#Revirgination

[madasrabbits]

leaving my celibate era

[quietwingsinthesky]

in my head this is even funnier if like. technically, the doctor does know all the mechanics of sex and in any other regeneration, would be great at it. it’s just that when they regenerated into ten, they suddenly flunked out of sex school and can’t even figure out how to jerk off anymore.

[haysaprocky]

happy cocktober btw. not that i’m getting any <3

[mybreadsmybutters]

only womanly embrace my white ass has ever felt is the gentle sizzling of my skin beneath the sun. a sunburn is like a hickey.

[rhysnolastname]

everyone wants me carnally

[pink-tk-a-latte]

revirgins your olive oil. what now.

stealing your pause and making them my wife. I will raise the child as my own

[mypham12345]

Revirgin Gung Bqcell

Vùng kín của bạn đang gặp một số vấn đề như Viêm nhiễm âm đạo, có khí hư, mùi hôi khó chịu, khô rát khi quan hệ hay “cô bé” bị rộng ra sau khi sinh hay do quan hệ nhiều, kinh nguyệt không đều, giảm ham muốn,..Những điều này khiến bạn mất tự tin, khó khăn trong quá trình quan hệ thậm chí còn ảnh hưởng nghiêm trọng đến chất lượng đời sống. Nếu bạn đang gặp tình trạng này thì Viên đặt se khít âm đạo Revirgin Gung Bqcell của Hàn Quốc là giải pháp dành riêng bạn. Mua ngay tại: https://myphamhang.com/vien-dat-se-khit-am-dao-revirgin-gung-bqcell.html

[crispyblonde]

i literally have not watched any of the later seasons over even once lmao. way to hit jess with piper right away in baby

[slitherinfest]

💚 as sweet as blood red jam by eleven_eaves / @cindle-writes

4,974 | Completed | E | Ship: Harry Potter/Tom Riddle

Tags/Warnings: AU - Timeline Mashup, Minister of Magic Cedric Diggory, Borgin & Burkes Era Tom Riddle, Porn Without Plot, Explicit Sexual Content, Age Difference, age gap, Edging, Cucking, Feminization, Lingerie, Degradation, Semi-Public Sex, Transactional Sex, Vaginal Fingering, Vaginal Sex, Cervix Fucking, Pussy Spanking, Revirgination, Boypussy

Summary:

Tom meets Harry for the first time at a Ministry function that Tom’s attending as Minister Diggory’s plus-one. It only takes a little convincing for Tom to ditch and fuck on the balcony outside. “I’ll tell you a secret,” Harry said, downing his fourth glass of Firewhiskey in the last twenty minutes. His words were starting to slur together a bit, but it only served to heighten his roguish charm. “I don’t care for the Minister. Not a whit. When we were at Hogwarts together, he snatched a pretty girl from right under my nose, a fellow seeker. It was fairly obvious I’d had my eye on her for a while, and everyone knew it. From then on, I’d never quite trusted his motives.” “Back at Hogwarts, you say? Eighty or ninety years is an awfully long time to be nursing a grudge, you know,” Tom replied, making a mocking dig at Harry’s age. That drew a laugh out of Harry. “It's good to see you finally shedding that demure act.” “And here I thought you preferred empty space between the ears. It makes for a much better match for you.” Harry grinned, leaning in to nuzzle his rough, stubble-covered cheek at Tom’s neck. “So you agree we’re a match, then?”

[mayamistake]

"Frank Sinatra's self-inflicted tough-guy-party-animal-Rat-Packer image was not only childish and tiresome, it belied the fact that he was well-read, thoughtful, and a committed free thinker. In this 1963 interview with Playboy magazine, Sinatra speaks frankly (sorry) about the hypocrisy and dangers of "the witch doctor in the middle"--his term for organized religion.

Playboy: All right, let's start with the most basic question there is: Are you a religious man? Do you believe in God?

Sinatra: Well, that'll do for openers. I think I can sum up my religious feelings in a couple of paragraphs. First: I believe in you and me. I'm like Albert Schweitzer and Bertrand Russell and Albert Einstein in that I have a respect for life — in any form. I believe in nature, in the birds, the sea, the sky, in everything I can see or that there is real evidence for. If these things are what you mean by God, then I believe in God. But I don't believe in a personal God to whom I look for comfort or for a natural on the next roll of the dice. I'm not unmindful of man's seeming need for faith; I'm for anything that gets you through the night, be it prayer, tranquilizers or a bottle of Jack Daniel's. But to me religion is a deeply personal thing in which man and God go it alone together, without the witch doctor in the middle. The witch doctor tries to convince us that we have to ask God for help, to spell out to him what we need, even to bribe him with prayer or cash on the line. Well, I believe that God knows what each of us wants and needs. It's not necessary for us to make it to church on Sunday to reach Him. You can find Him anyplace. And if that sounds heretical, my source is pretty good: Matthew, Five to Seven, The Sermon on the Mount.

Playboy: You haven't found any answers for yourself in organized religion?

Sinatra: There are things about organized religion which I resent. Christ is revered as the Prince of Peace, but more blood has been shed in His name than any other figure in history. You show me one step forward in the name of religion and I'll show you a hundred retrogressions. Remember, they were men of God who destroyed the educational treasures at Alexandria, who perpetrated the Inquisition in Spain, who burned the witches at Salem. Over 25,000 organized religions flourish on this planet, but the followers of each think all the others are miserably misguided and probably evil as well. In India they worship white cows, monkeys and a dip in the Ganges. The Moslems accept slavery and prepare for Allah, who promises wine and revirginated women. And witch doctors aren't just in Africa. If you look in the L.A. papers of a Sunday morning, you'll see the local variety advertising their wares like suits with two pairs of pants.

