Abra faced the shower again, bent over and backed into the rubber cock’s rounded head. The phallus paused at her entrance. It had been too long and things were tightening up. In a desperate backward thrust, she forced it inside. Her ass hit the wall with a loud thump. The length that filled her stretched the walls of her channel to their limit. She moved back and forth in slow, calculated thrusts. She rammed it harder, the dance of sex and release, a torrid, needful game.
Working her nipple with her fingers, she reached down with her free hand and found the center of her clit. It ached from the prior shower party, flaring a painful warning that she ignored. Her ass slapped into the shower wall; her finger demanded her clit to play along. At the edge of a blissful precipice, she cried out her frustration. The cock came undone from its perch, entered at an awkward sideways angle and fell away, bouncing in the inch of water on the tub floor.
Abra groaned.
Beyond the lull of the shower, she thought she heard someone laughing.
* * * *
“I don’t need a man. I’m fine on my own.” She stood at the bedroom window, naked save the towel wrapped around her head like a top-heavy turban. The grille of Val’s old pickup smiled at her with its rusty, white-painted grin. No shadow of a man waited in the cab. She knew; she’d gone to check. Buck naked and sexually aggravated, she’d marched straight out there in the cold, November wind and peered inside, hopeful.
Val, who or whatever he was, was not inside his pickup. He wasn’t in the barn either, but a bale of hay had burst from its twine and lay in a seductive pile, a rumpled, white t-shirt nearby. She’d stood there a long time, remembering the taste of him in her dream. She hungered for that taste; that sample only made her mouth water for the full of his release.
“Go away and leave me alone,” she told him, wherever he might be hiding. “I need to be alone so I can paint.”
She slid the curtains closed, stumbled over the edge of the rug, and climbed beneath the wrinkled quilt, horny, unable to bring herself to orgasm, and fighting the need to submit to admitting she couldn’t handle being alone any longer.
“I have faith in myself,” she explained to the darkness. “Once I lose that, what’s the point?” She rolled on her side, hugged one of the pillows and drifted into a troubled sleep.
The dream began the same. He rested spread eagle against the fallen hay in her barn, his eyes closed, his jeans calling to be torn away. Abra crawled toward him like a stalking panther, hungry for her prey, that promising, erect tower of a dick with its bulging head. She wanted to taste him again, then crawl higher and guide his shaft between her legs. She’d let it tease her, crush angrily against her sore clit until she couldn’t take it any longer.
Her teeth closed over his zipper; she jerked her head down. She bit down on the waistband of his jeans and tugged the snap button free. Her fingers dipped into the sides of the denim and she forced the fabric away, past his hips. Blue and white boxers were no match for her need. She tugged down the front, too anxious to do more. The red head of his uncircumcised dick rested against his pubic hair, a prize waiting in that curly, black nest. She glanced up, smiled as he slumbered, and let her tongue reach for the head of his cock. Abra tasted the now familiar flavor of him. She suckled like a hungry calf, drawing him inside her mouth.
He moaned.
She looked up.
His eyes opened slowly, the pupils flickering with a faint red light. For an instant, Val seemed puzzled. His eyebrows arched; his tempting, full lips parted. A drawn out sigh fell across the silence.
Abra swirled her tongue around the head of his dick. He watched as she lifted her face, the tip of his erection sliding free from her wet lips. She crawled across his body until his face came level with hers.
“What do you want?” he asked in his low voice. Those eyes flashed crimson, the depths of Hell reflected in their midst. When he smiled, his teeth appeared pointed, his tongue a split, snake-like version of something inhuman.
Abra hesitated. She’d known, all along, from the moment he appeared walking down the hill. The warmth that affected her that day came from a point after death, the dwelling place of nightmares. She remained there, stifled in his body heat, entranced by the unique desire that burned in her body to have him for her own, her very own for all eternity. To have him, to be his, this peculiar desire seemed…unnatural.
“You’re trying to trick me.” She narrowed her eyes, waiting for him to refute her words.
He shrugged, the rigid length of his cock challenging her as it moved beneath her navel. “I only offer you what you do not have. Without me, admit it, you felt safe, an autonomous woman with free reign over her life, content in your solitude, in your farm cell. All I ask you is if that’s what you really want. Is it?”
“It’s all I need.” She spoke with resolve, determined to fight him.
His eyebrows furrowed tight together, and the signs of his true form faded until he appeared completely human, irresistible and sexy. Val laid his head against the gold hay, the light of dawn glowing across his gold-brown face. Beneath his head, she noticed his t-shirt, rolled into a makeshift pillow. The locks of his shadow-colored hair framed his perplexed countenance. Scarlet fire glittered in his ever-changing eyes. “You show great faith and devotion in yourself.”
Abra rolled off him to land in the hay. It itched along her naked skin, poking at her curves, and she realized in a distant way that she must have been sleep-walking, that this was not her bed. She closed her eyes and drifted further until, at the sound of a dog barking out in the fields, she opened her eyes and wiped sweat from her brow.
