The Devil Made Me Do It ((LitShark & Curious_Muse))

[LitShark]

It was Friday night in Salem Texas and the bars were all empty.

The grocery store was closed, as were the gas stations, convenience stores and restaurants. In the widows of these shuttered businesses, custom branded signs proclaimed they were “Dancing with the Devils,” a local custom that meant they were watching the local high school football team: The Salem High Blue Devils.

The mascot was occasionally the point of some contention—given the overwhelming prevalence of evangelical Christianity among the community but like so many examinations into hypocrisy among the self-assured, it was dismissed as “Tradition” and therefore neigh on infallible.

Tradition is a big deal in Texas. It’s a tradition rooted in Football, Faith and Family—in that order, most would agree.

At the center of the Pantheon of regional, high school football idolatry—the sun around which the whole town orbits—the messiah of scholastic athletics—QB 1: Wes Caulfield. He was a five-star recruit with over a dozen offers from D-1 colleges. Full-ride scholarships, of course.

The trouble with false idols? They can be destroyed.

“Whiskey, whiskey, whiskey!” Wes called out, his gravelly voice ringing even above the sound of the crowd. He was changing the play. “Weak Sluggo—Y-Banana, trey-whiskey—hut-hut!”

The hard count confirmed what he’d suspected when he called the audible. The safety took a step toward the line, playing the run—and with good reason. The original play had been an interior run—that safety’s presence in the middle of their line would blow up the run play like a bowling ball among pins.

He’d audibled to a pass.

“Hike!”

The linebacker’s crashed in, his offensive linemen grunted under the stress of pass blocking. With the ball up around his ear, Wes dropped back three steps, bouncing on the balls of his feet—practically floating. He gave a grand performance of the play action fake, slipping the ball deep into the running back’s grasp before tugging it out.

The Sluggo route—or “Slant and Go” came open right away, the safety cheating in and the corner biting on the run fake. Nothing but open grass ahead of Jacob, Wes’ favorite target, WR 1. But it wasn’t enough, another few seconds and Wes knew that he could get Jacob free from everything, a guaranteed touchdown.

Pump-fake.

He could feel the rush baring down on him, so he fired.

The throw was perfect, he knew it as soon as the ball left his hand, but he’d underestimated the rush. As soon as he looked up, he saw the crown of a defender’s helmet.

Then…

The deep, empty black of unconsciousness.

Was this it?

Was he dead?

Had he been destined to be a martyr all along?

*-*-*

It was Friday night in Salem Texas and you could hear a pin drop.

The stadium, packed with over twenty-thousand locals that could be loud enough to be heard in the next zip code. At the moment, though—there was hushed silence. Only the incremental wails of his distraught mother and his weeping girlfriend occasionally broke through the silence. Both teams were kneeling around Wes’ unconscious body as they loaded the backboard up onto the stretcher and into the ambulance.

His facemask had been removed with specialized tools and his helmet was still strapped under his chin as his head was securely strapped down to the rigid backboard.

The ambulance had driven all the way onto the field and a gentle roar of respectful applause went through the crowd—despite the fact that Wes was clearly still unconscious.

Once the ambulance was clear of the field, the game resumed.

*-*-*

It was Friday Night in Salem Texas and a cheerleader came to a crossroads.

She had come to beg for the life of her boyfriend who was in a coma, barely clinging to life. She’d been a church girl for her whole life, a devout believer, a youth minister—a pillar of her community. But now, in her time of most dire need, when she knew she couldn’t count on God or Christ, she came to beg the Devil for a favor.

It was an Urban Legend about the Crossroads—the devil. But Urban Legends are their own type of tradition. And it just so happened that on this Friday night, the Devil showed up.

Why wouldn’t he?

It was Friday the thirteenth in Salem Texas.

 

[Curious_Muse]

It was madness. Or at least a very silly endeavor that would ridicule her in the face of the entire town if it ever got out.

But Emma Jenkins knew that this time, her prayer circle and the Sunday morning church youth group would not be enough. No number of thoughts and prayers would bring her boyfriend Wes back from his coma. She had seen the faces of the doctors, had noticed how sorry the nurses had been. Wes’ parents had been told that the chances of him waking up and recovering were well below fifty percent.

When she came to a stop at the crossroads just outside Salem, she turned off the ignition of her car and opened the door. This was her last chance, and she would not waste it. But she was terrified.

The abandoned gas station looked even creepier in the twilight. The high school freaks, the goth kids and emos, hung out there on occasion to listen to their shitty music. Rumor had it that they sacrificed the occasional rodent and watched freaky porn here, too. Losers. They were fucking perverts that Emma and her friends usually ignored, and sometimes picked on. But on the way she had stopped at Colin Hartford’s house to get a black candle. She had sworn that little freakshow to secrecy, threatened to make his life hell if he dared to tell anyone about her plan.

The pun had been entirely unintended.

A metal sign creaked softly in the evening breeze, and Emma jumped. She had the terrible feeling of not being alone. But when she looked around, there was nothing there. The door to the old shop hung loosely in its broken hinges and the fuel pumps were rusty, the brand names barely visible. Nobody seemed to be able to remember when this gas station had ever been in use.

She knelt in the dust and meticulously drew a pentagram into the sand with her finger. Placed the candle in the middle, screwing its base into the sand so that it wouldn’t fall over.

Was she really going to do this? Her fingers closed around the True Love Can Wait ring she was wearing on a small gold chain around her neck. This was both a stupid and a very bad idea. But Wes! Wes was laying in a hospital bed surrounded by cold, beeping machines, his life connected to this world by the thinnest of threads. She would do anything, anything at all, to save him, to make him come back to her. She was not the kind of girl who went down without a proper fight, and she wouldn’t just sit with her hands in her lap, hoping for Wes to maybe someday wake up again as a complete vegetable.

She pictured the images again, the plans she had made with him, or maybe more accurately, for him: senior prom, she at his side, the undisputed golden couple, admired and envied by everyone around them. Crowned king and queen, obviously. Graduation, university, a brilliant career, money. Their beautiful home. Their wedding. The gorgeous children they would have.

Emma would not just give up on her dreams.

With shaking fingers, she tried to light the candle, and cursed under her breath as it flickered out. Tried again. This time, the flame lit up the wicker and danced in strange shadows over the improvised altar she had drawn in the sand.

Then she took out the needle she had brought and pricked her finger. Blood welled up and she carefully angled three little drops onto the pentagram.

She spat onto the star, just like it was described in the story. What had they always said? Three kinds of essence, three times. Emma remembered the snickers and the lewd jokes the guys had always made about that. How Wes had made fun of Colin and told the whole senior class that he was humping old fuel pumps to get off.

It was not funny now.

Reluctantly, her fingers slipped into the waistband of her skirt and down her cotton panties to find her clit. She gasped as she started to caress herself and jumped in fear as she thought she heard something. Touching herself was something she barely dared to do in the privacy of her own bedroom, hidden under the covers. But here, out in the open where anyone could drive up at any moment, she felt dirty and slutty.

Emma rubbed slow firm circles around her most sensitive spot, trying to conjure up Wes, his gorgeous body, his eyes, his lips. The hectic kisses, his hunger, his constant pushing for more. His fingers on her round little breasts, kneading soft teenaged flesh. A soft moan escaped her at the thought of that one time when they were driving back from a game in San Marcos and he had pulled over and asked her to suck him off. How he had fingered her to a first, stolen climax in return. The flame started to grow as she murmured the incantation all the kids in Salem knew and used to scare one another.

Timidly, she inserted a finger into her dripping pussy and gasped. Wes had barely managed to get in more than one knuckle. Emma closed her eyes, and her fingers sped up their illicit dance, driving herself fast towards orgasm. She barely noticed the sleek black ferret that darted across the road, or the crows that had begun to land on the electricity lines along the road.

Wes had loved to whisper dirty words into her ear then, had promised to fuck her hard, and soon, very soon, to rock her world, to take her like a little slut. She had blushed and shushed him but had loved it. Just as she had loved when he had shoved his hot cock down her throat, and she had pretended that she didn’t want that.

That was all it took. With a stifled little scream, she came, gyrating her hips against her hand, panting and moaning. Her fingers were coated with her juices.

She smeared one glistening finger onto the sand, drawing three shaky lines across the pentagram. The candle had almost burned down.

Then she waited.

Her legs were still shaking from her subsiding orgasm, the rush of adrenaline, the fear of losing Wes forever. Please, she whispered, going against the instructions. Please help me. Please don’t let him die. I’ll do anything to make him whole again. To bring him back to me.

But there was nothing. The rusty sign emitted another mocking creak as it swung in the wind. She felt a slight chill now and wrapped her arms tightly around her slender body. Tears streamed down her face as she knelt in the sand, her knees raw. This was what real desperation feels like, she thought. This is what it feels like when your heart breaks. She was bent over the fatigued little flame, willing it to keep going, hoping that the ground would open and spit Him out like a cartoonish Hellmouth. For a second, she wondered if He would be red, with horns and a tail, and had to suppress a hysterical giggle.

But there was nothing at all. With a strangled sob, she watched as the little flame danced and went out.

A sharp breeze drove a few tumbleweeds across the street, and in the distance, she could hear the screech of a wild bird.

It hadn’t worked.

“Nice.”

A voice. Emma yelped in surprise. On the low, crumbling wall running along the backside of the gas station sat a guy. He was looking straight at her with a hint of a smile on his face. What the fuck? Had he been there this whole time? Had he watched as she…? For a brief moment, Emma forgot even about her sorrow and flushed with embarrassment.

Oh, God. And as if he was able to read her mind, his smile widened to a lascivious grin. He had seen everything.

If any of this got back to the team, to her friends…to her church, she was finished. But she did not recognize the guy, and she was sure that she would have if he went to her school. He did not look like one of the goths at all. In fact, he was breathtaking.

“What kind of freak just sits around at abandoned gas stations?” she yelled at him, trying to paper over her feelings of extreme shame. She jumped to her feet and smoothed her crumbled cheerleader uniform. “My boyfriend’s gonna be right here and he’s gonna kick your ass if you don’t stop staring at me”, she tried. “Fucking pervert!”

But she was already slowly edging back to her car. Even in this moment of extreme desperation and pain, Emma knew better than to hang around a lone boy in the middle of nowhere.

 

[LitShark]

“Nice.”

It really was, nice. She was nice and it was nice that she wanted to save her broken boyfriend. It was a very nice corporeal form that he was able to cobble together—teenage flesh. He reflected the concrete manifestations of the one who summoned him, which rarely equated to young and athletic—this being the exception that proved the rule, he supposed.

It was all very nice.

What she said next was not nice at all. Especially since she was the one who wanted a favor from him. She clearly had no idea what she was doing. It would be very “on brand” for him to exploit her ham-fisted summoning ritual and go completely rogue—she hadn’t even made a binding circle. Near as he could tell, she hadn’t even brought any salt whatsoever.

Yet, somehow, her vulnerability attracted him—even more than her untouched, nubile, youthful teen flesh. She was too nice to leave behind.

“Who sits around gas stations?” he smirked, the ember of his cigarette lighting his features from below, drawing shadows across his eyes that made the narrow reflections from their dark irises look like they were glowing red, then he blew the smoke at her, “don’t you? Isn’t that what you’re doing? Of course, I don’t have my hand down my pants.”

He hopped down from the wall. He would need to name himself. Damien always appealed—Damien Styles. Suitable to this teen vessel, he decided.

“Don’t lie like that, it makes you look pathetic,” Damien sighed smoke, shaking his head, “your boyfriend isn’t going to be kicking anything ever again. He won’t be fighting, or dancing, or walking—I mean, if you want me to go, I can go…”

Damien flicked his burning cigarette. When it struck the ground, erupting in a shower of orange sparks, Damien reappeared behind Emma, holding her slender wrist and sniffing her fingers. At this proximity she could smell him, he smelled like toasted cedar and bergamot. Just a whiff of his pheromones were enough to make a mortal’s head spin—it seemed this teenaged flesh was fertile ground for hormone harvesting.

“But wasn’t there something you wanted to ask me,” his voice was soft, snaking around her throat as he pressed his body lightly against hers, the touch of his newly formed flesh against hers was instantly electric, “something you wanted to offer me?”

” Please. Please help me. Please don’t let him die. I’ll do anything to make him whole again. To bring him back to me.” Emma’s voice came out of Damien’s mouth as his eyes flashed honey brown as part of his impersonation. His eyes flashed back to black as his voice returned to the ochre smolder that it was before, “wasn’t that you?”