Playboy: Hasn't religious faith just as often served as a civilizing influence?

Sinatra: Remember that leering, cursing lynch mob in Little Rock reviling a meek, innocent little 12-year-old Negro girl as she tried to enroll in public school? Weren't they — or most of them — devout churchgoers? I detest the two-faced who pretend liberality but are practiced bigots in their own mean little spheres. I didn't tell my daughter whom to marry, but I'd have broken her back if she had had big eyes for a bigot. As I see it, man is a product of his conditioning, and the social forces which mold his morality and conduct — including racial prejudice — are influenced more by material things like food and economic necessities than by the fear and awe and bigotry generated by the high priests of commercialized superstition. Now don't get me wrong. I'm for decency — period. I'm for anything and everything that bodes love and consideration for my fellow man. But when lip service to some mysterious deity permits bestiality on Wednesday and absolution on Sunday — cash me out.

Playboy: But aren't such spiritual hypocrites in a minority? Aren't most Americans fairly consistent in their conduct within the precepts of religious doctrine?

Sinatra: I've got no quarrel with men of decency at any level. But I can't believe that decency stems only from religion. And I can't help wondering how many public figures make avowals of religious faith to maintain an aura of respectability. Our civilization, such as it is, was shaped by religion, and the men who aspire to public office anyplace in the free world must make obeisance to God or risk immediate opprobrium. Our press accurately reflects the religious nature of our society, but you'll notice that it also carries the articles and advertisements of astrology and hokey Elmer Gantry revivalists. We in America pride ourselves on freedom of the press, but every day I see, and so do you, this kind of dishonesty and distortion not only in this area but in reporting — about guys like me, for instance, which is of minor importance except to me; but also in reporting world news. How can a free people make decisions without facts? If the press reports world news as they report about me, we're in trouble.

Playboy: Are you saying that . . .

Sinatra: No, wait, let me finish. Have you thought of the chance I'm taking by speaking out this way? Can you imagine the deluge of crank letters, curses, threats and obscenities I'll receive after these remarks gain general circulation? Worse, the boycott of my records, my films, maybe a picket line at my opening at the Sands. Why? Because I've dared to say that love and decency are not necessarily concomitants of religious fervor.

Playboy: If you think you're stepping over the line, offending your public or perhaps risking economic suicide, shall we cut this off now, erase the tape and start over along more antiseptic lines?

Sinatra: No, let's let it run. I've thought this way for years, ached to say these things. Whom have I harmed by what I've said? What moral defection have I suggested? No, I don't want to chicken out now. Come on, pal, the clock's running."

[beardedmrbean]

Do you have the doge pic that says something like "Go ahead, call the cops. They can't revirgin your olive oil."?

There are so many in that format, lol. Lot of Jim showing up since he's the one that does that kind of thing.

Let's go ahead and add some from the collection, but none of the exceedingly objectionable ones tho.

[55sturn]

I’d revirginize myself for u

me @ u

[kallie-den]

Renewable Energy: Peer Review

Averabeth, a succubus professor, is determined to veto any funding or support for Ziratha's brainwashing device… that is, until Ziratha introduces her to a freshly revirginized mortal with a singular fetish

A sequel to Renewable Energy!

If you enjoy my work and are looking for more, or you want to support me, I strongly encourage you to check out my Patreon! I write erotica full-time, which means I need your patronage to keep creating, and my Patrons also get benefits like early access to my stories, extra stories, and the ability to vote on what I write next! So, if that sounds good to you, head over and join the couple hundred patrons I already have :)

---

Averabeth, succubus and psychology research fellow, took a moment to pause, cross her arms, and peer sternly over her glasses at the grad student standing in front of her, before saying:

“Miss Ziratha. Can you possibly fathom the recklessness of what you’ve done?”

Her withering glare had put tears in the eyes of many students. Even most of the college deans feared her disapproval - but that just made it all the more infuriating when the succubus grad student she was addressing met her gaze with nothing more than smug satisfaction.

“Changing the world is always a little reckless, I suppose,” Ziratha replied pleasantly, as if the two of them had been agreeing.

Her absurd self-assurance had Averabeth smoldering with rage. “That’s what every fool says when they’ve made something stupidly dangerous. It’s unbelievable! Your invention requires oversight. Thorough testing. Input from experts - real experts, not half-cocked grad students who think they know better than their professors!”

Averabeth made her glare even more pointed but, once again, Ziratha weathered her scolding with nothing more than a shrug and a sigh.

“You know what’s what I’m here for, right?” Ziratha said easily. “To ask for your expertise?”

“Normally, you would ask beforehand,” Averabeth told her icily. “Not after you’ve already started putting your clumsy fingers into poor girls’ heads.”

Ziratha just shrugged again. There was something disconcerting about how immune the younger succubus seemed to be to Averabeth’s disdain. Perhaps it was the size difference. It was a little difficult to intimidate someone who stood almost seven feet tall.

Averabeth was, by comparison, of a far more conventional stature. The psychology researcher appeared - by human standards - roughly middle-aged, and thanks to her mature charm and tenured position, she had no trouble finding mortal partners whenever she needed to top up on sexual energy. She might not have been feasting on prime virgins every day like rich archsuccubi could, but she fed plenty, and thanks to that she was a bombshell. Her skin was a bright, lurid, healthy violet, the twin horns that jutted straight up from her forehead were a good few inches long, and her spade-tipped tail was plenty dexterous. All that made her a catch, by succubus standards, although mortals were more likely to care about her stunningly soft, curvy, middle-aged body, which she usually accentuated with pencil skirts and tight button-up blouses.

