The applause in the theatre shows no sign of dying down as the players make their final bows, and turn to exit the stage. The leading lady - a ravishing succubus with bright purple hair - scoops up one of the many roses hurled up by the appreciative crowd, winking as she grips it in her teeth before providing the audience with another cleavage-heavy genuflection. Your hands certainly aren't slouching as you add their noise to the cacophony, but some of your closest neighbours take their enthusiasm to another level, whooping and waving frantically in the hope of drawing their heroine's eye. The girl in the seat next to yours, for example, keeps applauding for almost a whole minute after the actors have finally left; until, eventually, it's only her and a few other scattered die-hards that are still clapping an empty stage. You've picked up your coat and stretched the kinks out of your arms before your over-enthusiastic companion finally turns from the stage towards you.
 
"Oh, wasn't that just great?" Simula enthuses, blue eyes twinkling, her face a little flushed from hollering so much. Her eyes are always blue when she's going somewhere fancy, and the theatre's the fanciest place you've been in a while. "The story, the music, the passion... oh, the whole scene where she escapes from the forest, and goes to the royal castle for the first time, it was just so... !" As though unable to locate a superlative that's good enough, Simula instead just hops up and down in place, cherry-gloss lips curving in a happy smile. "It was even better than I expected it to be! And don't you think Ionna is such a great actress? I think she really captured the spirit of Sleeping Booty all the way through!"
 
"She certainly got into the spirit of... some parts," you reply, noncommital, as you pull on your coat and start following the rest of the audience towards the exit. Simula nods energetically as she tails you along, oblivious to the lukewarm temperature of your response. "The monster playwrights take some liberties though, don't they? The Sleeping Boo... Sleeping BEAUTY story I remember didn't even have a fellatio scene." Indeed, much as you'd like to share in your significant other's enthusiasm, you just didn't think the play was very good at all; certainly not compared to the human version, that you watched when thearte visits were a more regular thing. Lines were flubbed more than once, the orchestra was off-key, and watching a succubus suck dick for the better part of ninety minutes is something you can do by looking out of the window since the town went monster-friendly. You wouldn't have had to pay for that, either.
 
"Eh he he, you liked the part where she mouth-raped the Prince, did you?" Simula breathes mischievously, squeezing your arm as a lewd expression flashes across her face. "I loved that bit too. Does she even *have* lungs? I thought only ghoul actresses could go down like that, well maybe mermaids too, but..."
 
As you step out of the main doors with the rest of the throng, your breath immediatly begins to fog, the chilly blast of winter air hitting you full force after two hours in a packed playhouse. The building's main entrance is a gaudily decorated corner of the town square, packed with overpriced food vendors and tacky pop-up souvenier booths. Exclaiming as she spots a merchant selling autographed posters just off to the side, Simula gives you a peck on the cheek before peeling away to join the fangirl scramble. Not so concerned about memoribilia yourself - you're sure she'll spend enough for both of you anyway - you just gaze across the rime-bitten courtyard, hands in the pockets of your thin woolen coat in a vain effort to keep warm. It's impossible to restrain yourself from the occasional envious glance at some of the other men in the dispersing theatre crowd - mostly upper-class types at a venue like this - wearing their thick furs, with weresheep trim or selkie gloves to make them extra-comfortable. In the summer, the cool winds from the northern mountains make a stroll through the town center pleasantly refreshing (and occasionally mind-alteringly euphoric, if there's kesaran spores in the air). But now, in winter, those barren rocky peaks blow nothing but freezing misery down here. You huff another cloud of breath in front of you, teeth chattering slightly, and throw an impatient glance at the reason you're not already walking towards the warmth of home.
 
The girl's feet dance around excitedly as she moves from one side of the stall to the other, violet dress twirling about her ankles. Simula's wearing a nice ensemble this evening, over her slender, prudently-proportioned frame; classy rather than sultry. Breasts substantial enough to curve the souvenier flyer she's already clutching, but not quite so forthright as to tempt subtle ogling from the guys in the vicinity. Narrow hips lead gracefully to long, elegant legs, made just that little bit longer by an inch of heel down there on the soles of her cold-weather boots. Taller than usual this evening, definitely; you remember hardly having to lower your face at all to meet hers. Maybe it was to see over other people's heads in the audience? Silky brown, shoulder-length hair frames a debonnaire countenance with a delicate little nose, and cheeks coloured rosily from the January cold. Around her neck hangs a narrow topaz pendant on a silver chain - nothing too flashy, but to come to an event like this with no jewellry at all, she assured you, would be quite the faux pas. The golden precious stone nestles comfortably in just a whisper of cleavage, before the high neckline of her one-piece dress securely wraps up the rest.
 
You think she looks like a million florins. But - you glance around the crowd - when two out of three guys have a literally supernatural beauty clinging amorously to their arms, she has her work cut out. For her to be drop-dead gorgeous, and yet still not stand out in a throng... it makes you feel a little melancholy for all her efforts, in a vicarious way. But as though the universe is determined to impress this reality on you, on your right a young man in a fine brown suit tenderly strokes the stone-grey shoulder of his gargoyle companion. A Doric goddess of polished basalt, she wears - in the minimum possible sense of the word - a chain of thick gold links around her upper body, barely concealing two immense boulder-like breasts. Curving seams of roze-quartz swirl across her belly and lower back, spiralling onto her stone wings like some stunningly intricate tattoo. On your left, an albino-white shirohebi slithers her sensual, swinging hips from side to side as she crosses the courtyard. The contrasting shades of her platinum hair draped on the shoulders of a jet-black kimono serve only accentuate her beautiful, quasi-hypnotic economy of motion. Actually, she doesn't seem to be hanging on anyone's arm as far as you can see...
Apparently mind-reading your observation, the Zipanguan snake turns two pale pink eyes to face you, her forked tongue tasting the air as if to get a sense of of your appraisal. Hurriedly, you cast your gaze anywhere else - shirohebis are notorious for picking out 'soul mates' on the flimsiest of pretexts, and you're already spoken for - only to find Simula stood right there, watching expressionlessly. She hugs her new theatrical poster tightly against her chest. "SLEEPING BOOTY: A TAYLE OF ROMANCE, starring Ionna Gzkaxxis", it reads, although the centerpiece artwork of the play's horned heroine reclining naked on a stone altar is obscured under the curve of your girlfriend's bosom.
 
