Slave To The Demon

by Ruby McKenzie

  “Nope. Never made a connection like that. Girls have told me they loved me, but I think it was their pussies talking. You?”

  She shook her head, her eyes growing distant. “No. None of my lovers…kept me around for long. I never had the urge to cling to anyone.”

  She looked back at him and saw a ghost of worry cross his brow. She smiled, reaching up and caressing his jaw with her long fingers.

  “You’re my One and Only, remember?” she whispered. “I’m not going anywhere. Not without you.”

  Skriker nuzzled into her neck, his breath soft against her skin, and she shivered. His hands squeezed her breasts and she whimpered.

  “Promise me,” he murmured. “Please… I couldn’t be without you, Rosie. I think it’d kill me. I never thought I’d say that about anyone. But it’s true.”

  “You poor sad man,” she said, chuckling softly. “Don’t be silly. I know you’re too smart to think that I’d want to be without you, either. Just promise me that you’ll worship me like this forever.”

  “God, yes…I promise.”

  “Forever?”

  “Forever. “He wrapped his arms around her and she lay back against him, her eyes closed, breathing in his tough masculine scent as it mingled with the scents of the bathwater, enjoying the soft luscious heat of their close-pressing bodies.

  Rose was quiet for a moment before she spoke again. “I wish you had been my first,” she murmured, a bit wistfully. “I mean my real first. With everything.”

  Skriker nuzzled against her cheek, smirking. “Me too. But it’s okay. What went down on our first hunt in that shit town, that was like a rebirth for both of us. Once you have your Skriker cherry popped, the invisible one that’s waiting just for me, you may as well strike out every other guy and say the slate’s clean. And this morning in the shower—well, I’ll never forget it, Rose. And I’m immortal.”

  She giggled and he smiled hugely at her soft laughter. “I love you, Skrike. I love you so much.”

  “I love you, too, Rosie. You have no idea how much. Just watch yourself on the hunt. You have a responsibility to stick around for a while for me. Well, for eternity.”

  “Just for eternity?”

  “Okay, longer.”

  “Promise?”

  “Promise.” She pushed herself upward out of the bathwater, so that he could maneuver his cock up and into her; she came down into his lap and enveloped him completely. A warrior’s knife finding the sheath it had ultimately been made for. As they moved against each other, stirring the water, Rose closed her eyes and saw dead grass beneath a steel sky, and a churchyard that she was terrified to enter. “No,” she murmured, but the word came out sounding like a sigh, and Skriker never really heard what she said.

  PART THREE

  CAGE AND STOOL

  Fate

  Up against your will

  Through the thick and thin

  He will wait until

  You give yourself to him.

  --Echo and the Bunnymen, “Killing Moon”

  “Wake up, Angel.”

  Rose felt a sharp slap come across her cheek and her head snapped to one side. She released a shrill cry, reedy in her throat; this earned her another slap, this time across the other cheek. She blinked and opened her eyes to dying late afternoon light and Skriker’s face hovering over hers, his eyes glittering.

  They had finished their bath the afternoon before with sex, and had gone to bed after that, where they had had more sex. Sweet sex, tender sex; fucking that was less fucking and more pleasurable bonding. She had fallen asleep in between lovemaking sessions and slept dreamlessly, and Skriker had awakened her periodically for yet another sweet screw, until she was certain that she had beat the Guinness Book of World Records’ current number for most orgasms in a single night.

  She recalled candlelight, and the butts of after-fuck cigarettes filling up the bedside ashtray, and a bottle of sweet wine being drained little by little, sips being taken even while he rode her, one big hand clutching her bucking hip, the other gripping the bottle and knocking back another swig as he gave her the rod. They had continued fucking throughout much of that morning, and finally she had fallen asleep, exhausted by his constant attentions and the simple fact that his penis seemed to possess a never-ending supply of energy. If there was once thing a demon could do, it was to keep right on fucking.

  It had been sweet, it had been blazingly good. Now, the game was on again. She felt Skriker press a glass of icy-cold water to her lips and she drank greedily; when the glass was nearly empty he pulled it away from her and dumped the remaining liquid in her face. The freezing water brought her to full wakefulness, leaving her gasping.