The air moved in stifling gusts. She didn’t need to check a clock. High noon bore its over-heated orb in the hazy blue sky beyond the open barn door. Standing, she brushed the straw from her backside then glanced around the vast barn her father once used to store the heavy machinery. Daylight spilled through the high rafters in slits of bright white. Dust motes spun and danced, mocking her.
Though she walked naked toward the open door, stepping on a discarded white shirt, she didn’t feel the chill that ought to be in the autumn air. The noonday demon waited for her, his hellish heat smoldering in the light. The dog went silent. Abra sauntered out into the open air. Val’s truck grinned at her. Waves of heat swam across her field of vision, blurring the edges of all she stared at. The screen door tapped against its frame. She climbed the steps to the porch, crossed the peeling wood in seven long strides and went inside.
Val sat at her kitchen table, his shirt missing and every tempting muscle made available for her perusal should she care to do so. Abra bypassed him, glancing back to see the last serving of lemonade trickle into his glass. He nodded at her, his eyes a shade of ice blue this day. Abra blinked and went on her way.
She sidestepped the pile of glass, thinking in a vague way, that she ought to clean it up. As she walked down the hall by the bathroom, she noticed the piles of soiled clothing on the fuzzy, purple rug. Cleaning didn’t interest her at the moment though. It seemed the chore would never interest her again. She needed to get to her study. She needed to understand. Abra needed to find the tatty King James Bible and read a passage, a few words that called to her from that worn out tome.
“Or maybe the angels are warning you.”
“Be silent, Demon. I know who you are.”
From the kitchen Val answered, laughter in his somber voice. “You know little, if anything at all.”
She threw lesser books aside—manuals, expired almanacs, composting guides and seed catalogs. There it stood, at the far end of the third shelf. For a blinding moment, Abra recognized the significance of the number. “Father, Son and Holy Spirit,” she whispered. Her fingers trembled as she reached for the bible. Grasping its spine, she pulled it free. Her grip failed, and the book tumbled to the wooden floor, landing open face.
She knelt to pick it up. Light from the window limned the pages, the very text she read aloud, “Psalms 91.6 Nor for the pestilence tha
t walketh in darkness; nor for the destruction that wasteth at noonday.”
Abra dropped the bible on the coffee table. “I know who you are!”
She backed out of the study, through the hall and stopped in her studio. Seven silvery canvases circled the room, and the dark demon she’d painted looked as virile as ever. At the sight of his gray speckled phallus, an appendage more akin to that of a bull than a man, Abra felt the beginnings of arousal pressing in on her sense of rebellion. She shook her head, retreated to her bedroom, and sat on the edge of the mattress.
“Sleep. I just want to sleep.” She stared through the doorway at the studio, at the paints and pastels, the canvases that used to call to her, urging her to create. Now they looked unimportant, something that, if she started to work on them, would become just one more mess to have to clean.
Work boots thumped in the kitchen. The demon came through the hall, his glass in hand. Val swigged it back, licked his lips and kept on with his ominous approach. He swept a hand through his straight hair, causing the locks to fall just so against his forehead. “I know what you want,” he told her. “To lay back against those pillows and let me have you, to surrender to me, to your inability to keep up with everything around you.” He paused in the doorway, turning his head slightly to the side. It made him all the more attractive.
Abra felt his draw, the lure of surrender. She trembled, fighting the need to give in. Being alone seemed so impossible now, so full of work and tedium.
He knelt to untie and remove his boots. Val undid his pants. They fell away from his body. He wore a pair of crimson boxers, the color, Abra realized, matching that shifting, bloody light that centered in his eyes. A line of black hair ran from his navel down past the waistband of his undershorts, a trail to be followed. The slit in his boxers opened and she glimpsed the treasure within.
“Lie back,” he whispered.
Heat pulsed through the room. Abra let him grasp her shoulders. She blinked as he guided her down against the pillows. Fingers made of fire swept over her cheeks, tickling the length of her neck, and they delved lower, reaching for her ripe breasts, touching every place just right. “You want to do nothing, don’t you?”
She knew she should say no, that she should not give in to the temptation. He climbed upon the bed, his knee slipping between her legs. He brought his leg up, crushing it into her pussy, waking her clit with desire.
“You want to give in, to give up. There’s no need to do any of the work around here. Why should you? Let’s lie here and fuck, all day, long into the night. And when we get hungry, we’ll eat. When we get tired, we’ll sleep. That’s what you really want, isn’t it? Nothing else matters?”
She swallowed back her fear and faith. This felt wrong; the whole idea of abandoning her self to this man or demon, whatever he was, screamed immorality. Abra arched her back. Eager, she opened her mouth as he leaned closer. “Nothing else matters,” she echoed his words. Those haunting lips sought hers, a kiss so fulfilling, questing of tongue and tasting of wonders she never imagined.
Chapter Four
Fingers trailed over her skin, not his, but the same touch that tempted and teased her on the couch the prior day. The demon pulled back to study her face. “Abra, you don’t have to be alone. I know your pain, the emptiness of life. The tedium. The boredom! With me, you’ll never tire of sex. We’ll taste the wonders of pleasure together, every moment for the rest of our days.”
She knew he was too good to be true. “Demon,” she whispered. “There’s always a price.”