"Got everything you need, Sim?" you ask. She nods silently. The shirohebi tilts her head sideways, observing curiously, as Simula gives her an intimidated look. "Well let's go home then," you say, offering her your hand. Giving her fingers a reassuring squeeze as she accepts, you turn your back on the grinning snake-girl and join the retiring crowd. You could swear the tips of Simula's hair briefly bleach white as you guide her out of the plaza.
 
The theatre is one of the newer buildings fronting the town's main square; an imposing four storey edifice, with a fancy stonework facade and multicoloured thatch roof in stark contrast to the low-key functionality of its neighbours. The west gate, which you, Simula, and a dozen others drift out of, finds itself flanked on one side by the boxy edifice of the militia barracks. That's still covered in scaffolding after the...'exciting' days immediatly preceding the town's change in monster policy. On the other side of the west gate, the gutted shell of the old church slumps lopsidedly: its spire collapsed, the torched wooden struts of its pillaged nave lying open to the elements like broken black ribs. There has been conspicuously no effort to tidy THAT up at all. Simula tugs gently on your hand as you walk past, keeping you on the side of the street closer to the barracks: subtly but noticably giving the ruined church a wide berth. "You okay?" you ask. Sim gives you a puzzled glance, to which you cock your head in the direction of the torched ruin. "It's nothing to be scared of, you know. The worst thing that ever happened in there was the week Father Mordekai's sacramental bread gave everyone gas." You regret it the moment the words are out of your mouth. Simula turns beet red, and this time you can't miss that half the length of her hair turns a distinctly shirohebi shade of platinum. She always gets mimetic when she's agitated. Even ghost-types have ghost-tales, you suppose.
 
It's an open secret - hells, it's not even that, as plenty of them are quite vocal about it - that many monsters in town adore that their dates are, by and large, former churchgoers. It plays so well into the 'Big Bad Monster Seduces Naieve Innocent Choirboy' theme, books and costumes for which always sell out like hotcakes the instant they hit the general store's shelves. But for a minority of monsters: the ones that aren't quite so big or so bad, the ones that buy into the more outlandish rumours about what inquisitors used to do with monsters and monster sympathisers... to them it's like telling a holstaurus that you used to work in a slaughterhouse. And since you don't think anyone could ever use the words 'big' or 'bad' to describe the pretty doppelganger who's holding your hand, Simula is naturally of the latter, minority category. "I'm not s-scared!" she protests, in the least believable assertion of courage you have ever heard. Narrowing her eyes at the church with open suspicion, she pulls you a little further away from it. "It's just that... I don't want anything to happen to you..."
 
"The valkyries are NOT going to come down and smite me for going out with you," you insist. It's ironic that the paranoid fringes amongst the monsters AND the humans see exactly the same doomsday scenario approaching out of the vague, undefined future: that the Chief God will one day exact a firey vengeance on every monster-lover in the town, angels descending with flaming swords from on high to punish all who "gave succor" to the demons in their midst (and you've certainly given Simula more than succor, heh). The only difference is that one side awaits the bonfire of the apostates with barely disguised glee, while the other looks at the sky with dread and pulls their husbands close whenever anyone spots a crepuscular ray. "I wouldn't put it past them to smite me for going out with a giant snake, though, so..."
 
While pulling you along at a brisk pace to leave the church behind, Simula's outfit has gradually changed to a black kimono, with a hip-swaying gait that seems altogether familiar from before. And her hair's snow-white down to the roots, now. Oblivious, she peers at you, looking hurt that you'd suggest such a thing; and as she opens her mouth to speak, a five-inch forked tongue rolls out between her lips to dance in front of her face. The doppelganger's look of surprise at her own transformation is not inconsiderably amusing, as she clamps her hands over her lips to hide the sinuous appendage. "Don't ssssssay ssssstuff like that..." she pouts, with a muffled, snake-y voice. Hissing in consternation at the sound of herself, she screws up her eyes and shakes her head - which serves only to turn her irises the same shade of pink as the shirohebi in the square.
 
You cross over the town bridge; a wide stone construction that carries the cobblestoned thoroughfare away from the main square. Chunks of ice bob in the water that flows sedately under the arches, with occasional bumps and knocks as they butt against the bridge's central columns. Rubbing a silky, platinum lock between two fingers, Simula throws you a petulant 'this is all your fault' look. It may be on someone else's face, but you'd know that expression anywhere. "You *made* me turn into thisssss!" she accuses, her forked tongue wiggling around cutely like its own little creature. "Becausssse... you were checking that sssshirohebi out..."
Her words grows forlorn, as she regards the strands of beautiful hair sliding over her palm. "And ssssshe'sss prettier than I am. All the girlsss there were." You feel your chest tighten as the sad little voice trails off mornfully. "U-underneath, I'm jussst... ssstrange..."
 
Monstergirls are - provided you can appreciate an armful of scales or eight chitin-sheathed legs - supernaturally sexy creatures, and a desire to be incredibly, bewitchingly hot is probably the only common aspiration that they all share. Thanks to the Demon Lord's sorcery, most monsters can (and do) live their whole lives in a dank hole in the ground without ever seeing a mirror, and still outshine the sexiest human girl you're ever likely to meet.
Most monsters. But not Doppelgangers. They're - well, strange. Behind their illusions... you don't know what they are. Because Simula always runs away when the full moon takes her powers, and tearfully makes you promise not to look for her, no matter how much you tell her that it doesn't matter. But when you're a spirit who congeals out of other people's feelings of unrequieted affection, maybe it's hard to believe that someone just likes you for you.
The dejected doppelganger stares silently down at her boots, shivering inside her curvy, form-fitting dress. Simula might be able to take any form she likes... but even looking like that, she still thinks of herself as an ugly duckling underneath. And for a monster, where looks matter so much, that's a hard thing to be.
 