  “Up, Angel, and be quick about it. We have somewhere to be, and I want you up and dressed pretty for me. I want you looking like a jewel for me before I wreck you again. Get off your lazy ass and move.”

  Rose slipped from the tangled mess that was his bed and staggered to her overnight bag. She fished around in it until she found what she needed and locked herself in the bathroom to change.

  Thirty minutes later, she emerged dressed, primped, and ready to follow his lead.

  Skriker’s eyes glittered greedily when he saw how she was dressed: a skintight mini skirt made of stretchy black velvet. Thigh-high black leather boots with five-inch heels. A black and ruby red satin bra that plumped her breasts high, and a see-through black fishnet shirt over that. Her hair pinned several small, tight rolls. Her makeup appropriately vampy, with darkly shadowed eyes and lips painted deep wine-red.

  “Perfection,” Skriker said, smirking. “Are you wearing panties?”

  Rose shook her head, and he grinned. “Excellent.” He held up the black velvet scarf that he had used on her the night before, and her heart began to pound. She stood quietly as he blindfolded her.

  He led her from the apartment and to the parking structure below (she could sense where they were, and hear the tick, tick of her stiletto boot heels and the echoing clump, clump of his motorcycle boots on the cement). She heard the soft creak of a car door opening—surely the passenger door of his slicker-than-shit 1968 Chevy Camaro. He gripped her by the arm and guided her into the car; she could feel him protecting her head with his free hand, making sure she didn’t bang it on the roof of the car as she slid into the leather seat.

  Still chivalrous, eh, Skrike, she thought amusedly. She heard him come around and flop into the driver’s seat beside her. The door slammed heavily, the key clicked into the ignition, and the monstrous roar of the engine followed. Rose shivered with anticipation; the engine rumbled and growled beneath her When Skriker stepped on the gas and they went screaming out of the parking structure, the roar echoed out into the space behind them for what seemed like forever. She heard Skriker flip his stereo on, and soon AC/DC was blasting out Hell’s Bells loud enough to make one’s ears bleed.

  They drove for a while, and all Rose could see was the slight shifting of light behind the blindfold and her closed eyelids beneath that. She could detect streetlights passing overhead, for by now, night had come on and the urban wasteland was awakening for the bustle of the nightlife. The Camaro rumbled through the streets, and Rose's anticipation grew as they trekked deeper into the city.

  Finally, the big muscle car glided to a stop, she heard the engine and stereo die as one. She listened as Skriker got out, slamming his door shut and locking up. Moments later, she heard the passenger side door open and he grasped her hands, guiding her from the car her heels clicking on asphalt.

  “Going to carry you the rest of the way,” he told her while he squeezed her ass briefly, before he hoisted her up and swung her over his shoulder.

  Rose heard the creak of metal against metal, felt them drop and descend somewhere warm and damp. Skriker strode confidently along beneath her, and she felt as light as a feather slung over his shoulder. She knew they were turning corners and she heard his footsteps echoing hollowly. A map began forming in her mind—“Skrike?” she ca
lled uncertainly.

  “Hush,” he said. “Didn’t tell you that you could speak, Angel. Just keep your pretty mouth shut. I’ll have you open it for me soon enough.”

  After a few more minutes, he stopped walking and lifted her from his shoulder. Her feet landed on soft earth. There was a rattle of chains, the creak of a heavy door, and Skriker took her by her wrist and yanked her along behind him. Soon, she heard the door shut again, an echoing clang, and she stood there, shivering not from cold, but from excitement.

  “Move forward,” he said, pushing her lightly, and she obeyed. She walked slowly ahead; the earth she had felt beneath her boots had become hard concrete after he had pulled her through the doorway.

  She heard rattling, echoing thumps. A lighter and matches were being struck. Odors came to her nose that were so familiar…cement, old blood, stale beer and the faint ether scent of empty whiskey bottles. Yes, she knew where they were.