Damien slowly took her fingers that had been inside her into his mouth, running his tongue slowly along them before releasing her.

“But maybe you didn’t mean it. Most people who say ‘anything,’ have no imagination… Maybe you’re looking forward to a life as Mrs. Celery—the wife of a vegetable. Is that it? Should I go? Because you were right about one thing…”

Damien’s embrace surrounded Emma more and more, his words, his pheromones, his cock against the pleats of her skirt. Even if she wanted to run, fight or resist him—at this range, she was powerless to resist him. No mortal could resist his glamour.

His hand moved down her stomach, creeping in the front of her skirt, slipping inside her panties, following the path her own hand had taken to gently caress her clit with his middle digit—except the big difference was that his touch seemed to detonate every nerve ending in her entire body.

“I am a fucking pervert.”

 

[Curious_Muse]

All Emma could do was stare as he strode nearer, gorgeous and confident, with eyes that glimmered like black glass in the twilight of the setting sun.

She could feel her face heat with the realization that he had indeed witnessed her twisted performance, every little detail, and for the length of two heartbeats, Emma felt faint with panic not about his sudden appearance, but about her reputation and her standing in Salem ripped to shreds before her eyes. Because even if he wasn’t from her school, it was possible that he was acquainted with people who were. Maybe he was part of the Matagorda Tigers, the team that had played the Devils tonight?

That could be the reason that he knew about Wes. He had been there, in the stadium, and watched it all happen. Had seen her, the worried, crying girlfriend, kneeling over his terrifyingly lifeless body. Maybe he had even followed her here? Maybe it was a ploy, something that little bitch Rachel Bowers had come up with. After all, she had been the one who had shrieked about the crossroads and the urban legend of summoning the devil there. And she had been angling for her position as head cheerleader ever since the start of their senior year.

But something about him, the chilly breeze in the air as he moved, the blazing heat of his skin that she could sense even as he was still several yards away from her, his hypnotizing voice…the sense of absolute, tempting, irresistible evil that surrounded him like a thick fog, all of it felt like he was someone else. Not just some teenage boy, at least not someone dim and pussy-whipped enough that a basic slut like Rachel could get him to do her bidding.

Every last doubt was cast aside as her voice, tearful and thin, flowed from his sinful, kissable lips. Her own voice, the words a perfect copy of what she had pleaded for only moments earlier. The light hairs on the nape of her neck rose in terror.

“What…? I don’t…I don’t understand…are you…are you the…the…are you HIM?” Emma gasped breathlessly. She would have screamed, probably, or worse, had his presence not completely devoured her every sense of direction, of shame, of self. He smelled divine, ironically, and felt even better. His body pressed firmly against hers from behind, his cock – sizable – lodged against her ass, she was completely and utterly powerless to do anything but relax into his embrace.

She sighed sweetly as his fingers closed around her slender wrist, and he gently sucked her fingers into his mouth. It was enough to make her pussy clench in anticipation. It was not how she had imagined him, nor how she had understood the kind of threat he’d supposedly be, at least not if Mr. Hawthorne, their church pastor, was to be believed. He had painted vivid pictures of hellfire and eternal torment, of horned beasts and monstrous demons.

Not of this. Not of someone like this boy.

When his finger found her still slippery little clit, her mouth fell open, as if in disbelief. Not disbelief that she would let a complete stranger (HIM!) do that to her, but the kind of incredulity to find out that someone was able to draw such emotions and sensations from her with a simple touch of his finger.

“Oh god”, she moaned. “Oh god!”

Was this an inappropriate way to address the devil?

“Are you really the…are you Satan?” she asked, her voice hoarse with want. “Because yes…Oh, god, yes!” Her head fell back against his chest, and she gyrated her hips against his hands to urge him on. “I did mean it. I did! I will do anything, really anything, to bring Wes back.”

Her boyfriend’s name on her lips brought back a glimmer of prudence and awareness. Even if she was helpless and could not have resisted him had she tried, Emma managed to get her thoughts together enough not to agree to a bargain that had not yet been struck.

“Can you help me? Will you help me?” Another deep, desperate moan escaped from her throat. “Please?”

The question she did not dare to ask was what he would ask her to do in return.

 

[LitShark]

She was confused.

It was understandable—even if it had been her that summoned him. Human beings had such tiny, narrow intellects. Their life-span was so narrow compared to immortals like him, it was hard for them to conceive of anything that went beyond their single plane of existence. She could scarcely even give voice to what she was trying to ask. Was he? Could he be? Had he come? He streamlined things for her immensely.

“Call me Damien,” he whispered into her ear, gently peeling back the hood of her clit and rubbing his fingertip possessively over the tiny, exposed tip.

“Oh God! Oh God!”

“Not quite, but the enthusiasm looks good on you,” his fingers slid lower, slipping and curling inside of her as his thumb came down to lightly press her clit against the side of his hand, his other hand passed over her chest to gently wrap around her throat, his body increasingly in possession of hers, “I can bring Wes back. I can do that for you. The cost is the same as it has been since before your ancestors learned to stop dragging their knuckles. One mortal soul, freely given, the immortal fruit of your inconsequential life.”

He stopped short of mentioning how inconsequential Wes was as well. Short-sightedness being a specialty of the young. He also didn’t go too much into what “back” would mean for him, or what owning her soul would mean for her going forward.

What he would make of her.

The sheer potential of her flesh sent a shiver of excitement down his spine, a sensation he hadn’t felt for several millennia. Teenaged bodies were incredible! Without even meaning to he doused her in a fresh cloud of pheromone as his hand around her throat held her ring between two fingers. While he didn’t exactly know the significance of the ring, he understood its meaning.

“A virgin sacrifice? Oh my… how did you know that I like it old school like that?” His fingers withdrew from inside her, going back to work on her clit some more, his cock was getting hard now, coming up between her legs, pressing from the other side as his fingers.

“We’ll complete this contract by signing in the blood of your maidenhead,” Damien felt that this term was outdated as soon as he heard himself say it, what was the modern term? Was there one? It seemed Emma was a little too naïve to communicate everything Damien wanted to know about the modern times.

No time to waste then.

Damien withdrew his hand from inside her skirt and turned her around aggressively, kissing her deeply and suddenly. His hands closed around her athletic ass cheeks, drawing her hips forward to grind against his growing erection.

The kiss broke reluctantly.

His hands slipped under her skirt, tugging her spandex shorts and cotton panties down around her knees.

“Just say ‘yes.’”

He was out of his own pants too, his long, statuesque cock, gently sliding against her smooth inner thigh.

“Say, ‘I am yours, Master,’” as soon as the words left her lips, he grasped the back of her leg and thrust himself inside her, breaking her hymen in one, long, swift stroke, “and it is so.”

 

[Curious_Muse]

Things went fast after the question had left her lips. Too fast, but Emma could do nothing at all to stop it. To stop him. And the rush of relief and gratefulness as soon as he had promised that he would make Wes healthy again was too strong to even consider resistance. She had come this far, why should she waste it all out of some childish fear?

Sobs bubbled up in her throat, and she could not stop the tears flowing down her face, wetting his fingers. Wes was not lost to her! He would get better. Her darling Wes was coming back to her, and they would have the future she had always dreamed about.

“Thank you”, she stammered, her lips salty with her tears. “Thank you.” It seemed an inadequate expression, but he would know that she meant it. And her soul? What did that even mean? It seemed a small price to pay. How often had Pastor Hawthorne told her that she could cleanse her soul from sin with prayer and good deeds? He had not quite put it that way, and probably he hadn’t thought of the literal devil when

“My soul is yours.” Though it seemed that he was not quite satisfied with only that ethereal part of her. Emma knew, of course, what “maidenhead” meant. The actions that accompanied his words left no doubt that what he wanted was not only her immortal soul, but her physical body. Wes would understand. In fact, he would love her more when he learned what sacrifices she had made to bring about his recovery.

His hand around her throat felt like both threat and promise, and she loved it. Possessed by the devil, and in the most delicious way imaginable. It was a pity that she wouldn’t be able to tell Mary Underwood and Alicia Mayfield, the two girls in her bible study group who admired, almost worshipped her. They always liked when she told them about her Saturday night make-out sessions with Wes behind the pastor’s back, and Emma had always suspected that neither of them were as innocent, or as pure, as they wanted to appear.

“This feels so good…”, she whispered in a breathy, strangled voice. Coherent thoughts were increasingly impossible.

His fingers worked their magic on her clit, and she could feel an orgasm approaching, much faster and much stronger than anything she had ever managed by herself. (Wes was still sadly lacking in that department, but she was sure that this was only a tiny problem that would mend itself with time.) Her fingers dug into his thighs as he continued to drive her higher and higher. She could feel his cock, hard and ready, pressing against the cheeks of her ass.

“Okay…” She had been his the moment she had spotted him on that wall.

And that kiss! His lips felt icy and scorching hot at the same time, his tongue was like a wild little thing, alive in her mouth. She barely noticed him pulling down her shorts and underwear, her head lolled on her shoulders like that of a doll.

“Yes…”, she whispered in a strange, distant voice. “I am yours, Master.”

It felt like he was everywhere at once now. His fingers caressing her pussy, her throat, her chest, her arms. It felt as if she was floating, and maybe she was? How else could he have done it? She felt weightless. As if in a trance, she felt her thighs part for him, the second that his cockhead nudged against her virgin pussy.

“Yours”, she repeated tonelessly.

The moment he pushed himself inside her, she came. Screaming, pain and pleasure whipping through her slender body with a force she was sure would rip her apart, she climaxed.

 

[LitShark]

Wes sat bolt upright in his hospital bed with a gasp at the same instant his girlfriend was losing her fiercely defended chastity. Her climax, Damien’s thrust and Wes’ resurrection all took place at the same instant—like a bolt of lightning touching ground.

Wes’ mother screamed for the nurses, throwing herself onto the bed, embracing and kissing her son in tearful joy. Coach Maddox, lingering just outside the hospital room, motioned for the rest of the players to come see their friend with his eyes open again. There was scarcely a dry eye among the players, parents and community boosters who had all been holding vigil just outside of Wes’ hospital room.

The only one who didn’t seem overjoyed was Wes himself—who looked like someone had walked over his grave.

He saw a flash of the school colors, a cheerleading uniform. He craned his neck upward.

“Emma?” Wes asked, hopefully, but it wasn’t. “Is… is Emma here?”

Cammy Caulfield, Wes’ mother, pressed her lips together. The fact was, that Emma, Wes’ girlfriend and closest confidant was conspicuous by her absence. She hadn’t shown her face at the hospital for even a moment since Wes was wheeled in on his back. It was a fact that Rachel Bowers seemed to take joy from.

“She’s not here, Wes,” Rachel moved over, leaning over his bed so that he could see her face instead of just her uniform, “is there anything I can do for you?”

Cammy tried not to roll her eyes.

Wes just shook his head. He couldn’t escape the feeling that something terrible had befallen Emma, the love of his life. What could possibly be keeping her from being at his bedside? Even Carl Gallup, the sleazy car salesman and outspoken team booster was there.

Where could Emma be?

Cammy tried discreetly to send another text to Emma. Letting her know that Wes was awake and conscious. Even if he couldn’t move his extremities. She was thanking God for small favors. Many were saying tearful prayers of thanks to God and Jesus, unaware of the irony that Wes’ sudden improvement was the work of the Devil.

*-*-*

Emma, while half the town was wondering where she could be, was having an orgasm on a stranger’s cock while he continued kissing her deeply and aggressively. Damien backed her against one of the old gas pumps, her leg still wrapped around his hip.

When she finally relaxed enough for Damien to withdraw his formidable cock from inside without fear of hurting her tiny, little box, he slammed it home again, thrusting her athletic ass against the metal surface of the pump. Within moments, he settled into a steady but tender rhythm to his strokes. This was only the first of many opportunities he was going to have to fuck Emma’s brains out—he didn’t want to hurt her.

Not yet.

The sound of old sheet-metal striking against metal was like bumper cars at the fair—the metallic thump matching the tempo of Damien’s hips as he continued fucking Emma thoroughly.

He was freshly formed and made from her desires, which made him uniquely able to interpret and respond to even minute changes in her sensation and enjoyment. Which meant that he knew exactly when the slight pain of her hymen yielding faded—and he went harder in response.