"I guess I didn't do a very good job back there, if I was trying to pick up snakegirls instead, did I?" you say with a forced grin. "I think I probably blew my chances with her when I walked off holding your hand." Simula doesn't seem especially mollified, so you carry on.
"You shouldn't let the other monsters bother you, Sim. So what if someone's taller than you, or has shinier hair? I bet they're more jealous of your transforming than you are of them. And besides, I think you *always* look beautiful."
That rewards you with a furtive glance, and the ghost of a smile. You never met a girl that flattery didn't work on at least a little.
 
You loop your arm around Simula's slithering hips, determined to raise her spirits. "Most monsters in the world tear up people's clothes and rape them in a ditch until they pass out," you remind her, gently. Pulling her in close beside you, that shifting, snowy hair tickles your nose as you kiss the top of her forhead. "So I'm glad that you're strange."
 
"Really?" Sim asks, a hopeful note in her voice.
 
"Really. And... well, we sleep together," you remind her intimately. "So I know exactly how good you can be, when you're being strange."
 
THAT does it. Colour bleeds back into her like ink dropped in water; her locks returning to dusky brown, as a scarlet blush spreads across her cheeks. "T-that's..." she stammers, glancing around in embarrasment. "Not something I can... I mean... that's only for you to see..."
 
The steady tempo of your feet over the frosty cobblestones echoes away into the night, as the two of you walk the winding streets back home. Eventually, Simula eases back into the blue eyes and purple dress she started the evening with, contentedly cuddling up close as you wrap your coat around her shoulder. You guess she's technically naked - the dressy ensemble she appears to be wearing is no more real than the colour of her eyes or the tone of her skin - though how temperature actually affects a creature like her, you've never really figured out. You recieve a "Hmm. Thanks..." for your trouble, anyway; which is just fine by you.
 
The dark silence of a winter's night makes everything seem just that little bit colder. Not even the werewolves are audible this evening. You can often hear them howling, out in the mountain foothills, but even those hot-blooded lupines seem to have thought the better of the chill tonight. By now, the other theatre-goers have long since drifted away from your route, going their own way to homes on the better side of town. There aren't that many art patrons from your rather more... err... modest neighbourhood. The tasteful stone-and-mortar abodes of the town center give way to smaller wooden homes, as you approach the outskirts; houses missing a lick of paint here, a roof slat or two there. Contrary to the reformists' promises, there had been losers as well as winners when the pro-monster laws came into force, and your circumstances belonged to the former. No-one realises how much a military-industrial-theological complex does for a local economy until it's suddenly all gone. And you find yourself living on the edge of town, where the guard patrols arent so frequent, and the clean, crisp waft of a winter breeze isn't always enough to keep the matango spores away from the neighbourhood.
 
But then again, there are compensations to living in monster-friendly times. As the pair of you turn onto your street, you attempt to disentangle yourself from Simula to search for your keys - a task made impossible as she wraps her arms around you tightly. Her violet dress rustles as the girl squeezes against you, breasts pushing pleasantly into your side.
 
"Hey," she murmurs quietly. Her sapphire eyes shimmer as you look into them, fading into a deep, dusky red. "Thanks for taking me out, tonight. The play, and... what you said. I know we can't afford to go out much, but... I really liked it."
You double-take, surprised. Not by her words; rather, it takes you a moment to understand what you're seeing. Simula never lets her disguise fade entirely, even behind closed doors. But those blood-red, slightly shadowed eyes... they can only be hers. Simula's *real* colour, undisguised by any enchantments at all. You've... never seen anything like them before.
Unfortunately, she misreads your reaction, and in the literal blink of an eye her azure irises are back in place, as the girl looks away, bashful. "S-sorry. Red ones look stupid on a face like this, right?"
 
"What? No, I didn't say -"
 
Sliding her arms off of you, Simula pulls away; taking your coat with her and making you shiver at the sudden exposure. She sticks her tongue out at you as she quickly locates the keys in your pocket, and hurries up to the porch of your little house. You're left stood in the street, wordless to explain yourself, as she twists the iron lock and lets herself inside. Clicking your teeth in vexation, you follow her up the tiny garden path and come in out of the cold.
 
Well, 'out of the cold' might be too charitable an expression. Your squat little three-room abode has a roof and four walls, but it's too hot in summer and too cold in winter and not *always* waterproof. Not really of size for two people, either; but when both are happy with intimacy AND one's an adaptably-sized shapeshifter, you can call it 'cozy' instead of 'cramped' without being even slightly ironic. Simula's busy lighting the wall-lamps as you duck into the living/bed/entrance room, one of her hands shielding the dancing match-light from draughts as the other guides it over the tallow wicks. You give her shapely butt a squeeze on your way past, eliciting a jump and a cute yelp. And a match dropped on the floor, which, with more yelping, gets stomped out after several blows from her boot. "Hey! You do know this place is made of wood, right?" the doppelganger asks, her hair and dress both turning two shades redder in momentary alarm.
 
It is made of wood, and there's a lot of probably flammable stuff in it. The cluttered vestiges of wealthier days makes the 'cozy' living even more cozy. When you moved in, the stuff was almost all yours: you had a proper house's worth of belongings to cram into the kind of space you'd once have used as a garden shed, whereas Simula didn't even have the clothes on her back (magical projections not actually counting towards wardrobe space). But now... with the room lit up by a soft yellow glow, she sidesteps around the bed on her way over to your corner-desk. Or what used to be your corner-desk. These days it's covered in the colourful paraphenalia of Simula's collection. Clearing a space between travelling troupe promotional scrolls and season schedule pamphlets, she smooths the SLEEPING BOOTY poster out on the flat surface, before pondering where to affix Ionna Gzkaxxis on the wall behind it. Eventually, the racy purple-haired succubus finds herself pinned up between "Raisa 'Tailpussy' Belial is: SINDERELLA" and "Ye Little Mermaid (A Talye Off Younge Love) With Persephone Coralscale". Fully half of your back wall is covered in these playhouse mementos; mostly scantily clad monstergirls (with the occasional shirtless male) advertising The! Newest! Sensational! Production! The hanging posters spill onto the desk, itself totally covered with theatre nicknacks: woodcut statuettes of characters striking dynamic poses, as well little sketch folios of particularly popular actresses, half a dozen of them autographed. The one of Zophia Alexandrea Myrcella Thanatos Von Polove d'Uxemonie XII, the vampire star of Suckers IV, is autographed in your blood. You can't quite remember how Simula swung that, having lost consciousness somwhere around the 'Von'.
 