All in all, she looked powerful, and she looked good.

In typical grad student fashion, Ziratha had always been lesser. The two of them had rubbed shoulders at a few faculty socials, and Averabeth had never found a reason to take notice of the younger succubus. Now, though, everyone took notice of Ziratha. Everyone. She had grown magnificently, and one look at her was all anyone needed to see that she was flush with energy and power. Ziratha now towered over every other succubus on campus, her skin was a deep red that glowed radiantly, and her horns were steadily growing into an imposing, archsuccubic crown.

It was enough to make anyone wonder where Ziratha had been finding so many untapped virgins. Averabeth had heard a few rumors, of course, but she’d refused to lend them any credence.

Until now.

“Look,” Ziratha said, with a theatrical gesture. “Are you going to help me, or not?”

“I suppose I have little choice,” Averabeth growled, still glaring at the huge succubus standing in her office. “But make no mistake: if it’s as bad as I think it is, I will be unequivocal in my recommendations to the board. No funding, no testing - and harsh punishment for you personally!”

“Yes, yes,” Ziratha replied dismissively. She started pacing. “Let’s just get to it, shall we?”

Averabeth sighed and took a moment to collect herself. As much as she wanted to see Ziratha taken down a couple of pegs, there would be time for that later. “Very well. Please give me a full summary. Leave nothing out.”

“Thank you!” Ziratha smiled brightly at her, which was infuriating. “Well, as you may have heard, I’ve been developing a device to counteract the Succubus Energy Crisis - the well-known tendency for humanity’s level of sexual energy to decline, leaving our kind starved for food. And, as it happens, I have succeeded beyond our wildest dreams.”

“You made a hat,” Averabeth snapped.

“A helmet,” Ziratha corrected, unperturbed. “The Transcranial Magical Stimulation Unit. Informally known - by me, anyway - as the Perma-Revirginizer. In layman's terms, it causes the vic- I mean, the subject, to regress permanently to a virginal state, both in terms of their energy yields and in terms of their sexual attitudes, confidence, and skills.” She licked her lips. “It turns them into total useless, blushing, delicious perma-virgins.”

Averabeth rubbed her head beneath one of her horns. This was a lot to take in, and the only reason she believed it was because of the evidence that Ziratha had brought with her. “And so, having created this… helmet, you just started handing them out to people? Are you insane?”

Ziratha waved away the insult. “I wanted a little more data. And if it helps to get some buzz going around, all the better for my funding proposal! Every succubus I gave a Transcranial Magical Stimulation Unit to is an acquaintance of mine, right here on campus.”

“So you’re either insane or stupid,” Averabeth groaned. “Do you have any idea how hard we’re all going to be sued for this?”

“Technically, I’ve done nothing wrong,” Ziratha replied, holding up one taloned finger. “Strictly speaking, it’s not a medical treatment, and according to FDA guidelines, the requirements for manufacture and distribution of a light-based therapeutic device are far less-“

“Great, you found a loophole!” Averabeth exploded. “Good for you! But did you even stop to think about this? Why, the implications are… what happens if a succubus puts one of your helmets on another succubus? If humans start getting transformed into perma-virgins en masse, what will that mean for the mortal reproductive rate? These are crucial questions!”

Once again, Ziratha shrugged. “I think dealing with the energy crisis is far more pressing. And besides, I’m keeping an eye on any potential wrinkles! That’s why I came here today, to you.”

“You came to me,” Averabeth said slowly, struggling to contain her outrage, “because you have absolutely no idea what you’ve done to her.”

As one, both of them turned to look at the third person currently present in Averabeth’s office, sitting on her couch. She looked between the two looming succubi, blushed furiously, and then stared resolutely at her feet as she pulled her heavy jacket tight around her.

Her name was Erin Reid, she was human, and she had apparently been a perfectly normal college student - up until about a week ago. In Averabeth’s estimation, she was the attractive, popular type. She had a trim, athletic figure, a charming face, and long, well-kept, blonde hair. She was the kind of girl who wouldn’t have looked out of place on the college cheerleading squad. Now, though, she projected none of the confidence her looks suggested, only a kind of twitchy, deer-in-headlights nervousness that became infinitely more pronounced whenever she looked at one of the buxom succubi in the room, or they looked at her.

This, Averabeth surmised, was typical of the perma-virgins Ziratha had been creating. From where she was sitting, this Erin certainly looked like a virgin. She had the scent of one too. But after a few minutes in her company, it had become obvious that there was something distinctly strange about her, even by those standards.

The first sign was her clothes. It was a warm, stuffy day, but Erin was wearing the largest and heaviest coat Averabeth had ever seen, draped suffocatingly over her shoulders, even though she was plainly sweating from the heat. By contrast, the long-sleeved top she was wearing underneath was at least a size too small, and so tight it was visibly constraining her all over and limiting her range of movement in a way that Averabeth couldn’t imagine was comfortable.

And then there were her little tics. Erin was fidgeting constantly and looked unbearably uncomfortable even though she was simply sitting on a couch. She couldn’t seem to stop clutching and grabbing at herself, sometimes holding one wrist with the other, and, as both Averabeth and Zahiri inspected her, she slipped both of her arms behind her back to clasp herself at her elbows. It was an odd, rigid, awkward gesture, but it seemed to bring her some amount of relief in her highly-agitated state.

Averabeth turned to glare at Ziratha again and raised an eyebrow pointedly.

