by Colbie Kay
Copyright © 2019 by COLBIE KAY
FIGHTING DEMON
ALL RIGHTS RESERVED
Cover content is for illustrative purposes only. Any person depicted in the content is a model.
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This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to any actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.
Cover Designer: T.E. Black
Editing: Maria Vickers
Formatting: Maria Vickers
Photographer: Wander Aguiar
Model: Victorio Piva
Created with Vellum
Contents
A Note From Colbie Kay
Prologue
1. Dancer
2. Demon
3. Dancer
4. Demon
5. Dancer
6. Demon
7. Dancer
8. Demon
9. Dancer
10. Demon
11. Dancer
12. Demon
13. Dancer
14. Demon
15. Hacker
16. Dancer
17. Demon
18. Dancer
19. Demon
20. Dancer
21. Demon
Epilogue
Bonus Scene
Play List
Acknowledgments
About the Author
Also by COLBIE KAY
I want to thank all of you that are reading Fighting Demon. You have rode through this journey with me for the last four years and fell in love with each of my Sinners as much as I did. It has been one wild and amazing ride that I couldn’t have done without all of you. This is the end for the Sinners Series, but there is more to come with a few spinoffs and maybe a next generation series down the road. I hope you keep holding on because the Cobras are coming in 2020!
XOXO
Colbie Kay
To all of my readers that have taken this ride with me for the last four years.
I’ve been working in Hacker’s club for well over a year, watching her tight little ass walk by the office door multiple times a night. I’m not much of a talker, only when I have to be, and I’ve had no reason to speak to her. I’d like to though, but she makes me feel shit, and I don’t feel…ever. Especially for a woman. However, she is a pretty bitch. I imagine her on her knees, hands tied behind her back, mouth begging and salivating for my cock. Shaking my head, I try to get the image out of my mind of her sweet mouth wrapped around me, taking me all the way back until she’s gagging, and pretty tears running from those yellow eyes of hers.
Fuck! My dick hardens underneath Hacker’s desk, my jeans so tight, the zipper is about to bust. I force my attention back on these books and numbers. Focusing on laundering this money has me going flaccid in seconds, and I decide it’s time for a fuckin’ break.
Grabbing my smokes and lighter, I hightail it out the back door. Lighting up, I take a few hits, sucking in deeply, allowing the smoke to fill my lungs. I release the thick cloud as the back door opens, and there she stands, frozen, staring at me as I stare right back. Taking another drag, I notice the heavy trash bag she’s got a tight grip on. “Leave it,” I demand in a rough, ragged voice. This is the closest we’ve ever been to each other.
Her head tilts to the side a little. “What?” Her eyes widen slightly, and I wonder if I scared her. I terrify most people, so it wouldn’t be a surprise if I do the same to her given we’ve never spoken.
“The trash, leave it.” My black eyes dare her to challenge me. Without another word, she drops the bag and heads inside. Walking over, I grab it and take it to the dumpster, throwing it in. I flick my cigarette butt on the ground and stroll back toward the building.
She’s standing and waiting, eyes narrowed, arms crossed over her rack. “You can’t just boss me around. You’ve never two words to me, and now you want to give me orders?”
My eyes twitch with amusement. Guess that answers the question about if she’s scared of me. “Yeah, I can, and I will.” I don’t know where this sliver of defiance came from, but I kinda like it. If she was mine to do with as I pleased, she’d pay for it. I’d paddle that cute ass until her porcelain ass cheeks were a rosy red. If she didn’t want to obey, I’d fuck her into submission. I’ve never had to go about it that way—all the women I’ve fucked know the deal. They willingly fall at my feet, ready to be ordered around like good little subs.
Her body straightens as if she’s ready to fight. “No, you won’t, and while we’re at it, why don’t you start a conversation with, ‘Hey, my name is such and such, what’s your name?’ That’s how you talk to people.” Her breathing quickens, making her chest rise and fall. I bet she has nice tits with tight, pinkish nipples. She adds, “Not ‘leave it.’” She tries to imitate my voice by dropping hers a few octaves causing my lips to twitch with a smile.
“Demon.”
“What?” Her yellow eyes stare at me as if I’ve confused her.
“My name, it’s Demon,” I say and begin to wonder why the fuck I’m even entertaining this conversation bullshit with her.
She smiles, and my cock pulses as my imagination flashes, conjuring images of my cum coating those very teeth and her plump lips. She holds her hand out between us, and I place mine in hers, the simple gesture cuts through my erotic thoughts. It’s so small compared to mine with the softest flesh I’ve ever fuckin’ felt. The simple touch makes me want to drop to my knees and surrender myself to her. The fuck?
