﻿Potential

by Pan



Genre: Mind Control
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-23 22:49:39
Updated: 2020-05-28 15:36:31
Packaged: 2024-02-16 20:16:42
Rating: Some Sex
Chapters: 6
Words: 16,396
Publisher: storiesonline.net
Story URL: https://storiesonline.net/s/22178/potential
Author URL: https://storiesonline.net/a/pan
Summary: Amanda never became The Protector of the Gateway, the teenager tasked with protecting the town of Antioch from demons. Instead, she works in a strip club.





TABLE OF CONTENTS


Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6



	Chapter 1

The first thing I noticed when I walked in was that Devlin was at the club.

Again.

Here in Antioch, he’s just a regular guy ... well, that’s not really fair. He stands out, even in this demon-infested city. Devlin always dresses well - sharp suits, nice watch, blindingly white teeth. His smile can charm the paint off walls - I know who he really is and even I’ve found myself swooning slightly when he aims his attention in my direction.

Not that I’d ever go there, of course. Ew.

My name’s Amanda Fell. I’d offer a nickname, but I’ve never really had one - I didn’t really have much time for friends when I was in school, and now that I’m an adult (in inverted commas), not much has changed. So Amanda will have to do.

When I was a girl, I got visited by the Oracles of the Gateway. Freaked my mum right out - that’s probably why she bailed. They said that I had the Potential, whatever that meant. I was too young to really understand what was going on, but my parents got the whole run-down, instructions on how to deal with my Potential, what my training entailed ... and how I’d learn that I was The One.

The Protector.

See, turns out that Antioch - sleepy-looking town, maybe containing a higher-than-average percentage of eccentrics - is one of the Gateways between our world and the Demon Realm. And for whatever reason, demons always want to pass through, take over the planet and turn it into some kind of weird demon paradise or whatever.

Not all demons, I guess. Devlin seems happy enough just running schemes. I don’t know what his end-game is, admittedly; it could be more than just money. That would explain why he keeps coming back here, to the cheapest strip club in town. Either that, or he’s got some kind of deal with my boss, Marty.

I’m not a stripper, by the way. Nothing against girls who do, but it’s not for me. I wait tables, keep an eye on things. Keep an eye on Devlin.

But yeah, Antioch needs a Protector. And just in case something happens to that Protector, it needs backups - spares.

Girls with the Potential.

So that’s me. My parents waited in fear that my Potential would awaken one day, that I’d suddenly be told that the city’s fate rested in my hands. At least, they did until Mum left. After that, Dad was suddenly more worried about whether or not he was going to see a pair of tits on any given day, and I don’t even know what Mum got up to.

Until I started working here, this was Dad’s favorite joint. That’s sort of how I got the job in the first place. Marty offered me a job on-stage, but I’ve seen the trashy types that he ropes into that line of work. They’re nice enough to talk to, but they’ve obviously got no self-respect.

No, I’m just a waitress. Well ... waitress slash protection. Quite often when a demon enters a human form, they get a bit overwhelmed by the desires. Marty was disappointed when I turned down a job on the pole, but he quickly saw my worth - if dancers start going missing, then suddenly he’s out of business ... or worse.

I’ve never asked what he did before I got here. I don’t want to know, and he’s certainly better off without me investigating. I’m pretty sure I wouldn’t like what I found.

So yeah - I get paid to bus tables and serve behind the bar, but Marty and I both know that I keep my job because of my unique skills.

See, while I don’t have the full powers of the Protector, my Potential gave me a few heightened abilities. Strength, speed - it’s pretty hard to take me down. Not to mention my ability to sense demons ... especially when they’re about to do something wicked.

Anyway, Devlin. I think he must be recruiting or something, because he’s been in here every night this week, surrounded by teenagers - all boys, of course - who simultaneously set off my creep-o-meter AND my ability to detect demons.

I don’t know why, but when a demon enters the human realm, they almost always take the form of a male. Maybe it’s a power thing, maybe it just feels right. Maybe they have genders back home, and for whatever reason, the males are more likely to cross over.

Honestly, I don’t know that much about how it all works. See, my Potential was never realized. I never got assigned a Mentor, was never given the whole rundown. I worked out what I could, but there’s still a **lot** of grey areas in my knowledge.

Being the Protector became a bit of an obsession for me, right throughout high school - I guess I never even considered the idea that the current Protector would just ... survive.

When I graduated, I looked back and realized that I’d wasted my entire life until that point waiting for something that never came. I never really made any friends, I barely even dated - I think to most of the school I was just “that weird dyke with the muscles” (I’m not gay, but I did spend a **lot** of time working out, just waiting for it to be my time to beat up demons).

And so after school, I decided it was time to focus. I signed up for college, and I’m halfway through my journalism course. The job at Marty’s pays the bills and means I get to flex my demon-hunting muscles every now and again. It’s nice, putting all my hours of teenage research to use.

Plus - trust me - there’s nothing like beating up a demon to let off steam.

As I approached Devlin’s table, one of the teenagers gave me a wolf-whistle. I wanted to roll my eyes, but I forced a smile to appear instead - Marty lets me get away with a lot, but Devlin is a regular, so sometimes I just have to play nice.

He’s good tipper, too, so I tried to make the nice look natural.

“Can I get you a drink, boys?”

I expected a lewd comment or two, but everyone at the table waited for Devlin to pull the cigar from his lips and speak.

“When are we going to see you up the stage, girly?”

“When pigs fly,” I responded immediately, and Devlin’s huge lips slowly curved into a smile.

“I could make that happen,” he said, and I rolled my eyes playfully in response. He probably could, too - I don’t mind Devlin, if I’m being honest. For a demon, he’s not bad.

Well, he’s probably **bad** , but he’s at least fun.

“Whisky on the rocks?” I asked, writing down his usual order. I’d been working at Marty’s for a bit over a year, and he’d never ordered anything else - a demon of habit, I suppose.

“You got it,” he replied in his deep, husky voice, and a shiver ran up my spine.

If I were to ever ... well, I wouldn’t. Not with a demon. But if I **were** to, it would be with Devlin.

“The rest of you?”

A few of the teens asked for beers, some of them - in an attempt to impress their new boss - asked for what he was having. One of them, a cute guy with blond hair, ordered a cocktail. One of our best, too. It got him a few boo’s, but I wrote it down. Normally Marty’s actually quite a stickler for ID, but with demons I know he doesn’t care - they’re thousands of years old, who really gives a shit whether or not they managed to forge an ID or not. If the police raided the place, it’s not like a bunch of demons would let themselves be taken away in cuffs.

As I wandered away, the blond-haired boy checked me out. Again, something I’m more than used to ... but for some reason, this time it made me blush.

I shook it off quickly and got back to work. I hadn’t slept properly the last few nights, and my reaction was probably more from exhaustion than anything.

The rest of the night passed without incident, right until closing time - I exchanged a few more pleasantries (and snarky comments) with Devlin, and watched as his cohort of rowdy teens slowly got drunker and drunker. I don’t know for sure what Devlin does, and I make a point of never asking. He seems happy to keep it professional, and so that’s what we do - I bring him drinks, he makes flirty comments and drinks them.

What he does outside of the club is his business. I just hope he doesn’t skin babies or anything like that.

Marty seemed on edge that night; I’ve no idea why. I find it hard to care about anything Marty does. He hands over my pay and that’s all I need him to do. At some point he disappeared, leaving me to manage the bar and serve the patrons at the same time. I coped, but I was a bit annoyed at the extra work.

He was probably upstairs, fucking one of the dancers. Lech.

Devlin, ever the gentleman, left me his standard, generous tip, and swooped out. Most of his crew went with him, but a handful remained ... including the blond. They moved closer to the stage, tipping the dancers almost as generously as Devlin had tipped me. Whatever racket Devlin ran, it was clearly a well-paying one.

I called for last drinks, and as I took the orders, noticed the blond was missing.

For some reason, this made the hairs on the back of my neck stand up. After I brought everyone their drinks, I started sniffing around for him.

It didn’t take long for me to sense him - he was upstairs, inside one of the private rooms. Exactly what went on there was another of those areas that I was happy not to know much about ... when I’d accepted the job, it was under the condition that I never be expected to wipe down anything other than the bar, and - after I’d threatened to fracture his spine - Marty had stopped asking me.

I guess you could say we had a rocky relationship, though I’d be happier if you never put me, Marty and relationship in the same sentence again.

Standing outside the door, however, I suddenly had a burning desire to know what was happening in there. The blond was inside ... and he was no longer in human form.

I didn’t hesitate - kicking down the door, I burst inside.

“Freeze!” I cried out, feeling like a cop, the familiar surge of adrenaline pumping through my veins.

In high-school, I’d considered myself a bit of an ... amateur demon-hunter, I suppose. I’d stay up late, reading about this or that, and when I thought a demon was up to something, I was truly relentless.

It wasn’t until I got suspended for taking out the principal’s daughter (who, in my defense, **was** a demon) that Dad made me cut it out. “Wait until you become the Protector,” he said, and so I waited and waited, for a day that never came.

The scene in front of me brought it all back, just like that.

The blond teen had transformed into a bluey-black demon - a type of succubus, if my memory was to be relied upon. He’d clearly cast some kind of thrall onto Misty, one of our strippers. She was looking at him with adoration and awe as he crept closer to her, ready to pounce.