As you sit on the bed to kick off your shoes, Simula notices your attention on her sprawling menagerie, and gives you a sheepish look. "Umm... I know it looks a bit untidy lately, but..."
 
"I wasn't thinking it was untidy," you say, honestly (though now that you think about it, it IS). Most monstergirls, as far as you can tell, consider the theatre - and most other human pasttimes - little more than an elaborate form of foreplay. Something to stir the emotions and fire up the senses, to make whatever rapist adventure might follow all the sweeter; but not something interesting for its own sake. It's how the players can get away with messing up the lines and the music, things that the audience would (and did!) hurl tomatoes onto the stage for, back when the showhouse was human-owned. And while Simula might not be as harsh a critic as that, she really, honestly, just likes plays. "I was thinking how lucky I am to have such a cultured girlfriend."
 
It's very, very difficult to dissimulate to a doppelganger, so the truth in your words makes Simula blush shyly. Flopping down on the bed next to you, she morphs out of her purple dress and jewelled necklace into a simple, comfortable blouse and short trousers. Holding your arm as she snuggles up against your warmth, the pair of you both take in her big, colourful shrine to the thespian arts.
 
You just sit there for a while, enjoying each other's closeness. You toy with Simula's hair while she relaxes, contemplating her poster-wall with a little smile. After a few minutes, you notice cute, lacy frills start to appear on the trims and cuffs of her clothes. Her hair gets silkier and more lustrous in your hands, too; subconsciously emphasising her femininity, as her strange mimetics react to your petting.
 
"Sometimes I... I don't know, I think it's embarrassing, a little," she confides, still looking at her desk as you idly stroke her shoulder. "I mean, doppelgangers are supposed be the best actresses, and pretend all the time. But I just... collect this stuff. And you know what I am anyway."
 
"So... you think you want to be an actress?" you ask, uncertain. "It's not something you've ever mentioned before..."
 
Simula shakes her head, smiling as your hand accidentally ruffles up her chestnut hair. "Not with everyone watching," she breathes, nuzzling her cheek against your fingers. "And I'd never be as good as Raisa or Zophia. But, even if it is just pretending... to be a princess for a while, and get woken up by a charming prince..." Her face colours as she adds, "J-just with you sometimes, it's okay..."
 
It's true that most monsters consider the theatre little more than elaborate foreplay. And while Simula likes it for it's own sake, that doesn't mean she isn't still a monstergirl. As amorous fantasy starts to take root in her mind, Simula's clothing becomes more revealing: trouser-cuffs starting to climb up her legs; blouse buttons conveniently falling opening on their own. There seems to be more underneath them to reveal, too, though your field of view is quickly cut off as the doppelganger shifts round, holding your head between her hands as she touches her nose against yours. "Turn around for a bit, okay?" she asks. Her eyes are sparkling; her breath warm on your face. "You know you said you liked it before, when I'm strange? Umm... well, I... I've got an idea. But you can't look until it's done!"
 
You don't think you have it in you to say no to that expression. Nodding, you get up off the bed, and take the opportunity to go and bolt the door while you're at it. They might have sounded quiet tonight, but the werewolves do occasionally come down from the mountains to sniff around the city outskirts. If they decided they wanted a piece of you, a wooden door probably wouldn't save you - but that's no reason to make it easy for them. Behind you, the sound of rustling fabric suggests Simula's doing more than just getting naked - not that that prospect alone isn't already making you smile in anticipation. "Are you going to give me any clues?" you ask, pulling the iron lock closed. No answer.
"Sim?"
Silence.
"I'm going to turn around, then..."
 
On your bed, in a scene straight out of tonight's play, lies the famous, stunning figure of succubus actress Ionna Gzkaxxis. Long, purple hair fans out across the pillows, as curving, obsidian-black horns threaten to scrape against the headboard. The candlelight plays over a flawless face straight off of the promotional poster: closed eyelids with just a hint of blue rouge; plump blood-red lips, ever so slightly parted, look as though they were designed for dick-sucking. Your gaze creeps downwards, towards the neckline of a gossamer pearl dress that has nothing to do with a neck, as not a scrap of fabric appears before two vast, supple expanses of curving titflesh have already been presented as a feast for the eyes.  You know you could just nestle your head on top of them and be lulled into the best, deepest sleep in the world. Embroidered fabrics sweep in under her breasts to form-fit over a lithe, slender midriff, while the eponymous sleeping booty announces itself in a riot of petticoats with ruffled frills that take up most of the lower bed. It is only in contrast with the absurd immodesty of the dress' top half that the skirts look anything like a fairytale: cutting off an inch below the knee in a flurry of pink and red hearts that seem to scream 'Fuck me!'. A thin succubus tail peeks out from underneath, as narrow calves lead to petite, naked feet, with painted toenails the same colour as those blowjob lips.
 
You stand by the doorway for silent seconds, speechless. When Simula said you were eying up the snake-girl earlier, it wasn't dissimulation on your part: the cute doppelganger is all you could ever imagine wanting, and more. But damn if she doesn't make other women look great. Her Ionna looks twice as good as the original did up on stage. Maybe it's because Simula has taken creative license... or maybe it's because you know there's an equally sweet person inside of that sweet package. Your heart stirs, lovingly - and another part of you, as well.
 
Sensing your motionless presence, Ionna opens her eye just a crack. But once she sees you're still hungrily taking her all in, she goes back to pretending to be asleep. Oh, it's going to be like that, is it? Her theatre fetish does sometimes stray into... well, into a fetish. Just little things now and again: panting at you to ravage her like a big bad wolf, or princess-carry her to bed and sex her gently. And if she's going to play the sleeping girl and make you do all the work, then you might just have to tease her a little.
 