“Nice to officially meet you, Demon. My name’s Dancer.”
“You don’t dance here, though,” I state the obvious.
A soft laugh falls from her lips, and my chest feels funny hearing the sound. My body tenses. What the fuck is happening here?
“No, I don’t.” Dancer opens the back door but glances at me over her shoulder. “Thanks for taking the trash out for me.” A shy smile appears on her lips, and then she’s gone.
Leaning against the building, I light up another cigarette and take a long slow hit, staring up at the cloudy night sky. My fingers itch to swing the door open and drag her back out here.
The back door opens once again. My head swivels in the direction, hoping it’ll be her, but it’s not. “You good?” Hacker asks as he approaches.
“No, I’ll finish tomorrow.” Pushing off the wall, I storm toward my Harley. I take the last drag from my smoke and drop it onto the cement before starting my bike. There’s only one place that will have me feeling right again. I don’t know what the fuck Dancer did to me, but I don’t fuckin’ like it.
I ride through downtown Wichita, well past one in the morning. All of the norm
al businesses are closed for the night, and I find my normal spot to park my bike. It’s quiet and desolate except for the numerous vehicles scattered within a two-block radius. The Dungeon is already packed it seems. I stroll down the dark alley until I come to the metal door. Lifting my fist, I pound three times with hard and heavy knocks. It opens slightly, and Telly’s eyes meet mine. “Demon,” he greets and opens the door further.
Telly could be intimidating to most civilians, I suppose, with his size rivaling Bear’s and tattoos covering his face and shaved head. “Telly.” I nod.
“Show starts at two.” He slams the door closed.
“I’m not here for the show.”
My feet land on each step, marching down them, determination in each thud. Opening the door to the basement of this building, I enter and breathe a sense of peace. This is me. This is who I am.
Patrons gather at the bar and around tall rounded tables waiting for 2:00 A.M. Some of the enslaved women’s attire consists of only their see-through dresses and collars locked around their necks while their masters are dressed in designer suits, standing tall with domineering confidence. Seated in front of the stage are politicians with their trophy wives who like to get kinky on the weekends. Doctors and lawyers, giving up control to their sluts, are led around the room by leashes. All of them living their double lives, living a secret of who they truly are. I’m the realist motherfucker here. Glancing around, I finally spot the person I came to see.
“Kassidy.”
She spins on her barstool as I step up next to her. “Demon.” Her ruby red lips lift into a beaming smile. “Are you here for me?”
“I am.” The bartender sets my usual shot of Jamison in front of me. Holding the glass, I tip it back and let the smooth whiskey slide down my throat.
She takes a sip from her own drink and sets the tumbler onto the counter. “Where do you want me? We can take the stage after the show or do a private in a room.”
“Private.”
Her gaze is so needy, and she runs her tongue along her bottom lip. “Perfect. Room two is empty.”
“Be ready when I enter,” I growl with anticipation.
She stands from the stool, even with her heels on, the top of her head is level with my chin. Without another word, she sashays through the crowd until she’s no longer visible.
I tap my knuckles on the bar counter. “Another and double it.” The amber poison flows down my throat, burning deliciously. Leaving the empty glass, I roll my neck, and with an urge that only she can satisfy, I follow Kassidy into room number two. The show on stage will be starting soon.
Stepping to the glass window, I open the curtains for all of the voyeurs to watch from outside the room. Turning, I look down at a perfectly positioned Kassidy kneeling in front of the Saint Andrew’s cross, free from her fishnet red dress only leaving her black heels on. Her forehead is pressed against the white tiled floor, her long curly red hair pools around her. I release a long deep breath and stalk closer to her.
Room number two is for the sadists like me. The sick fucks who need white walls and white floors to make the blood brighter. The ones who will leave this room needing to be thoroughly cleansed.
Removing my cut and shirt, I place them on the empty paddle bench situated to my right. “Stand,” I demand.
She rises from the floor, keeping her eyes cast down, standing there quietly as her body begins to tremble. I’ve done this enough with Kassidy, I know she’s not shaking with fear. Her body is preparing for what’s to come, and her mind is going into a space that will allow her to give up all control. She will be able to offer every inch of herself to do as I please. She won’t feel the pain that’s going to be inflicted, she will only feel pleasure and the euphoric gratification of her submission.
Any good dominate knows the trust level involved in this and should not perform certain scenes with a sub unless they are experienced and know how to read the submissive’s body language. I’ve seen too many fuckin’ idiots get out of control, and people get fuckin’ hurt because they don’t know what the fuck they’re doing.
