[some sexual content]
As Sandra, or Callie Seaver, as she was now calling herself, was lap-dancing a man in his forties in the VIP Room of The Gold Star, the strip joint she was working in, she contemplated her situation of the past few weeks. She was getting used to her new body, her new life as a stripper, and even her relationship with Kluh, who–it seemed–didn’t need to take control of her body so often.
As the man’s hands were sliding along her skin and caressing her breasts, she thought about how she no longer found it so distasteful being viewed as a sex object; the huge amount of money she was making each night gave her a feeling of power, over the men who lusted after her, that made her objectification seem a trifling disadvantage in comparison.
She rubbed her buttocks on the man’s pointy lap, noting how close the tip was to her anal cleft; but it didn’t frighten her as it had before. She’d already slept with a few clients during her first few days as a stripper, in order to have a place to spend the night until she’d find a suitable apartment; and in the process, the trauma she’d associated with sex was fading away, and she was even beginning to enjoy sex now.
She got up and turned around to face him, then brushed her large breasts against his face; as perfectly round as they were, they weren’t silicone, to his delight. She had the body of a goddess, and he was worshipping her. She could psychically sense his worship of her in his mind, just as Kluh could sense it, and Callie was beginning to like being worshipped, just as Kluh, that self-proclaimed goddess inhabiting Callie’s body, had always liked it.
She sat on his lap and felt his hands on her buttocks as she touched her nose against his. His fingers were creeping like a spider’s legs toward her anal cleft. Being touched in that secret area was bothering Callie less and less, since the memory of her stepfather sodomizing her was drifting further and further away from her. What’s more, Kluh as a goddess of lust and death liked being lusted after and touched lewdly, for the spirit considered the body she was inhabiting to be a temple to be adored at.
Now here arrived an important development: between Callie getting used to these recent big changes in her life, with Kluh inhabiting her body and influencing her decisions, and she and Kluh increasingly enjoying the same pleasures, what was emerging was a growing fusion of their wills, of their very identities. Callie and Kluh were slowly becoming one being.
With this fusion of wills, Callie could sense more and more what Kluh’s intentions were: a wish to have more power, which came as a result of merging contraries. She sensed Kluh’s intentions, and felt herself irresistibly more and more sympathetic to them, though some intentions were still mysterious to her…and still frightening.
Two weeks had gone by without any transformation into that clawed beast, though Callie could vaguely sense an urge in Kluh to let the beast out again, to provoke another transformation. That urge seemed to be set aside for the moment, so Callie didn’t fear having more blood on her hands for now.
Indeed, she was relieved to know, from having read in the newspaper that the detective investigating the case, an Agnes Surian, had all but given up on the case. All Surian had brought to light was that some clawed beast attacked Mort Brahms and jumped out his second-story bedroom window. How the animal got in the man’s house was a mystery.
Another mystery was what had become of Mort’s stepdaughter, Sandra. The shy, chubby eighteen-year-old seemed to have vanished. Callie liked the sound of that. No more Sandra, no more Mort. No more bad past. No tracing of the killing to Callie in Toronto.
The man had one set of fingers between her legs, and the other set between her buttocks. He was arousing Kluh’s lust, making sympathetic Callie feel it, too. It titillated both of them to have their secret places known. Callie was just glad Surian didn’t know anything about the secret identity of the beast.
The closest anyone could trace it to Callie was in a few people having sighted a hairy, anthropomorphic beast running and jumping high in the air through the streets of Hamilton, then heading towards an exit of the city. But where it had gone after that wasn’t at all known. No one had sighted it since.
So as long as no one provoked the monster by trying to rape her, Callie would be safe. All these men lusting after her nakedness, and being lap-danced by her, and fondling her in the VIP Room, seemed less and less of a danger to her; thus, she wouldn’t be a danger to them…if only such assurances could last.
She was licking the man’s ear, then he whispered in her ear, “I’d…love to draw you, Chloe.”
“You’re an artist, Wayne?” she asked, rubbing harder on his erection, and as delighted to hear herself addressed by her mother’s name (now also her stage name) as she was to be so worshipped.
“Yes,” he grunted from the feeling of those rubbing buttocks. “You have…the body…of a goddess.”
She was so surprised to know that a man’s lust didn’t terrify her anymore. Her curvy body no longer seemed to be a risk of rapes, but was now a source of pride. She’d made herself fat as a teen in the hopes that Mort would stop being sexually attracted to her; actually, he’d rape and sodomize her no less than before. But now, sex no longer meant powerlessness to Callie; making hundreds, thousands of dollars every night from sex-addicted customers meant sex was power for her, something Kluh had always understood.
I told you I’d be good for you…Chloe, Kluh told her mentally.
Yes, Callie answered in her mind. You may not be my mother Chloe, but thanks to your help, I am now Chloe, the sex goddess of The Gold Star.
WE are the sex goddess, Kluh corrected. We grow to be more and more one with every passing day, with every sexual contact. Remember what I told you before: the merging of contraries, male and female, sex and death, pleasure and pain, delight and terror, make me more powerful. And as I get powerful, you get powerful. For we are one.
Fuck this man, and we get stronger? Callie asked.
Yes, Callie. Even his attempted rape of us, if that happens, means we kill him with the claws. Sex merged with death makes us stronger, too.
Oh, I hope we won’t have to kill again.
That’s up to Wayne, isn’t it?
An hour later, they were in his studio apartment, her nude on his bed lying on her back, and him at the foot of the bed with a pencil in one hand, drawing her breasts on a sketchpad.