"Oh my, a fair maiden fallen in the forest!" you declare hammily, stealing the line from the play. As you make your way over to the bedside, you try to remember how it was supposed to go. "Does she live? Does her blood still pulse?"
Simula/Ionna shivers as you run your fingertips over the curve of her bosom, pliant flesh dimpling under your soft pressure. Slowly, you bring your hand to the deep, rolling valley of her cleavage, to feel for her heartbeat. You know there isn't one, really - doppelgangers are technically ghosts - but she does a good impression, with a steady tempo drumming up from under her ribs. You let your hand rest between her breasts for much longer than you need to, savouring the feel of her soft mounds pressing around your fingers.
"Yes, she lives," you announce, eventually. Time to depart from the original work a little. You let your hand trace back upwards, around the delicious, pert globe, to rest against the inadequate piece of fabric that just barely contains her modesty.  "How might I wake such a beautiful girl?" you muse aloud, your other hand beginning to map out the same movements on her other breast. She whimpers uncertainly, as your actions don't match the romantic smooches she was expecting. "Perhaps with a kiss?" The jet-black horns bob up and down near the headboard, as Ionna makes a tiny nodding motion. You pretend not to see it. "No, she sleeps too deeply. Then, something more... sensitive."
Sweeping your fingers onto the white of her dress, you begin to caress the fabric directly atop her nipples. The doppelganger lets out a low gasp, as you start to swirl your fingers around in little clockwise motions over her concealed areolae. The response from her breasts is almost immediate. You can feel her nubs begin to harden under the silky stimulation. The tactile sensation is soon joined by an obviously visible bulge under each of the cups, as the stimulation brings its natural reaction. Ionna mewls under your slow, persistant attack, cheeks scarlet, tail twitching side to side; unwilling to break character and discard her fantasy, but unable to stifle her sounds under your teasing.
 
Suddenly, there's a tiny golden band around her neck, that you didn't notice when you were looking her over before. Has she created that while your attention was elsewhere? Peering in, you see it's attached to a coin-sized, copper locket, made in the shape of a heart. No, that's definitely an alteration to the costume. You reach out to examine it, but the thing pops open before your fingers even get there, revealing a tiny cameo inside. A charcoal picture of you and Simula/Ionna, wrapped up in a deep, blissful kiss. It looks like she's trying to tell you something.
 
Suddenly, a wicked notion comes into your head, accompanied with a wide, lecherous grin. "Well, perhaps it is kissed lips the princess needs?" you announce to the air, brushing the indigo locks away from her face. With a needy moan, Ionna purses her mouth, desperate for it. You run a finger under her chin - watching her sqirm, ticklish - before bringing it across her face towards her hungry lips. Panting lightly, she greets it with her tongue, murmuring as you let the digit linger for a while, before pulling away. "Well then, one mustn't disappoint..."
 
The doppelganger waits for your kiss, straining her face upwards to meet yours...
And waits...
And waits.
And -
- jerks awake as she feels your hands exploring between her legs. Head ducked underneath her frilly skirts, you gently but firmly push apart her thighs, to be rewarded with an unobstructed view of a princess who's not wearing any panties. The carpet matches the drapes, a tidy strip of purple fuzz like a guideline towards her narrow pink slit, already glistening wetly.
 
Ionna cries out in surprise at the sensation. "Ah! W-what-"
 
"Oh, the princess is awake?" you ask, mock-innocent. "If she is, I don't need to kiss her..."  Before she has the chance to react again, you push your face forwards towards her mound, and finally plant the long-awaited kiss on her lips. Her scent is warm and musky. The doppelganger responds with a breathless squeak, as her hands dig into the bedsheets. Your tongue laps at the glistening, wet sheen leaking out of her, wiggling from side to side to caress over her folds. The taste isn't unpleasant at all, and with Ionna moaning deliciously as you go up and down, you could just lick her for hours. Every time you let yourself bump against her fleshy nub, a shiver runs down her body, jiggling through those amazing breasts, jostling your head as you find yourself sandwiched with increasing snugness between her thighs.
 
"Y-you were -ah!- supposed t-to -aaaaaahh!-"
Attempting to complain over you changing the script doesn't avail Ionna at all, her voice breaking into incoherant cries as you push your tongue in between her welcoming slit. Her body seems to have intentions of its own, and quite at odds to her protests. The fleshy inner walls greet your entry with a welcoming contraction, as though to try to draw you further inside. The slippery, gushing font of moisture mingles lewdly with your saliva as you continue to eagerly explore her lower reaches. In no time at all, her crotch is a sopping mess. You're doing your best, but the juices flowing out from her pussy lips are quickly becoming more than you can slurp up. Around your head, her inner thighs glisten with sweat. Ionna is quivering non-stop now, breaths coming in short, high pitched bursts as her hands ball up into white-knuckled fists on the hem of her skirts. She's close. Her engorged clit peeps out at you, as if angrily demanding attention. Very, very carefully, you brush up against it with your teeth, and the doppelganger flinches at the sudden switch from soft to hard sensation. Then you start to lick it, with just the tip of your tongue. Fast. FASTER.
 
Crying out in frantic pleasure, Simula/Ionna crosses her luscious calves together, smothering your head in a wrap-around leg-lock. Her tail follows suit, coiling once around your neck to hold you in place, and yanking you inwards like a slobbering dog on a pulled leash. Channeling Ionna's personality as well as her looks, it's clear that you're not allowed to go anywhere now until you've finished what you started. You twist from side to side, if not to escape then at least to lessen the pressure of her taut thigh-muscles on your skull, but that only makes her shake harder. You're captured between her thighs like a mimic's trap... as the succubus, finally, cums.
Tensing her muscles to smush you deep into her gushing honeypot, the rampant demongirl bucks convulsively, once, twice, three times, riding your face as her pussy opens the floodgates in joyful, sticky orgasm. Female juices pour all over you; drenching your cheecks, your eyebrows, dribbling down your chin into the already sodden mire of the sheets below. Furiously, Ionna grinds her pussy into your face as its quivering folds pulse and roil and clutch at your tongue in ecstacy.
 
