feel like running. I wanted to teach them a lesson. Scarface was lunging toward me with the knife, and the moment for escape had passed. I grabbed his wrist and squeezed.

Something bent and broke, and a girlish shriek pierced the night, but it wasn't me doing the yelling. Who knew Scarface could hit that note? The knife clattered to the asphalt.

"She's one of them!" yelled Baldy.

"One of who?" I threw a punch at him and busted his nose. His face gushed blood as he staggered back. I didn't just feel stronger, I felt bigger. My license said I was five-six, and I was staring at these six-foot thugs directly in the eye.

Scarface pointed at me with his remaining good hand. At my crotch, the same part of me that they'd been most interested in when I started running. But now he looked horrified rather than predatory.

The idea that either of these two represented a threat to me seemed ridiculous now. They were both stepping back, not bothering to pick up the knife, and I got the feeling the only reason they weren't in headlong retreat is that they didn't have the courage to turn their back to me.

I glanced down.

I was bigger. My chest was bigger, for one thing, which was why my blouse had ripped and my bra had popped open, but the rest of me had grown, too. I was taller. The extra height had made my already short skirt shorter, and I could feel a breeze on my ass. My skin was a reddish hue, like the fop's skin, and a very large cock jutted out from under the skirt.

I didn't have the wits to wonder if I was dreaming. "So," I growled, "You wanted to fuck, did you? Bend over, boys."

They turned and ran. I had no doubt I could catch up. I'd been faster than them before, and I was almost certainly faster as well as stronger now. I could grab them and show them what it was like to be prey, to have no choice as to what a stranger did with your body. I started to run toward them, and then stopped after three steps.

I'm better than that.

They ran out of sight. I took several deep breaths, calmed a little, and then looked myself over again.

Yeah, I still had huge red tits and a big red cock. It was softening a little, not jutting out quite so hard. I fastened my blouse as well as I could, using the one button remaining, and managed to make it so my broken bra would mostly stay in place. After that I managed to pull my skirt down so that it covered my new, uh, appendage, although that meant having the waist stretch around my hips. I was probably showing some reverse cleavage, but I was sort of decent.

None of this made sense. Who was the man with the silly beard and the crazy mustache? And where was he? I took a deep breath. "Hey, you can come out now."

No reply. Well, I suppose him vanishing made as much sense as anything else. I was glad to be alive.

My car was eight blocks away. If I kept my skirt tugged down and one arm crossed over my chest, I could maybe make it there without getting arrested, and not drawing much more unwanted attention - nothing more than a catcall or two. I couldn't do anything about my skin condition, but that wasn't illegal, even if it was inexplicable. I started walking out of the alley, not knowing what else to do. There was no place for that guy to have gone, so I didn't have the faintest idea where to search for him to get an explanation.

A woman came wandering down the alley toward me. For an alley with no exit, it sure did see a lot of traffic. And the woman, in her own way, was nearly as striking as the man with the Van Dyke beard had been. The same sunburned skin, nearly as red as my own, spilled over a tight leather bustier, was flaunted on a taut stomach, and another flash of it was visible between a leather mini and thigh-high leather boots.

"Hello there," I said, all witty and everything. "Are you, um, with that guy?"

"Az? Yeah, I clean up after his messes. Did he tell you anything?"

"Anything about what? He just asked if I wanted help, I said yes, and... then he vanished. Is he responsible for... this?" I gestured at myself.

"Your state of en deshabille?" The woman said. "Not directly. He told you how to change? Or you lost your temper?"

"I like to think of it as righteous anger."

"Oh. No. We don't do righteous. Anyway, welcome to the family. I'm Lilith, but you can call me Lily. I'm a minor infernal, in charge of onboarding. You are?"

"Miranda."

"Right. Miranda. So, short form. You now have an infernal soul. When you want to, or when you get angry, you can shift from your normal, human form into the lovely creature of darkness you are now. Nice horns, by the way."

"Horns?" I reached up to my head, where something had felt not quite right, but so little was right this evening it hadn't felt worth investigating. Sure enough, I had some very hard horns sprouting from her head, and from the feel of them they were about nine inches long, and spiraled once or twice. "Shift? I can shift into this form?" My mind was still catching up with reality but I managed to follow that to its logical conclusion. "Does that mean I can shift

back

?"

"Yep. Just take a few deep, centering breaths. Focus on what it means to be whatever you were before. Let the anger fall from you like - fuck, I'm not good at this stuff, I'm better at riling people up." Lily pulled a phone out of her cleavage. "Here. You Tube has meditations. Soon you'll be able to do it without this, but..."

She pressed play, and a hypnotic voice told me to focus on nothing but my breath and let distractions go.

I rolled my eyes at the new age crap, but went with it. Eventually, I felt myself get smaller. More human. Weaker. Dickless. I wasn't sure it was an improvement, but I felt myself again.

I felt my head. No horns. A glance at my chest told me I wouldn't be literally busting out of what was left of my clothes.

"It'll be second nature eventually," Lily said.

"What happened to me? What am I? What, for that matter, are you?"

"I'm an infernal, or a demon if you want to be crass about it. We're one of two great forces in the extra planar world, the other being the celestials. Angels. But let me tell you right now, some of them are not very angelic. Anyway, they cut a deal with us, and we're allowed to share our souls with a finite number of humans. Lots of them, if you want to look at it that way, or a very small percentage. Goodness knows you've been fruitful and multiplied in the last few thousand years. I remember when if a town had forty thousand people it was considered a metropolis! I - okay, I got sidetracked."