Ready to eat her alive.

Without hesitation, I leaped forward, plunging the corkscrew in my pocket deep into the demon’s throat. A thick, black stream of blood began oozing out, mixing with the various other fluids on the floor, and Misty’s eyes suddenly focused.

“Jesus!”

“Get out of here, Misty!”

Unfortunately, the demon and I were positioned directly between Misty and her escape. As she tried to squeeze past, she jostled my arm, and a fresh wave of the black goo spurted out, hitting her right in the face.

“Fucking hell,” I muttered under my breath, and tried to push the corkscrew deeper into the demon’s neck. He seemed to have regained his strength, however, and fought back, making me the second person in twenty seconds to be doused with his thick blood.

He was strong - stronger than I expected - however he was losing steam quickly, and it wasn’t long before I was straddled on top of him, screaming at the spluttering dancer to get out.

By the time Marty came up to see what Misty was screaming about, the blond was dead, and I’d managed to wipe off most of the oozing blood off my skin.

“God damn it,” Marty muttered. For a second I thought he was angry at me, and I was going to rip him a new one for being so ungrateful, but I took a few deep breaths and realized I was still riled up and that his curse wasn’t directed at me. I went to wash myself off and calm down.

When I returned, both Marty and the body were gone. What did he do with it? That’s another question I don’t want to know the answer to.

I found my boss downstairs, in his office - he leered at me as I entered, no trace of anger remaining. It was like the incident we’d just been through had never happened.

“So how about it?” he asked, and I rolled my eyes. He could have been talking about the demon I’d just killed, about my shift ... he could have been talking about any number of things, but we both knew exactly what he meant.

Ever since I’d started working at the club, every shift ended with the same question - Marty asking me when I was going to become a dancer. He’d offered me everything - a pay-rise, my choice of hours. One time he’d even offered me a stake in the club - I admit, that one had almost been tempting.

Aside from the fact that he wanted me (which, as I may have mentioned, was **never** going to happen) I think Marty really just wanted someone with Potential up on the pole. It would be a niche market, that’s for sure - most every demon in town has had their face smacked by the Protector at some point or another, and having me stripping for their entertainment would be a **major** draw.

But that night, my answer was the same same as it always was:

“Fuck off and die, Marty.”

I used to threaten him. Long, detailed threats ... threats that we both know I was capable of following through on, but even that hadn’t been enough to stop the question. It rankled - it told me exactly what he thought of me (just a Potential with a pair of tits) but clearly the possibility of getting me to dance was enough for him to brave my threats, and so at the end of each shift, I’d grit my teeth and answer the question.

He laughed, as he always did. It was hard to really hurt Marty’s feelings - one time I’d seen a stripper break up with him, and call him names that would make even Devlin blush. He’d just shrugged, and immediately started hitting on his newest recruit.

As he cackled, Marty started counting out my pay. Cash, of course - Marty doesn’t trust banks. I don’t think he trusts anything. He’s always got a scheme on the go, and if he had half a brain, I might even be worried about it. Fortunately, he’s just a shyster.

I flashed him one of my rare smiles (a genuine one, at that - what can I say? I like money), and left for home.

* * *

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	Chapter 2

The first thing I noticed when I walked into my apartment was the smell.

Takeout, embarrassingly enough, is my main source of sustenance - when you study full-time and work part-time, it’s hard to put the effort into cooking ... especially since no matter what I eat, I never gain an inch of fat.

It’s a perk of having the Potential.

But I don’t have a fridge, and so sometimes I play the game of roulette known as “will this last long enough to be my dinner tomorrow?”

Tonight I lost.

Throwing it out, I was surprised to find an egg in the cupboard - it didn’t seem like it was going to kill me, and so I put it on to boil (exciting dinner, I know) and counted up my pay for the night.

That son of a bitch.

Marty’s always been sketchy, but he’s at least been reliably sketchy. Like I can 100% rely on the fact that as soon as we get a new dancer, he’s going to hit on her. I can depend on him firing her if she doesn’t sleep with him within a few weeks, and I can always count on the fact that if she goes through with that repulsive act, he’ll dump her for the next pretty face.

And hell, I can practically set my watch on the knowledge that he’ll hit on me, each and every time he sees me.

But one of those reliable aspects has always been my pay. I don’t make much, as a waitress, and I **especially** don’t make much if you take into account my bodyguard duties as well. But it’s enough to live on, enough to buy take-out and apparently the occasional egg, and I get the added bonus of knowing I’m making the world a slightly better place.

Not that Marty’s strip club could be a much worse place.

So yeah. Finding Marty suddenly short-changing me, that took me by surprise. I knew that tomorrow, I’d have to kick his ass for it, but I didn’t much feel like trekking back over town to deal with it tonight, and I didn’t want to go to sleep angry.

Back when I thought I was going to be the Protector, I convinced my parents to sign me up for some martial art classes. Antioch isn’t exactly a cultural hub, but there were still a few options - turns out white folk love their kids learning Asian fighting styles.

Thanks to my (super)natural abilities, I mastered them all pretty quickly. Nowadays I barely even use them on the rare occasion I get into a scuffle, but I find them pretty relaxing. Most nights I’ll run through a few katas before bed - if I’m particularly worked up, I can spend up to an hour just doing them over and over, the repetitive exactness relaxing me until I can just fall into bed and have a mostly-dreamless sleep.

That night, I was so riled up from the fight (and Marty’s cheapness) that after eating one lonely egg, I spent a full 90-minutes doing routines, going through every form I could remember over and over until I finally felt like my mind was clear and my anger was ... well, not **gone** , but definitely postponed.

But when I stripped off and collapsed into my bed, it wasn’t a dreamless night that met me.

Quite the opposite.

* * *

I was on a stage.

I don’t think it was the stage at the club - it was too clean, for one. But there were definitely elements of it - I could smell the cigar smoke that’s always present at Marty’s, the lights looked like they were arranged in the same way, and the whole room had this weird sense of familiarity.

But, unlike Marty’s, it was packed.

There were people everywhere. Men, most of them, but peering into the crowd, I could see the occasional woman as well. Some of them were dancers, some of them were old high school friends, but most of them were strangers.

And they were all looking at me.

Stage fright has never really been a factor in my life - I’ve never really had any interest in performing, but on the few occasions I’ve had to stand in front of a crowd, I’ve always been too busy looking out for something suspicious to be nervous.

But standing in front of all those strangers, I was suddenly shy. They were all looking so ... expectant. They were here to see me, and I couldn’t for the life of me work out why.

And then ... I looked down.

I was wearing a tight black top, barely enough to cover my boobs yet somehow managing to push them up. It had a strap on either side, connecting to the collar I suddenly realized I was wearing. My panties were equally revealing - a tiny scrap of fabric, only just preventing me from being completely naked.

My hands were encased in gloves, and my feet were adorned with something similar - black, shiny boots which ended just above my knee, making them by far the part of my outfit that covered the most skin.

I was standing in front of an enormous crowd, almost entirely naked.

And they were waiting for me to start.

A spotlight suddenly hit me, proving without a doubt that I wasn’t in Marty’s club - he didn’t have the setup for a spotlight, let alone the budget to pay someone to operate it. I opened my mouth to try to explain to the impatient crowd that something had gone wrong, that I wasn’t meant to be up here ... when someone started hissing.

“Hssssss.”

It was such a simple, disappointed sound. I squinted, trying to see through the light and through the haze who was voicing their dissent, but I could only see an outline, a silhouette. Whoever it was, they were clearly a male, and there was something strangely familiar about them, but I couldn’t make out a face, and soon their hissing was being echoed by the rest of the crowd.

“Hssssss.”

“No,” I tried to feebly protest, but before I could continue, it was as though someone yanked an invisible leash, and my collar jerked forward. Suddenly I was on my knees, tears welling up in my eyes, looking at the huge crowd, silently begging them not to put me through this ... And then the music started.

It was a song I’d heard a thousand times, but I couldn’t for the life of me tell you what it was. One of the top 40 hits, it’s probably played at the club every night. It had a strong, sticky beat, and without even meaning to, I found my body moving to the music.

Before I knew it, I wasn’t kneeling any more, I was standing. My hips were swaying from side to side, my shoulders were pushed back, and the crowd was going wild. They were cheering, begging for more, begging for the dance to get bigger and more wild, more provocative.

Sexier.

They wanted me to take my clothes off, but I couldn’t. Looking through the crowd, I desperately searched for the hissing man, the one who had set me off in the first place. I couldn’t take my clothes off, not without his permission, this I knew.

He wouldn’t be cheering. I couldn’t find him, but I knew this as surely as I’d ever known anything. He wasn’t excited that I was stripping - he was expecting it.

The collar around my neck - he’d placed it there, and when I’d fallen forward, it had been because he’d yanked it. These clothes I was wearing - he’d picked them out. He’d told me what to wear, and I was dressed exactly as he wanted - exactly as he’d fantasized.

I was completely under his control. I danced because he wanted me to dance, and I would strip when he wanted me to strip.

He owned me.

* * *

I woke up with a gasp, dripping wet. There was something so powerfully erotic about the dream; the feeling ... no, the **knowledge** that I was owned. I couldn’t remember the last time that I was this turned on - one hand was slowly drifting down to my soaked panties when my bedside clock caught my eye.

Damn it. If I didn’t get a move on now, I was going to be late.

