20. Does a Succubus Dream of Quitting the Hero Party? What Do You Do When You're Bluntly Told to Seduce Her?
Does a succubus dream of leaving the hero party? What should you do if you're suddenly told, out of nowhere, to seduce her? Not some roundabout expression of interest or affection—no, literally, seduce me. What the hell does seducing even entail? I know the dictionary definition of seduction, enchantment, allure. But putting it into practice? That's a whole different beast. The mage acts like I should know this shit by heart. How the fuck would I? Of course I don't. Fortunately or unfortunately, my current body—this succubus body—is perfectly built for seduction. Especially these tits.
I've never properly seen myself before. Even if my face were a wreck, these tits are undeniable. Back when I was a guy, I'd have been glued to them—huge, perfectly shaped even without any support. So the first seduction tactic that pops into my head is to flaunt these babies. But even deciding to do it, my body won't move. Memories of the hero roughing me up, of me acting all cutesy and clingy—they keep flashing back. Still, no choice. I have to endure. Got to get through this situation first.
I cup my tits with both hands. My tiny hands can barely hold a fraction of that massive flesh. The weight on my back and shoulders lightens a bit. The taut yet soft skin spreads across my palms. Then I bounce them upward just a little. Even with minimal force, they jiggle wildly. They lift light as air going up, then crash down double-heavy. My whole body shakes with them. Like this. No need to go fast. Slowly. Leisurely.
"……Hngh, hnn."
This is harder than I thought. First off, my tits hurt. The pain of these giant lumps flopping around is no joke. Plus, it's exhausting. My arms are weak, sure, but these things are just too damn heavy. Gotta be kilograms, easy. I only meant to do the motion, but now sounds are leaking from my mouth. Rough breaths. In a weirdly...
No. That's not the intent. She's just making me do it. No choice...
"……What the hell are you doing right now?"
"—Eh? Ah, aaah!"
Her words hit, and I freeze my hands—but my tits don't. They float up lightly, then drop, yanking my body forward with their weight. I pitch over face-first.
"Whoopsie."
I catch myself with my hands, but it doesn't hurt or anything. Just embarrassing. Tripping because of my own tits, and everything I just did... Still, this has to count for something. Allure or whatever.
"I said seduce me, not put on a fucking dance show."
"Eh, ehh?"
"You gonna stay sprawled out? Get up already."
At the mage's words, I scramble up. Her expression was already shitty, now it's laced with utter disdain. And she's scribbling something in her notebook. More baffling than embarrassed now. Why? Wasn't that enough to seduce? Maybe it doesn't work on girls? Big tits are a turn-off, backfired?
"You. Spread your wings."
The bizarre command cuts through my jumbled thoughts.
"……Wings?"
No hint of a joke on the mage's face.
"Yeah. Spread your wings."
"Uh, um......"
Wings? What does she mean? It's not like the tits—I can't just do something with this.
"What are you standing there for?"
"I, wings, what do you mean......?"
Cautious question. No reply. Maybe too quiet? I open my mouth to repeat—
Snap. The mage slams her notebook shut loud enough to echo.
"What?"
"Wings, like what kind......"
Finally, words burst from the mage's slack-jawed mouth.
"Are you fucking brain-dead?"
The blunt insult leaves me speechless. Why this time? What did I do wrong now?
"Your IQ that low? Can't understand language? Don't know what words mean?"
"N-no......"
"Don't know what wings are? What birds have instead of arms. Your arms are attached to your shoulders. Hey, do you even know what a bird is?"
"I know, I do, but......"
"Then spread your wings. Let me see 'em."
More flustered than humiliated by the idiot treatment. Shaking voice for the immediate demand.
"……I don't have any."
"What?"
"I don't have, like, wings or anything......"
That's right. Horns, sure. Erogenous tattoo, yeah. But no wings or tail. Maybe they're tiny, hidden on my back? But I've never felt any unfamiliar sensations on my body. Wait, not entirely absent. Tits and ass. But those aren't wings.
"You're saying you don't have them."
"……Yeah."
"You have no wings."
"……Right."
Answering softly to her repeated questions. But part of me feels wronged. Is that my fault? I tried seducing like she said. Men would lose their minds, even if she hates it. Can't you tell right away if I have wings? Why's she doing this? What did I screw up?
"Haaah. Fine, last one."
The mage flips open her notebook again. I sigh inwardly with relief. Last one. Yeah, just this, then I'm out. No more mage. Endure a bit longer. Hang in there.
"Transform."
"……Eh?"
"Want me to say it twice?"
"Transform......?"
