In a seedy crevice in New Orleans, the tattooist whispered, “Men will crawl to you, chère.”

The bat etched in her flesh pulsed, and Madeline assumed its nocturnal habits, becoming a potent cum-dripping creature of blackness.

Each night, a man followed her hips, twitching with charms, into the alley’s dark mouth. She bent over, taking him deep within her dirty hole. His seed filled her ass, and the bat’s eyes glowed, alive, drinking, and finally draining his sexual energy. 

The man crumpled. 

Madeline screeched, squirting when the ink shifted again. The bat spread its wings wider across her hips.