Before I got dressed, I took a moment to pause and check myself out in the mirror. My body was toned and athletic. I slept in a pair of panties, and I could see stray hairs poking out the sides.

In the dream, I knew that I’d been clean-shaven.

For some reason, my pubic hair was bothering me, but I shook it off. Had to get to class.

* * *

The day seemed to drag for some reason. My first few classes were fine - I hadn’t really bonded with anyone in the course I was doing, and so normally I just came in, sat by myself at the back, and left as soon as the class was over.

Today, for whatever reason, I decided to sit right down the front. As I did, I couldn’t help but wonder - was I imagining the sudden silence, followed by hushed whispers? Were people talking about my unusual decision?

Was everyone ... looking at me?

The thought plagued me all through the lecture, but I was determined not to turn around. Instead, I just let my imagination run wild, thinking about all those eyes on my back, on my hair.

It made it really hard to concentrate, and before I knew it, the class was over and I was on my way to the next one.

This time I didn’t want to let myself get distracted - taking my usual spot at the back of the class, I opened my notepad, and tried my hardest to focus.

Instead, my mind kept returning to the dream. What on earth had inspired such a specific, erotic dream? Had it been that long since I got laid? (It had.) Was Marty starting to get in my head, with his constant pushes for me to get up on-stage?

When I glanced down at my notepad, I was shocked to discover that I hadn’t been writing down what the lecturer had been saying - I’d been doodling, and somehow my notes had ended up surrounded by little pictures of tits.

What the fuck was wrong with me?

I went bright red, and glanced around, for the second time that day convinced that everyone was looking at me, that I had somehow drawn attention to myself and that they all knew what I’d been drawing, what I’d clearly been thinking about.

Noticing the phallus I’d drawn at the bottom corner of the page, shooting its stuff all over the hastily-sketched boobs, I audibly choked in shock, and that time I **knew** I wasn’t imagining the people turning to face me.

Unable to trust myself to even sit at the back for the rest of the lecture, I quickly packed up my books and left. I’d never left a lecture before, but I just couldn’t stay any longer - I was so mortified, even a little scared.

Escaping from the lecture theatre, I sat outside against the wall for a few minutes, catching my breath, calming myself down.

So I was having a spacey day. So I’d drawn some tits and a cock. So I’d had a weird dream.

For a hobby, I hunted demons. That was what I did for **fun**. If one nightmare, a lack of sleep, and a bit of sexual frustration was enough to take me down, well damn - it was a good thing I **hadn’t** become the Protector!

I was better than that. I just needed a few minutes and some fresh air to remind me of the fact.

It wasn’t long before I felt well enough to wander back in. A few heads glanced my way as I did, but it wasn’t the undivided attention of the whole room I’d been dreading ... Or was that anticipating?

The rest of the day went without incident. I took notes, managed to avoid drawing **any** genitalia, and by the time it was time for my shift at Marty’s, I was feeling good.

And then, the moment I entered the bar, I saw him.

The blond.

He was back.

* * *

To support my writing and access my work months before it goes online anywhere else, check out my Patreon! http://www.patreon.com/panwhowrites


	Chapter 3

I audibly gasped. Fortunately, no one was looking at me - not Devlin, not the blond, not any of the other patrons - but as adrenaline began pumping through my body, I felt like I had the eyes of the entire bar on me.

Like I had in my dream last night.

Mentally running through some katas (it’s weird, but it works - I’m a very physical person, and just picturing myself moving can be enough to calm me down) my breathing soon steadied, and I put on my apron and got ready for my shift.

Marty was nowhere to be found; I considered skipping the rest of my shift as a protest until I got paid, but I knew that I couldn’t do that.

Not as long as the blond was around.

Approaching Devlin’s table, I forced a smile that didn’t reach my eyes. My eyes which never left the blond, even as I took everyone else’s orders. He avoided my gaze, looking pointedly at the dancers on the stage, at the grimy floor, at the flickering light behind the bar.

After everyone else had ordered, I forced my attention away from the succubus towards Devlin, just for a moment. It wouldn’t be right to ignore him.

“Hello Amanda,” he said, and my heart skipped a beat. He’d never used my name before - it was always girly, sweetheart ... one time he’d tried “toots”, but my glare had apparently gotten through, and he’d never used that particular term of endearment again.

“I believe an apology is in order.”

I froze for a second, my mind racing, trying to work out what I needed to apologize for. Had I messed up? Had I taken their orders too slowly? Or worse, had I brought him the wrong drink?

Forcing myself to take a deep breath, I reminded myself that I was an excellent waitress, and that I had nothing to apologize for. Especially to a demon.

“Oh?” I said casually, trying not to reveal the sudden anxiety I was feeling.

“Last night,” he said softly, and suddenly every demon at his table was acting like the blond - they all had extremely important things to look at. Anything that wasn’t us.

“I can assure you,” he said, clucking his tongue as he spoke, “my boy has been sufficiently ... punished.”

The blond’s stare intensified, and he started examining the wooden table **very** closely.

“Nothing will ever happen like that again, not on my watch. As you can see, I’ve brought him back - don’t take this as anything but an indication of my ... control.”

The hairs on the back of my neck stood up at the last word, but I didn’t move. I couldn’t move. I just kept staring at Devlin attentively, soaking up every word.

“If you ever have trouble with one of mine, bring it to my attention immediately. I don’t take my patronage of this fine establishment lightly.”

On any other night, I would have scoffed at his description of the seedy bar, but I just kept gazing into Devlin’s eyes, enthralled. He lifted one hand, and slowly ran the back of his hand down my cheek.

Normally, I should clarify, the club has a strict “no touching” policy. But even though that guideline is occasionally broken (often by my fist and a demon’s face) - more importantly, I have an even stricter “no touching, ever ever ever, especially by a demon” policy.

But Devlin’s stroke didn’t trigger it. I didn’t flip him over and stand on his neck until he was begging for mercy - something I am more than capable of.

I just shivered.

“Do you understand, girly?” he said, a half-smile appearing below his cat-like eyes.

In response, I nodded, and with that he leaned back and the spell was suddenly broken.

“So,” he said casually, “when are we going to see you up on that stage?”

“When pigs fly,” I said breathily, and he laughed.

“I could make that happen.”

* * *

For the rest of my shift, I avoided Devlin’s table. I avoided all the demons in the joint. I kept an eye on the blond, but I trusted Devlin - sure, he was a demon, but he also seemed like the kind to keep his word.

I trusted him.

And sure enough, the blond didn’t misbehave all night. I don’t know what getting punished by a creature of Devlin’s power would look like, and I hoped I’d never find out. For the rest of my shift, the blond didn’t so much as catch a dancer’s eye or order a drink - I was glad that Misty wasn’t on tonight ... although considering her experience the previous night, I would be surprised if she ever returned.

When Devlin eventually left, the blond shuffled out after him, and for the first time I noticed he was limping.

I mean, considering I literally stabbed him to death the previous night, just ending up with a limp was pretty impressive ... but I suspected that the limp had nothing to do with me and everything to do with Devlin.

As the last few patrons left, I realized that I still hadn’t seen Marty all night. His office door had remained firmly closed, but that didn’t mean he wasn’t in there - I’d once worked a 12-hour shift, and had him stagger out at the end of it, his ever-present leer sleepier than usual.

My knock went unanswered, but after I loudly informed him that I wasn’t afraid to kick the door in, the lock was hastily undone and Marty appeared, sporting a sheepish look.

“Amanda!” he said, his eyes darting around, avoiding my face. “I didn’t know you were on tonight.”

“Pay, Marty.” I growled. I was still feeling a bit light-headed, and was not in the mood for his crap.

“What on earth are you talking about?”

I sighed, and Marty gulped.

“Come on honey,” he said, wincing slightly at the way my eyes narrowed at the term. “You can’t just hit me up for extra cash whenever you’re feeling a bit broke. Besides, wasn’t Devlin in tonight? He’s a generous tipper.”

Devlin’s tip hadn’t been any larger than normal, in fact. After his little speech, I thought he might have thrown a few extra shekels my way, but - perhaps in an effort to reestablish our professional relationship - he’d tipped his usual amount, to the cent.

Not, of course, that his usual amount wasn’t a hefty tip.

“Cut the crap,” I said with a yawn. The spaciness that had been chasing me all day suddenly hit, and I was suddenly exhausted. “I want my money, and I want it now.”

“Of course,” Marty said, and pulled out a wad of bills. “Here’s tonight’s pay.”

He counted out my usual amount, and handed it over. I stared at it for a few seconds, my brain struggling to process what was happening.

“No,” I finally said, “not this money. I mean, yes, this money, but ... yesterday. You were short.”

“Nonsense,” Marty said, his confidence seemingly starting to return. “I don’t make mistakes with money, you know that.”

Again, I was forced to pause and reflect on what he was saying. He was right - normally he was quite fiscally precise ... but no, I’d counted the money, and he’d short-changed me.

I’d been furious. I remembered that, but for some reason, it was hard to summon up that anger again.

“Come **on** ,” I whined, stamping my foot. It wasn’t exactly the image I was trying to project, but I wanted my money and I wanted to go home.

“Of course,” he said, his leer back and his tongue poking out slightly as he spoke, “if you **did** want a bit of extra cash, there’s one thing you could do...”

“What?” I said, still feeling three steps behind.