"Yeah, transform, you dumb bitch. Shapeshift, disguise, polymorph! Whatever the fuck you call it, do it!"
She flaps her arms, can't hold her temper, stands up outright. Stomps over snarling. "Aaah, preferences! Gotta spell out my tastes? I hate these massive udders for starters. Hair's pink and hurts my eyes—make it black. Skin's like some diseased purple, not human-like."
Tastes I couldn't care less about. Or less tastes, more the polar opposite of my body. She's just saying she hates how I look.
"That clear enough? You're a succubus! Now shapeshift or disguise or whatever!"
She's right in my face now. Not as tall as the hero, but taller than me. Same eye level, her black eyes staring straight through. I try to look away, but too close—no escape.
"H-how......"
The mage's eyelid twitches.
"Don't wanna or can't?"
Her voice calmer now, somehow I muster courage.
"C-can't, do it......"
"You're a succubus!"
"Eek!"
Sudden shout makes me flinch involuntarily.
"How! Basic succubus traits! Not a single one—! Ah. Aah."
My ears ring. Her volume drops abruptly. I crack open my squeezed-shut eyes. Her pale face still flushed with excitement, but unlike her earlier scowl, she's smirking.
"Ah, I get it? Aah. Yeah. That explains it."
Don't care what she gets. No urge to ask. Like at the inn back then—shock, fluster, terror. Thoughts and feelings numb. She continues without me asking.
"You're just a fucking moron, right?"
"Y-yeah?"
"That's it. Makes sense. All the nutrients for your brain, your smarts—went straight here. Here!"
"Ow! Ah! Aaaah!"
She jabs my tits with the notebook's corner. Not light pokes—hard, digging in, stab-stab. My tits mash flat, then spring back elastic. For a split second, the weight lifts. Doesn't make it feel good. Still hurts. Extra sensitive with all this flesh—hurts like hell.
"Hurts, it huuurts—!"
"Exactly! That's why! You can't! Do shit! Right! Huh?!"
She keeps stabbing. I keep getting pushed back. My back hits a cold wall.
"Fuck, haa......"
"Ahh, ugh, ah, it huuurts......"
I hug my tits protectively with both arms. Like clutching a doll or pillow—barely encircle their size. Warmth seeps into my arms—the whole rack's toasty. Stabbed spots throb. Finally, she stops.
The mage says firmly, "I'm not kidding. Think it over properly till I get back."
She brushes past me and leaves. Don't dare turn. Whoosh. Tent flap rustles roughly, then settles. Guess I got pushed to the entrance. Only then do I look back.
"Hurts, it huuurts...... Eh, wha?"
Not a wall against my back. A person. I reel away in panic. Stumble, body wobbles off-balance. But not the mage—she left. In front of me: similar height, pink hair, same purple skin...... Me. A mirror. My reflection.
The inn room mirror from ages ago—rusty near-shapeless scrap—pales in comparison. This one in the mage's tent, right in front of me: tall, slim-framed, full-length like from my old world. First time seeing myself properly.
First up: pink hair, big black horns poking through. Purple skin. Obvious non-human traits. And the tits I'm hugging. Grotesque, enormous, monstrously huge tits. I ease my arms away. Weight slams back onto back and shoulders. Looking down direct vs. mirror feels different. Under the tent lights, glossy purple tits gleam. Mottled bruises visible. Fresh marks from the notebook stabs. Biggest one smack in the center, coin-sized—that's gotta be...
My waist and belly, hidden by tit-vision before, impossibly slim. Ignore the flashy heart tattoo, hips way wider than shoulders. Body's fine, though. Not used to it, but I've groped and glimpsed. Face is new. Inn mirror only showed horns and hair color. Not the face.
It's beautiful. Stunningly. Incredibly. Insanely. Not bias—guy-me would've called it pretty. Anyone would agree. Cute. Unreal. Prettier than anyone I've ever seen. Purple face? Still pretty. Purple eyes sparkle pretty. Teary-eyed? Even prettier. And pitiful. Such a pretty face on the verge of tears—heartbreaking on instinct.
"Ah, ugh......"
That's me. Grief surges. Vision blurs instantly.
"Ah, aaa......"
Last night's bruises overlap the notebook marks on my tits in the reflection. The mage is a psycho bitch. Hero's a woman with a dick. What kind of hero party is this? Why am I here? No reason for me. Why suffer like this? No clue what she'll do when she returns. Not just her—no! I want to claw my head off. More wretched and sad than angry.
"Hic, snff......"
Go. Get out. Run. Escape. Gulping breaths, tears streaming, throbbing tits sloshing. I wrench open the tent flap with effort.