“She’s in a relationship with Camylyth,” Ziratha explained, “one of my acquaintances. I gave her one of my perma-virginizer helmets to take for a spin. But then Camy came back to me a few days later and told me that her Erin had started behaving strangely. That she was worried.”

“And you’ve never seen this before?” Averabeth demanded. “Not in any other test subjects?”

“Never.”

Averabeth stroked her chin thoughtfully. She had decided to place her urge to castigate Ziratha on the back burner. She was, first and foremost, an academic, and from a research psychology perspective, there was clearly something very interesting happening here. Perhaps she could salvage a publishable case study from this debacle.

“I need to know everything,” she said flatly. “Right down to the last detail. Every single thing that happened when the helmet was used.”

“And that’s exactly why I brought her here!” Ziratha gestured to Erin with a flourish. “Who better to explain than the girl herself?”

Erin quivered anxiously.

Despite how intimidating Averabeth could be, she also knew how and when to present a softer side of herself. The succubus stood up from her chair and moved to perch on the couch next to Erin, hoping to appear more like a friendly counselor than a stern professor. She took off her glasses and let them hang from their chain around her neck, nestled against her silk scarf - but then, as she was settling, she froze. At this distance, she could truly sense Erin’s presence. She was oozing sexual energy, her virgin-scent so potent it momentarily threatened Averabeth’s self-control.

Clearly, Ziratha’s invention worked, whatever its dangers.

“Erin,” Averabeth began gently, after getting a tight hold on herself. “Tell me everything that happened, please. Everything. I’m afraid I really do need the full picture. Even the slightest detail could be crucial.”

Erin seemed to appreciate Averabeth’s efforts, even if the succubus’s closeness only made her blush deeper and stare at the floor. “I… um… well, Camy brought the helmet over. S-she made it sound like it could spice things up in our… um… um…” She turned a bright scarlet. “Our l-l-lovemaking.”

Averabeth sensed that wasn’t the kind of word this girl would have used before. “I see. Is that something you two were in need of?”

The tips of Erin’s ears started to burn. “I guess we were pretty v-v-vanilla.” She looked like she could barely bring herself to say it.

Averbeth nodded. “Please go on.”

"She used it on me,” Erin continued shyly. “I just remember a big flash, and then I was, um, l-like this.” She fell abruptly silent.

“And then?” Averabeth insisted.

“Then we… um… we… we…” Erin turned an even deeper shade of red and started letting out odd, nervous giggles. She looked almost completely overcome with embarrassment and started clutching tightly at herself. “We… we did… we did… it…”

Her voice trailed off into a shocked whisper, like she was scandalized with herself.

“Erin,” Averabeth said gently, “I’m sorry, but I need to know. I really do.”

She drew closer and put a comforting hand on Erin’s shoulder. Her nostrils flared. Her scent was incredible.

Erin nodded unhappily and clasped her hands over her face. “So we… you know. And I… um… you know. But it was, um a lot!” Her voice was muffled, but she kept going. “I started shaking and thrashing, and it went on for a l-long time. Camy was worried about me. She thought I was going to hurt myself. So she, um, held me down, and grabbed some clothes so she could tie me up until it stopped.”

“I see.” Averabeth nodded thoughtfully. “And since then…?”

“Since then, um…” Erin’s hands came away from her face, and she folded her arms behind her back in that odd, stiff pose again. She was so red that it looked like steam was about to start coming out of her ears. “W-well I asked her to tie me up again. Kind of a few times, actually. And I g-guess I changed my wardrobe a little, too. Got some tight clothes, and some heavy clothes.”

“Why’s that?”

“They just feel nice. R-really nice, actually. Almost as good as Camy tying me up.” Something breathy and earnest was creeping into Erin’s voice. She seemed to be forgetting her embarrassment as she got caught up in gushing. “I just want to feel, um, c-constrained. It’s so relaxing when I can’t move. The pressure is just so… god, I need it. I can’t believe I never realized it before. I just can’t stop thinking about it. Rope, or handcuffs, or zip ties, or tape, or even just someone strong who can hold me down. I need it so badly, I-”

She glanced up, her face glowing, and suddenly remembered where it was. The look on her face as she shrank back into herself was so mortified it made Averabeth feel for her.

But much more than that, her words stoked in a fire in the older succubus. Most of her kind found sex alone perfectly satisfying, but Averabeth had developed and honed a taste for something more. The very same something Erin was describing in such desperate, lustful detail.

In that moment, Averabeth realized Erin was exactly her type.

“A-and that’s all,” Erin squeaked.

“Thank you, Erin,” Averabeth looked up at Ziratha, keeping her own urges carefully suppressed. “Is there anything she might be leaving out?”

“Not really,” Ziratha answered briskly. “But she’s got it bad, to be clear. Camy says every time they fuck, she needs to put her in a straitjacket and give her a mouth guard just to make sure she doesn’t hurt herself. And now she’s all bondage freak about everything. I just need to figure out what the helmet did to her, so I can make a few tweaks. I don’t want to end up giving all these cute little virgins brain damage - either because of what the helmet does, or because they end up slamming their heads on the bedposts during sex.”

“And if you already have,” Averabeth hissed. “That doesn’t concern you?”

“Well, legally speaking, there was a disclaimer with some fine print that they all-“

“Oh, save it.” Averabeth sighed. “In any case, I believe I have an alternative theory about what happened.”

“Then, by all means, share it.” Ziratha looked infuriatingly pleased with herself.

“Based on my own academic knowledge of virgins, I suspect her thrashing may have simply been a natural virgin response to the experience of sex with a succubus,” Averabeth explained. “Perhaps Erin here is - shall we say - unusually enthusiastic at the point of orgasm. But not unnaturally so.”