“Get up on stage one night,” he said, just a moment before I’d realized where the conversation was going.

“Fuck off and die,” I instinctively replied, but a sick shudder went through my body at the thought. Normally the idea was repulsive to me, but for some reasons his words felt ... they felt oddly appealing.

It **would** be an easier way of getting some more money, which I could always use. Hell, who wouldn’t? And the dream last night had made it seem so... 

Sexy.

A jolt of arousal passed through my body at thought. What was going on? Did I want to be a stripper? Did I want to strip for Marty?

No. No, Marty was repulsive, and my body wasn’t for the eyes of Marty ... and Devlin... 

And the blond.

Marty was looking at me, a strange look on his face, and I realized that I’d just been staring at him for goodness knew how long, considering the prospect of getting up on stage, revealing myself to everyone. Showing off my toned legs, my firm ass, my body that I spent so much time taking care of... 

Ah, crap. I was still staring.

“Good night,” I said softly, and rather than make a jibe or a snarky comment, he nodded back.

“Good night, Amanda.”

* * *

On the way home, I picked up some food from a diner. It was well after midnight, but I convinced them to make me a breakfast meal - for some reason I was starving, and desperately craving bacon and eggs.

Marty’s suggestion just kept running through my head. It definitely shouldn’t have been - it was an offer that he’d been making every day for months and months now, but the dream from the previous night had gotten in my head, and the reasons **not** to strip suddenly felt less and less important.

The second I walked through the door, I attempted some katas to distract myself. For some reason, they didn’t seem to be flowing as smoothly as they should - I knew what my body should be doing, but it just wouldn’t obey my commands.

After a few minutes I threw my hands up in frustration and gave up. Katas typically had a very calming effect, but today they were achieving exactly the opposite. I stripped off, and examined myself in the mirror. I’d like to claim that my excellent physique was due to my rigorous workout program and impeccable diet, but the Potential was responsible for most of it.

And, I was forced to admit, it had done a great job. My hips were wide, my waist was thin, and my breasts were small, but sat proudly on my chest. My nipples were thin, pink and long, and my complexion was perfect - I’d never had a mole or a pimple, something I’d never really appreciated before.

But my best feature was probably my ass. My uniform at work requires a tight shirt and bright hotpants - I’d quickly replaced the shirt with a loose button-up (something Marty had been wise enough to never complain about), but the hotpants I’d kept. Largely because they ensured that the tips kept flowing, but I’m not going to lie; I enjoyed occasionally catching guys staring at my ass, even with naked women on-stage they could be checking out.

My butt is larger than you’d expect - I doubt that’s anything to do with the Potential, that one’s probably on me and my workout. But even though it’s slightly out of proportion to the rest of me, it works - it’s pert and round and yeah. In my opinion, it’s a helluva fine ass.

Glancing between my legs, my mouth twisted into a frown. I liked what I saw, I guess - my privates aren’t exactly something I spend hours thinking about, y’know? But the memory of how it had looked the previous night wouldn’t leave my mind, and before I knew what I was doing, I’d pulled out a pair of scissors and a razor.

Twenty minutes later, my smile had returned. Bikini season aside (well, what passes for bikini season in a town without a beach) I’ve never really worried about what’s happening with my pubic hair, but I had to admit: the bare look really suited me. I turned to the side a few times, admiring my hairless snatch and freshly-shaved legs before tiredness overtook me and I headed straight into bed.

As my head hit the pillow, one last thought hit me before I drifted into sleep.

**Crap,** I thought. **I never ended up getting that money from Marty.**

* * *

I was on the stage again.

This time though, everything was clearer. Sharper. It didn’t feel like a dream. Well, it did if I looked closely enough - the corners of the room were blurry, the crowd was still faceless, but everything was far more detailed than the night before.

And I could see myself.

That was what made it clearest that I was still dreaming - even though I was me, I could see me, see what I looked like from the front row. Tonight, I was wearing a bikini, in the colors of the flag. My tits were covered in stars - not just on the bikini, but on my breasts as well. They overlapped, like I had been exquisitely painted. My tits were stars and my crotch was stripes.

The entire audience stood up, and I saw him again. My heart raced at the sight of him.

My master.

The thought filled me with butterflies - he was my master, my owner. He was the reason I existed, and he was certainly the reason I was on-stage. In that moment, I knew exactly who had painted me - he’d covered me with stars. Lovingly, slowly, adoringly, he’d turned me into exactly who he wanted me to be, and now I was on-stage.

Now I was on-stage for him.

The music started, and a look of panic crossed my face as I realized it was the national anthem. I couldn’t dance to the anthem, could I? It was disrespectful, unpatriotic. I don’t love much, but I do love America, and taking my clothes off to the Star-Spangled Banner just felt wrong.

But then he nodded, and I knew that I would.

I knew that I had to.

My duty wasn’t to my country, not any more. It didn’t matter - nothing mattered except my master. My duty wasn’t to the USA, it was to him.

If he wanted me to strip, I would strip.

Without hesitation, I began swaying my hips back and forth, running my hands up and down my body. All other thoughts were gone, except obedience. I wanted to obey him - I **needed** to obey him. It was my duty, my purpose.

It was all that I was, and all that I would ever be.


	Chapter 4

I slept through the first alarm. And the second, and the third. (What can I say? I like to be punctual.) By noon I finally woke up, dripping wet, my hand between my legs, franticly stroking my freshly-shaven puss.

With a gasp, I leapt out of bed, and within 5 minutes I was out the door, glad that I kept a stick of deodorant in my schoolbag - I had already missed one lecture, but by skipping my shower, I could be there in time for the second.

And after the wild dreams I’d had, I needed it - I was drenched in sweat and my own juices.

I had never had much in the way of sex dreams before, or at least not ones that stuck around. But this was was ... it was like it was burned into my memory. The sounds, the smells, the **feel** of the club. All those eyes on me, my wanton exhibitionism, the utter feeling of obedience.

As the bus approached my college, I could feel myself getting wet again.

* * *

I thought I’d been spacing out the day before, but that was nothing. I arrived just as the lecture was starting, and this time I knew I wasn’t imagining it - every eye was on me as I entered the hall, and even the lecturer stopped speaking to watch as I blushed my way to a seat in the back. Several of the guys actually turned right around to watch me sit down, and only turned back when the professor cleared his throat and began speaking again.

I genuinely have no idea what he was talking about - I spent the first half of the lecture casually running a finger up and down my leg, enjoying the smooth, freshly-shaven feel. During winter I don’t normally worry too much about the state of my leg-hair, but I was really enjoying the sensation. It was so easy to imagine that my hand was someone else’s, stroking my skin, sending tingles down my spine ... As the lecture ended and I got up to leave, everyone’s attention was suddenly on me again, and I felt myself going red. It was so much like the dream - so many eyes, staring hungrily, admiring my form ... Glancing down at my outfit, it suddenly struck me why I was getting so much more attention than normal. I usually wear a hoodie to school, or a drab sweater at best. In my hurry that morning, I’d grabbed some of my “party” clothes.

Honestly, I don’t have much opportunity to party, but on the rare occasion I have a night off and I don’t feel like catching up on sleep (or working out), I have an outfit that I’ll wear out to a bar - somewhere far from Marty’s, both geographically and in tone.

It’s pretty nice, if a little dated. It’s a small black dress - it’s got a bit of a v-line, but nothing too risque, and it ends far enough above my knees that if I twirl and you’re standing at the right angle, you can sometimes get a glimpse of my panties. Not that I ever twirl while I’m wearing the dress, of course.

For some bizarre reason, I’d decided to wear my party dress to school that day. The contrast to my usual outfit had attracted the eye of all the guys in class ... and, I couldn’t help but notice, some of the girls.

Like I said, I don’t normally care much about attention (although the blood rushing to my face would suggest otherwise) but it was nice to know that even without doing my hair or makeup, my ‘night out’ getup still looked good.

I didn’t have time to make small-talk with any of the cute men crowding around me, so I pushed through them and headed to my next lecture. I’m not really sure why I bothered - I paid even less attention to that one.

I’d thought that sitting up the back would help, but it just meant that there were so many more guys to check out. I’d run out so quickly that morning that I hadn’t even had a chance to...”take care of business”, and so I was still riled up from my dream the previous night.

Not to mention the attention of all those boys.

So I didn’t take a single note in that lecture. I got my book out, but I found myself doodling doodles - hard, thick cocks, like the ones that surely surrounded me.

It’s not something you normally think about, but it’s true - every man you encounter, every dude you meet ... between their legs they have a rod, a dick that grows uncontrollably hard and thick every time they’re turned on. A cock that grows at the sight of a pretty young lady, as they imagine all the pleasure that she can provide them, as they imagine what she looks like in the buff, as they mentally strip away her clothes and imagine her heaving breasts, bouncing up and down as they gyrate on top of their hardness, as they lower themselves onto the guy they’re into, guiding their hard cock into their wet, eager pussies ... I blinked twice as I realized how graphic my thoughts were getting. Wow. I really, really needed to get off ... unfortunately, I wouldn’t have a chance until I got home after work. Perhaps I’d wear my original uniform tonight, see how many more guys I could distract from the dancers on-stage. Make my nipples nice and hard, make them visible through my shirt, bend over whenever possible and draw all the guy’s eyes to my butt, make them want me ... make them ****hard**** ... Crap. I was doing it again. It felt like weeks since I’d last cum, and every thought was leading to sex. I couldn’t even remember the last time I’d gotten laid - it had been at least a couple of years; even then, it had just been a one-night stand with a guy I’d picked up from a bar.