  Had he—was he? Oh, God, what had he planned for this night?

  Then, he was pulling her blindfold off, as she blinked in the half-light made by candles and metal-enclosed industrial lamps. A moth flitted by, its wings fluttering shimmers in the low light, and then it was gone.

  Skriker was sitting on a bar stool, gazing at her. They were in the steel, chain link, and barbed wire fight cage that she had so often stood outside of, watching him destroy some abomination that this place—the Beelzebub Club, the most notorious hangout for paranormal and supernatural beings that the Underground could have asked for—had drummed up for him to fight.

  Normally, this place would have been packed to the teeth with neutral-turned energy vampyres, weres, shifters, Fey, and a motley group of humans hooting, booze-swilling, and shouting their approval as her lover smeared something’s blood and mire across the concrete.

  The bar that stood at the far western wall of the club, with its steel shelves lined with glittering liquor bottles and shiny steel keg taps, would normally have been packed with patrons watching the fight from the comfort of a cracked vinyl barstool. But tonight, all was still…silent. Not another soul stirred in the shadows that reached greedily toward the bars of the circular cage that surrounded them. She noted the backpack sitting near Skriker’s bar stool, and the handle of the mysterious flogging toy that peeked ostentatiously from its half-zipped top.

  Oh, boy…

  Skriker had surrounded the walls of the cage with tall red pillar candles, and their soft golden light flickered gently in the stale air. Rose stood gazing at him, her odd eyes questioning, though she did not dare to speak.

  “No one else is here,” Skriker said, smirking, and his voice echoed softly in the cavernous space. “Harry closed the place down for a week while he took Gretchen up north to look at that college she wants to go to. Naturally, I can come and go as I please, just as you can. We’re the only ones with that privilege. We can party here, in my zone, all we want.”

  He leaned down and pulled something from his pack of tricks: a sleek black riding crop, the same some high-end equestrian might use while training his prize pony. He swung it lazily in his grip before lightly tapping the steel leg of the barstool beneath, winking at her as he did it.

  “This has always been my stool. But not the one that I sit on at that bar over there. This one is extra special. Go ahead…ask me why.”

  Rose blinked. “Why?”

  His grin was pearl-white, but the eyes above it were devilish in the most fiery way. “I lost my virginity to a woman sitting on this stool,” he answered.

  Her breath stilled in her throat—Here it comes…

  “I was fifteen at the time—talk about a spring chicken fresh outta the pen and Harry had just started seriously putting me in the cage. At that time, I was only fighting human challengers…nothing too heavy yet, but I was already proving myself to the Underground and they were eating it up like a 400 pound shut-in at an all-you-can-eat smorgasbord.”

  He chuckled, his gaze distant, and Rose could see the wheels of his mind turning as he looked back across the last fifteen years with fond humor. “There was this woman who was always hanging around the bar over there. She was a witch, and she was good at working mojo for whoever had the cash to pay for her services. Love spells, curses. I think she was mostly human, though I have always believed that she might have had some Faerie in her somewhere a ways back. She was around forty years old, though she sure as hell didn’t look that age. She had this crazy fiery hair, and really pale blue eyes, the same blue as glacial ice. Anyway, despite how young and smashing she looked, I always thought of her as The Cougar.”

  Rose felt an insane urge to giggle rise up in her breast. She forced it down with effort, and was successful.

  “Anyway,” Skriker continued, “she was a fixture here around that time, and she never missed a fight. Whether I was in the cage or out of it, I could feel her eyes on me, undressing me. Harry still has a good chuckle over it now and then, though at the time he scolded her a lot, telling her to leave me be, that I was just a goddamned kid. ‘Course, I had no problem with her attentions, and I liked the way she looked at me. I think that women were always A-OK in my eyes, ever since I came out of one.”

  He flicked the riding crop playfully, and Rose’s eyes followed the flicker of the leather rod as it moved, lightning-quick, through the air.