Erin looked like she wanted the couch to swallow her up. She let out a meek, pathetic groan.

“But your friend hadn’t seen this before,” Averabeth speculated. “She was concerned, and so she chose to restrain Erin. And that, I hypothesize, is what caused everything else. I’m sure even you, Miss Ziratha, know what pleasure-conditioning is. I suspect that, given the effects of your device, the imprinting was particularly effective. Being restrained at the point of greatest pleasure has given Erin a singularly-potent fetish. It’s not neuro-physiological. It’s simple psychology.”

Averabeth was, unwillingly, somewhat impressed that Ziratha had stumbled upon such an effective way to induce her favorite fetish. But she certainly wasn’t going to let the younger succubus know about that. Averabeth kept her kinky side firmly in the bedroom. She was an academic. It wouldn’t be good for her reputation if her students heard rumors about things like that - even if they were, often, the girls she was persuading to let her tie them up.

It wasn’t classy. But it was a time-honored succubus tradition.

“Huh.” Ziratha tapped her cheek with one of her claws, taking a moment to digest that. Averabeth noted that she didn’t look particularly surprised. “Well, great! I guess that means we don’t have anything to worry about.”

Averabeth’s fury reignited. “Excuse. Me?”

Already, Ziratha was turning as if to leave. “It’s easy. I’ll just slap a warning label somewhere. ‘Don’t tie your new perma-virgin up while they cum… unless, of course, you’re into that’.”

The way she threw a look at Averabeth as she said that made the older succubus freeze for a moment. Did Ziratha know? Surely not. Averabeth had always been so discreet, and she’d always sworn her partners to silence. She became uncomfortably aware that she had a collection of toys right here in her office, hidden away, just in case. Had Ziratha noticed something?

“That kind of attitude is exactly why you need to be stopped!” Averabeth roared, moving past the momentary worry. “I’ve seen enough! It doesn’t matter how revolutionary your invention is, it undoubtedly has the potential to harm just as much as it helps. I’ll be contacting the ethics and funding boards at once. I’ll recommend they suspend you with immediate effect, seize your foolish little helmets as college property, and prohibit any further development until FDA regulations catch up with you.”

That threat was the ace up her sleeve - and it wasn’t empty. Averabeth had enough pull with the board to make it happen. She was hoping, at the very least, to make Ziratha learn a little humility. If the grad student threw herself at her feet and begged, perhaps she’d reconsider. But, as ever, Ziratha’s smug confidence seemed eerily invincible.

“My goodness!” Ziratha exclaimed, giggling and turning back. “Don’t you think that’s a little premature?”

Averabeth folded her arms. “Why would I?”

“Well, it just seems to me,” Ziratha drawled, an infuriating smirk on her face, “that if a research fellow such as yourself was going to stake her reputation on opposing a new, world-changing technology, she should at least bother to take some time to properly examine the test subject sitting in front of her.”

Averabeth’s glare could have melted glaciers.

“You think my Transcranial Magical Stimulation Unit has harmed her in some way, right?” Ziratha challenged, unfazed. “Take a closer look. See if you can prove it.”

“Fine,” Averabeth replied through gritted teeth. Her pride wouldn’t let this pass. “All the better for adding some color to my report.”

She turned back to Erin. Her nostrils flared as she once again caught the virgin’s scent. It stirred her hunger, despite how eager she was to prove that Ziratha was dangerous. All it would take is a nice, thorough examination. Given Erin’s current nervous, twitchy state, it should be easy to demonstrate that she was having difficulty functioning normally.

“Give me your hand,” she demanded.

Erin was too shy and meek to disobey. Clutching at herself with her right arm, she stretched her left out to the older succubus. Averabeth immediately and impatiently seized her wrist, yanking it a little further toward her. In response, Erin let out a breathy yelp that was plainly borne from more than just surprise. Averabeth threw Ziratha a sharp look.

“You see?” she said. “She becomes aroused from as little as this!”

Erin made an impossibly mortified little squeak.

“That seems a little inconclusive,” Ziratha retorted. Averabeth couldn’t wait to wipe that smug, amused look off her face.

“Please!” Averabeth scoffed. “That’s just the beginning. Look.”

Without bothering to warn the mortal, Averabeth suddenly wrenched Erin’s arm behind her back and kept it pressed there in a kind of hold. This time, Erin didn’t just yelp. She moaned.

“Come on!” Averabeth insisted. “Surely, even from over there, you can tell how absurdly turned on she is! I mean, it’s… it’s…”

She paused, as a singular realization dawned on her, so crushing and so powerful it robbed the words from her mouth.

She was hungry.

For succubi, the desire to feed was omnipresent. Coping with it was a fact of life. But Averabeth had never known hunger like this. It defied all reason. She wasn’t starved. She’d fed recently. But something about Erin was driving her appetite wild. Now that she had drawn attention to it, the sexual energy she could sense from Erin was nothing short of incredible. It stoked her hunger like nothing else.

Ziratha’s taunting smirk had kept Averabeth distracted, but now the succubus’s predatory instincts were sharpened like a knife. She sensed Erin earlier, yes, but the small ways she’d touched and grabbed the perma-virgin just now had put her arousal and energy output over the edge. Averabeth could feel it in her whole body. It was a buzz. It was intoxicating. It was irresistible. She couldn’t avoid thinking about what it would feel like to truly enjoy Erin - especially since she knew the perma-virgin had been made hopelessly weak to bondage.

“Perhaps,” Ziratha suggested quietly, “it would be instructive to replicate the conditions of the initial incident?”