He’d been checking me out all night, and his eyes on my body had quickly turned into my hands on his. I’d gone back to his place, pulled out his cock, put my mouth over it and pleasured him until he came down my throat, several spurts of his thick, salty cum ... Suddenly I noticed that someone was looking at me. No, not just one guy, but several. My entire row was staring at me - five guys and two girls, a range of emotions on their faces as they stared at me. With a start, I realized that I’d started fellating my pen, running my tongue around it as I got lost in the memories of whatever-that-guy’s-name-had-been.

My face burned redder than it had ever been as I realized what I’d been doing, and I hurriedly packed up my bag and fled the lecture theatre.

I needed to work off some steam, and fast.

* * *

I could have gone home. I had enough time before my shift to head across town, get myself off, and still be on time for work ... but somehow, instinctively, I knew that once I started playing with myself I wouldn’t be able to stop. I couldn’t remember ever being this turned on ... maybe lately I’d been neglecting my needs, ignoring my body’s wants and focusing too much on work, school, working out ... Working out.

Yes. That was exactly what I needed. Going home and getting off would almost definitely make me late for work, but I could hit up the gym and blow of some steam that way.

Twenty minutes later, I was dressed in gym pants and a tank top, ready to punch my frustration away.

The workout room was empty, which I was thankful for - no chance of distractions. I wrapped some cloth around my hands and went to work.

As well as martial arts, I’d had a boxing instructor for a year or two when I was younger. Ultimately I’d dropped it - I was frankly too good, and didn’t want to draw any attention to myself through an unbelievable streak of victories. I’d thrown a few matches and then quietly tried to fade away.

After all, I was going to be the Protector.

So many sacrifices made for a future that never came.

I still remembered the routines - once a month or so I’d come in and just wail on the poor punching bag, especially the day after a particularly rough shift at work. What better way to burn off all this extra energy I suddenly had?

To my horror, however, my rhythm was all over the place. As a 14-year old, I’d beaten champions, but here I was losing to a punching bag. I literally aimed so poorly at one point that I fell over.

Bested by a bag of sand. This really wasn’t my day.

With a sigh, I wandered into the weight room - there were a dozen men pumping iron, and none of them looked up as I entered. Lifting weights is another special skill of mine - the stuff I can lift is about twice as heavy as a girl of my size should be able to manage ... but again, I’ve always made sure not to draw too much attention to myself.

I was relieved to discover that - unlike the punching bag and the katas of the night before - the weights didn’t betray me, and soon I had settled into a steady routine. Rep, rep, rep, rep. I chose believable weights for a girl my size, and soon the world around me fell away, and I lost myself in the rhythm of the exercise.

Rep, rep, rep, rep. My breathing and my workout combined in perfect harmony, and before long, I felt like myself again. I’d been working out for almost half an hour with my eyes closed, and when I reopened them, there was a broad smile on my face.

And then I noticed that half the room was staring at me.

Determined not to let my heart-rate spike again, I continued slowly working out, and it soon became obvious why I had drawn the gaze of the other men. My workout had somehow become less about form and more about presentation - with every rep, I was displaying my smooth skin, my long legs, my suddenly-hard nipples ... I was flushed, breathing deeply, occasionally even licking my lips. With every exertion a slight pant or moan came from my mouth, and the longer I worked out, the less exercise everyone else was doing.

I looked like I was in heat.

My mind raced - what was wrong with me? I’d come here to calm myself down, but here I was, more turned on than ever. I was instantly aware of every man’s gaze, where his attention was, even which part of me he was checking out. All of my improved senses were at work to ensure that I turned each member of the gym on as much as possible, displaying my best parts to every man, desperately wanting to smell their musk, see their hard-ons, taste their sweat, feel their arousal ... Even as I mentally freaked out, I kept on working out. It was like I couldn’t stop, like I had no control of my body. I continued panting and grunting, the sounds of sex escaping my mouth as I did all that I could to turn the room on. Finally, just as I felt that the sexual tension was going to boil over and every man there was going to tear my clothes off and take me all at once (which simultaneously terrified me and turned me on even more), one man put down his weights and approached.

“Hey,” he grunted, a grin flashing across his face. No matter what he said, it’d work - he knew it, I knew it, the rest of the gym knew it. Without even meaning to, I’d clearly come here to fuck, and anything he said would be enough to seduce me. “Am I dead, angel? Cos you look like heaven.”

In response, I giggled.

I **giggled**.

Now, you may have already worked this out, but I have never giggled in my life. I am not a giggler. I am a warrior, a strong woman - I have the Potential.

I am ****not**** not some bimbo who parades herself in front of men and then giggles at their weak efforts to pick me up.

And yet, in that moment, I was.

“I have to go,” I yelped, afraid of what I’d become, afraid of what would happen if I stayed.

“Come on, baby,” the man said, and put one hand out to stop me.

“I **said** I have to go,” I repeated through gritted teeth. He didn’t move, and so in one fell swoop, I grabbed the dude’s arm, flipped him over my back, and didn’t even look back to see if he’d landed on any weights.

* * *

Half an hour later, I was slamming the door of my apartment shut. I didn’t care about being late for work - I had no intention of going to work, not until I’d sorted this out.

Something was going on, and I needed to work out what.

My mind was racing, and a thousand different theories were running through my head, but there was one thing I knew for sure was suss: the dreams.

Those dreams weren’t natural, and they were changing me. I couldn’t know what was causing them until I worked out what they were, so I quickly put together an omelette for dinner and headed to the library. Without a Mentor, I’d have to do the research myself - fortunately, researching demons with very little information was something that I was good at.

Before leaving, I’d made sure to change into something much less revealing. It felt genuinely weird - I kept itching to lift it up, to show off my skin underneath - but I fought the urges. That was what the curse (or whatever it was) wanted, and I was going to keep myself covered, no matter how hard it was.

Even with my clothes on, I felt like every man on the bus was staring at me. I was tempted to shut my eyes and focus but last time I’d done that I’d ended up attracting a gymful of men, and so I tried to stay alert. Glaring at the other passengers seemed to do the trick, and I breathed a sigh of relief when the bus arrived at Antioch’s Library of the Occult.

Building a city on the Gateway between realms leads to some odd buildings popping up, and the Library of the Occult was one of them. I don’t think it’s government-sponsored, and I have no idea how it makes money. Truth be told, I have no idea if anyone even runs it - I’ve never seen a librarian or caretaker, but every time I go in the books are in their place and the floors are clean.

If you were to tell me that it just grew out of nowhere one day, I would not be surprised.

Regardless of its origins, it’s always been helpful to me - I spent so many hours poring through books here as a teen, I still think of high school every time I cross the impeccably maintained threshold.

For the first time tonight, however, it failed me. I spent hours and hours searching through the demon library, but “dreams” is too broad - I found dozens, hundreds of potential causes. Had I defiled an unholy river? Had I angered a gypsy king? Had I eaten the spawn of Sandman? I tried to cross-reference it with everything that had happened to me lately, but even though I was more aware of what was happening, the spaciness had never left, and I was struggling to pinpoint the exact keywords that I should be checking.

Finally, it hit 11pm. I don’t know for sure that anything happens in the Library at midnight, but I know what an important hour it is to the profane realm, and so I’d decided long ago to never stay later than that.

The moment I got home, fatigue overwhelmed me, and I fell straight into bed - fully clothed - and immediately landed in another dream... 

* * *

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	Chapter 5

He was there.

In the front row. The room was packed; the crowd was buzzing, staring at me, murmuring my name. Soon enough, it would turn into chanting, but I didn’t care.

I didn’t care about anything but Him.

Gun to my head, I wouldn’t have been able to tell you that this was a dream. The corners had been painted in, the details were complete. Everything was crisp - I could smell the smoke, I could taste my sweat, I could hear the music beginning to swell.

All that mattered was Him.

He held up his hand and beckoned forward, and I felt myself jerk forward and fall to my knees. The beat began to throb, and the crowd were chanting.

“Mandi, Mandi, Mandi, Mandi...”

Like I said, I’ve never had a nickname, but I knew that they were chanting for me. Their needs were irrelevant, however; their wants didn’t affect me. My Master wanted me to dance, and so I knew I would dance.

Tonight I was dressed in a pleated skirt that barely covered anything, a white blouse that revealed my smooth midriff and emphasized my breasts. Antioch High didn’t have a uniform, but I knew for certain that this was my old school uniform, that this was what I’d worn.

My Master owned me, and that meant he owned everything. My body, my clothing, my past ... Master raised his hand, and I obeyed. Standing up, I began swinging my hips from side to side, allowing the music to control me, moving my body in a way that I hoped Master would find pleasing.

He smiled, and relief overcame me. I existed to make him happy.

The crowd cheered as I reached up and slowly began unbuttoning my top. I wasn’t much of a dancer, but I knew it didn’t matter - there would be plenty of time to learn. Master was going to want me onstage a lot more from now on, of this I was certain.

Shrugging the top off, my breasts were revealed to the crowd, hidden only by a thin lacy bra. For a moment I was puzzled by their size, but it was easy to shake that off. My tits were as big as Master wanted them to be, and that was the size they should have always been. My nipples were harder than they’d ever been before, and as I saw the corners of Master’s lips begin to curl up, I could feel them begin to ache, begging to be freed.