And finally, the vice-grip goes out of her legs. Blearily, you pull yourself out of the captivity of her thighs with a wet, schlorping sound. Her tail unwraps lazily from your neck, as you draw in several much-needed lungfuls of air. Up at the head of the bed, the succubus-girl is sighing contentedly in post-release bliss. You can almost hear the satisfied smile on her face, and the matress creaking as she shifts round to look at you. Then you feel the silky fabric of her dress on your cheeks, as she daubs at your drenched face with an embroidered sleeve. "Simula, I d-" you start, only to have your words cut off as she plants her mouth on yours, and pulls you in for a deep, wet, sticky kiss. A proper one this time. After being cruelly denied before, she's more than a little forceful with her tongue, determined to find and hungrily entangle yours; pushing between your teeth even as pushes you down on the bed.
 
Your lip-locking goes on until it seems like Ionna has explored every single corner of your mouth. When she finally pulls away, her own juices are glistening on her nose, smudging her blue mascara. "You shouldn't have made me wait for that," she chides you, voice an exact mimic of the succubus' smoky drawl on stage. Yellow irises in black sclera fix you with a predatory leer; the kind of look that the former churchgoer in you can't help but quail at, even after all this time.
 
It must have shown, because a wide, toothy, grin splits apart the succubus' countenance. "Oh, you know what that look does to me..." she breathes, lustily. "Kukuku... I just want to play with you like a cat with a mouse..."
 
Her hips start to wiggle back and forth on top of you, and at the same time, Ionna starts to change. You feel it in her hands, first, as the dainty fingers cupping your cheeks start to broaden, fuzzy fur suddenly tickling against your face. That lilac hair morphs to a short, golden cut, matching the two twitching cats-ears peeking out from the top. And at the same time, Ionna's lacy white dress dissolves, as her body shape shifts from a top-heavy succubus to a lithe, athletic catgirl.
 
"Nyan~ nyan~! Yes! Kitty wants play, nyan~!" the naked feline announces.
 
You're not given the chance to oblige on your own, as Kitty/Simula pins your hands against the bed with her soft paws. In one limber motion, she bends down to lie her body flat on top of yours, pert little breasts pressing into your sternum - and starts licking you.
"Hey!" you exclaim, "That tickles!" Her flat, rough cat's tongue licks playfully at the skin on your neck, ticklish and sensual at the same time. She closes her eyes as she breaths in your scent, an appreciative, lusty purr rising in the back of her throat.
"Nyaaaaannn~! Tastes like male, nyan~" Kitty mewls, her tail wiggling back and forth behind her as she laps you up. "Tasty, tasty nyan." Trying to lick lower, she bites at your shirt collar unsucessfully, the buttons thwarting her exploration.
 
"Meow, Kitty wants more! Kitty wants ~fishy~, nyan..." Cat-Simula rears back up, bouncing her hips excitably on yours. You're acutely aware of the heat from her loins seeping through your breeches. Free to do what they want now, you plant your hands on her peachy behind, caressing over her haunches. It brings you another appreciative purr.
 
Placing one of her furry digits against her lips, the catgirl slowly - suggestively - licks at the bared claw peeking out from its tip. "Nyan... Kitty is ~hungry~, nyan..."
Making sure that you're staying still, cat-Simula brings her clawed paws down to your collar, and starts to half unbutton, half slice you out of your shirt. She's really getting into her roleplay; Simula's never this assertive on her own. It leaves you a little uncertain of what to expect; although the look in her eyes narrows it down some. Your lower brain certainly has ideas, too. As her paws converge at your shirtfront, Kitty's forearms are pressing her breasts together, the squeezed cleavage pushed up and out. Dusky nipples stand stiffly to attention, quivering slightly as the careful motions of the catgirl's hands descend from your cut shirt to your trousers. Gently exploring the outline under your pants, the monstergirl purrs in delight at what she discovers. "Meowmeow... ~big~ fishy. Male is happy with Kitty, nyan?"
The sensation of her soft paw-pads on top of your pitched tent is an agonising tease; but one that's over mercifully soon. With a final - terrifying - flash of her claw, Kitty slices open your trousers, to release your stiff cock from inside.
 
"Nyan nyan nyaaaaan, ~fishy~, ~fishy~!"
 
Scrambling off you in an excited flurry of fur, the catgirl ends up up on her knees at the side of the bed. You sit up to accomodate her, so excited it's almost painful - and proceed to wince as she bats at your erect rod with a paw.
 
"Bouncy, bouncy fishy, nyan~" Kitty/Simula giggles, groping your cock with her feline digits. The soft flesh of her pads, combined with the gentle tickling of fur, soon starts to feel extremly good. As she pats and catches you like a toy mouse, you strain your hips forwards, rubbing in and out between her big palms. Licking her lips as she regards your cock-head like captured prey, the big cat opens wide - and stuffs your cock into her mouth in one single *chomp*.
 
Her tongue swishes against you as the catgirl quickly gobbles you down, her cheeks dimpling as she sucks you inside like she's afraid you'll escape. A series of garbled "meow"s and "nyan"s punctuate her hungry slurping, kitty-drool quickly lubricating your dick as it slides further inside her hot little cat-mouth.
 
Groaning at the sensation, you plant your hands on Kitty's head, pushing her all the way down. She squeaks and mewls in protest as you bump against her tonsils, but, enraptured with the feel of her squeezing throat, you're determined to go further.
"Good Simula, good kitty", you simper at her, stroking her golden hair. You find yourself getting surprisingly turned on by this pet-play. "But you have to eat all your dinner, there's a good kitty,"
Cat-Simula says something that might be a "nyan", but with a mouth full of dick it's really hard to tell. Still, dutifully, she begins to swallow. With each breathless gulp your shaft vanishes further and further between her lips, until finally her nose is pressed all the way up against your groin. The tightness in her throat is incredible, and you can feel your balls quickly growing anxious for release. Kitty/Simula looks down at where you're joined with wide eyes, as if amazed that the whole thing has fit inside her.
 
"Aaah... yes, you ate me all up, Sim. That's g-ood..." you praise her, rubbing one of her twitching, triangular ears.
And then she starts to purr.
Wedged in just above her larynx, you can -feel- it, as a soft, insistent vibration massaging against the underside of your member. It runs through you like a thunderbird's shock, pleasure racing all the way from the tip of your cock to the top of your head and the ends of your fingers. Your testicles start to churn with anticipation, as you massage her other ear as well. The soft fluff inside contrasts with the slightly coarser fur on the back. As you gently rub it between your fingers, the catgirl closes her eyes in bliss, and the intensity of her throaty purring heightens. One of her paws snakes between her own thighs, as you fondle her cat's ears with increasing roughness. At the same time, her short tongue peeps out from her wide-open lips, tickling your sack like she's trying to lap up a saucer of milk. The insistent, playful licking directly on your balls is the final straw. You can't hold back, you cant...! !!
 