That suggestion took mere moments to coil itself around Averabeth’s mind. Her hunger agreed with it, and her intellect was dragged behind, forced to rationalize and excuse.

“Yes,” she agreed, breathing heavily. “Of course. Naturally. I was just about to…”

Her impatient hunger got the better of her. Averabeth released Erin’s wrist and, in a frenzy of activity, tore off her own blouse, ripping half the buttons in the process. She shrugged the ruined garment off her shoulders and, before Erin could raise any protest, forced the mortal’s wrists together behind her back and used her blouse to bind them with a nice, tight, safe knot.

She wasn’t thinking clearly enough to worry about Ziratha seeing how good she was at tying people up.

“How does that feel?” Averabeth hissed urgently to Erin. Her eyes were smoldering. “Tell me everything.”

She knew the answer before Erin even opened her mouth. She could feel it. Erin’s arousal surged, and with it, her energy and her scent. It only served to make Averabeth even more ravenous.

“I-it feels…” Erin panted. “R-really good.”

That seemed to be all the answer she could manage. Erin was straining against her bindings - not to try and break them, but just to feel them and take comfort in their presence. The expression on her face was rapturous, her joy tempered only by intense, excruciating embarrassment. If Ziratha’s re-virginizer helmet worked as well as she promised, Erin was feeling all this like it was her first time. She would always feel it like it was her first time. Already, Erin was starting to tremble and shudder.

“Perhaps…” Averabeth said slowly, “it would be best to conduct a truly thorough survey… different stimuli, different tools… just to make sure we understand the limits here.”

“A wonderful idea!” Ziratha giggled. “I knew your insight would be invaluable. Please, continue.”

Averabeth was too consumed with desire to notice her mockery. Pride was forgotten; lust and hunger were all that drove her. She surged upwards, lifting her skirt and swinging one of her legs over Erin’s body so she could straddle the bound mortal. Erin had never looked more like virgin prey than she did looking up at Averabeth, flustered beyond reason, as the tall, domineering succubus used her body weight to pin Erin down at her hips.

The immediate surge of arousal Averabeth could sense from Erin had her seeing white.

Now Erin truly started thrashing, kicking her legs and contorting her body like she was already in the throes of orgasm. Her efforts were useless. Averabeth kept her trapped in place between her thighs effortlessly. The more Erin struggled, the more flush with arousal she seemed to become. Averabeth was enraptured by the sight. She wanted to fuck Erin, yes - but more than anything, she just wanted to keep pushing her further and further, to keep binding her, to see how much she could break Erin’s brain with bondage and pleasure.

Succubi needed to have sex to transfer energy, but Averabeth firmly believed that, through bondage, she could extract far more and far better energy than through sex alone. And she could scarcely imagine what Erin’s energy would taste like now.

“Is she…” Averabeth said, as a single rational thought penetrated her lustful fugue. “Will Camylyth…”

“Don’t worry,” Ziratha reassured swiftly. “Camy isn’t the jealous type. They have an open relationship.”

That was all Averabeth needed to hear. As she stared at Erin, she started drooling, and couldn’t stop licking her lips with her long, inhuman tongue. “God, she’s so… ripe. So full. Practically begging to… to… fuck, I need my rope.”

“Allow me.”

Ziratha sauntered around behind Averabeth’s desk and opened one of her drawers, reaching inside to pluck out a length of rope. She walked back and handed it to the older succubus. Averabeth flashed her a dubious look.

“You… knew that was there?” she asked.

“Oh, you know,” Ziratha replied dismissively. “Word gets around.”

Averabeth’s blood ran cold for a brief moment. “Word of…”

“Of your preferred feeding habits,” Ziratha purred. “You know, you’re really not as discreet as you think. Girls love to gossip.”

Averabeth was far too worked up to feel embarrassed, but she was starting to put the pieces together. “If you knew about all that - if you knew how much I’m into bondage - then you… you brought this girl here for more than just advice.”

“Oops.” Ziratha put a hand up to cover her mouth in a parody of bashfulness. “You figured me out.”

“Why?” Averabeth growled. It was perilously difficult to remain clear-headed while she was straddling a virgin who was plainly jonesing for the rope in her hand. “Are you going to blackmail me?”

At that, Ziratha actually laughed. “Hardly. I just heard that you might not be a fan of my work. And I thought that, rather than worry about your pull with the board, I should give you a taste of what you’d be missing if you shut me down.”

Averabeth felt her cheeks starting to burn. “Don’t think this will affect my recommendations to the board!”

Ziratha’s ominous smirk returned. “We’ll see.”

Averabeth looked away and tried to affect haughtiness. It was difficult when she was half-undressed and drooling. “I simply… simply wish to conduct a properly thorough examination. That’s all.”

“Then don’t let me stop you.” Ziratha giggled. She bent down next to Averabeth, resting a hand on her shoulder in a comradely gesture. “Don’t you think she’ll look good in rope?” Suddenly her voice was a whisper, seductive and tempting. “Can’t you see how much she wants it? She’s so desperate. So needy. Full to bursting with sweet, sweet lust.”

Averabeth’s nostrils flared. Knowing what Ziratha was up to didn’t make it any easier to resist, and thinking clearly about anything at all was impossible while Erin was still thrashing and writhing needily between her legs. The older succubus decided to simply try to ignore Ziratha and do what she had been going to do anyway.

Which was, of course, to try and push Erin to her limits. That had always been her plan, hadn’t it?

“You want this,” Averabeth said to Erin, showing her the rope. Instinctively, she made her voice into a rich, seductive purr. “Don’t you?”