  “One night after a fight, I was moseying into the back—you know, where Harry built me a shower and all—and as I’m heading through the little hallway separating the club from the private rooms I feel these hands come out of the shadows, moving over me. Well, I sure as fuck knew who it was, so I let her wrestle me into the broom closet. I didn’t resist—Hell, I was damned eager to see what she had in store and before I knew it, I was locked in Harry’s broom closet with The Cougar and this stool. ” He reached down and patted the stool.

  “Boy, she didn’t waste time. She told me in no uncertain terms that she wanted to make a man of me, and she wanted to do it with me fresh out of the cage. I was a shirtless sweaty mess, of course, and you know what that woman did, Rosie? She licked it off me! Licked me clean, as a mother wildcat bathes her cub. Man, was I ready to rumble after that…I had never had a female touch me like that, being only fifteen, and it set me on fire pretty much instantly.” Skriker laughed hugely as he paused with the memory.

  “So she got me back into the closet, and hopped up onto this stool. She was wearing this long velvet skirt, kind of a hippie getup, and she hikes it up her thighs, asking me all the while, ‘You ever seen a shaved pussy before?’ And, of course, I just shook my head, because up ‘til then I had only seen pussies in the pornos I had filched from Harry’s collection that he thought was so secret. I never saw a totally shaved one, even in those. So, she spread her legs and pulled that patchwork skirt all the way up to her waist, and sure enough she was shaved as bare as a newborn’s ass. ”

  Skriker shook his head. “Apparently, I was staring too much—probably looked like a fucking idiot, so she grabbed me and pulled me up to her, and as bold as anything she unzipped my trousers and stuck her hand right in. I saw her eyes get really big, and she just breathed, ‘Holy Mother of God!’ And before I know it, she’s got me yanked up against her and she’s stroking me like a pro. Holy shit, with me being fifteen and all, it was a miracle that I didn’t just shoot off in her hand right there and ruin my first chance before my head even bounced off her pussy lips. ”

  Skriker chuckled drily and winked at Rose. “I wasn’t as big as I am now naturally, but she was swearing all around that I was the biggest fucking piece of meat she had ever had, as she pulled me up against her and pushed me into her. Which, I’m sure, is true.” He fished into his pocket and pulled out his ubiquitous Camel, which he proceeded to light up demon-style and sit there puffing as he finished his story.

  Rose just stood there silently, listening and fighting the urge to laugh, because this was so delightfully insane.

  “So, I fucked her as well as any fifteen year old kid could, and it
was a good thing that she came within seconds of me pushing inside her, I guess. She was psycho and wound-up, because I shot my load in all of a minute and a half, which is nothing for a man like me to be proud of. But having that little silky hole all around me for the first time? Well, I wasn’t too successful at holding back ”

  He took a drag from his Camel. “That was the first time I got laid, and the last time I screwed The Cougar. She more or less disappeared after our little tryst. I heard rumor later on that she had run off with a shifter, something like that, I don’t know. Didn’t care, really. I didn’t love her, and I have always figured that she’ll always carry the pride in her witchy heart that she was the Skrike man’s first slice of pie. I say power to her. ”

  Skriker looked at Rose closely now as he spoke, “Since then, and before you, I made it my habit to fuck as many girls on this stool as possible. It never goes back to the bar—it’s my stool for obvious reasons, and Harry lets me keep it hidden in that back closet for the very reason I just mentioned.”

  His eyes locked on her face, and he smiled, his jade eyes twinkling through the soft pale wisps of smoke drifting up around his head. “Go ahead and speak, Angel slave. I give you permission.”

  Rose blinked, as if coming out of a daze; the urge to laugh had left her abruptly. She licked her lips, smudging some of the burgundy lipstick she'd painted them with. When she finally spoke, her voice was soft, like the wings of the moth that had flitted by not too long ago. “How many girls, Skrike?” she murmured. “How many girls have you fucked on this stool?”

  Skriker’s smirk deepened. “I lost count a long time ago,” he said. “And tonight, you are going to blow them all away.” He struck out at her with the flogger then, the end snapping across the tops of her thighs where they peeked out from between her boot tops and the hem of her skintight skirt.

  Rose cried out, flinching back.