His fingers gripped the back of her thigh possessively while his other hand continued caressing her angular throat. His thumb under her chin kept her engaged in his deep, affectionate kiss.

After some time, he drove in deep—hard—harder than he’d yet gone in and held himself there.

“Open up,” Damien panted, his lips just barely apart from Emma’s, “get used to the feeling of my cock inside you. Imagine stretching to fit it. Learn the creases, the ridges, the folds, the bulges. This is the missing part of you and from now on, whenever it is not inside, you will feel its lack deeper than you knew you could.”

Damien kissed her again, allowing her to adjust to him as he’d instructed.

 

[Curious_Muse]

Emma screamed out her release, felt a wild rush, an almost a physical snap of her synapses as she came all over his cock.

So, this was sex? No wonder they all made such a fuss about it. No wonder they didn’t want teenagers like her to do it. How would anyone be interested in doing anything else ever again? School, church, cheerleading, shopping – nothing would be as interesting, or as fun, as this. Not after tonight.

In some foggy corner of her mind, Emma also realized that he had not only taken her virginity but that he had ruined her for any other man forever. No one would compare to him ever again, no one would be able to satisfy her.

Her legs were literally shaking as she slowly came down from her climax. In fact, her whole body was. But he held her while he kept fucking her deeply against the rusty metal of the old fuel pump, her top riding up her lithe back. She’d have some bad scratches tomorrow, but she didn’t care.

And she didn’t need to imagine anything. She felt it. Once his words were out, her tight little pussy stretched deliciously around his cock without any pain. He went deep now, touching parts of her she had not known existed. The immediate discomfort of her first time, mostly washed away by her powerful climax, was entirely gone. What was left was pure, unadulterated pleasure of a kind that even her happiest moments with Wes, her wildest senior year parties, and her most legendary cheering performances were not able to match.

It was bliss. He was, strangely and disturbingly, the answer to all her prayers. Each thrust of his beautiful cock whipped her towards greater pleasure and joy, and for a moment, Emma thought that she could really see stars. Surely there was no drug that could even come close to the high she felt being fucked by him. How was this a trade? Emma felt that she got Wes back, and the best sex she could possibly wish for.

Her body accommodated him like a lost part of her, just like he had told her it would. Each time he rammed himself into her with such exquisite force, he ground himself against her clit, and rubbed against her sensitive nipples, increasing the pleasure thousandfold.

Oh god…there it was…she was going to…

Was it really possible that she would come again, so soon? That had never happened, either. Her lips trapped against his, she whimpered helplessly, arching her back, clawing at his smooth, warm skin under his shirt. The tingle started in her fingertips and on the bottom of her feet, like an electric charge that threatened to go haywire inside there. This time, she was afraid she might faint, or actually go insane. Surely no human brain was able to compute such an amount of pheromones and adrenaline without something snapping for good.

There was the faint sound of a car engine.

Emma noticed it but was, at first, too enthralled to register what it meant if someone saw them together. The car was too far away, and her mind was too swamped with too many sensations to wonder if the vehicle came from Salem, or if it was going towards the town. But whoever it was, they had to come past the crossroads and the abandoned gas station.

And when they did, they would have to notice the young couple fucking, her backed up against the old pump station like some trailer park slut. If the bright blue and red of her cheerleading uniform wouldn’t give away her identity, the black 3 series BMW parked right there on the side of the road would not leave any doubts. Anyone who knew Salem and the school just a little bit would know whom it belonged to.

The high she had been on faded as if she was stepping past a wall of dense fog. Her eyes flew open in panic, and she muffled a scream into the kiss. “Stop!” she wanted to tell him. “Someone’s coming!” But she couldn’t speak. Emma started to push against him, wiggling to try and free herself, hectically motioning with her head – as much as she was able to in the confines of his kiss – towards the car.

 

[LitShark]

Damien was really starting to enjoy himself now, Emma was tight-as-a-tick, but now that she’d adjusted to his size he was finally able to really lean into his thrusts. The rusty, old gas pump provided a decent anchor to slam her against and he was blissfully unaware that her back was being scratched up by the repeated impacts.

He would make it up to her.

The kissing wasn’t usually his thing, disdain for the mortal kind being such a part of his identity since they were chosen as God’s favorites—but in this instance, he was really enjoying ‘sucking face’ with Emma. She was also a treasure-trove of amusing, new lingo that he was absorbing more of by the second.

“Sucking face.”

Yes, this era was growing on him.

Damien hilted himself inside Emma yet again before he noticed her wide, expressive, brown eyes trying to direct his toward the road. He broke the kiss, but kept his cock buried inside him, turning his head with a hateful, inhuman hiss.

The adrenaline rush of an unexpected arrival made his pheromones dump again, a reflexive defense mechanism that he retained from the other realm. This time the scent was more aggressive, it smelled like cinnamon and cloves.

The lights of the pickup truck startled him, but as it drew closer, he recognized that there was only one occupant. One mortal was no real threat to him or his good time making Emma into a suitable thrall.

Moving like he was doing martial arts, Damien looped his arm under one of hers and grasped the back of her neck, drawing back and turning her around. He spun her like he was twirling a towel, bending her over at the waist. Once she was bent over, facing the oncoming truck, he slammed his cock inside of her again.

With one arm, he had her entire body within his control, gripping the back of her neck, keeping her arm pinned in the air and his cock slamming her with renewed vigor. His free hand, Damien waved through the air, casting a low-level glamour charm over the arriving mortal, making himself and Emma completely invisible.

Colin Hartford stepped out of his old, beat-up truck, slamming the door behind himself.

He seemed to be looking straight at Emma but couldn’t see her. After what seemed like a long time, he walked straight past them, obviously looking for something.

“Emma? Emma, are you out there?” Colin strode through the gas station, finding what remained of his candle in the midst of a haphazard little offer, “Emma?!?”

Colin looked worried, which amused Damien.

He led her like he was walking a dog, after Colin and then back again, his cock pounding her all along.

“You know this clown?” Damien asked passively as Colin rushed back over to the gas pumps, “he seems to know you.”

Colin pulled out his cell phone and started dialing Emma’s number. He hoped that she hadn't done something reckless. Word had reached even him that Wes' eyes were open and if he could stop Miss Suzie-Q-Christian from doing something stupid, he wanted to do it. Even if she and her jock friends bullied him and his friends--even if she used him as a Hot Topic when she wanted to dabble in the occult--even if she'd been mocking his feelings for her since the fourth grade.

Colin wanted to save her if he could.

 

[Curious_Muse]

Emma panicked. The car was coming closer, and she was staring straight at it and recognized it as the piece-of-shit pick-up truck that Colin was driving. She was staring at the oncoming headlights, the literal rabbit caught in the glare. This would be her ruin in ways not even the devil would be able to come up with, she was sure.

He didn’t seem to care. Having flipped her over and fucking her relentlessly from behind, he had her locked in place. At any moment now, Colin would see her, and it would be all over for her.

Only he didn’t.

Emma held her breath or tried to, as much as she could in her position. That freak was staring straight at them, but he didn’t seem to actually see them. She could feel his breath on her arms, sense the air moving as he moved past them. How was that possible? It was at that moment that the devil behind her drove his cock into her with such force that she let out a small scream. But that, too, was something Colin didn’t seem to have heard.

He inspected the burnt-down candle, and Emma could feel her face heat up wildly when he stared at the smudged pentagram in the sand. Of course, he wouldn’t be able to actually see anything in the badly drawn figure, but since he knew how the ritual worked, he might assume…he’d probably jerked off onto a similar drawing before in this same place, he and his freakshow friends. He’d know.

Emma wanted to cover her face in shame at the thought, but another deep, masterly thrust forced a deep moan from her throat. Again Colin didn’t turn around or react in any way.

“I do know him,” she breathed between thrusts. “He goes to our school…he’s no one.” What the hell was Colin doing here? Why had he followed her after she told him not to? What an idiot. At the same time, there was a small part of her that worried about what would happen to him if he didn’t fuck off. What did he expect to find here, anyway? How could she make him go away?

Sadly, he did not seem to have any intention to leave. When he pulled out his phone and quickly typed something, Emma already anticipated her own phone to light up with a message. It was, uncharacteristically, still lying on the passenger seat of her car. And worse, the ring tone indicating a call started to pipe up with a cheerful little melody.

 

[LitShark]

Damien snarled faintly as the ringing phone inside Emma’s car seemed to renew this intruder’s Hardy-Boys-style inquisitiveness. He was weighing his options while he continued rearranging Emma’s insides. He could reveal them to him, her humiliation being more incentive that misgiving at this point—but it was still so early in the process and there was no way to know if this young man could be trusted.

“Finish cumming,” Damien instructed Emma, rooting himself inside her again and holding her there by her hips, “it seems that some introductions are in order.”

It was a bitter pill to swallow, delaying his release. Aside from the physical gratification, it was a useful tool for controlling his thrall. The body fluids of demons and devils are potent toxins when mortals are exposed to them—semen in particular could almost rewrite a mortal’s brain-chemistry and make them instantly addicted. But that would have to wait.

When Emma was finished orgasming for the second or third time (Damien was more focused on Colin who was trying to use a wire hanger to unlock Emma’s car), he gave her bare ass a solid smack and withdrew his cock from inside her. He straightened her skirt over her bare ass and stuffed her panties into his pocket.

“Get ready, I’m going to drop the glamour and let him see us,” Damien tucked his wet cock back into his black slacks, “tell him…”

Dozens of lies wove their way through Damien’s mind, searching for which would be the best one. He was still learning about this place and time, but his connection with Emma was sufficient to piece together a back story.

“Tell him I’m a refugee from Alabama, my house got destroyed in a twister and now I’m sheltering with your family. The church put us in touch. And I’m going to be transferring into Salem High.”

When he’d finished putting himself together, he let down Emma’s hair, fixing it back up into an orderly pony tail. Even going so far as to re-tie the school-colored ribbons over the hair-tie. When he was satisfied that she looked less like someone who’d just been climaxing her brains out, Damien snapped his fingers.

“Can I help you with something?” Damien said abruptly, causing Colin to jump and accidentally bend the hanger inside of the door.

“Oh shit!”

“You trying to break into her car?”

“Oh my God! Emma! Are you alright?” Colin rushed over like he was going to hug her, stopping short when he met her gaze, she was not pleased—which Colin couldn’t quite understand why, “where did you just come from? I was looking for you. Wes is awake. Dean says he’s asking for you.”

Colin shifted uncomfortably on his feet, turning to Damien.

“Sorry, I don’t think we’ve met.”

“Damien, Damien Styles.” Damien shook his hand hard.

“Emma, we should go to the hospital. Damien, you can come too if you like.” Colin was clearly still uncertain about who Damien was and why he was there at the crossroads on a Friday night.

“I wouldn’t miss it,” Damien nodded, turning back to Emma.

 

[Curious_Muse]

“I don’t think he believed you.”

There was a hint of annoyance in Emma’s voice as she glared at the headlights of Colin’s truck in her rearview mirror. She had noticed the confused look in his eyes and his quick appraisal of her crumpled uniform. He might be a little freak and a pervert, but he wasn’t an idiot. And if he had ever succeeded in summoning the devil in one of his own little rituals…but no. Otherwise, Damien would have recognized him, too, wouldn’t he?

Emma cast him a furtive, sidelong glance. How often did he do this? Had he been to Salem before? There were a million questions that popped up in her mind now that the fog of wild lust had partially lifted.

With a little shake of her head, she tried to concentrate on the road. Damien’s intoxicating scent, the heat radiating off his skin, his physical proximity all made that difficult. Her body was still humming with his touch, her pussy still swollen and sore. That last orgasm had crashed through her with the force of a natural disaster akin to the one Damien claimed had displaced him.

That was a shit story, and she knew that Colin would need some arm-twisting not to fuck this up for her and Wes. What had this been all about anyway, his worried savior act? Emma was afraid that this little punk would use his knowledge of her dabbling in the dark arts to force her to be friends with him.

But everything faded in the background as the hospital building appeared in her sights. Wes was awake! He was back! She was relieved to find that her new obsession with devil dick had not replaced her deep love for her boyfriend that held firm in her heart.

“Thank you,” she whispered without looking at Damien. “This means everything to me.”