Erin didn’t respond, but the answer was obvious. Her eyes dilated fully as they locked onto the length of rope, and her futile writhing became even more uncontrolled and desperate.

“Good girl.” Averabeth licked her lips, and a hint of mockery entered her voice. “Now stay still.”

Erin had little choice, and Averabeth soon robbed her of what little range of movement she had left. Measuring out lengths of rope between her hands, she started trussing it around Erin’s body in elegant, looping, spiraling patterns, using her powerful thighs and dexterous tail to move her around like a doll as needed. When she finished her work and pulled the rope taut, it bound tight around Erin, squeezing her tits, her hips, her belly - and keeping her arms completely trapped behind her.

The human started thrashing more vigorously than ever, with such fervor she started frothing and drooling from her mouth. It was useless. She couldn’t move. The spreading, damp, sticky patch of wetness at the front of her jeans made it very, very obvious Erin wasn’t squirming to get free. She was so wet she was soaking through her panties. The poor girl had never been so turned on in her life, and thanks to Ziratha’s invention, she was less equipped than ever to handle it.

Averabeth was just as turned on. For a succubus like her, arousal and hunger were one and the same, and her appetite had been stoked like never before. Erin was like a drug. Her scent was irresistible, and the prospect of savoring her sweet taste had the succubus drooling.

“Doesn’t she look perfect?” Ziratha murmured. She looked over Averabeth’s shoulder, whispering to her like a tempting devil. “Is this really such a bad thing?”

Averabeth growled about her, but couldn’t take her eyes off Erin. She looked beautiful in rope. “Be quiet.”

“You should tell that to her.” Ziratha giggled. “I’m not the one making all the noise.”

She had a point. Erin was obviously trying to stifle her moans - but she was also completely failing. The lewd, wet, drooling groans that passed her lips filled Averabeth’s office, and from the way Erin’s tongue was starting to loll out of her mouth, the succubus worried she was going to accidentally bite herself.

“I need a-“ Averabeth started to say.

“This?” Ziratha supplied at once. She dangled a finely-crafted leather ball gag in front of Averabeth’s face. It was another one of the treasures Averabeth had tucked away under her desk, and she couldn’t bring herself to be mad at Ziratha for taking liberties.

Instead, she just plucked it from Ziratha’s fingers and, after prying Erin’s lips apart and forcing her tongue back, crammed the ball into her mouth. It only took her a moment more to fasten the clasp around the back of her head, leaving Erin completely gagged. That did much to mute the noise of her moans, but it made her eyes bulge dangerously instead, and Averabeth felt electrified by the energy she was giving off.

“Have you ever,” Ziratha whispered, “tasted anything better?”

Averabeth couldn’t bring herself to offer a rebuke. She shook her head dumbly. The only thought in her mind was hunger.

“It’s a shame you can’t truly sink your teeth into her,” the other succubus teased. “Because you’re just running a little experiment, right? For your report?”

Averabeth started panting ravenously, a slight whine catching in her throat.

“Oh well!” Ziratha giggled carelessly. “Hey, why don’t you try this next?”

She produced a blindfold from somewhere and offered it to Averabeth, who immediately snatched it from her. Her own eyes were bulging just a little. Erin was perfect for her. As an attractive succubus, Averabeth had never had difficulty convincing her partners to participate in her fetish - but this was the first girl she’d found who shared her true, deep perversion. She could feel herself dripping wetness into Erin’s lap, but she didn’t care.

She needed more. She couldn’t let a girl like this go.

Averabeth took a long moment to look into Erin’s eyes before closing the blindfold over them. They were clouded with lust, askew from the overstimulation, and filled with a kind of desperate, overwhelmed panic that drove the succubus wild. Once Erin was blinded she became momentarily still, but when Averabeth ran a single claw across her skin, she thrashed like never before.

It was a beautiful sight. And for Averabeth, it was almost as nourishing as sex itself.

Almost.

“Fuck,” panted Ziratha, close to Averabeth’s ear. One of her hands was between her legs, rubbing herself. “Can’t you just feel it? I know I can. It’s so intense. So good.”

Averabeth couldn’t help but nod along with her. There was no point denying it. It was in the air all around them, and thrumming through her body. Erin’s scent. Her energy. The slow, kinky bliss of bondage had brought the mortal’s arousal to its peak, bringing her flavor and vitality to the richest possible point. The hapless perma-virgin was just aching to be devoured.

Already, Averabeth was tearing off what remained of her clothes. She was pure predator now. Academic standards were the last thing on her mind. Her hunger was everything. She reached down, ready to shred Erin’s clothing and plunger her fingers into her virgin cunt, when Ziratha stopped her with a powerful hand on her arm.

“That’s probably enough, don’t you think?” Ziratha’s eyes glinted with malice. “I’m sure you have plenty of material for your report. Maybe we should get her back to Camylyth.”

As soon as the words left Ziratha’s lips, Averabeth knew that she had been checkmated. She hadn’t even truly tasted Erin yet, but she already knew that there was no way she could let the girl go now. And she also couldn’t face the prospect of a world without kinky, juicy, hapless virgins like her.

She couldn’t even bring herself to be angry. Being with Erin felt way too good for that. She was simply grateful for the revelation.

“Actually,” Averabeth said slowly, smiling. “I think I need more time to investigate some of her… responses. Clearly, some thorough research is in order. And… I’ll be sure to tell that to the board. Funding. Test subjects. Whatever you need.”

“Wonderful.” Ziratha cackled, eyes glinting with victory. “Thank you so much, Averabeth. I’m glad we understand each other now. Your expertise was every bit as invaluable as I’d hoped.”