The cat squeals as you thrust your hips forwards, and ejaculate deep into the back of her throat. The purring vibration draws out a huge surge of cum, your penis jerking and spasming, globs of gooey fluid forcing their way into the catgirl's gullet. Surprised, she struggles backwards, but your hold on her ears won't let her escape. Trapped in the throes of your sexual release, Kitty's throat convulses, gagging and constricting as your thick sperm pours out, to splatter directly into her stomach. She lets out a long, low growl - and you vaguely realise, as you notice the paw churning between her legs, that your release and rough handling has made her cum too. Looking up at you with love in her eyes, she starts to swallow; gulping your frothy seed down with exaggerated motions. The squeezing in her throat pulls another load of cream from your cock-head, which she slurps down happily as her tongue swirls and swishes around you.
 
By the time it's over, you feel like you've pumped enough sperm into the catgirl's tummy to satisfy a whole demon realm. With some reluctance, you let go of her ears, and your spit-glistening penis slides out of her mouth. Kitty/Simula hisses and coughs a little, but then opens up wide for you, to prove that not a spot of white remains within. "All gone, nyan!" she announces, with a toothy grin that could rival a Cheshire.
 
You flop back on the bed, your vitality spent. Cumming in a monstergirl drains the energy out of your muscles almost as much as it drains the spooge out of your balls (for a variety of mildly worrying theological reasons you're disinclined to dwell on in after-sex torpor), so you simply lie back and breathe, chuckling in satisfaction. "That was am-az-ing, Sim," you tell her, as the doppelganger morphs back to her regular leggy brunette form, still grinning lustily.
 
"Was?" she asks with raised eyebrows, trailing a hand up the inside of your thigh. "But... I'm not finished..." She turns around, wiggling a pert butt right in your face. It gives you an eyeful - and heady noseful - of a pink pussy that's positively drooling clear juice down her legs. How much fluid does she even have in her? "Come on, it's only round three!"
 
Climbing on top of you, Simula regards your softening dick with a sulky expression. "Aww, don't tease me..." she pouts, as she traces her fingers over your messy rod. "I thought you said you liked it when I was strange?"
 
You try to mutter something apolagetic about the male condition, but your voice is a thin wheeze. Anyway, Simula isn't having any of it. With a gleam in her eye, she grabs your rod in her dainty palm and gives it a light squeeze. "Don't worry," she whispers, softly. "I know you worked hard to put out so much. So just leave this to me..."
 
Your drained chakras don't really leave you with any alternative. With gentle strokes, the doppelganger starts to pump you slowly up and down. Pursing her cherry-red lips, Sim blows air over the tip of your dick, making you shiver. But with the combination of her warm palm and cool breath, you find yourself soon starting to react. The flip side to monsters' energy-draining sex is that your refractory period becomes... negotiable, in skilled hands. And they certainly are that; the lewd squelching noises from Simula's milking motions are near enough to rile you back up on their own. The doppelganger smiles indulgently up at you, as the proof of her technique grows in her grasp. "He he he, there's a good boy."
 
With a teasing giggle, Simula lowers her still-dripping crotch towards your organ. "And since you've been so good, maybe you deserve a treat."  She slides your head back and forth along her slick slit, licking her lips in anticipation. "How about this time, I'll be -whatever- you want. Maybe something like..."
With a puff of sparkling black smoke like a conjuror's trick, Simula's whole figure changes again - to a skin tone almost glowing with radiant light. Two flawless white wings unfurl from her back, their pearly feathers almost scraping the ceiling above you. A shining halo hovers over the angel's golden hair, as her lewd smile softens into one of innocent, benevolent love. Although not so innocent that she stops rubbing your cock into her soft, white pubic down.
"I could gently take you to heaven," Simula promises, in a heart-wrenchingly singsong voice. "Or would you rather have... something closer to home?" As quickly as before, her body morphs in front of you - opalescent skin dimming all the way to a sheer black dress. Just under the hitched-up garment, the sensation on your penis changes from angel-feathers to cool, pliant scales. Pink snake-eyes leer at you under a platinum fringe, and a forked tongue wiggles seductively from between Simula's lips - as she takes the form of the shirohebi from this evening, coiled up on the end of your bed.
 
"I -know- you were looking at thisss," Simula hisses. Sinuously snaking from side to side, the kimono falls open, bosoms jiggling hypnotically in front of you. "And I did say you dessserve a treat..." She giggles, as you stare at her sexy wiggling, agog. "Come on... let all that lussst out for me!"
 
And with that, she lowers herself down on top of you. The snake cloaca's folds part welcomingly for your stiff intruder, its moistness sucking you in hungrily. Snake/Simula moans lustily as she descends, eyelids fluttering, and when her haunches touch yours, she smiles triumphantly at taking you to the hilt in one smooth move. "Ah~! Look, it went all the way in..."
 
Your eyelids do more than flutter. You want to hold her, you want to hug her and ride her like there's no tomorrow. But she's in control; all you can do is grip the bedsheets like you're going to fall off. You're almost ready to explode right away. A monstergirl's pussy is a flesh prison; an infernal, inescapable trap, all the cruel arts of the dark powers refined and resolved upon a single fell purpose: to drown cocks in monsterous pleasure, and milk out their seed like livestock. Grinning at your contorted expression, the shirohebi begins to rock gently back and forth on top of you. Pulled and squeezed by the inner muscles of her amorous honey-pot, you can't help moving your hips with hers; straining upwards into the Zipanguan beauty, your penis desperate to taste her deepest parts.
 