***

“Wes!” Emma broke into tears as she saw him, awake and conscious, propped up against his pillow on the hospital bed. “Oh, Wes! I was so afraid for you!” A kind-looking nurse next to him threw her a warning glance as she darted forward to throw herself around his neck. Emma realized, somewhat startled, that he was apparently not really able to move. It took all of her self-control not to turn to Damien for an explanation.

To her horror, Emma saw that Pastor Hawthorne was in the room as well, speaking quietly in a corner to Wes’s mom, Cammy. He nodded briefly at her when their eyes met. Would he not know? If he did, his brief glance gave nothing away, and he didn’t even seem to notice Damien when they entered.

She walked up to Wes and put a hand on his arm and smiled at him. “How are you? How are you feeling?” His fragile state led to only more tears that she wiped angrily away. With his eyes now resting on her, feelings of guilt and shame almost choked her.

“Thank God that you’re finally here!”

Of course, Rachel fucking Bowers was here, like a vulture circling above the dying, waiting for the best picks. Emma looked up at her over Wes’s bed and forced herself to smile.

“Yes. So it’s ok if you leave now, thanks for hanging out here in the meantime.”

She didn’t miss the brief, angry glimmer in her blue eyes before they shifted past her to focus first on Colin, then Damien. Lingered. Rachel’s lips curled into a cold smile, and Emma knew that it wasn’t that little goth freak she would have to worry about.

“Looks like you lost your necklace, Ems,” Rachel said innocently. And with faux concern and a quick, meaningful glance at Damien, she added: “But that’s quite understandable, with all that excitement.”

 

[LitShark]

For some reason that Damien couldn’t conceive of, Emma was worried about the little squirt who had found them. It amused Damien more than anything, the boy was no threat to him. He was more fascinated with Emma’s BMW. She was piloting it wrong—but he could feel the lethal potential of such a machine. The potential energy in motion—the full-throated detonations taking place just narrow feet away from their knees.

“You don’t have anything to fear from him. I could knock that chump over with a feather,” Damien scoffed, “I thought you’d be more concerned about seeing your boyfriend without any panties on.”

Damien placed his hand high on Emma’s thigh as they pulled into the parking lot of the hospital. She thanked him, but he shook his head grimly, expressing no pleasure at being thanked.

“This wasn’t a favor. This outcome has been purchased. A transaction. A soul for a soul,” his hand slid swiftly up her skirt, gently swiping his finger through her wet, swollen slit, “you belong to me.”

With that, Damien exited the car. In the parking lot he was almost instantly accosted by Colin, who apparently had some suspicions as Emma had predicted.

“So, I’ve gotta ask, what were you doing out there? Especially with her, and with her boyfriend here…”

Damien had heard enough.

“I lost my house in a disaster, my parents too. Emma’s letting me stay with her so I can graduate on time. My church reached out and Emma found it in her heart to let me stay here. I’ll be starting classes next week.”

It was almost a waste of his talents, for Damien to have to convince this nobody. To use his supernatural talents for persuasion on this lickspittle sickened him, but they were trying to keep this a secret. It was important for Emma.

He told himself that it was in his best interest, that his thrall maintain her social currency—at least until he could establish some of his own. But the truth was, he didn’t want Emma to be at the mercy of this boy. If anyone was going to humiliate her and ruin her reputation, it was Damien. His persuasion smelled like peat moss and baby’s breath.

“Wow, that’s incredible…” Colin nodded, following after Emma had rushed ahead, still talking to Damien, “she’s really charitable like that.”

“Just a beautiful soul.”

*-*-*

Wes’ eyes went wide as he saw Emma, looking tearful and rushing over to him.

He wanted to run to her.

There was a bitterness to that momentary impulse, his brain telling his body to spring up from the hospital bed and embrace her—to spin her around in his arms—but all that happened were his neck muscles flexing. He no longer had access to the rest of his body, he was just a head on a lump of dead flesh. He couldn’t even wipe his own ass.

“Emma! Baby!” Wes turned his head slightly and with great effort, scrunching his mouth up to the corner of his face to kiss her cheek, “where have you been?”

At least his tone of voice was still obeying his wishes.

When Rachel echoed his sentiments that was when Wes noticed Colin-fucking-Hartford lingering in his hospital room. Had they arrived together? Who was this other little goth freak? Wes didn’t even know that asshole.

Had Emma been fucking around with these weirdos while he was clinging to life?

“Our promise ring?” it was actually a True Love Waits ring, but when Wes gave it to her he also made a promise—the promise, she was going to be his wife… but he wouldn’t be kneeling, “you took it off?”

Rachel was making a meal of it, but Wes was genuinely baffled. Could he really have misread Emma so badly? Was she already looking for a way out before he even opened his eyes?

“How…? Why…?” Wes was actually choking up, everyone was there, everyone was watching.

“No, she just dropped it. Here it is,” the stranger chimed in, letting the slender gold chain with a ring around it tumble from his hand, had he been holding that this whole time? To make matters worse, he reached over Emma’s body to clasp the chain back around her neck while she continued clinging to Wes’ helpless body.

“I’m sorry, who are you?” the Pastor asked so that Wes didn’t have to.

“Damien. Damien Styles,” the stranger smiled, he must have spent a fortune on cologne, “Emma was picking me up, it was totally unexpected and entirely my fault. I came in early because I wanted her to show me that place…”

“The old gas station?” Colin looked confused—had that been where they were? Where the goth freaks went to fuck each other and drink absinthe?

“The crossroads,” Damien answered curtly, “Robert Johnson. You know? The old legends? The Devil?”

“Those stories are nonsense,” the Pastor replied, his face tense, Wes’ mom looked close to tears.

“Maybe. But the Devil is real.”

“Too true,” Hawthorne said at last.

As Emma continued to lean over his bed, Wes saw the inside of the ring that was dangling around her neck. He’d had it engraved before he gave it to her—“Semper Fidelis.” Always faithful, a promise and a reference to her father serving in the Marine Corps.

Always.

Faithful.

The ring around Emma’s neck bore no such engraving. Wes said nothing as he looked up at the ceiling, a single tear streaming down the side of his face.

 

[Curious_Muse]

Wes‘ desperation and his sadness were heartbreaking. As were his suspicions. She could see what he was thinking when he threw furtive glances at the two boys who had come in with her. For a moment, Emma was tempted to tell him everything: who Damien was, why Colin was in the room with them, what she had done – and sacrificed – to save his life. That she had done it all just for him. That she had done it because she loved him and could not imagine a life without him.

There was no reason to be sad! He was back! He was back with her, and nothing else mattered. At all! She wished she could tell him all that, that all this chatter was just that – noise.

“Wes…,” she began, trying to search for the right words. Her voice had dropped to a small whisper. “I love you. Please believe me. I would do anything for you.” It was all she dared to say at this point. There were too many people in the room with them to risk more. She gently wiped away the tear that was rolling down his face, wishing that they would all just leave them alone.

“I think you need to rest, baby,” she said softly, caressing his cheek. “What happened today was awful. But trust me – it will get better. You will get better. Please, baby. I need you to trust me. Can you do that?”

Even while speaking these words, she was suddenly painfully aware of her lack of panties, and she felt a pang of annoyance at Damien, but there was fear, too. His words were still fresh in her mind.

You belong to me.

Wes sometimes used those words, too. When he wanted to turn her on. Or in a goofy, romantic way.

That was not the way Damien had said it.

Even though she was wearing the spandex hot pants, she was afraid that people could tell that there was nothing underneath. Quickly, and with a deep blush suffusing her cheeks, she stood up again and pulled nervously at the hem of her cheerleading skirt.

Rachel, who of course had not left, was smirking at her, watching her every move.

“Well, I am glad that you found Em’s necklace, Damien,” she chirped. “These two are so devoted to each other. But I am sure Emma has told you all about it already.” Her ham-fisted insinuation was lost on no one

“Don’t you have somewhere to be?” Emma snapped. “It’s getting late.”

As if on cue, her cell phone chirped. It was her mom.

“Yeah, we’re all still in the hospital. Wes is awake now…what? The connection is really bad here…” Cammy had caught Emma’s eye and made frantic hand gestures toward the sign on the wall that indicated a ban on cell phones inside the room. The nurse nodded helpfully.

“Oh…sorry, mom. I have to hang up. I’ll be there soon. I mean…we will be…,” Her gaze drifted to Damien and an icy chill crept down her spine. “Bye, mom!”

Emma realized that she would have to convince her mom of Damien’s shitty excuse for a story as well. How was she supposed to explain to her that she was bringing a boy, a total stranger at that, to their house? To sleep over? Her mom, Carole Jenkins, was not as strict as most of her friends’ mothers, but this was going to be a hard sell, nonetheless. She would also have to explain to Damien that he was under no circumstances allowed to mention the crossroads again. Her mom would, at the very least, be very upset. But her dad, a Staff Sergeant in the Marine Corps who was currently away for training in North Carolina, would be livid. Damien would have to find a different house to haunt once her dad came home, or there would – literally – be hell to pay.

She kissed Wes softly on his cheek. “Babe, I will visit you tomorrow, I promise. As soon as they’ll let me in.” Emma was glad it would be Saturday, which meant she’d have the whole day to herself – and Wes.

“Damien – can you drive with Colin?” There was just no way that she’d put Wes through the drama of seeing her leave with that dark, handsome stranger who had just fucked her in an abandoned gas station. Rachel snorted but grabbed her things, too.

Emma barely dared to look at Damien now.

You belong to me.

She wasn’t sure if she had only imagined it, but she could have sworn that she had heard those words whispered right next to her ear.

 

[LitShark]

“Oh, it’s practically all she talks about,” Damien smirked, bathing for the first time in Rachel’s icy blue eyes. Unlike Emma, Damien loved these jagged insinuations and tawdry inferences—the unspoken tension—the thinly veiled spite. Who knew high school was such fertile ground for the Devil.

“Wes this, my boyfriend that—but she still found the time to rescue me—a refugee and a stranger to her. Emma has such a giving soul,” the way her eyes roamed over Damien’s body made him effuse scents of rose and silk, “Rachel, was it? I’m transferring to your school to finish my senior year starting on Monday. I could use a tour guide. You seem to know how this place works. Would you show me around?”

He knew she would.

Even if he wasn’t wielding the full weight of being the big, reigning mystery of the moment—which he was, it was clear that Rachel would have blown him right there in the room, just to gauge Emma’s reaction to it.

“Maybe Miss Blue Eyes here could give me a lift, I think Colin has done enough for us tonight,” Damien answered Emma, suggesting that they should drive to her house separately, “maybe we could get a head start? Leave the happy couple a few moments alone.”

It took very little effort to lead the procession of clingers-on out of the crowded Intensive Care wing. When they emerged into the waiting room, still others were waiting there. Some of the players, still dirty and bleeding from the game, wearing cleats and athletic-wear in synchronized shades of blue and gold. They reminded him of gladiators from the glory days of Rome.

Presiding over this motley crew of battered warriors was Coach Owens, looking stern and tense. His daughter, obviously brought along against her wishes, was asleep in the chairs behind her. It was a miscalculation to be asleep in the presence of the Devil.

Damien fed her a dark and dirty dream of a grim prophecy. In the slender moment he spent introducing himself to the Coach, Damien out lived a dozen hours of dream-time with his daughter.

“Coach, Owens. I’m Damien Styles, I just transferred here from around Austin area. I was orphaned by a disaster and adopted by the local church. They kept me out of the system and made arrangements for me to transfer here so I can finish senior year rather than having to get my G.E.D. from a group home or a FEMA shelter. I played some ball when I was younger. It would be the thrill of my life to be a Devil.”

“Well, it’s nice to meet you, son. But I’ve already got my fifty-three man roster, but we can talk about the practice squad or maybe you could—”

“Seems like you could use some help at quarterback.”

Cammy gasped out loud.

“I can’t think about that right now.” Coach Owen’s whole face changed shape as his jaw grew painfully tense.

“Tomorrow then,” Damien nodded, turning back to Rachel who surprised even him with how impressed she was with his ability to speak like this to the infallible Coach Owens, a man who was practically a god in this part of Texas, “come on, let’s go. What kind of car do you drive?”

When they were alone at last, Damien dispensed with the pleasantries, unleashing the full power of his glamour—not that he needed it.

“Give me the keys. I’ll drive, you can suck my cock.”

It wasn’t a question—even a foregone conclusion. Rachel was going to be a slut for his cum.

Daughter’s Dream: I​

The Void was dark—darker than black.