One thin, black eyebrow arched over an ice blue eye tinged with red. “A price?”
“Name it. What do you want?”
He chuckled and nudged her with his knee, rubbing up and down in slow strokes. “You. I want you. I’ve watched you for a long time.”
She thrust her body down, crushing her soreness into his firm leg. Imagining his cock filling her, his firm body working and pounding against her, almost made her give in, but resolve swam amidst her desire. “How long?”
“Dorm room, March of your senior year. Billy Thompson.”
“Mm.” She closed her eyes, the old memory washing over her. Billy had worked in the bookstore on the corner of Third and Magnolia. The first boy she’d slept with. They’d had a thing for a few years and he was serious, but as usual, she was not.
“How could you deny him?”
Abra parted one eye and shrugged. “He’s not what I wanted. He was fun and all, but not…”
Val licked his lips, his fervent gaze piercing. “You want me, Abra. All your life you’ve been waiting for me.”
“It sounds pretty lazy—your offer. What good would it do me to fuck and eat and sleep all the time? I have obligations.” She reached up and grasped the back of his head, hoping to tug him down, to invade his mouth. It tasted so delicious.
He resisted. “I’ll show you wonders beyond your wildest dreams. I’ll pleasure you; make you come until you beg me stop. I’ll do it the way you like it, however you want me to.”
His hot lips hung just above hers. Groaning, Abra lifted her head and kissed them.
“Say you need me, Abra. Say it.”
She opened her mouth to force out the words. “I ne…” Stumbling over the small phrase, she shook her head.
His eyebrows knitted. His mouth twisted into a frown. “Hurry. I can only stay a little while. You must say the words.”
She struggled to force him off her. Val landed to one side. Tired of his games, Abra pushed him to his back, straddled his body and reached for his cock. The thickness surprised her. She guided the head to her clit and slicked him with her juices. “Do it first,” she told him, the tension built up since the day he arrived driving her mad. “I want to feel you inside me.”
He blinked. “It doesn’t work that way.” Shimmying from side to side, he teased her.
She refused to let go. “Free sample before I buy.”
His mouth twitched with either chagrin or impatience. “You must say you need me. You want to say it. I can read your mind.”
“Show me your real face.” She pressed his penis to her pussy and bore down, sliding him inside her. His turgid length filled her body. The sensation relaxed her and heightened her arousal. “I want to see you.”
He bit his bottom lip, his canines curving into fangs. “You know what I am. You painted the picture. In your own way, you lured me here. You’ve been calling to me for years.”
She shook her head and placed both hands on his rippled abdomen. “I never called forth a demon. You’re wrong.”
“I’m many things, but I’m never wrong.”
The clock by her bed changed. It read 12:59.
Abra lifted her hips and slammed down against his arousal, moaning. “You do feel good,” she told him.
He grasped her waist, trying to hold her still. “Not like that. I have to do the work.”
She reached down, her fingers trembling while she ran them across her clit. Pleasure burst through her body and an orgasm loomed just out of reach. If only he’d let go, if only she could keep going, but he’d anchored her in one place.
“Please, say you need me.” His narrow face blurred for an instant. Val’s shifting eyes grayed. He thrust once, burying his cock as far as it could go.
She closed her eyes and threw her head back, her body shuddering for release.
Out in the main room, the clock struck one.
In a rush of hot air, his muscular body, slick with sweat and rigid inside her, disappeared. Abra fell backward in a frustrated heap, empty and alone. “Damn it!” She lifted her knees and punched the side of the bed. “What the hell is going on?”
She rolled off the mattress and stomped out of her bedroom, past the demon painting and into the shower to rinse away her frustration. Steam pooled in the air and though his physical form had left her, she felt Val in the room, his longing to return and his deep sorrow that she’d not given in.
“I don’t need you!” she shoute
d.
Abra scrubbed her body with soap and a washcloth until her fair skin pinked. She washed her hair, digging her nails into her scalp. “I don’t need anyone but me.”
Melancholy thickened in the tiny chamber, filling her and she knew it wasn’t her sadness. It wasn’t her loneliness. “You don’t know me,” she told him. “I don’t get lonely. I don’t need company or pets or friends. All I need is what I have. Go back to Hell where you belong.”
* * * *
At five that evening, Abra stood naked before the demon painting. She stared at it, contemplating his eyes. The red had faded. Only darkness and emptiness showed on the canvas. She heard nothing of his voice in her mind. Glancing around, she made sure the room was clean. Since the shower, she’d spent the hours scrubbing and returning the house to its usual pristine state. “I’ll fight you,” she whispered. “You can’t have me.”
Turning her back on him, she reached for her palette and daubed her fingers in three colors at once. She began on one of the grayed out canvasses and started over. “Angels. I paint angels. Beings of light. Messengers from God. Not the likes of you.”
This one bore great wings of green, pink and gold. He leaned against a small Grecian column, his loins covered by a red cloth. It was not Abra’s way to clothe her angels, but this night was different. She needed to prove she hadn’t fallen prey to whatever spell Val had woven over her. She smeared and created. Once the base was complete, she stepped back and frowned. “Pastels.”
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