"Okay, so you're - a demon. Infernal. Whatever. But what did you do to me?"

"Me? Nada. Blame Az. Asmodeous. He shared a part of his soul with you, and you let him. You must have agreed to something or other."

"I suppose I did. I was under duress, though."

"You could get a lawyer, and sue."

"Where would I sue, and how?"

"Well, you'd have to take it up with an infernal court. And you'd be fighting our lawyers. We have the best lawyers." She smiled. "They just come our way. I don't know how that happens."

"Right."

"Anyway, you're now one of us, sort of. Half and half, really. A human part, and an infernal part. You can change back and forth, or stay one or the other, and you'll live a long time, so it's mostly a good thing, at least as far as you're concerned. Anytime you shift, you'll be cleansed of any diseases or organisms that might be growing in you, other than your normal gut bacteria and so forth."

"Organisms growing in me?"

"I think you call them children. You can't get pregnant, or stay pregnant, anyway, if you shift into demon form. I didn't make the rules, but see, you don't have a womb when you're big and red. It'd be complicated. If you want to have kids, much better that you use that dick of yours to knock up some human woman."

Kids weren't on my immediate agenda, but maybe, someday. "But where does the mass come from? I was bigger, heavier. And where does it go?" And Mr. Boswick thought I wasn't paying attention in his class my senior year.

Lily shook her head. "Magic. Don't worry about it. Anyway, there you have it. That's all you need to know. Az is out sharing his soul with all sorts of people tonight, so I need to keep following him around and giving people the essentials, but don't worry, I'll check in on you in a while. Well, sometime, anyway. Practice shifting, and keep a low profile for a bit maybe. Oh! Forgot! Big thing. Most people, anyway, will sense what you are. It's instinctive. They won't have a name for it, unless they see you all big and red, but they'll sense your power, and your inherent - how do I put it?"

I shrugged. "You tell me."

"Evil! That's it. Not that you have to behave any way you don't want to. But people will sense you're a bad girl, even when in human form. Some will be attracted, most will be scared. Your mileage may vary, but even in human form, you'll have a certain magnetism. And in demon form? Well, I'll let you explore. Good luck! Here. Have these." She handed something to me and I took it without thinking. It was cold and metallic.

"Wait, I have..."

But she was gone, just as completely and mysteriously as the other one, Az, had gone. "... more questions." I said to no one. I opened my palm, expecting to find some demonic talisman, but it contained only a couple of safety pins.

Well, that was useful.

I pinned my blouse closed and walked to my car warily. Earlier that day, I'd received a call to tell me to meet a man who would give me information. He'd said he'd just wanted to see me in a short skirt, and he'd tell me about more about Hutton. I knew now I'd been set up for a couple of hopheads, and I'd walked into a trap. Hutton knew about me, and he wouldn't be content to just take the loss and move on. He'd try again, this time with professionals.

I doubted he'd believe my two assailants if they told what happened. They wouldn't be reporting straight to him, anyway. Or probably not even to one of his lieutenants. It would be someone lower down, maybe their dealer. Hutton had his fingers in lots of rackets, I knew that, and he bought judges and cops when he needed a blind eye turned.

I had walked straight into a trap.

Nobody bothered me on my way to my car, though. A couple of tough looking men, older than the two who'd attacked me, took a look at me and moved the other way, as if afraid of me. It made me wonder what I looked like, so when I got into the driver's seat, and made sure the doors were locked, I angled the rear-view mirror so that I could have a better look.

Short, honey-blonde hair, a nose that had too much upturn for my tastes, and red painted lips greeted me. My own face. Normal, everyday Miranda Grant. I put the car in gear and drove home.

#

In my quixotic quest to bring Hutton to justice, I hadn't been paying much attention to the news. Demons dominated the headlines and the airwaves, and apparently had for days. They had popped up everywhere, transformed from ordinary humans. That was what Baldy had meant by "one of them." The addict had been better informed than I was.

Most demons refused to talk about the experience. But a few said they had been accosted by a man who sounded quite a bit like Az. They had appeared all over the world, though, and no one could travel that fast.

Then again, a lot of things were happening that couldn't happen. For all I know he vanished from that alley and went straight to Timbuktu in a matter of seconds.

I didn't do much for the next twenty-four hours. I read everything I could find on the internet about the demons. I figured out how to transform, and back again. I did what any red-blooded American girl would do, and played with my new toy.

It was bigger than that of any man I'd ever been with, and it felt pretty damn good to stroke it. I almost jumped out of my seat when I came, and I must have shot my cum like six-feet.

Holy fuck!

Or unholy fuck, as the case might be.

I was still sitting in my chair, staring at my body, running my hands over my huge but somehow perky breasts, lazily stroking my cock back to hardness, running my tail up and down my long red legs - did I mention I had a tail? I didn't notice it at first. There had been a lot going on. Anyway, I was still sitting there when someone pounded on my door.

I got up and thought about seeing who was there, but I had an idea I knew. I'd let the problem with Hutton slip into the background. Of course, I could look through the peephole.

Something told me that was a bad plan. Instead, I grabbed a poker from the fireplace, which didn't work because the apartment manager never cleaned the flue, and moved to the side of the door. I was still naked, but in my demonic body that didn't equate to vulnerable. With my cock swinging between my legs, I had an idea of where some guys got their swagger.

I extended the poker so that it covered the peep hole. Anyone on the other side would think I was looking out to see who it was. If it was someone innocent, that wouldn't bother them.