Gentlemen Prefer Succubi

I needed new clothes, since I’d outgrown my old ones. It was a depressing thought, and I resigned myself to salads for the next six weeks. I slid out of my work clothes and picked up one of my discarded bras. Double-boob or not, I had to wear something.

My body froze when I pulled off my shirt and looked down at my naked chest. “Holy shit,” I breathed, wondering if I was seeing things. I rubbed the lenses of my glasses and looked down at my breasts again.

They were enormous. As in Pamela Anderson enormous, and all natural. Alarmed, I grabbed them in my hands and jiggled, testing for sensitivity. They didn’t hurt; what could have caused this bloating? Food allergy? I squeezed into a bra, wincing when the straps cut into my skin. It’d have to do for a few hours. Then I tossed on a sweatshirt and some sweatpants. To my surprise, the sweatpants were falling off my waist. I had to use a hand to keep them up. What was going on?

My doorbell rang. I went to the door and peered in the peephole. It was the doorman, his back turned to me. Had I dropped something on my rush in? I opened the door. “Hi, Bobby. Something wrong?” I never got visits from the staff.

The doorman turned and revealed a huge bouquet of red roses, giving me a sheepish grin. He wasn’t more than nineteen or twenty, and skinny as hell. So not my type. “Hi, Miss Brighton. You’re looking lovely today.” He thrust the roses out at me.

“For me?” A flush of pleasure rushed through my body, and I extended a hand for them. Suspicious though I may be, I have a weakness for flowers. “Who are they from?”

“They’re from me.” Again the blush covered his cheeks. I smiled, a hot, pulsing feeling of warmth coursing through me. He looked adorable. Good enough to eat, or at least nibble on for a while.

“I just thought you looked lovely today,” he continued. “I was wondering if you were busy later?”

He was asking me out? How sweet. The flush of pleasure grew stronger, and the blood rushing through my veins began to throb in some surprising places. I crossed my arms over my chest, hoping that it hid my sudden headlights. I’d never paid any attention to Bobby before, but he was looking rather good at the moment. “Why, thank you. I … I’m busy later.”

“I see.” He licked his lips and turned away.

At the sight of his tongue, I don’t know what came over me. The next thing I knew, I tore off my glasses and tossed the roses down. I grabbed him by the collar and hauled him into my apartment. He came in without a word of protest, and before I had the time to think about what I was doing, my mouth was on his, and his hands were on my ass, and it felt good.

“Miss Brighton,” he breathed, and I stopped any protests he might have by sliding my mouth over his again and biting his lower lip.

“Do me a favor,” I whispered, pressing him against the wall. “Don’t talk.”

I pressed my body against his, and I could feel the hardness inside his slacks. The feeling excited the hell out of me, and I ground my hips against his with a tremor of delight.

He didn’t need much encouraging. His hands were all over my backside, pulling it against his cock. He rubbed my pelvis against his own, his tongue mimicking a thrust as it dove in and out of my mouth. Sensations shot through me on overload, overwhelming my mind and making all rational thought disappear.

“God, you have the most gorgeous blue eyes,” he moaned, just as my hands were reaching into his waistband to free his erection.

That stopped me cold. “What?” I jerked away. “What did you say?”

He gave me a dazed look, rubbing my behind like some sort of horny masseuse. “Your eyes. They’re so beautiful. Did you get contacts?”

I darted for the bathroom mirror, and one look nearly sent me into shock. “Oh no,” I moaned, putting a hand to my face. I hoped it was my face. They were my features, but somehow different. My cheekbones were defined, my lips as full as if they’d been shot full of collagen, and my hair rippled down my shoulders in a glorious red mass that framed my glowing blue eyes.

Blue, not brown, like they’d been ever since I was born.

And glowing the way I remembered Noah’s had.

Oh, boy.

From behind, Bobby grabbed my hips and ground his hips against my own. “Miss Brighton?”

I nearly doubled over from the unnatural wave of pleasure. Either this kid was talented, or there was something seriously wrong with me.

“Uh … hmm?” I was having difficulty forming coherent thoughts with his erection pressing against my backside. I wanted nothing more than to shuck my sweatpants, fling him down on the floor, and make sweet monkey love to him.

Something was definitely wrong with me.

“Did you want me to leave?” His voice was husky, his hands gripping my hips in the most heavenly way. He knew very well I didn’t want him to leave.

“Yes,” I managed to squeak out, surprising myself.

“What?” Bobby pulled away from me, and I could see his sexual tension turn to confusion.

Without his body pressed against mine the haze of desire cleared a little, and I turned on the faucet and began to splash water on my face. “Leave, Bobby. Please leave.”

“But … but … can I come see you later?”

I forced myself to shake my head no. “Maybe some other time.” Poor kid. He was probably confused as hell.

He wasn’t the only one.

“Oh. I guess … let me know if you need anything.”

I didn’t have to be a mind reader to read horny longing and hurt feelings shooting off him like sparks. The door shut a few moments later, and I found myself alone.

What on earth was wrong with me? I never approached men, and I sure wouldn’t have attacked a nineteen- year-old doorman. I was twenty-seven, for crying out loud, and I didn’t like them young. Yet when I’d seen him standing there, licking his lips, I’d wanted nothing more than to maul him, and I had.

Flashes of my conversation with Noah floated through my mind.

“You won’t notice anything at first, but you’ll see some changes start to happen, and I don’t want you to be alarmed,” he had said, looking as serious as can be, handing me his business card. At the time I had blown him off, thinking him arrogant and crazy as hell.

Not anymore.

I raced for my purse and tore out my wallet. Sure enough, there was his business card. It was simple, with just the name “Noah Gideon” on it and a cell phone number. Oh, and his little “angelic alphabet” design was in the top right corner. I’d give the man some credit-when he came up with a story, he really went all out.

Unless … it wasn’t a story after all.

I dialed the number with trembling fingers, and put my ear to the receiver. Three rings, then voicemail.

Drat. I wasn’t about to leave a message. What would I say? Hi, my boobs grew overnight and my eyes are blue; call me?

I hung up and sat down next to the phone, deciding to wait it out. He had to pick up at some point. I flipped on the TV. I wasn’t tired in the least, and too agitated to sleep anyhow. So I called. All night. And watched TV in between calls.

Okay, so I watched porn. I couldn’t help myself. In fact, I stayed up all night watching porn. There was something about the flesh licking and uninhibited responses that I found riveting. Between movies, I kept trying Noah’s line.

Shortly after sunrise I finally got an answer. The phone rang twice, then “Yes?”

No “hi” or “hello” for this guy.

“Noah, it’s me. Jackie.”