She turned to leave, her work done, and as she walked out of Averabeth’s office her ears were filled with the sounds of the succubus beginning to ravage Erin’s body.

---

—

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Finally, thank you again to GrillFan65 for commissioning this story!

[dreaminginthedeepsouth]

Frank Sinatra's self-inflicted tough-guy-party-animal-Rat-Packer image was not only childish and tiresome, it belied the fact that he was well-read, thoughtful, and a committed free thinker. In this 1963 interview with Playboy magazine, Sinatra speaks frankly (sorry) about the hypocrisy and dangers of "the witch doctor in the middle"--his term for organized religion.

Playboy: All right, let's start with the most basic question there is: Are you a religious man? Do you believe in God?

Sinatra: Well, that'll do for openers. I think I can sum up my religious feelings in a couple of paragraphs. First: I believe in you and me. I'm like Albert Schweitzer and Bertrand Russell and Albert Einstein in that I have a respect for life — in any form. I believe in nature, in the birds, the sea, the sky, in everything I can see or that there is real evidence for. If these things are what you mean by God, then I believe in God. But I don't believe in a personal God to whom I look for comfort or for a natural on the next roll of the dice. I'm not unmindful of man's seeming need for faith; I'm for anything that gets you through the night, be it prayer, tranquilizers or a bottle of Jack Daniel's. But to me religion is a deeply personal thing in which man and God go it alone together, without the witch doctor in the middle. The witch doctor tries to convince us that we have to ask God for help, to spell out to him what we need, even to bribe him with prayer or cash on the line. Well, I believe that God knows what each of us wants and needs. It's not necessary for us to make it to church on Sunday to reach Him. You can find Him anyplace. And if that sounds heretical, my source is pretty good: Matthew, Five to Seven, The Sermon on the Mount.

Playboy: You haven't found any answers for yourself in organized religion?

Sinatra: There are things about organized religion which I resent. Christ is revered as the Prince of Peace, but more blood has been shed in His name than any other figure in history. You show me one step forward in the name of religion and I'll show you a hundred retrogressions. Remember, they were men of God who destroyed the educational treasures at Alexandria, who perpetrated the Inquisition in Spain, who burned the witches at Salem. Over 25,000 organized religions flourish on this planet, but the followers of each think all the others are miserably misguided and probably evil as well. In India they worship white cows, monkeys and a dip in the Ganges. The Moslems accept slavery and prepare for Allah, who promises wine and revirginated women. And witch doctors aren't just in Africa. If you look in the L.A. papers of a Sunday morning, you'll see the local variety advertising their wares like suits with two pairs of pants.

Playboy: Hasn't religious faith just as often served as a civilizing influence?

Sinatra: Remember that leering, cursing lynch mob in Little Rock reviling a meek, innocent little 12-year-old Negro girl as she tried to enroll in public school? Weren't they — or most of them — devout churchgoers? I detest the two-faced who pretend liberality but are practiced bigots in their own mean little spheres. I didn't tell my daughter whom to marry, but I'd have broken her back if she had had big eyes for a bigot. As I see it, man is a product of his conditioning, and the social forces which mold his morality and conduct — including racial prejudice — are influenced more by material things like food and economic necessities than by the fear and awe and bigotry generated by the high priests of commercialized superstition. Now don't get me wrong. I'm for decency — period. I'm for anything and everything that bodes love and consideration for my fellow man. But when lip service to some mysterious deity permits bestiality on Wednesday and absolution on Sunday — cash me out.

Playboy: But aren't such spiritual hypocrites in a minority? Aren't most Americans fairly consistent in their conduct within the precepts of religious doctrine?

Sinatra: I've got no quarrel with men of decency at any level. But I can't believe that decency stems only from religion. And I can't help wondering how many public figures make avowals of religious faith to maintain an aura of respectability. Our civilization, such as it is, was shaped by religion, and the men who aspire to public office anyplace in the free world must make obeisance to God or risk immediate opprobrium. Our press accurately reflects the religious nature of our society, but you'll notice that it also carries the articles and advertisements of astrology and hokey Elmer Gantry revivalists. We in America pride ourselves on freedom of the press, but every day I see, and so do you, this kind of dishonesty and distortion not only in this area but in reporting — about guys like me, for instance, which is of minor importance except to me; but also in reporting world news. How can a free people make decisions without facts? If the press reports world news as they report about me, we're in trouble.

Playboy: Are you saying that . . .

Sinatra: No, wait, let me finish. Have you thought of the chance I'm taking by speaking out this way? Can you imagine the deluge of crank letters, curses, threats and obscenities I'll receive after these remarks gain general circulation? Worse, the boycott of my records, my films, maybe a picket line at my opening at the Sands. Why? Because I've dared to say that love and decency are not necessarily concomitants of religious fervor.

Playboy: If you think you're stepping over the line, offending your public or perhaps risking economic suicide, shall we cut this off now, erase the tape and start over along more antiseptic lines?

Sinatra: No, let's let it run. I've thought this way for years, ached to say these things. Whom have I harmed by what I've said? What moral defection have I suggested? No, I don't want to chicken out now. Come on, pal, the clock's running

[eldritch-spouse]

Me to Vesper and Santib: my hymen grew again, am I revirginized?

Your hymen can't regrow.

It's not about your hymen to begin with. These demons have an innate trait that allows them to tell the first time you have sexual intercourse.

They can also tell the status of your "second virginity", aka, the time you first let a concubus feed on you.

None of these are reversible.

[haysaprocky]

having a revirginization party 2mrw. be there or be square. byob (bring your own blunt — no booze allowed)