They didn’t have to wait long - I was starting to get as impatient as the crowd. I wanted to be naked in front of them as much as they wanted to see me naked, and the only thing that stopped me from resenting the clothes covering me up was the fact that Master had hand-selected them.

Master can do no wrong. I was so incredibly lucky to serve Him.

Moments after the thought crossed my mind, my bra had been removed, and thrown into the crowd - the blond demon in the front row looked particularly delighted to receive it - and my new perky tits were revealed to all.

On some level, I must have known it was a dream, because the thought of waking up and finding my boobs the size and shape they’d been when I’d gone to sleep filled me with dread, but I pushed that image to the back of my mind and focused on broadening my smile.

Master likes it when I smile.

Reaching down to the hem of my skirt, I flipped it up, enjoying the roar of the crowd as I did. My thong was bright pink, and the attention of so many horny men, so many sexy demons, and (of course) the gaze of my master meant that I was soaking wet, something clearly visible to all.

Turning around, I repeated the action. I couldn’t see it, but I somehow knew that my ass had been modified as well - it was now a true bubble butt, with two round globes that just begged to be spanked.

If I did well tonight, Master would spank me. His punishment would be my reward. A shiver coursed through my entire body at the thought, but I refused to let myself get distracted. Right here and right now, my job was to titillate the crowd; I couldn’t let myself get lost in images of what Master would do to my willing, pliable body after.

The skirt, unsurprisingly, tore away. I’d seen hundreds of girls onstage do what I was doing, but until now I’d never truly understood it. The rush of excitement, the thrill of exhibitionism. The knowledge that every man in the room was erect, and every woman was wet, and it was all because of **me**.

I was a sexual goddess. No, better - I was a sexual slave, serving everyone with my flesh, but no one as much as Master.

I was his sexual property, and he was using me to get a room full of strangers off. Another shiver ran through my entire body at the thought.

Standing in front of the packed club, I slowly ran my hands up my sides, enjoying the sensation, enjoying watching every eye follow them as they drew attention to my long legs, my wide hips, my thin waist, and delighting in the collective groan of desire as they grasped my tits and pulled at my exposed nipples.

Master loved nothing more than sitting down of an evening and gorging himself on my nipples. He’d stared at them for so long, wanting them, wanting me, and now I was his.

Now, somehow, I had always been his.

Pausing for a second, I shut my eyes and appreciated everything that was happening. My thong and heels were the only thing stopping me from being totally naked in a packed room full of people, and I was simultaneously in control and totally subservient. A bead of sweat travelled down my back, and the sensation made me twitch with pleasure. I was so aware of everything, so powerfully aroused, so dedicated to my task, so obedient.

Obedient.

Opening my eyes, I sought my Master’s attention. I constantly needed his approval, but now more than ever. I had never done this before, and I needed to know that I was doing it correctly.

Ever calm, ever cool, ever in control ... Master nodded. Relief washed over me, and in one smooth movement I reached down and removed the thong, exposing my wet, needy cunt to the room.

As I did, a few things happened. The audience cheered, almost throwing me backwards with the force of their response. My knees went weak as I realized I was totally exposed, completely vulnerable, and more turned on than I’d ever been in my life.

And as I looked at my Master, desperately seeking his response, he came into focus. No longer was he a silhouette - suddenly I could see who he was, see who I belonged to.

It was overwhelming. As I stared, mouth agape, my body began to shake, and wave after wave of orgasm began to slowly drift me awake, even as my brain struggled to process who owned me, who controlled me, whose personal fucktoy I had somehow become.

It was Marty.

I was Marty’s.

* * *

I awoke with a jolt.

For the next twenty minutes I lay still, processing. Despite going to sleep fully clothed, I found myself totally nude in my bed, but how I came to that state was the least of my worries. I was coated in a mixture of sweat and my own juices, and even as I knew how angry I should be - how angry I **needed** to be - it was still hard to think straight, especially through the fog of pleasure (and subservience) that my dream had left me with.

My arousal didn’t fade, but my brain finally cleared enough to let the fury take over. Leaping out of bed, I quickly got dressed and headed for the club. It was 10am - Marty was never awake this early, but I didn’t care. That little creep had done something to me - he’d gotten in my head, changed my dreams, changed my behavior - and I wasn’t going to rest until I’d kicked his ass and taken control of my life back.

I still didn’t know exactly what was happening, but the last image of my dream had made it clear that Marty was at the centre of it. The knowledge that I’d cum again and again thinking of him just served to fuel my anger.

The club was closed when I arrived, but I’ve worked there long enough to know how to get in. Marty’s door was locked, but having the Potential means that it has to be a particularly well-built room to keep me out.

As I kicked down the door, I wondered how Marty was doing it. He’s a club-owner first and a warlock a distant, distant second - I’ve never seen him do more than a few petty tricks, and changing someone with the powers of the Protector (even the few that I have) isn’t easy.

Marty was at his desk when I entered. He looked pale, like he hadn’t slept all night.

“Amanda,” he said with a squeak, reminding me more than ever of a trapped rat. “You’re late.”

That took me by surprise, and despite myself I paused, trying desperately to ignore the throb of arousal that had hit me at the sight of his pasty face.

“Late?”

“Your shift ended 7 hours ago,” he said, tapping his watch, sweating profusely. “You know I can’t pay you if you never turn up.”

Gritting my teeth, I stepped forward and smacked the desk, making everything on it jump and causing a dent in the metal that I was sure would be permanent.

“What did you do to me, Marty?”

“What are you talking about?” he said, his eyes shifting from side to side. There was a small stack of cash on his desk, and he nervously picked some of it up and started flicking through it.

I leaned forward, until I could feel his foul coffee-breath on my lips every time he breathed.

“You know exactly what I’m talking about,” I growled, and as he started to deny it, smacked the pile of cash off his desk, making the floor of his filthy office substantially richer.

“I ... I ... look, Amanda, you’ve got to understand...”

He trailed off, completely avoiding eye-contact, and I decided that I’d had enough. My head was swimming with contradictions - even though I knew what a foul, evil thing he’d done, the pleasurable memory of servitude was still fresh in my brain, and the fact that Marty had caused it was just serving to confuse my still-addled reactions.

I needed to do something, before the situation got any more out of my control. Snapping Marty like a twig was certainly tempting, but I’d never killed a human, and - despite his foul actions - I had no intent of starting now. I just wanted to scare him, and so I decided to just slam him against the wall a few times.

As I raised my hands to his lapels, however, a startling realization hit me.

I couldn’t touch him.

For a moment I struggled against my own hands, trying to reach out to him, unable to control my own actions, a look of terror slowly creeping onto my face. After a few seconds of the invisible battle, I threw my hands up, trying to make it look like that had been my intent the whole time.

Marty’s eyes narrowed, and a familiar leer came across his face. His breathing grew less ragged, and he stood up straight - well, as straight as a rat like Marty is capable of standing.

“Now listen,” he purred, “I’m sure there’s some kind of arrangement we can come to...”

“Oh no you don’t,” I said, backing away, my hands dropping to my side. “You’re not going to talk yourself out of this one, fucko.”

His beady little eyes flicked down for a second and his smile broadened, and with a gasp, I followed his gaze.

Without even realizing, I’d done it again. Worse than ever. I wasn’t just wearing a party outfit, I was wearing the sluttiest clothes I owned - a short skirt that I ordered by accident and had never even tried on, and a mesh top that I’d only ever, ever worn as a top layer at a fancy event.

Today, I was wearing it with nothing underneath.

My head swam as I realized that I’d gone through the city like this - no wonder the bus driver had been so friendly. My tits were clearly visible through the mesh, and even as I stared at them, I saw my nipples harden at the thought.

How many people had seen me, almost naked? My skirt must have ridden up while I was on the bus, showing off my long legs, but how had I sat? Had I demurely crossed my legs, or had I sat as I normally do, legs slightly apart, showing off my perfectly-shaved pussy ... Oh god. I suddenly remembered - as I’d been getting ready to leave, I’d taken the few minutes to remove any stubble that may have grown overnight. I hadn’t even questioned it - like brushing my teeth, or grabbing my keys, it’d just been a standard part of my morning routine.

“You monster,” I said under my breath, a look of terror flashing across my eyes. A calculating look appeared on Marty’s face, and I tried to work out what my options were.

I could make a break for it, but I suddenly realized that I was not wearing shoes built for running - a pair of 4-inch heels that I didn’t even know I owned graced my feet. Marty isn’t fast or strong, but if I couldn’t fight back, I knew that it wouldn’t be hard for him to stop me, to tie me down and do whatever he wanted.

On some level, I knew that idea shouldn’t be so ... thrilling.

Standing tall, Marty leaned in close, until his eyes were almost touching mine.

“Sit,” he said softly, and to my horror, I immediately did.

“No...” I whispered, and his grin got impossibly wider.

“Oh yes,” he said. “Oh yes indeed.”

* * *

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	Chapter 6

“Now, bitch!”

Mandi came running. Starla, one of the other dancers, was sitting with her legs spread, glaring at her naked co-worker. At first, the other girls had bullied her, envious of her position - not only was she the most popular dancer at the club by far (especially with the increasingly-growing demon clientele), but Marty obviously favored her as well.