It was like an emptiness so deep that it could more accurately be described as an absence of color than any one color. Hints of corners of ruins and labyrinths stretched out in every direction. Wider than Texas.

Her chestnut-colored hair was pulled into two, precise pigtails, hanging straight down her back. She was wearing a black leather corset, fishnet stockings, garters and black lace panties. Clothes so provocative she’d never seen them, much less ever worn such things in her life. She’d always been protected—no, sheltered—no, imprisoned by her father. What she wore, who she knew, what she did—everything was under his scrutiny.

Whoosh-

A red spotlight passed over the scene from an impossibly distant facsimile of a lighthouse that seemed to be on the edge of a cliff hanging in air some fifty feet overhead. The brief swipe of invasive light made it clear that she wasn’t alone in the Void.

Behind her was a presence. A god—no, the Devil. He was towering over her, trembling with readiness. Ready for what? Only the beast knew for sure.

Whoosh-

From behind, its large hands closed around her throat—but instead of terrifying, the touch of the massive creature was arousing somehow. It was like everything that had been sheltered from—no, kept from her, all came rushing in at once. The smell of ambergris and leather, the feeling of a cigarette after sex, getting drunk on a Saturday and dancing on tables. The Beast’s touch was all these things.

Whoosh-

In the red light, the beast’s skin was black—not black like an ethnicity, but black like ink. Black like the inside of her eyelids. Black like the cover of the bible.

As his hands moved lower down her body, she could feel his massive cock behind her, pressing up against her lewd underwear. Drawing her closer.

“Come and see,” The Beast whispered, its forked tongue tracing the shell of her ear, “come and see.”

 

[Curious_Muse]

“That was quite a stunt you pulled back there with Coach Owens.” Walking right behind Damien in the parking lot of the hospital and trying to keep up, Rachel felt giddy. “You know how many of the guys would rather cut off their right foot instead of talking to him like t…”

She almost walked into him when he stopped to tell her what he expected to happen next. His eyes shimmered black in the light of the overhead lanterns. Rachel stared at him, wanting to serve him one of her trademark put-downs, but found that she did, in fact, want to suck his cock.

Handing him the keys to her cherry-red Mercedes GLS, she smiled. “Sure.”

He had not even put the car into drive before Rachel leaned over to him to eagerly open the fly of his pants with a porn-worthy flutter of her eyelashes that she knew other guys in the team thought looked hot. It was obvious that she did not do this for the first time, but when she freed his cock, her blue eyes widened. She was barely able to close her small fist around it.

“Fuck. This is…it’s beautiful,” she sighed, flaring her nostrils as the full force of his aura hit her. God, he smelled amazing. A mix of sandalwood, wild roses, and fresh moss – a heady, pleasant scent that made her nipples harden instantly under her cheerleading uniform. Leaning forward, she opened her mouth to lick the tip of his cock, softly and obediently like a kitten.

He tasted good, too. A hint of chocolate and whiskey and smoke that reminded her of something – of someone – she had always wanted, but never dared to approach. He tasted of adventure and scandal and the best sex she’d ever have, all from that very first nip. Her lips parted to accommodate his head, her fingers stroking his base with dedication. Slowly, inch by inch, she took more of him into his mouth. Her eyes were closed in concentration, and she was moaning softly.

Rachel looked as if she was sampling a delicacy, swirling her tongue around the tip of his cock, dragging it along the underside, making it nice and wet. A sommelier of cock. She was still fisting it with one hand, amazed about how smooth and hot it felt against her skin. Almost like a wild thing with a life and soul of its own.

She felt herself getting wet, and the pressure was growing between her thighs, throbbing in her clit. Usually, she was not a big fan of giving head, saw it more as a necessity and a means to an end. But this? Rachel hoped that he would drive slowly so that she could savor his cock as long as possible.

***

Carole Jenkins was sitting on the couch in her silk nightgown with the phone in her lap, waiting for her daughter to come home. A glass of white wine was in front of her on the table. Poor Wes. Emma would be devastated. She had been relieved to hear that Wes had woken up and hoped that this meant that he would recover quickly. He was such a great boy and had always treated her daughter with the utmost love and respect.

Qualities that were not always easy to come by in a small, conservative town like Salem. She was only too aware of this from her own marriage. With a sigh, she wandered over to the front window and peeked outside for what felt like the hundredth time. Wes’ accident had made her anxious, and all she now wanted was to have Emma home with her. As she saw a pair of headlights approach from one end of the road, she hoped that it would finally be her daughter.

 

[LitShark]

((Collaborated works of LitShark & Curious_Muse 1 of 2))

Daughter’s Dream: II​

The Beast’s coiled tongue moved down her ear, encircling her throat as its breath trickled down the back of her neck. Its saliva smelled like gasoline as its large hands spread out over her petite chest. She was trembling, her body at the mercy of this huge, powerful thing.

Soon the Beast was trembling as well, but not the way she was—trembling with frightful power, potential energy, nearly phasing into unbeing by being so closely tied to the Void around them.

Then the Void was trembling. Vibrating around the girl who was already panting hard. The long, leathery fingers slipped inside the cups of her leather corset and closed around her nipples, pinching inward.

Whoosh-

The red light felt warm as it passed over her this time.

“Come and see, child. Come and see.” The Beast whispered, despite its long, black tongue beginning to trickle down her chest and inside of her bustier, “come and see.”

Whoosh-

The forked ends of its tongue encircled her erect nipple, equalizing the pinch from the other side where fingers teased her. The tongue tightened around her throat, choking her more and more, but it didn’t hurt.

It felt good.

Whoosh-

Somehow this presence was more than just a thing. It had an identity, a presence that was imprinting itself on the girl’s subconscious in a way that she might never recover from. He would own her before he met her.

Except, she didn’t yet realize that this entity was actually a real person—but she would. She would allow herself to follow her instincts in this dream, even if she had spent a lifetime of holding back.

“Yes… surrender to me. Succumb to the sensation.”

*-*-*

“I’m not afraid of that self-righteous, fuck,” Damien smirked as he adjusted the mirror, glancing back at the coach through the back window, “he works for me, now.”

Damien sighed as Rachel praised his cock. It seemed that she must be some type of connoisseur of cocks, which raised her in his esteem. He always had use for sluts. He took a moment to appreciate her technique, letting her savor him, develop a taste for his unique bouquet before he took over. He let the engine turn over, taking a moment to appreciate it for himself. The car, the new mouth on his cock… he was going to like this new era, he decided.

After giving Rachel a chance to strut her skills—such as they were—Damien mashed the gas pedal to the floor and spun the tires in reverse, leaving rubber behind as he backed out of the parking space. When he angled out of the place, the tires skidded again as he used the hand brake to stop, changed gears and peeled out again.

The sudden stop had forced Rachel to lunge onto Damien’s cock, taking it deeper than she was comfortable with in her throat. His hand grasped the messy bun at the back of her head, pinning her face in his lap as he sped out of the hospital parking lot. He was doing sixty before he even reached the street. The tires squealed every time he turned the wheel.

“Not bad, slut. Take it deep now,” Damien continued forcing her face into his lap, despite her obvious discomfort.

It was within his power to remove Rachel’s gag reflex altogether, thereby making this sort of deep, throat fucking easier—but he liked it better this way. Choking and drooling being the provenance of cum-sluts.

*-*-*

Daughter’s Dream: III​

Kylie shivered. "Yes," she whispered, her lips moving silently in her sleep. "I want to." She shivered. Wanted to move her arms but found that she couldn’t. Wanted to turn around but that, too, was impossible. The Beast had rooted her to the spot with presence, with its scent, with its caresses. The forked tongue slithered around her small, round breasts and she sighed softly.

It felt so good. So wrong. So…evil. But there was nothing she wanted more at that moment. “I…I do,” she stammered again, wondering if the Beast had heard her. Her skin tingled deliciously, and she felt dirty and wanted and powerful because of it. It was an entirely new sensation for Kylie. Her father had not even allowed her to try out for the cheerleading squad because he thought the girls there would be a bad influence. That the boys on the team might get the wrong ideas.

It was all so unfair.

She felt proud in her revealing outfit. Loved the way the bodice hugged her slender curves. Loved the way it made her feel. The Beast’s massive cock was pressed against her backside, a dark promise. She was curious about what it would feel like if she touched it. Or – and here sleeping Kylie gasped out loud – what it would feel like inside of her.

It would be so good.

The tongue tightened around her throat, cutting off her ability to breathe, and Kylie surrendered. She wasn’t afraid. It didn’t hurt. Darkness gathered into a tight mass at the edge of her vision. Threatened to swallow her whole. She wanted it to.

“Yes…,” she whispered again. “Let me see. Let me see all of it."

*-*-*

It was strange, there were large gaps in Damien’s knowledge of the present era. He didn’t know who was president, or even what type of fuel the car he was driving would take, but he knew exactly how to get back to Emma’s house. The turns, the straights, the landmarks along the way—he knew it like the back of his hand.

The front of his hand continued wrestling with the back of Rachel’s head.

As the car drifted into a J-skid against the curb at Emma’s house, Damien pulled up the parking brake and began to cum. The first glut shot straight into her stomach.

Damien began to pull himself out of her throat as the second glut filled her mouth, some even dribbling down her chin.

“Shit,” Damien groaned, trying to halt his stream while he grasped for something in the back seat.

He’d already started coating her face before he found an empty Starbucks cup which he used to catch the rest of his jizz as it dribbled down her face.

“Save this. You’re going to need it later. I don’t want you breaking in to try and milk me first thing in the morning…” it was already morning, Damien realized. The hour had grown late, “after you… recover. I want you to go over to Colin… um, whatever-his-face’s house. I found your service satisfactory, but if you want to continue to serve me, you need to do whatever Colin tells you for the next two days and nights. At school, if he tells me you served him well as a cum rag, I’ll grant you some more of my cum. If he doesn’t… I won’t.”

Even with the Starbucks cup to hold her over, she would be very desperate for more of his cum by the time school began.

 

[LitShark]

((Collaborated works of LitShark & Curious_Muse 2 of 2))

Daughter’s Dream: IV​

“Good pet,” the creature sighed, its smooth warm tongue sweeping forward, encircling her body even more and the hands move under her arms to clasp on the back of her neck.

While she was gripped in this full-nelson, her panties seemed to obediently tuck themselves to one side as the beast’s tremendous cock pushed against her wet, warm folds, struggling to find an angle whereby something so massive could force itself into something so tight.

“We have such sights to show you…”

Whoosh-

In the same moment—the same motion, large, leathern wings swiped downward and its cock thrust up inside of her. She was flying, riding the creature’s massive cock like a rocket as it nestled itself up against her deepest, innermost corners, filling her beyond her prior imagination. A fullness to redefine full, filling and fulness forever. A fullness like completion.

One of her tall, stiletto heels fell from her toe as the demon soared, gripping the back of her neck and its tongue still caressing, squeezing her nipple at the center of a loop, squeezing her throat, the forked end between her legs now, trying to wriggle its way around her erect clit.

The beast wasn’t gentle, but despite what it was doing, it didn’t hurt. It felt like she was uniquely built to receive this thing’s huge cock and be carried by it into—who-knows-where. When the second thrust bottomed out inside of her, they were flying directly into the red light—its heat no longer a question. The closer they got, the hotter the light became—but the eager tongue seemed to lavish in the taste of her sweat.

When the ascent finally stalled, they were hovering over a massive crowd, packed in together and dancing, fucking, fighting wildly—the way they were thrashing, it was indistinguishable which of the three were occurring—perhaps all three at once.

The whole scene was lit red and the heat of the crowd could be felt even from above. As the beast thrust into her again, the crowd roared with manic glee. The sound of all those voices together like a separate entity of its own—but still nothing compared to the power of the entity that carried her.

“It is all for you. Your birthright. You are destined for this.”

Despite the fact that there was no projector anywhere around, images began appearing over the seething crowd. Kylie at a party, accepting a drink from a boy she hadn’t met before, fluttering her lashes. Now she was smoking, wearing what her father always referred to as “stripper heels.” Next she was dancing, eyes half lidded and sweating. She was pressed up against that same boy again, he was shirtless and her mouth seemed to be suckling at the sweat on his chest.

“Come and see,” The Beast sighed again, squeezing her clit in the slender lasso of its tongue as it drove inside again, “this future is yours.”