Gripping Kassidy’s hips tightly, I spin her around to face the cross. My fingertips drag up one side of her body until I have a hold on her wrist and attach it to the shackle. I do the same with her other wrist then move down her body. When her ankles are also shackled, I stand back and gaze upon my blank canvas in admiration. There’s no escape for her unless she uses her safeword, but she’s never done so before.
A musical beat transmits through the speakers in the room. The show outside is starting, but I’m about to perform in my own show. I walk to the shelves, my eyes grazing over the numerous plugs and vibrating toys, finally landing on one of the many electrical shock toys, and my decision is made. Attaching the comb tool, I take it with me over to Kassidy and plug it into the outlet on the floor. Pushing the button to turn it on, it lights up and buzzes like a dentist's drill. Kassidy’s breath hitches; she loves this fuckin’ toy.
I press the comb to the flesh of her neck, sending electrical shocks through her body. Minutes pass as I run the comb along her spine and over her ass cheeks. Her hips sway back and forth as if she was riding a cock. Bending down, I drag the comb down one leg and up the other until finally, I give her a fraction of what she’s seeking. Placing it between her thighs, over and over, electrical shocks zap her pussy.
Kassidy moans loudly, and I hear her agony through her sounds. I quickly jerk the toy away and slide my finger through her soaked slit. Her breathing is nothing except quick little pants. “Were you going to come?”
“I’m sorry, Sir,” she mewls in heady desperation.
“You’re a bad little slut.” I turn the toy off to place it on the floor and step over to the selection of playthings again. Grabbing one of the black leather floggers hanging on its hook, I growl, “You don’t come until I let you.” I whip the flogger across the skin of her back. Her body jerks once due to the harshness of it, but after that, she succumbs to the feeling of the leather licking against her flesh.
In perfect rhythm, the lashings follow the beat of the music that’s playing. One song ends, another begins. Her once creamy skin is now a perfect pink. It’s time. Her body is ready. Her mind is gone. And my craving is at its breaking point. Once more, I stroll to the shelves and choose the sharp-edged knife I want to play with.
My body presses against Kassidy’s. Reaching my free hand up, I grab a fistful of her long red hair and yank her head back. I press my lips to hers and force my tongue into her mouth. She moans delightfully. Keeping her eyes closed, I lay the blade against her forehead. With gentle and precise movements, I graze it down the side of her face, down her cheek, and across her neck. Her breaths are coming out as nothing more than quick pants. After skimming the blade down between her tits, I pull it away.
As another song begins, I stroke the knife along the length of her back. The beat of the music has me hypnotized, and the blood dripping down Kassidy has me mesmerized. Cut after cut, each long draw along her flesh beads more crimson drops. Kassidy rolls her head, her hips swaying faster. My strokes move more quickly as if I was an artist painting my canvas, yet I’m still precise with each mark I leave. I don’t cut her deeply, she won’t have scars, and once she heals, she will be back for more.
I place the knife on the bench before joining Kassidy once again. Our session, in all, lasted an hour or so, but the tension that had been building inside of me has long evaporated. I gently run my hands up and down Kassidy’s back, coloring every inch of her skin red. Leaning closer, I close my eyes and run my tongue along her skin to gather the taste of her blood and release a satisfied groan.
Reaching between her thighs, I find her clit. It only takes a few small circles for her body to begin shaking uncontrollably. “You can come now,” I whisper feather-light against the shell of her ear.
“Thank you, Sir,” she replies and lets out a loud wailing cry of pleasure.
Unhooking her from the shackles, we fall to th
e ground. I hold Kassidy in my lap as she gazes up at me so adoringly with her mocha-brown eyes and a lazy satisfied smile playing on her lips. The music stops, and I hear the clapping from outside the room. My attention drifts to the window, and we have a full audience. “Roll onto your stomach,” I order, and once she’s settled, I stand and walk over to the aftercare table. I grab the box of antiseptic wipes and ointment then join her on the floor once more. I begin cleaning her wounds and wiping away the blood she shed for me. I cover her back with an ointment that will help her heal faster and keep away any infections. Aftercare is just as important in this process, if not more, than the trust that needs to be established between the dominant and submissive.
I run my fingers through her hair. “Thank you.”
She crawls into my lap and wraps her arms around my neck. “I should thank you. You always give me exactly what I need without going too far like some of these men who don’t know what they’re doing.”
Leaning in, I gently press my lips to her forehead. “I know you want me fully, but I’m not the one, Kassidy.”
She nods, but there’s a quiver in her lips as if she’s trying not to cry. “It hurts, but I know you’re not. We can still do this though, right?”
“Absolutely. Do you need help up?”
“No.”
Kissing the crown of her head, I stand and put my shirt and cut back on. I leave her lying on the floor as I exit The Dungeon.
SIX YEARS LATER