Even his constant mocking hadn’t helped - the other dancers saw that he verbally treated her like trash, but continued to give her the best shifts, the easiest clients; they were second priority to Marty’s star dancer, and he didn’t care who knew it.

In response to Starla’s angry stare, Mandi fell to her knees - not easy to do in heels, but something she’d quickly become good at. Her huge breasts dangled in front of her as her tongue made its way between Starla’s legs and soon had her writhing in pleasure.

“Fuck you’re a dirty one,” Starla grunted, and Mandi glowed at the praise. Her torment had mostly let up once Marty had gotten his hands on the power to turn the girls bisexual (if they weren’t already leaning that way) At the very least, the bullying had taken a different form.

Now, every dancer had free rein over her. If they saw her in the hall, backstage, or even out in public, they could demand anything they liked of her.

Anything.

Over the last few weeks, Mandi had spent a lot of time on her knees, easing the friction between her and the other dancers.

There used to be more to her life than this, she absently reflected as Starla moaned with satisfaction, but she couldn’t remember what it was. There was no way that it had been any more satisfying. Naked in servitude ... she couldn’t imagine a better life.

“Hurry up, slut” Starla moaned. “You’re up next, remember?”

Redoubling her efforts, Mandi closed her eyes. Sex, stripping, and submission. That wasn’t just what she loved the most; it was what she lived for.

It was who she was.

* * *

Just a few minutes later, Mandi stepped onto the stage, her shoulders held back proudly, her perfectly toned body quivering in anticipation. She’d hurriedly gotten dressed, but she could still smell Starla’s juices on her mouth, and planned to get close enough to the patrons that they would be able to smell it too.

No matter how many times she did this, no matter how many packed-out crowds she exposed herself to, it was always new.

It was always perfect.

She still remembered that first night. It had been a small crowd - a handful of regulars, including Devlin and a table of new recruits. She’d never seen him be taken by surprise before, but at the sight of her long legs stumbling onto the stage for the first time he’d fallen silent, and turned his full attention to the show.

Looking back, she blushed at the memory of her inexperience. This was before she’d been trained, before she’d learned which moves perfectly accentuated her huge tits, her firm ass. Once the lights were on her and the audience was hushed, she’d barely done more than sway ... but despite her unskilled efforts, despite the fact that only two tables were filled, it had been one of the most important moments of her life.

As her shirt had popped open, revealing the pair of D-cups that Master had given her, Devlin’s jaw had actually dropped. The moment her set had finished, he’d dragged Marty backstage, insisted on proof that it was really her, that it was really Amanda Fell.

“No,” Master had replied. “This is Mandi.”

* * *

Everything before was a blur, but she would never forget that fateful moment, sitting in Marty’s office, trembling with fear and arousal. He’d ordered her to sit, and she couldn’t disobey. She’d sat there, straining against the invisible shackles that held her, fighting against nothing and unable to do anything.

The feeling of being bound by a word, of being so obedient she literally couldn’t control her own body- even as she hated it, it increased her heart-rate, filled her with arousal. Under her pleated skirt, she began to drip with need, uncontrollably rubbing her legs together as Marty spoke.

“If you hadn’t come to find me,” he boasted, “you could have been free. But look at you - you came in with no backup, no plan. You came in, dressed like a whore, and gave yourself to me.”

Amanda’s face had gone white as she recognized the truth of what he was saying. But worse, another fact struck her - she didn’t **have** backup to call, no friends who would support her. She could disappear off the face of the earth, and except her class wondering where she’d gone, or her father wondering why she never called, no one would even notice.

Marty continued to monologue, congratulating himself on how perfectly his plan had gone. Unlocking his desk drawer, he pulled out an ugly clay figure.

“This is an Idol of Kozah,” he explained to the sullen, sad, barely-dressed and deeply aroused girl sitting in front of him. “The hair wrapped around it is yours.”

“Blood magic,” Amanda whispered, and Marty nodded gleefully.

“It takes three days to take effect ... honestly, I didn’t think it was working. When you didn’t show up last night, I thought you’d caught me, or that I’d bought a dud. But now...”

As he spoke, he moved closer.

“Now, you’re mine.”

“No...” she whispered, not even believing her own protestations. “Please...”

“Don’t worry,” he said, reaching out and stroking the side of her face with one filthy hand. “You’ll be happier this way, I promise. You won’t have to worry about demons or money or thinking, ever again. You won’t even have to worry about how you look - I’m going to take care of it for you.

“I’m going to take care of everything for you.”

Amanda’s mind raced, trying to work out how to get out of it, how to get free. But Marty’s words were worming their way into her head, combining with the arousal that still hadn’t left her. She couldn’t deny it, his offer held some appeal. She would never be stressed ... she’d never be lonely.

“Marty, please...” she repeated through gritted teeth.

“Shhh,” he said, holding up a finger to her mouth. She almost gagged at the smell of his yellowed fingernail, but forced herself to hold it back. “All I need to do is say it and you’ll be mine, sweet girl. You’ll be who you were always meant to be...”

Opening her mouth, Amanda went to bite Marty’s finger, hoping to distract him, buy herself another moment to think. To her disgust, she instead closed her mouth over it and began sucking, running her tongue around his digit, tasting everything he’d touched since he’d last washed it - and only the gods knew how long ago that was.

“Good girl,” he said with a leer. “Are you ready?”

Her mouth full of Marty’s disgusting phalange, Amanda could only grunt in response, her brow furrowed, her eyes shooting hate and lust in equal measure.

“It’s time,” he whispered. “It’s time to wake up ... Mandi.”

* * *

He’d fucked her. He’d fucked her a few times a day ever since, but the first had been another life-shattering moment. She couldn’t even remember if it had been her first time or not - either way, it had erased every previous sexual experience she’d ever had.

Master hadn’t even bothered undressing her. He’d just grabbed her by the neck, thrown her up against the wall and fumbled with his belt until his pants had fallen to the ground and his cock was parting her wet folds. She was suddenly thankful that she’d only worn a skirt; from now on, she knew, she would always dress to give Master the easiest access possible.

She’d cum and cum and cum again. The moment he’d said her name, she’d realized who she was, what she was. She was a possession - nothing but a fucktoy for Marty, nothing but a sex doll for her Master.

His orgasm hadn’t been far behind as he hissed and grunted, filling her with his seed. It was the first time, but both of them knew that it wouldn’t be the last. As soon as he was done, Mandi fell to her knees, taking his softening cock inside her mouth, licking and sucking both their juices off his perfect phallus.

“Bigger tits,” he mused, and Mandi’s eyes had opened in shock as her boobs obediently grew in size. “Longer hair too,” he added, and a strange sensation traveled through her scalp as her Master’s commands became reality.

A shockwave of pleasure ran through her entire body as she realized that Master not only controlled her actions, he controlled her very flesh. If he ordered her to grow a pair of cat ears, she had no doubt that she would. She was entirely his: Body, mind, and soul.

They’d fucked half a dozen more times that day, Marty adjusting her body each time they did. She took him in her ass, her mouth, and two more loads inside her pussy. She was dripping with sweat and arousal when he glanced at the clock and realized it was time to open the club.

“Get ready,” he panted. “You’re up tonight.”

To her surprise, he’d changed her back to her original appearance, leaving only her new tits and ass (just as pert and perfect as it had been in her dreams). She shivered with nervousness, and Master leered at the sight of his old foe’s agitation.

“Too good for the stage, are you? We’ll see, you little slut.”

A watery smile had crossed her face at the term of endearment. He slapped her on the ass and told her to get out there.

* * *

Marty sweated as Devlin held him up by the neck.

“Mandi,” Devlin said softly, his eyes traveling up and down Mandi’s new body. “Interesting.”

“Isn’t it?” Marty said, immediately regretting his decision to chime in as Devlin’s attention shifted back to him.

“I could break you, you know,” the demon growled, and Marty nodded his head frantically.

“You could,” he confirmed. “You could you could you could. But let me ask you this - what happens if you do? You don’t know how it was done. Maybe she stays as Mandi, maybe Amanda comes back. Maybe she’s pissed, and maybe she doesn’t care who did it.

“I know you could break me, but do you think you could take a Protector? Even if she’s not fully-formed, do you think you could take her, one-on-one?”

There was a pause as Devlin narrowed his eyes, thinking about Marty’s words. Slowly, cautiously, he lowered the rat-faced man, and nodded.

“Very well,” he said. “What do you want for her?”

Marty reached up to his neck, thankful it wasn’t broken.

“She’s not for sale,” he replied, and Devlin raised one eyebrow.

“Oh?”

“She’s not for sale,” Marty repeated, and even through the fog that had fallen over her once-sharp mind, Mandi could tell that this wasn’t something her Master was interested in negotiating.

* * *

The crowd cheered as Mandi’s top fell to the ground. Since that first night, she’d been trained by the best, and now she was a master at seduction. She knew how to milk the crowd for money, and she worked every tool in her repertoire to cause the bills to fly in her direction.

Not that she saw any of it, of course. The money went to Master ... as it should. He provided her with room and board, and in return ... she danced.

She danced, she served his every need, and she pleasured the other dancers. Plus any demons who paid enough for the pleasure. And she kept the club clean, of course.

To her surprise (and his), Master had slowly become less interested in other women. After discovering that no matter what they did, Mandi literally never wore out, other women had suddenly grown less attractive. Soon, he was even turning down advances from the other strippers, those wanting more stage-time or better shifts.

