My hands wouldn’t stop shaking. I kept wiping and wiping. Every tissue I had — a whole pack — stained with slick shame. It wasn’t enough. I could still feel it. The heat. The filth. Him.

  I had locked myself in the infirmary bathroom the moment I escaped that disgusting pig. No one saw me. Of course not — the great Student Council President wouldn’t be caught red-faced, stumbling down the hall with her panties shoved in her bzer pocket.

  I took out the bottle. Birth control pills. Emergency stash. I swallowed one. Then another. Three. Four. Ten.

  Didn’t care. Didn’t even feel them go down anymore. I just wanted them to work. To erase what happened. Like I could outpace the consequences if I just choked down enough pills. That I could delete the night from my body before it sank in too deep.

  But it was already too te.

  Because I could still feel it. Not just the disgust—not just the shame searing down to the bone.

  No. It was worse than that.

  I missed it.

  I sat on the toilet seat, skirt hiked up, tissues clutched in both hands, thighs trembling. There was this… twitch. A dull throb between my legs that only got louder the more I tried to ignore it. My panties were soaked again. I hadn’t even realized.

  “No. No, no, no…” I whispered. Not me. Not the president. Not her.

  That fat bastard — Pig — he did something to me. It wasn’t just the viotion. It wasn’t just his gross, wheezing moans or the way he ughed while holding me down. It was the drug.

  That thing he sprayed in my face before it all began.

  A sweet, cloying scent. Like artificial strawberries and rot. I remembered breathing it in and feeling my brain fog. My limbs had gone soft. My tongue heavy. And then…

  I touched myself. Just to check. Just to be sure.

  Wrong move.

  My body reacted. It clenched, desperate for touch. I doubled over, gripping the sink, my knees weak and knocking. My reflection stared back, her eyes wild — hollow — terrified.

  “I’m not addicted. I’m not—”

  But I was.

  I tossed the tissues into the bin, yanked my clothes back on, and left the infirmary without a sound. Nobody stopped me. Nobody knew.

  That night, I didn’t sleep. I writhed under my sheets, drenched in sweat, biting my pillow, grinding my hips into the mattress like a fucking animal. I cried, curled up, begged the feeling to go away.

  It didn’t.

  It just built and built, like a fever. Like a need crawling under my skin, demanding more.

  I found him in the supply closet behind the gym. Just where the rumors said he spent his free time — jacking off to hentai and sniffing gym socks.

  He was even uglier in the light. Greasy, pockmarked skin. Beady eyes. A ratty t-shirt three sizes too small and stained with ketchup or blood or who knows what.

  And he smirked when he saw me.

  “Told you you’d come crawling back,” he said, licking his lips.

  “Shut up.” My voice cracked, but I held my head high. I was still me, dammit. Still the president.

  He held up a small vial. That same pink vapor swirled inside. My stomach twisted.

  “You want it?”

  I gred.

  “You’re disgusting,” I spat.

  “You’re the one drooling, bitch.”

  And… I was. I could feel it. My throat dry. My body burning. My skin itching to be touched. I didn’t even remember unbuttoning my bzer — but it hung open now. My shirt unfastened. I slipped it off. My fingers moved on autopilot, trembling, unsure, but not stopping.

  Underneath, I wore the bikini.

  He had put it on me during that night. I should’ve burned it. But I kept it. Washed it. Wore it beneath my uniform like a cursed talisman.

  Now it clung to me again — tight, glossy, bck with silver accents, designed to humiliate. The top barely covered my nipples. The bottoms were a thong in everything but name.

  The Pig’s eyes bulged, and his tongue hung out like a dog.

  Back too Present :

  "Hah..hah..hah, that dream again?" This is the second time I have nightmare about that pig, this time it's the aftermath of what happened after he drugged me. If...If only I seek help that time, maybe my body could still be saved, and I won't turn into his lust depraved sex sve. But that's the entire reason I choose this route, why I refuse to rest in the after live, I won't let him have a happy ending after what's he has done to me. That's the reason why I gave birth to this lizard, my first sons.

  But, seeing him spark something in me, he may not look human, but seeing him, something that I give life to makes my heart warms, there's like something that try to stop we from using him as a weapon.

  What should I do?

  His small body was curled against mine, his breathing slow, peaceful. I ran my fingers absentmindedly over his scaled back, feeling the warmth beneath. A deep part of me—one I wasn’t ready to acknowledge—felt content like this.

  But contentment wouldn’t feed him.

  Wouldn’t feed me.

  Reality settled over me like a cold mist. I needed money. Now.

  Sitting up, I pulled my robe back over my bikini and tucked my child into the sheets. He made a soft, displeased noise, but I stroked his head until he settled back into sleep.

  With one st gnce, I slipped out of the room and into the city.

  The marketpce was lively, full of voices bartering, ughing, shouting over fresh produce and exotic goods. I weaved through the crowd, scanning the shops and stalls, watching workers load crates onto carts and merchants counting their coins.

  What could I do?

  Fighting was out of the question. I had power, but no real combat experience. And if I used my knowledge from my old world—science, business strategies, even small inventions—it would draw too much attention.

  I couldn’t risk that.