More projections, she was kissing this boy, aggressively making out, really. She barely resembled herself under the heavy makeup and skimpy clothes. They seemed to be at school. At prom?

“Such sights to show you,” again, the Beast pounded her slender body.

*-*-*

Damien put his cock away and patted Rachel on the head before leaving her car.

“As I said, this was satisfactory,” he reiterated before closing the door behind himself.

The sound of his tires had brought Carole to the front door. He walked straight up to her like she ought to have been expecting him.

“I’m Damien,” he smiled, caressing the side of her face as he backed her into the house, his fingers combing along her scalp through her short hair, “I’m a friend of your daughter’s.”

The smell of roses and clove could be detected from across the street as he kissed her, kicking the door shut behind himself. As soon as they were alone together his hand slid inside of her nightgown, caressing her firm breast as his tongue wound against hers.

*-*-*

Daughter’s Dream: V​

Her birthright? What did that mean? Kylie watched, suspended in mid-air, suspended while the Beast was fucking her, licking her, drawing soft kittenish moans from her lips. But she did not wake up.

The sight should have horrified her. (It didn’t.) The writhing, sweating, fucking bodies. The violence and lewdness of it all. Herself in such a…state. She’d been grounded for less in the past. Much less. This was her future? Impossible. There must be a mistake, the Beast must have taken her for someone else. There was no way that her dad would ever let her attend a school event dressed like that. That he would have let her smoke. That he would allow her to make out with a boy, like that, in front of everyone. And if this was at school, her dad would be there.

Through the fog of her pleasure, that thought still terrified her.

Funny, too, that she worried about any of that, impaled as she was on the Beast’s massive cock. Flying. Burning. It felt like the most natural thing in the world. It had not even hurt when it had thrust into her in one brutal stroke, which was odd, since she was a virgin. In more ways than one.

It felt so good. Better than she thought possible. So much better than in her secret fantasies, the times she had touched herself under the covers, blushing and afraid to get caught, thinking of some of the cute guys on her dad’s team. Of Wes. Of Javier. Of Jake.

But who was that boy down there on the dance floor? She had never seen him before at school, and yet he seemed so very familiar. A deep ache filled her chest, a longing like she had never felt before. He was hot, yes, but also heartbreakingly beautiful in that way people would mention if they’d talk about him. She watched her future self

She wanted him. She needed him. The thought of having to wait for that prophesized future filled her with unspeakable dread.

“Who’s that…who’s that boy?” she panted, breathless with desire. “And why did you choose me?” Her voice trailed off in a plaintive moan as the Beast thrust into her again, and suddenly Kylie wasn’t sure if she really wanted to know the answers to these questions.

*-*-*

Daughter’s Dream: VI ​

“I chose you because you are pure of heart and spirit, because you are uncorrupted but not incorruptible. Worthy prey.” The Beast whispered, the breath seeming to seep out from every part of it, the tongue, the cock, the hands—every part of it surrounded her, “it’s all for you, can’t you see?”

The Void shifted and moved, the bodies of those below twisting and distorting in agonizing synchronicity to make room for the Beast to change forms, it seemed to surround her, envelope her, swallowing her up into itself as its bat-like wings folded around her body, curling her arms and legs in as she was wrapped up in a cocoon of warm sex.

She was turned to face the creature for the first time, but at the juncture of the wings, the thing with its arms wrapped possessively around her and its cock buried inside her was Damien, the boy from her visions.

His hips moved faster as she realized who was giving her such pleasure.

“I know you have been chosen, because it is Me. It has always been Me. Embrace me now and accept your Destiny. It's Me, Damien. I am your Salvation.”

*-*-*

“Wake up, sweetheart. It’s time to go home,” Coach Owens gently touched Kylie’s shoulder to wake her, the noises she was making in her sleep were beginning to make him visibly uncomfortable, “get your stuff. You were having a bad dream.”

While his daughter got herself together, Coach Owens turned back to his players who were all trying not to pay notice to the sounds that Kylie was making in her fitted sleep.

“The rest of you, go straight home and to bed. Nothing ever did well after midnight except the devil.”

“Yes Coach,” Marcus Leon, the star running back answered for the rest of his teammates, “See you for weight training tomorrow.”

The players all streamed out as Coach Owens wrapped his windbreaker around Kylie’s shoulders to help her to her feet. The hospital was trying to close down the lobby. A janitor was leering at her, his gaze attracted by the sounds she was making in her sleep. He likely mistook them for some sort of arousal which might be enough to earn him an ass whooping if he stared too much longer.

“Come on sweetheart, let’s get you back to your own bed.”

 

[Curious_Muse]

Jesus, that guy had nerves. Rachel sat up and, slowly licking her lips without even noticing that she did, she tried to catch her breath. “That was…” She tried and failed to find the words to describe the various kinds of freaked out she had been during that car ride. “…interesting,” she finally concluded. Absentmindedly, she wiped some more of his cum off her chin with her fingers and licked them clean, seemingly unaware of what she was doing.

“Colin…,” Rachel said slowly. It was obvious that she did not immediately understand who he was talking about and that she was wrecking her brain for the boys she actually thought were worth registering and went by that name. When she came up empty, she frowned at him. “Wait. You don’t mean Colin Hartford, do you?” She snorted. “You’re kidding. That’s a stupid task.” With a few practiced movements, she rearranged her hair in a messy bun that looked the way she liked it. “He’s a loser. I bet all he ever fucked is his fist. That little freak wouldn’t know which end had the vagina parts! And besides, you’re not doing him any favors with that. He totally hates me.” Reapplying some lipstick with a glance in the rearview mirror, she shrugged. “It’s mutual.”

And besides, who did this guy think he was? Sure, he had a very pretty cock – Rachel never understood all the derisive talk about dicks amongst her girlfriends – and he tasted nothing short of amazing. But why did he think she would come begging for seconds? In her experience, it was always the boys who groveled for another round. Never her. If Damien wanted to fit in at Salem High, he’d learn that fast enough.

This was why, when he patted her on the hand and closed the car door behind her, she scooted over into the driver’s seat, turned the ignition, and peeled away from the curb without looking back. The Starbucks cup went out the window. “Seriously,” she whispered to herself angrily. “How desperate does he think I am?”

She would go home, take a shower, and get some fucking sleep. This newbie, no matter how hot he was, would learn that Rachel Bowers was not a girl one could push around like that. With a little sigh, she started licking at her left hand and sucking on her fingers. Yeah, he tasted amazing. But he needed to get over himself if he thought that this would make her some kind of cum junkie.

***

The boy walked over to the door as if he lived in their house. Carole looked around, expecting her daughter to turn up, too.

“Wait…who are…?” Carole wasn’t able to finish the question as Damien closed her mouth with his. She had never seen this boy before, how could he be a friend of Emma’s? And where was Emma? But he was strong, and her surprise was such that she did not even think of putting up a fight.

One second later, when he cupped her naked breast inside her night gown, she somehow did not want to. She pulled him closer into the kiss, the fingers of her left hand entangled in his black hair, her other hand already under his shirt. His skin was smooth and warm, his muscles hard underneath.

This was wrong. So wrong. But she was unable to stop herself.

***

Emma looked down at her sleeping boyfriend and gently stroked his hair. He looked so fragile. “Everything will be fine, Wes, you’ll see,” she whispered. The kind nurse had allowed her a few more minutes alone in the room and she had been very grateful. Now, in the soft blue shine of the night light and with everyone gone, the things she had done and seen seemed far away and unreal.

“You know what?” she said softly. “I made a deal with the devil.” She snickered, and caressed Wes’ cheek. “He’s just…this boy. And a bit of a dick? But please, please believe me, babe, I love only you, and everything I did was to help you.” She gave him a sad little smile. “I know we promised each other to wait. I know. But it doesn’t really count, does it? I did it for you. And only that once.”

At that point the nurse came back in, and Emma knew that it really was time to leave. She gave Wes a kiss on his forehead, grabbed her duffle bag, and went outside to find that everyone else had already left. Her car was the last one in the visitor’s parking lot.

The air had cooled down a bit, but it was still quite warm and humid. She felt the urgent need for a shower.

When she arrived in front of her house, she was surprised to see that her mom was not waiting in the doorway. It was late, way after midnight, and after everything that had happened with Wes, Emma was disappointed that she had not waited up for her as she usually did. But it had been a fucking awful and strange day, and Emma felt the fatigue pressing on her eyelids like lead.

Apparently, Damien had decided to spend the night at Rachel’s, and she felt a sting of irritation at the thought. But whatever. She was too tired to concern herself with that now. She opened the door and went into the kitchen to grab a glass of water, surprised to see that her mom’s cell phone was lying on the floor in the entrance way.

With a shrug, she picked it up and quietly made her way up the stairs to her room.

***

Kylie could not sleep. She was lying on her bed, staring at the ceiling, trying to conjure the face of the boy from her hospital dream while timidly rubbing her hand over her panties. It had been so real. Her dad had thought that the horrors of that evening had caused her to have nightmares, and she had obviously not wanted to tell him what she had really dreamed about.

She had been upset at him for waking her up.

Those eyes. That mouth. That body.

Her hands slipped into her panties and found her clit and with her middle digit, she began to rub small, tight circles over the little nub. She imagined it was him who was caressing her now, tried to remember the exact sound of his voice as he had whispered into her ear. His intoxicating scent. The delicious taste of his sweaty skin. The feeling of his smooth skin and his lean muscles underneath. Kylie remembered all of it so vividly that she thought she would be able to reach out and touch him. She groaned in frustration that it had all been just a dream.

That boy didn’t exist, and he sure as hell didn’t go to her school. The thought almost made her cry.

Her hand started to move faster and with more urgency as she closed her eyes very tightly, wishing for nothing than to feel like she had sleeping in that hospital seat. How she had surged, how he had taken her, brutally and lovingly at the same time. How right it had felt. How each of his thrusts had given her more pleasure, and more, until she thought she would lose her mind with the intensity of it all.

Smothering her face in her pillow, she came screaming.

 

[LitShark]

Damien released her body to raise his arms up, letting her pull his shirt off, giving her full and unrestricted access to his bare torso. The kiss broke just long enough for the fabric to pass between them, her lips already swollen from being so abruptly sucked, licked and bitten within just moments. When his shirt was discarded, Damien slapped both hands onto Carole’s firm, pilates ass, lifting her off the ground so that she might wrap her long, toned legs around him.

He carried her directly to the stairs, wasting no time whatsoever in tugging her panties to one side as he began climbing the stairs while holding her in his arms. She too was working to remove barriers from between their sexes and his cock was inside her before they reached the second floor.

On the short walk from the landing to the master bedroom, Damien used his grip on her ass to lift and slam her back and forth on his turgid cock. His hips thrust in synchronicity to his long strides, so it was almost like he was pounding her through air into the bedroom she so often shared with her husband.

He deposited her on the bed by slamming her down. A loud snap registered a broken board from the box spring as he dove atop her, hilting his huge cock again.

He closed his hands around her throat aggressively, shoving her back into the mattress as the muscles in his biceps and shoulders flexed under the skin, showing folds and wrinkles of sinew, like there were braided eels wrestling under his paper-thin skin.

He choked her as he held his cock inside her, stopping her wind and staring into her eyes.

“Beg for your life with your cunt, slut. Milk my dick or my hands don’t open again. I hope you’ve been keeping up with the Keigels as part of your cross-fit routine.”

A demented smile spread across his face, his hips just slightly changing their angle and shifting the orientation of his cock inside her, shifting a different way. He would kill her. It was plain in his eyes. This was a thing made to murder.

The sound of the front door startled him out of his bloodlust and may have saved Carole’s life. He released his hands from around her throat and leaned back, turning her in the bed so that her head was spilling off the side facing toward the door. The whole time he moved her, he didn’t stop slamming his hips down again and again.

“Emma, come in here,” Damien called out to the hall, “we need to discuss the new normal.”

While he waited, he communicated impatience by slamming the headboard against the wall that their bedrooms shared, jerking his hips laterally in between downward thrusts.

“How about it, you want to join in?” Damien leaned over Carole’s body, the heel of one palm under her chin and his middle three digits in her mouth, “unless you want to go back to being loyal to the vegetable. Is that what you want, Emma?”

Emma knew the pleasure that her mother was experiencing, but he gave a few more deep strokes to communicate his point.

*-*-*

Coach Owens spat into the sink and ran the water after, cutting the stream off abruptly when he heard what sounded almost like screaming from his daughter’s room. After he cut the water, though, he couldn’t hear anything else, so he dismissed it as his overactive mind.