Snake/Simula giggles as your thrusts stir up her insides. "Ah... Aaah~, isss your cock trying to reach this sssnakey womb? You ~are~ naughty..." Leaning over, she wraps her arms and tail around you in a triple embrace. "Let me help you with that..." Her breasts squash against your open shirt as she pulls herself onto you, her lower coils resting heavily on your thighs. The motion draws you further inside at the same time, the nubs and folds of her reptilian pussy assaulting your head in an all-out sexual attack. Intoxicated by the feeling, you begin to move your hips in little circular motions, stirring her up as she gasps in pleasure. Hot moans, male and female, mingle together with the creak of the matress beneath you. Her slitted, pink eyes glowing in anticipation, the shiro nuzzles against your cheek; long, platinum hair tickling over your shoulder.
 
"Don't try to hold back," she murmurs, quiet words swirling into your ears while her fingers run softly over your back. Emotional, it's her voice that sounds in your ears, not the snake's. "My body wants your seed. It's hungry for you. I'm hungry for you." Her albino tail waggles back and forth behind you, lovingly stroking your neck with its cool, scaly tip. "Even when I'm someone else, I... I just want to be with you, like this. So just give in to it. Let's feel good together, yes~?~" Her flawless, lustful face swims in your vision... but...
 
"Be you," you whisper.
 
She blinks. The lewd squelching from your gyrating hips echos through the small room, as she cocks her head quizzically to the side.
"I don't want her," you tell Simula. Your heart vies with your dick, that part of you wanting quite desperately to keep ploughing whoever's body it is that's producing this feeling; but you force the words out anyway. "You don't need to be someone else, Simula." Your brow is slick with sweat; you can feel the pressure starting to build up in your balls as her pussy wriggles lustily. "Please, just... let me see -you-."
 
Her cheeks are so close to yours that you feel the heat from the blush before you see its colour. It comes with look which you doubt that anyone ever has or ever will see on that face - because you don't think that much nervousness and insecurity could go with a classy expatriate shrine-maiden snake. From predatory, gleaming slits, her orbits change wide and doe-eyed, flitting around bashfully everywhere except meeting yours. Her voice gives a cute, quiet stammer. "Ah... I don't... I-I can't..."
 
You thrust up into her, a change in rhythm that makes the snakegirl cry out suddenly. That devilish vagina sucks at you insistently, its meal surely approaching. Wrapping your arms around her, you squeeze your lover closer than before, stroking her hair as she moans and writhes, torn between pleasure and embarrasment. "You can. I know you can!"
 
Now you're determined; you're energised by purpose, to overcome her fears, to finally see -her-. Your fingers tweak her nipples. Your lips coax against her neck. Drunk on the taste of her body, your hips slam up and down, hammering the monstergirl's milking pussy. Her cries reach higher and higher pitch as your tempo gets faster, the slap of flesh on flesh bouncing around the room. Dazzled by the sudden change from leader to led, Simula wriggles wildly, and buries her face in your chest.
Until finally, under the assault of pleasure, her illusion starts to break down. Beginning at the top of her head, sparkling black smoke runs down her body, transforming the doppelganger out of her final disguise. Silky, snakey locks invert to short, raven-black bangs, messily framing a ghostly pallid face. There'd be almost no colour about Simula at all, but for her crimson, panda-ringed, tear-streaked eyes. The heavy pressure on your chest fizzles away, as those kimono-busting mammaries give way two cute, soft, cupable mounds pushing gently against you.
And lower down, the sensation of a vagina undergoing ghostly transformation while you're inside it is absolutely indescribable. As the doppelganger's real - smaller, and tighter - body fades in, you're caught up inside two squeezing, sucking, hungry monster pussies at the same time. Slimy snake bumps and nubs meld together with the needy, ephemeral touch of the ghost's spirit-milking cunt. One morphing into the other as they both desperatley vie for your life-giving seed.
Showing you her real self at last, Simula's body begs for you to reward it with the largest load of cum you possibly can. And, totally defeated, your balls finally discharge deep inside her, creamy white essence pouring into her innermost part. The little doppelganger in your lap shrieks in ecstacy as your hot love explodes in her depths, splattering into her sensitive, transforming body at its weakest moment. Rope after rope of frothy cum bursts from your hilted cock-head, pushing into her like a tidal wave. Totally unprepared for feeling such a pleasure raw, with her true body, Simula aheagos uncontrollably. Throwing her head back as the pupils in her crimson eyes dilate to pinprick points, she holds on to you for dear life. Seizure-like shudders wrack her small frame as she orgasms around your rod, pulling the load out of you to pack her womb to bursting point. Her voice comes out in incoherant sobs, as she shivers and cries out for you to stop, and then to keep going. You cum over and over and over, even as your sperm leaks out of Simula's over-filled lips to drip onto the sheet below... until...
 
...until... you have no... energy left...
 
...
 
...
 
X*X*X*X*X*X*X*X*X*X*X*X*X*X*X*X*X*X*X*X*X*X*X*X
 
...
 
...
 
...It's the birdsong that wakes you up, eventually. Morning sunlight from the windows puts your tangled mess of sheets into golden relief, and the sounds of a few early risers in the street outside can be heard through your thin wooden walls. A couple of the candles are still burning from last night, worn down to misshapen blobs in the bottom of their holders. Ejaculating until you pass out is certainly fun, but it doesn't half cost you in tallow.
 
Something moves under the sheets at your side. You flip back the covers, and for a moment, you don't grasp what you're seeing. For months you've woken up to Simula's favourite brown curls, long legs, and peachy complexion; while her eyes might change from one day to the next, that's about it. Even asleep, she'd keep up the disguise of a beautiful human; hiding away being so much a part of her that even Simula's unconscious keeps up the pretense.
 
Yet the girl snuggling up against you isn't that. In a little black nightie that hugs against her milk-white skin, the real Simula smiles contentedly in her sleep, her arm intertwined with yours. You brush a strand of dark hair away from her face, gently examining her pale features in the cold light of the morning rather than last night's frantic passion. People say that doppelgangers aren't beautiful, underneath; that the shy girls behind the phantasm all hide away because they're plain and forgettable. You're happy to say that they're wrong. She might not beat Ionna Gzkaxxis in the voluptuary stakes, but there's a different kind of beauty to her. With her messy hair and shadowy eyes... a comfortable, unassuming kind of beauty.
 
It's not the face you fell in love with, that's true. But, for the first time, you're waking up next to the girl you fell in love with.