  The pig had eyes everywhere.

  I passed a tavern, hearing a few men talk about mercenary work. No. I had no connections, no backing. Even thieves needed someone to vouch for them.

  A few inns had postings for maids and kitchen staff. I scoffed. The thought of scrubbing floors for pennies made my stomach turn. I wasn’t built for that.

  I needed something fast. Something lucrative. Something… suited to my strengths.

  Then, I heard it.

  A group of drunk men, slurring over their ale outside a gambling den.

  “—that pce is madness, I tell ya! Real beasts down there. Not just orcs and lizardfolk, but real monsters.”

  “Bah, who cares? The girls there know how to move. Saw a harpy do things with her talons that—”

  They burst into ughter, one of them smming his mug on the table.

  I slowed my steps. An underground club? One that allowed non-humanoids?

  That… was an opportunity.

  It was risky, sure. But if it catered to monster-kind, then the clientele wouldn’t be the usual noble brats or self-righteous heroes. It was the kind of pce where someone like me—someone who didn’t fit neatly into human society—could thrive.

  And I knew how to use my body to get what I wanted.

  I always have.

  A slow smile curled my lips. Perfect.

  It took some asking around, a few well-pced flirtations, and one stolen map, but by nightfall, I stood before a door deep in the city’s underbelly.

  No sign. No lights. Just a thick, iron door guarded by a minotaur.

  His massive arms were crossed over his chest, his dark eyes scanning me with dull disinterest. “Not open for customers yet.”

  I smiled. “Good thing I’m not here to drink.”

  His gaze didn’t waver.

  “I’m looking for work.”

  I pulled my robe open, just slightly. Enough to let the dim torchlight catch on my curves, enough to let the silver strands of my hair cascade down my bare shoulders, enough for him to see the deep blue of my eyes watching him.

  A flicker of interest. Not much, but enough.

  “You expect me to let you in just because you’re pretty?” His voice was a low rumble, unimpressed.

  I sighed, rolling my shoulders. “No, not because I’m pretty.”

  Because I’m different.

  I let my succubus form emerge—slowly—so he could watch.

  First, my horns, curling up from my scalp, smooth and obsidian-bck. Then, my wings, small but elegant, unfolding ever so slightly behind me. Finally, my tail, sliding free, the spade-shaped tip flicking behind me in zy amusement.

  The minotaur inhaled sharply.

  Not fear.

  Desire.

  Succubi weren’t unheard of in this world, but we weren’t common either—especially not ones walking around alone, uncimed, unchained.

  Now he was looking at me properly.

  I stepped closer, just enough to tilt my head up to him. “I heard this pce welcomes more than just humans.” My voice was honeyed silk, my tail curling slightly as I let my presence press against him. “I can move. I can please. And I know how to keep the real customers entertained.”

  His fingers twitched.

  Hook.

  I let my tail flick up, just brushing against his wrist before retreating. “I’m not just another dancer.” My lips parted in a slow smile. “I’m built for this.”

  Line.

  He exhaled, his posture shifting slightly. I could feel the moment he decided.

  “Wait here,” he muttered, then knocked twice on the iron door. It creaked open, revealing nothing but shadow.

  I stepped inside.

  Sinker.

  The air was thick with smoke and sin. The heavy bass of music thrummed through the walls, the scent of sweat, alcohol, and something more primal filling the space.

  The underground world welcomed me.

  And I was ready to take my pce in it.

  The door shut behind me with a heavy cng.

  Inside, the air was thick—with heat, with smoke, with the unmistakable scent of lust. The heavy bass of music vibrated through the floors, mingling with the sound of low growls, deep voices, and the occasional high-pitched moan.

  My blue eyes flicked across the room.

  Monsters. All kinds.

  A hulking orc leaned against the bar, sipping dark liquor as his gaze lingered on a writhing figure above. A group of scaled lizardmen sat together in the corner, their tails twitching as they watched a dancer swing around a pole. A pair of harpies perched on the rafters, giggling to themselves. A massive ogre, his fanged mouth parted in a pleased grin, tossed a handful of coins toward the stage.

  And the dancers…

  They weren’t just humans in skimpy outfits. They were monsters too.

  A curvy mia wrapped her long, glistening tail around a pole, twisting her hips in slow, hypnotic waves. A dark elf with violet skin and piercing red eyes straddled the p of a grinning minotaur, whispering something into his ear that made him shudder. Even a slime girl was at the bar, her translucent body shifting in time with the music, her form barely contained in a thin veil of silk.

  I licked my lips.

  Oh, this is perfect.

  "New girl?"

  The voice was deep, smooth, and amused.

  I turned to find myself face-to-face with a demon.

  Not a succubus like me—something older, sharper. His bck horns curved back like a crown, and his golden eyes gleamed with knowing amusement. His tailored bck suit was unbuttoned at the colr, showing a hint of charcoal-gray skin and chiseled muscle.

  The owner.

  He grinned. "I assume you're not here as a customer."

  "Depends," I purred, tilting my head. "Do customers get paid?"

  He chuckled. “Feisty. I like that.” He gestured toward the bar. “Come. Let’s talk.”