He tossed his undershirt into the hamper as he climbed into bed with his wife. He was trying to figure out how to approach the subject of his concerns. What even were his concerns?

“You know, honey. I’m just absolutely sick over what happened to Wes tonight. Moreover, I’m worried about how Kylie is taking it. She was having some kind of nightmare in the hospital and it almost sounded like she was… well, not having a nightmare. I’m worried about her. You know she always had that little bit of a crush on Wes—now, seeing him like that. I’m not sure how well she’s actually taking it.

“Plus, I’m worried about the boys. I think I might be losing their respect for me. I had some punk I’ve never even met tell me I could use some help at quarterback. Right there in the hospital. I thought Cammy might slap the punk. But worse yet, he’s not wrong. I don’t know what we’re going to do at QB…”

Glen Owens sighed, realizing he was rambling. His wife had a knack for telling him the truth he didn’t want to hear without saying anything at all. Her gaze led him to the heart of his concern.

“Is this my fault? What happened to Wes. When I taught him to stand tall in the face of the rush—to step into pressure, did I cause this?”

 

[Curious_Muse]

It was wonderful. Amazing. It was, for lack of a better word, otherworldly in its intensity. Carole came the first time when he was still carrying her up the stairs, clinging to him and shivering through an intense orgasm as he didn’t even seem to notice. Who was this boy? No, this creature? Everything shrank, and reality became just him, and her, and the pleasure she felt each time he rammed himself into her to the hilt. He was so goddamn beautiful, too, and stronger than any man she had ever met or been with.

Including her husband.

But the thought of him was a fleeting, weak spark that died when her second climax hit her and she came with a silent scream beneath him, her longs legs wrapped around his hips, drawing him closer. Her fingers left scratches on his back, but he didn’t seem to notice. She threw her head back as she rode it out on his relentless, steely cock, twitching and writhing like a woman possessed.

This was hands down the best sex she had ever had, and Carole knew, without any doubt, that he’d be the best she’d ever have.

She was convinced of this right up until the moment that he wrapped his hands around her slender throat and started squeezing. Carole wanted to scream, but managed only a tiny, terrified wheezing sound. Her eyes were pleading with him, she started scratching at his wrists, his biceps, his torso – anywhere were her fingernails found traction. And her pussy did squeeze him. In her fight for her life, the terror she felt, her cunt clamped down on him as if trying to push him back out of her body. It was almost painful.

Please, she begged him, silently. Please.

It was then that they both heard the front door slam shut. Emma. Carole panicked. Was he after her daughter next? But to her surprise, he released her throat and began to concentrate on fucking her again, tossing her around like a rag doll. As if she weighed nothing. When he called out to her daughter, she wanted to beg him to be quiet, to leave Emma out of it, to leave her little darling alone, but he was already fucking her towards another mind-shattering orgasm, and she was unable to think straight.

Emma froze on the stairs when she heard his voice. The sharp command in his tone. The viciousness. And – she almost fell backwards when she realized this – the unmistakable sounds of two people fucking. Her mom’s helpless moans, the hard slapping of flesh on flesh.

What the actual fuck.

For the first time that night, it dawned on her that she had released a monster into this world. That her deal with the devil had not been a joke, not a funny story she’d look back on, something she’d giggle over in college. No, HE was up in her parents’ bedroom with her mom, fucking her brains out. Asking her to join. Slowly, as if her legs were weighed down by deep mud, she made her way up the staircase and towards the master bedroom. The helpless moans, the yelps and sighs were almost too much to bear.

“The new normal?” she managed to say through the door that was only ajar, her voice a hoarse croak. “But the deal…the deal had been only with me.” Emma shivered. “And…of course, I want to stay loyal to Wes. I love him. I thought…I thought that this was part of our deal.” A slap, another sharp moan.

How was she going to get out of this nightmare?

***

Hannah Owens turned towards her husband, propped up on one elbow in their bed. “Darling, of course it wasn’t your fault. These accidents happen. Wes was…ambitious.” She gave him a tight, apologetic little smile. “No, sorry. He is ambitious. You coached him to be a fighter, and he is.” She caressed his cheek. After their many years of being married, she still marveled at how hot she thought he was. “I hate that this happened to him. It’s unfair. But it’s not your fault, do you hear me? You’re the best coach these boys could wish for. All the way to the state championship four years in a row. That’s what you need to remember.”

She looked at her husband and sighed. Hannah had always thought that he was hot. Loved how women looked at him. Hell, she had to admit that she even loved how some of the cheerleaders drooled over him during practice.

But as she studied him now, his face, his well-defined body, his lean muscles, she almost felt like she was going to drool. The intensity of her sudden want for him surprised even her, and because of his mood, and because of what had just happened to him, she didn’t really dare to act on it. But god, he looked fine.

With a flirtatious smile, she caressed his arm. “Maybe there is something I can do to distract you?”

 

[LitShark]

Damien laughed out loud at Emma’s sincere confusion, apparently mistaking him for some sort of charity. Expecting that he might have placed limitations on himself and their bargain unbidden or promised more than was explicitly said. He grasped Carole’s upper arms and drove hard into her again.

His shoulder-blades jutted upward as he leaned down on her arms possessively, like a jungle cat protecting a kill from scavengers.

“Yes, our deal is just for you—you belong to me because I ‘brought Wes back’ to you. My deal with your mother here is less structured. I’m giving her this because she wants it—has been missing it for too long,” he punctuated this by drawing back his hips and slamming them home, which seemed to make her cum again, “and I’m going to keep giving it to her. As long as she or I desire. Your fidelity to your boyfriend, while admirable, is tenuous. In belonging to me, I own your body as well…”

Here, Damien stopped his hips, locked eyes with Emma and snapped his fingers in her direction.

“Cum!” he commanded her—no, commanded her body. It obeyed like a reflex.

“But, since I’m generous, and content with your mother’s flesh for the moment—I will not force you to fuck me or anyone else. You can imagine yourself a born-again virgin if you wish. Save yourself for him for all I care. You can give him your first mortal time, if you want. You two have true love after all.

“Love exists outside my purview. I cannot make you love me or prevent you from loving him. I could make you fuck the entire campus to chase him off—but I won’t. As long as you can abstain from my charms, I’ll allow it. I may have other tasks for you, but you should be grateful that I’m not sending you out to go rim every old man in the homeless shelter.”

Damien resumed his deep, fast strokes into Carole’s spasming pussy. Their bodies making enough noise from repeated collisions to justify the silence.

“I’m the man of the house now. You should obey me without question—bearing in mind that I can force you, easier than I convinced Carole here.”

His hands landed on her body with precision and purpose, turning her over onto all fours, using her arms and legs like handles to roll her over until she was bent over on her hands and knees, facing Emma. She tried to look away, but Damien grasped a fistful of her hair and kept her face up while he slid his long, thick cock inside of her in one swift stroke.

She had adapted to his size now, allowing him to move faster. He shouted to be heard over the commotion as he slammed her from behind. He released her hair in favor of her upper arms again, driving deep and hard, lunging her lean torso out like the maiden on the bow of a ship.

“You’re welcome. Yes, it’s very generous of me—allowing you to stay loyal to him. Just know that I am in fact testing you. No self-stimulation or anything like that. Next time you feel release it will be with Wes, or with me. Understood?”

As if to punctuate the terms of this challenge, Damien hilted again and began to cum. Since his body was created and not grown, he had control over things most mortals could only imagine—for instance, when he ejaculated inside Carole, he sent no sperm into her body—only the nearly toxic and highly addictive aphrodisiac-neurotoxin that was his semen.

It would nearly double the sexual sensitivity of any flesh it came into contact with and it was currently overflowing her spasming pussy.

“Fu-ck yes… that’s a good little cum dump…” Damien sighed before returning his attention to Emma, this ought to have been it, he had already won—but deep down, the Devil was still a degenerate gambler at heart. He couldn’t resist a wager, even with almost nothing to gain, “since you gave your immortal soul up thoughtlessly, I’ll give you a chance to win it back. If you can conceive a child with Wes before you succumb to me, I’ll relinquish my claim to your soul and leave this place forever. Happily ever after.

“If, on the other hand, it turns out that you cannot bare his child, you shall bare mine instead.” Another jerk of his hips, making it clear that he was still cumming inside her mother, “I take it you agree. Off to bed now, young lady. Your mommy and I aren’t quite finished yet…”

A dismissive gesture of his hand toward Emma and Damien was rearranging Carole on the bed again. A long tearing sound, he ripped the topsheet into long strips and used the scraps of fabric to bind her wrists to the headboard. His dark eyes looked down into hers. His smile was cold and joyless.

“I’m going to fuck you until the sun comes up, slut.”

*-*-*

It wasn’t unheard of, the coach and his wife having sex on a game night after a win—but given everything else that had happened, it felt a little odd that she’d be in the mood. Glen was confused enough by how turned on he was, ever since he’d met that mouthy Damien kid, he couldn’t get sex off his mind.

“Well, now we’re talkin’,” Glen smiled, his hands moving under the comforter, caressing his wife’s thigh, up to her hip, hiking her nightgown higher on her body, “I think I feel better already.”

He would have to find out what kind of cologne that kid used. Glen’s cock was rock hard and his wife seemed practically feral with sex interest. More often than not, Glen had to beg to coax her legs open—tonight was clearly different.

He sighed lightly as he kissed her, deeply and full of intention. He tried to touch her like he thought Damien would, aggressively—possessively. It didn’t even occur why this kid who he didn’t even like kept crossing his mind, but he did. And it was working…

“Yeah,” Glen sighed, both he and his wife undressing with their hands all over each other, the mattress creaking slightly as they turned toward one another.

Usually they took great efforts to avoid Kylie hearing them any time they made love—doing it in the shower or waiting until she spent the night at a friends’ house. But as Glen positioned himself above Hannah and slid his cock inside, their headboard hit the wall and Glen didn’t even consider the noise.

“Yeah, bitch—take it,” Glen sighed, with a voice that was scarcely his own.

 

[Curious_Muse]

Emma was rolled up in a ball on the guest bed downstairs. She pulled a blanket over herself and tried to find sleep, but despite the several walls that were now between them, she could still hear her mom and Damien fucking upstairs. Even though she had not actually seen anything, the sounds had been enough to make her stomach clench. It was all her fault, wasn’t it?

The long, hot shower had done nothing to appease her racing mind, and what was worse, the tingle that seemed to inhabit, no, possess her body now had only gotten more intense. What was it he had said at the crossroads? That she would feel the lack of his cock inside her like a part of herself was missing? It was worse, actually. She felt as if someone had torn open her body and just left her like that. It was agony and hunger and helplessness.

The orgasm he had given her with a single snap of his fingers still lingered, like an itch she wanted to scratch but knew she would not be able to reach by herself. The dull slaps, the moans, and the occasional screams of pleasure did nothing to improve her situation. Emma wrapped her legs around the blanket, thankful for every bit of friction. But she was afraid to move, afraid that anything might send her into another climax. That he would know.

Emma put on her headphones and turned up the music on her phone. Wes and she loved that song. They had kissed for the first time then. She closed her eyes, tried to conjure up his face, and what it felt like to touch his skin. What he smelled like. His laughter after a winning game. But each time she thought she was close to dream up her boyfriend, it was Damien who appeared. His black eyes. His kissable lips. His hard, hot body.

Had that moan been hers?

Fuck!

Damien. Who was upstairs fucking her mom. This was all so sick, so twisted. And her mom – Emma knew it was unfair, but she had expected her mom to be able to resist him. A teenage boy! Because that was all he was to her. She recalled her mom’s wanton moans, the wet sounds of fucking. Emma tried to remember when her dad was supposed to come home and shivered. How would she get rid of Damien before this whole situation would blow up even worse?

A baby. That’s what he had said. But how was she supposed to just make that happen? Even if she managed to convince Wes that it was romantic and hot to share their first time together in a narrow hospital bed, in a room that could not be locked from within – would he even be physically able? What she had seen today did not give her much hope. Was he able to get hard? Could he fuck her? Would he be able to cum?

Emma turned on her back, the music slower, and more soulful now. Would Wes be able to slide his hard cock into her pussy, fuck her in nice, long strokes? (Like Damien had.) Would he be able to make her nice and wet for him, moan for more? (Like Damien did.) She groaned. Her pussy clenched with need and when she brushed over her clit with her fingers, she almost came right away.