It had been weeks since Master had slept with anyone else. The pleasure he gained from his perfect fucktoy whose form he could change with a word, whose enthusiasm, passion and joy never diminished - no one could compete with that.

And, of course, the triumphant feeling he got from controlling a Protector. He’d lusted after her for so long; he’d put so much effort into taking her, and she’d spent so long thwarting his advances.

Now, his old adversary was his. In every sense of the word - she was his to do what he pleased with, she was his perfect little toy. He owned her, as completely as any human could own another.

No, more than that: he owned her as completely as any human could own anything.

Mandi was his.

Pulling down her soaked thong, Mandi exposed her wetness to the adoring crowd. She was careful not to drip on-stage; not everyone had her precision and reflexes, and one time she had left the stage covered with her juices, almost causing an accident as the next dancer had slipped.

Mandi had more than made it up to her, and both of them had struggled to walk the next day. But she’d been careful not to do it again.

As more money flew in her direction, she blew kisses to some of her regulars, desperately trying not to cum. As Marty had grown more and more monogamous, he’d become more possessive. He didn’t stop her from fucking her regular clients, of course - he wasn’t stupid - but she wasn’t allowed to climax without his vocal permission. It was sometimes a challenge, especially during a particularly good show, but Mandi was nothing if not obedient.

She staggered off-stage and back into the greenroom, where she was met by a number of predatory smiles. The other dancers knew that after a show, Mandi was at her most turned on, and ever since she’d accidentally let it slip that she wasn’t allowed to get off without Marty present, they’d made good use of the unique way to torture the young bimbo.

As the dancers forced her to her knees she began going down on Larissa, and two of the other girls started gleefully playing with her needy pussy and ass.

* * *

Mandi’s heart soared at Marty’s response to Devlin. Master valued her. She hadn’t felt this good since he’d first said her name - her **true** name - and washed away everything that she had been before. She wanted to fall to her knees and worship him, but she knew better than to interrupt Master while he was speaking, so she continued to stand there, silent and nude, letting the men speak.

Devlin continued to press, offering whatever Marty wanted - power in the demon realm, power on earth, control of Antioch, wealth beyond his wildest dreams. His ears perked up as the offers got more abundant, but he held fast; he’d spent too long lusting after his new pet, and he wasn’t going to give her up.

At least, not entirely.

Marty being Marty, he had soon wrangled a deal. In exchange for spreading the word about his new possession - and a substantial chunk of cash - Devlin would have access to Mandi whenever he wanted, as long as she never left the club.

“Leave us,” Devlin rumbled, and after a moment of hesitation, Marty left the room. Devlin called the naked girl to him, and she came running, as quickly as she could in heels.

The massive demon looked intensely into the shivering girl’s eyes, and she felt like he was staring into her very soul.

“Are you okay?” he said gently, and in response, she smiled.

“I’ve never felt better.”

* * *

“Hang on, girls,” Candy said, poking her head around the door. “Private dance.”

The girls groaned good-naturedly; a toy was poking out of each one of Mandi’s holes, and she was urgently moaning with need. One of Master’s changes had been to make her hyper-orgasmic, and being penetrated was a particular trigger. Refraining from cumming had been near impossible, but she knew she had to.

It was an order, and she had to obey.

All the focus, all the drive her Potential had given her - no matter how much Master changed her, it stayed, as her strength and stamina had. It just had a new purpose; servitude.

“Go on, twitchy” Starla said, slapping her ass. As Mandi got close and closer to a forbidden orgasm, every fiber in her body twitched and shook, as she fought against her desperate desire to cum.

“Please...” she begged, unable to think, barely able to stand, her eyes glazed over with need. It took her a few seconds to recover, to calm down enough to remember who she was and what she was doing.

She was Mandi, the prized stripper slut of Marty’s Club. She existed to serve her Master, and that meant doing the best job she could possibly do.

Her bubbly smile slowly returned as she reflected on her perfect life. She slipped on a set of lingerie, throbbing with anticipation as she knew how much her client would enjoy seeing her take it off. She swayed down the hall, expertly placing one foot in front of the other. Even though she was alone, her movement, her entire body screamed sex.

She entered Room #2, and was delighted to see three men inside. Partially because she loved getting as many people off as possible at once, partially because it meant that she was earning money for the club as efficiently as she could, but mostly because of who was standing in front of her. Devlin, the blond demon ... and her Master.

“Hello,” Master smiled at her, and a surge of pleasure ran through every bone in her body. She looked at the floor, suddenly shy. Even after everything they’d been through, her Master still made her feel too nervous to make eye-contact, such was her desperation to please and obey him.

“You remember Togin, don’t you?”

Mandi looked at the blond demon and cocked her head to the side. Anything before the day in the office sort of blurred together, but she remembered images. Had they fucked? No, that didn’t seem right. She’d definitely seen him naked.

The look of confusion on her face caused Marty to speak up.

“Of course you don’t, you stupid slut. You barely remember your own name.”

“Mandi!”

Marty sneered at her enthusiastic response.

“I wasn’t asking you, you stupid fucking whore. Just stand there and look pretty.”

A look of relief washed over Mandi’s face. **That** was something she was good at. She tuned out as the men spoke about whatever important things men spoke about; Devlin was saying something about the succubus finally deserving his reward, and that Marty really didn’t need to be there.

“I’m not trusting a succubus alone with my most precious possession,” Marty snapped in response, and another warm flush passed through Mandi’s body at his words. He gestured for her to take her clothes off - normally she would strip slowly and seductively, but she could read her Master, and he was growing impatient.

Within a few moments she was standing there naked. Devlin and Master continued to argue back and forth even as they removed their clothes, and soon she was on all fours between them. The size of Devlin’s cock still surprised her, even after it had been down her throat so many times. It was proportionate to the rest of him; thick, huge, intimidating. Master eyed it with distrust, but she squeezed her pussy around his own cock reassuringly, and he relaxed, and began slowly fucking her.

The blond just watched, until Devlin’s words coaxed a nod out of Marty, and he gave his permission. The demon slowly removed his pants, and Mandi was excited to see his cock was already hard, his purplish head throbbing in anticipation.

Not that Mandi was ever **un** excited to see a cock.

She shivered with pleasure as he slowly slid his erection into her already-lubed asshole. Soon the three cocks were sliding in and out in unison, plunging into her simultaneously and leaving her feeling full, unable to breathe, unable to think of anything but the two demons and her Master, knowing that her body was giving them the ultimate pleasure that she could give them.

Mandi wanted to twist her head around and use her eyes to desperately plead with her Master to let her cum. She was intensely shivering and shaking, and knew that if she didn’t cum soon ... well, she didn’t know what would happen.

As if he could read her thoughts, Marty’s lips split in a lustful grin, and he began gently taunting her.

“You want to cum, don’t you?”

“Mmmmfff...” Mandi replied, and he cackled with delight in response.

“To think, just three months ago you were such a high-and-mighty bitch, so demanding, so proud. ‘Fuck off and die, Marty’ - that’s what you used to say to me.”

Mandi’s eyes widened in shock. She knew she didn’t remember much about her life before Master had named her, but she was sure that she would never have addressed him so disrespectfully, so cruelly.

Serving him was her life. It was all she’d ever wanted, all she would ever want. If she couldn’t dance, if she couldn’t serve her Master, she thought she would die.

“Mmmf,” she repeated, looking desperately up at Devlin, wishing she could talk to her Master, wishing she could beg his forgiveness.

“I’m close,” Devlin grunted.

“Me too,” the blond piped in.

“Okay then, my little slut,” Marty said with a leer. “You can cum.”

Marty’s words felt like a dam breaching - wave after wave of orgasm began to course through her entire body as she came, again and again and again. She completely forgot who she was, what she was - in that moment, she was just a spasming series of muscles as every part of her tensed and released, triggering orgasms in the three men using her body for their pleasure.

“Oh!” the succubus said, and even through his own orgasm, Devlin looked at him sternly.

When Mandi became aware of the world again, the three men were re-dressing, pulling up their pants and awkwardly avoiding eye contact with each other.

“Mmmmm...” she said, unable to form words. The orgasm had been building up most of the day, and now that it was done, she felt like a wobbly pile of goo. “Mmmm...”

“Come on,” Master said. “My office needs a clean.”

Sometimes that was a code for sex, but sometimes he genuinely wanted his office tidied. Not that it really mattered - Mandi would unquestioningly obey either way.

As she flitted around his office, straightening the unruly stacks of paper and picking up items of her clothing that Master had torn off her over the last few days, she was aware of his eyes on her, that sexy sneer on his face.

“Hands and knees,” he suddenly said, and without hesitation she obeyed. “Come to me.”

A shiver ran up her spine as she crawled towards him; he was smiling, which made her happy, and they were both enjoying the physical demonstration of inferiority that she presented.

“Lick my boots.”

As her tongue ran up and down the grimy leather, Marty placed his hands behind his back and grinned in triumph.

From the moment he’d laid eyes on Amanda, Marty had known what she was capable of, what that perfect form of hers could do ... in the right hands.

All it had taken was a bit of blood magic to truly help her reach her Potential.

* * *

To support my writing and access my work months before it goes online anywhere else, check out my Patreon! http://www.patreon.com/panwhowrites


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