“Usually strippers look less attractive in the bright light,” Wayne said, his erection poking a visible bulge in his pants that made flattered Callie smirk. “Not you. You’re even more beautiful than I’d imagined possible.”
She giggled. “Thank you.”
“I thought you were blonde in The Gold Star,” he said, detailing her erect nipples. “I see you have bleached white hair.”
“Oh, I change my hair colour a lot, actually,” she said. Kluh made my hair blonde, white, light green, yellow, even pink, all tonight over several hours when I danced in the dimmed lights, didn’t you?
Yes, I did, Kluh answered in her mind. My constant changing of your appearance is how I make it difficult to trace where you are, in case we need to let out the beast again.
Callie shuddered at that thought, but her fear soon changed back to titillation. I can psychically feel Wayne’s lust, she thought. It’s so exciting!
It’s good to be worshipped, isn’t it? Kluh asked her.
Yes, Callie thought. Everyone in high school bullied me for being fat. Mort made me his sex slave; I won’t even call him my stepdad anymore. But now, men are my sex slaves, enthralled by me, they must please me!
That’s the spirit, Kluh told her. The union of his phallus with your yoni, or even your anus, will make us even more powerful, the merging of male and female, of penetrator and penetrated. United opposites make us strong.
Oh, let it not be anal again, she thought. Your lubricating me stops the hurt, but I still feel the fear, the trauma. The painful memories.
Don’t be afraid, Callie. I’m making you stronger and stronger with every lover, not weaker.
“OK,” Wayne sighed. “That sketch is finished. I’d like to do one now of you on all fours, with your ass pointed at me. Will that be OK?”
“Better than OK,” Kluh said. She got into position, with both her anus and vulva showing for him.
“OK,” he grunted, that bulge in his pants straining against his zipper as he began drawing. “No, don’t look at me, Chloe. Face the head of the bed.”
Callie’s heart was pounding. She couldn’t stand being so exposed, so vulnerable to this stranger, yet Kluh kept her body in this position. For the demoness was aroused by Callie’s fears combined with the energy of Wayne’s lust, which she welcomed. She would take his phallic energy and make it hers.
This man was far from being Kluh’s ideal to mate with Callie’s femininity, but he’d give her some power that night, anyway. As for the ideal male, he would arrive soon enough…quite soon, indeed, actually.
Kluh felt Wayne’s desire as he sketched her ass, his urge to penetrate her. The demoness felt his eyes staring at the holes he wanted to enter, just as she visualized entering him in another way. The penetrator would become the penetrated, a fusion of opposites, giving her more power.
Kluh knew he was planning to sneak up behind her, thinking her not seeing him coming meant she wouldn’t know what he was about to do. Callie sensed his desire to come at her from behind, too, and she was terrified–terrified of reliving Mort’s sodomizing of her, and terrified from knowing she’d kill again. But she couldn’t stop Kluh from letting this all happen.
Wayne’s pencil touched the paper softer and quieter with each stroke, sketching the wrinkles on her anus, where he was itching to enter.
Without making a sound, he put the pencil and pad to the side, got up from his chair, and crept over to her ass. He had no idea that both Kluh and Callie could sense his exact movements psychically, every second of them.
He put his hands on her buttocks and opened them, widening the orifices.
Callie yelped and looked back at him with agape eyes and her jaw dropped.
“Am I sexy?” Kluh had her sigh.
“Yes,” he sighed back.
“Am I beautiful?”
“Do you want me?” (Callie dreamed of an answer of no.)
“Yes.” He unzipped his pants and took it out. “Oh?” He noticed her anus was moistening with lubrication. “How convenient.”
“I’m gonna surprise you in more ways than one tonight, you stud,” Kluh moaned.
“I’m sure you will.” He was surprised to find himself lubricated, too. “What is this, black magic?”
You could call it that, Kluh thought.
He pushed inside, and as he moved back and forth, Callie was having vivid flashbacks of Mort: she could feel, once again, her stepfather’s sweat dripping on her bare back, his bad breath blowing on her right ear, the pain of his pushing and pulling, even though Wayne wasn’t hurting her at all.
Swelling with lust, the man reached around with both arms and grabbed her breasts, squeezing them hard and pinching her nipples. Mort had done that on one occasion, making Sandra scream in between sobs. This was too much for Callie. She shook, her head spinning.
When her eyes refocused, she saw hairs slithering out of the follicles on her arms. Her fingernails were stretching out into claws, each at least six or seven centimetres long.
The last image that flashed in her mind, before giving her consciousness away to the beast, was Bill Bixby’s irises turning white on TV. Before she had time to wonder if the same thing had happened to her eyes–it did, actually–she blacked out.
“What the hell?” Wayne grunted, pulling his dick out. “How’d you get so hairy?” Her hair was no longer the ‘bleach-white’ colour: it was brown, as it was all over her body. Now she was grunting, and her bestial head twisted back to look at him. “Jesus fucking Christ!”
Her claws slashed his face, one of them gouging his eyes and blinding him. The other claws sliced lines of red into his forehead, nose, and lips. He fell off the bed on his back, clutching his bloody face and whining on the floor.
The beast jumped on him. She dug her claws into his guts, tearing his intestines to pieces. His body shook on the floor as a river of blood flowed out both sides from his waist. He was coughing blood.
She stabbed her claws into his chest, and his body lay still.
There was a knock on the front door of the apartment. “I heard a scream,” a male neighbour said. “What’s going on in there?”
She ran at a nearby window and jumped out, splashing shards of glass in all directions.