Her heart hammering wildly, she jerked her hand away and ripped off her headphones. Emma rolled over and reached for the small bottle next to her on the bedstand, shaking two small violet pills into her hand. She chased them with some water and prayed that the sleeping pills would do their job, and gift her a few hours of dreamless, black sleep.

***

Hannah gasped and arched her back as Glen pushed himself inside her with one deep stroke, making her feel every hot, hard inch of his cock. She was already so wet that he was able to just slide in. A perfect fit. The headboard slammed against the bedroom wall. She fidgeted, turned her head, wanted to warn him to be more careful. To be quiet. Kylie was probably still awake and would hear them. But his words caught her by surprise and stopped her in her tracks.

Bitch?

There was a moment of brief hesitation where Hannah just lay beneath him, staring up into his eyes as if she was trying to decide. Then her lips curled into a smile. “Yes…,” she moaned in a flirty voice she would have found embarrassing just moments earlier. “Give it to me,” she whispered while wrapping her long legs around him and bucking her hips. “Fuck me.”

All worries about Kylie were forgotten. It was as if her body had come alive after years of hibernation. Her hands roamed over his torso, his back, wanting him in a way she could not remember doing after the birth of their daughter. Hannah reached up to caress his face, his stubble rough under her fingertips. His passionate kisses still lingered, and she licked her lips, hungry for more.

His cock felt so good. With a swift movement she did not think herself capable of anymore, she wrestled him onto his back to straddle him, Glen still balls-deep in her drenched pussy. Hannah smiled down on him triumphantly. After she had given up her career as a professional ballet dancer, she had become more and more self-conscious of what she felt was her weakening, increasingly unbending body. It had always been part of the reason she had become more and more hesitant about sex with her husband, the athlete and judge of what an acceptable athletic performance should be.

That worry was gone as if it had never existed.

Gyrating her hips and clenching her pussy hard around his cock, she started to ride him in long, teasing strokes. With one hand, she reached back between his legs to caress his balls, while the other snaked over her torso and her firm, round little breasts, aiming to give him a show.

“This feels amazing,” she breathed, never breaking eye contact. “I can’t get enough of this big, strong cock.” Batting her eyelashes at him, she added: “Coach.”

***

Rachel pulled her vibrator out of her spasming, dripping pussy, panting and exhausted. Her black silk nightdress clung to her skin, she had not bothered with panties. It was the third orgasm since she had gotten home. The fourth, if she counted the hectic quickie in the shower earlier. She blamed the stress, the things she had seen and experienced that day. Wes’ destroyed body, the devastated coach.

Surely it had almost nothing to do with that new boy, the guy whom she had blown on the way to Emma’s and who had sent her off with a cum cocktail. That gorgeous, infuriating jerk who had deepthroated her so roughly that she could still feel him. Fucker.

Her legs shivered as she rolled onto her back, her knees bent and her thighs parted wide, and she reached for her pink, glistening toy.

One more, she thought. One more, and then I sleep.

***

Carole wanted to beg him to stop, but the words never made it out of her mouth. Instead, she arched her back for him, pulling on her makeshift restraints, almost too weak now to scream her release. She had lost count of her orgasms. Her lean body was covered by a sheen of sweat, and her legs were trembling with fatigue, but this boy had more stamina than was possible even for an eighteen-year-old boy. She had immediately dismissed the strange exchange between him and her daughter as a figment of her imagination, caught as she was in this strange pang of lust. What else could it have been?

She watched him with hooded eyes, her full lips parted, her long legs spread as wide as she was physically able. “Fuck me,” she whispered in a hoarse, desperate voice. “Use me.”

Even though she had had ample opportunity in her job as a literary agent, she had never cheated on her husband. Through all their various troubles, she had never given in to the many temptations, the flirts, the immoral offers. Until now. And she knew she would do it again. And again. And again. Her skin was burning with the need to be touched, caressed, bitten.

Was too much sex dangerous? She had once read a short story by a writer who had his heroine lose her mind over too many, too intense orgasms. Back then, Carole had dismissed this idea as absurd. Now, with Damien lording over her body, she was no longer sure she would be able to stay sane.

 

[LitShark]

The sky was blue by the time Damien took a break from fucking Carole to drain his pesky bladder. He’d almost forgotten how much work it was to exist in a corporeal form. Eons of consciousness beyond a physical shape made constrictive the mortal coil. He had cum in or on Carole four times by now and didn’t think he was finished yet. He was beginning to feel the effects of not eating or drinking… but his endurance was not yet depleted.

Damien grabbed an eyebrow pencil from Carole’s bathroom sink after washing his hands thoroughly. When he returned to the bed—having untied Carole’s wrists before he left, he curled up against her hip, wrapping his arms around her athletic leg and kissing her hip.

As he waited for his cock to get hard again, he idly sketched on Carole’s inner thigh. The words “SEMEN” and “TANK” on either side of a cartoonish facsimile of a thermometer, like the big chart that the church always used for fundraisers. Damien drew four lines along the length of the thermometer to represent four loads.

“Now, where were we?” Damien grinned, climbing back on top of Carole, his cock rigid and hard once again.

*-*-*

Colin was up early as he was booked on the opening shift at the Adult Bookstore. Just a mile or so outside the official town limits, it was the local mecca for all things kinky, wild and secretive. A large part of his job was discretion. Colin was perfect for the job, since most people in this town looked right through him.

It is perhaps misleading to say he was up early, as he hadn’t slept. He was still shaken from what he saw the night before. The black candle. The mysterious stranger. Emma…

Colin and Emma used to be close when they were really young. Back then Colin’s mom was still sober enough to occasionally take him to church and the Jenkins family unofficially adopted him, having him for dinner multiple times a week. But, as his mother’s drinking got worse, so did their relationship with the church. And high school forced Emma and Colin to opposite ends of the social landscape.

Colin loved her still.

At least, it felt like love, inside his eighteen-year-old heart. He’d had a crush on her since he first felt interest in girls. Being young, his crush on the popular girl felt like the most urgent thing in the world.

But she was dating Wes.

And now this Damien guy… Colin didn’t trust him at all. Where had he come from? Was it possible that he was the actual, literal devil? Christian Satan? The thought was ridiculous… but the evidence was undeniably compelling. He would have to ask Jessica about it when she came in for her shift. She knew even more about the occult than Colin did.

As he opened the metal shutters that still bore the graffiti that someone had tagged across the storefront some years ago: “FORNICATORS” in drippy red spray paint. They could have painted over it or power washed it off, but management actually took pride in the label. “The best promotion we could hope for,” Miguel had said.

Colin yawned as he turned on the flickering fluorescent lights. He disinfected the high-touch areas. He turned the OPEN sign on.

*-*-*

Glen sighed and groaned out loud as Hannah rolled him onto his back and rode him. She worked her hips like some type of miracle—it was incredible! He planted his heels into the bed and reached up to squeeze her firm, upright breasts, bucking his hips up into her repeatedly. This motion caused the headboard to beat against the wall rhythmically as she rode him.

When she fluttered her lashes and called him “Coach,” Glen’s eyes rolled back for a moment. She reminded him of all the sidelong glances that he got from the young women at school. Girls his daughter’s age… thinking about him sexually.

“Yeah—yeah, ride that cock, whore!” Glen grunted, his forearms flexing as he squeezed her breasts harder, arching his back into his thrusts to meet her hips, “take it deep!”

His head was thrashing around in the pillow, like a man possessed. He wasn’t usually much for dirty talk but he felt more like a vessel that the words were flowing through.

“Take this dick. Hah! Hah! Take it!” Glen was sweating hard, “Hngugh! Take this jizz, you cheer whore!”

Glen came inside her before he even fully realized what he was saying. He was asleep moments later.

*-*-*

Some time around eight in the morning, with Carole’s Semen tank full, Damien went into the kitchen to cook breakfast in the nude. His long, flaccid cock was still wet as he prepared thick slices of French toast. The human body required so much maintenance! He was drinking orange juice straight from the carton as he cooked.

His sweat smelled like star anise.

He also put a rack of bacon into the oven. He wasn’t sure if Carole was going to be able to walk—much less descend stairs, but he wanted to make enough for Emma. She might be cross with him for fucking the sense out of her mother, so he wanted to mend fences.

He inwardly lamented making that wager—especially since he’d already decided on a vessel for his offspring, but then again, two were better than one.

“Good morning,” Damien remarked without looking back when he felt Emma’s presence, “grab a plate. Daddy made breakfast.”

Damien retrieved the bacon from the oven, when he leaned over his cock almost touched the floor.

 

[Curious_Muse]

Rachel got out of her car and wrinkled her nose. The Adult Bookstore was strictly freak territory, and she would have never voluntarily entered it if not for the very real jizz hangover she was experiencing. She threw a look over her shoulder to make sure that nobody had seen her and entered the shop.

Once inside she walked straight up to Colin who was standing behind the counter, looking like a sad puppy, as usual.

“Hey, freakshow,” Rachel greeted him, slapping both hands on the wood in the hope to snap him out of his reverie. “I don’t know what strange thing you and that new kid have going on, but I want no part of it.” When he didn’t answer right away, she added with an impatient huff: “Damien? The guy you came to the hospital with last night?” Rachel had no patience for his feigned ignorance. “And when he asks you on Monday, you’ll tell him that I exceeded all of your expectations. Is that clear? Otherwise, you’ll be very, very sorry.”

She did not wait for his answer but turned on her heel and marched out of the shop, without any doubt that Colin would do as she had requested. Rachel trusted that he knew exactly how bad his life at Salem High was going to get if he crossed her. After all, their senior year had just begun.

When she reached her car, she felt another of those strange thirst pangs that had been plaguing her since the drive home with Damien. Last night at the hospital she overheard that the football team would meet for muscle training despite Wes’ accident. There was no reason why she shouldn’t turn up in the school fitness room for a workout and stretches. And maybe she was going to be able to convince Damien that there were targets way more worthwhile than that freak Colin. Targets that would get them both what they wanted.

***

“What’s her problem?” Jessica Fuller sauntered towards Colin carrying a large thermos full of coffee and a paper bag of breakfast pastries. “She hissed at me in the parking lot.” She heaved her supplies onto the counter and smirked. “I’m sure BB doesn’t find anything she hasn’t seen before in our shop.”

BB – Bitch Bowers – was the acronym she and Colin had been using for Rachel since Freshman year.

“Do you remember that bondage artist from France?” Jessica continued, seemingly oblivious to Colin’s silence. “She sent me a message and said that she’d love to write a piece for our zine. Isn’t that amazing?” Jessica looked up from pouring black coffee into two cups. “Colin? You look like you’ve seen a ghost. What’s wrong?”

***

Emma woke from a short, fitful night’s sleep to the smell of bacon and eggs. It was first confusing, then terrifying because her dad was the only one who made bacon for breakfast. She leaped out of bed and walked into the kitchen dressed in her sleeping shorts and a t-shirt.

To both her relief and dismay it wasn’t her dad who was busy in the kitchen, but Damien. And he was naked.

Her eyes widened as they landed on his cock. Had he fucked her with that thing the previous evening? And how had that not killed her?

“What the hell?” The question vaguely encompassed him being in their kitchen cooking breakfast, his nude state, the enormousness of his dick, and the fact that he had been fucking her mom so vigorously that the grunts, moans, and shrieks had haunted her dreams.

But goddamn – surely just as appropriate an expression under the circumstances – he was hot. The uncomfortable, longing yearning surged and made it difficult to breathe. It was difficult, impossible, really, not to want him. To imagine his hands pinning her wrists over her head and pushing her up against a wall. Him fucking her right there on the kitchen counter. The thought sent a violent shiver through her, and she shook her head as if that could dispel these unbidden, unwanted fantasies.

“I’m not hungry,” she blurted out and turned around, trying not to look him in the eyes. “I’ll leave for the hospital right away, so…whatever.”

***

Kylie tiptoed down the stairs early, hoping that her parents were still sleeping. She did not want to face them after last night. While she was happy for them, it had been a little weird to overhear their wild sex. Some of the things they had said during it had even been a little disturbing. After her own disquieting dreams, Kylie felt a bit out of sorts and not in any state to explain this to her parents.

Her church youth group was meeting today for a volleyball match in the Christian Life Center, and it felt like that was exactly the kind of activity she needed to clear her head.