Games Demons Play

I: Ad Praeseminam

* * *

"Wake up, lazy ass."

"Mmmph." No. Why would I?

"Come on."

"Urghhh," I suggested, or something like. The voice was familiar: conceited, self-righteous, the voice of my oldest friend. A voice I was not interested in hearing. "Get out of here. I'm hung over."

"Hung over." The reply was dry and mocking, like his voice always was. "No. You're not allowed to be hung over, idiot."

"Allowed?" I burrowed more deeply into the duvet, wrapping it tightly around my body. I hated being cold. "What's the matter with you? I'm a fucking demon. Why should I care about what's 'allowed?'" The reply this time was... silence, the silence he always used when he was trying to get me to make a point to myself. Because, naturally, it was a weak argument, a classic in circular logic: the demon doesn't follow rules, which in itself is a rule, so the demon is following a rule... He'd learned that kind of shit at school. I'd learned it on the street. But I scoffed anyway. "Allowed."

He kicked me again, harder this time. In the ribs. "You remember what day it is?"

I bit back a harsh, eager retort; maybe he was onto something. I counted in my aching head; the weather had been getting colder, the days shorter; it was dark, now, during the morning commute. I blinked. "Tell me it's only the thirtieth," I pleaded.

I could hear the savage joy in his voice; fucking bitch. For such a smart guy, and a demon from the third fires of hell, Juvatis sure could be a sadistic asshole. 'Oh, I think you know better," he hissed.

"Do I?" I pulled the sheets over my head, but of course the game was up. "Fuck. Can't I just call in sick?"

"Come on." He gave one more kick, his claws not even sheathed this time. "You know how this works. All hands on deck." I heard his knees creak as he stood over me. "We've got work to do."

"No," I snapped sullenly. "You've got work to do. You're the one that's angling for a promotion."

"Exactly." I heard him rubbing his claws together, scheming; Juvatis was always scheming. "I'm angling for a promotion. And I need your help to get it, bro."

"Bro?" I sat up, incredulous; it had been awhile since he'd been friendly to me. "Bro? That's how this is going to be? Man, you don't even hang out with us anymore; you're too busy kissing Azaz'el's ass, trying to get that gig over in the Bureau of... fuck, what was it again? I can never keep the departments straight."

"Yes, I know," he mused. "Your unprofessionalism is well known all over the Nether Pits. But come on. I'll make it worth your while."

He was grinning at me, that old grin I remembered from childhood, when the two of us had just been wispy little djinns, fucking around in Mesopotamia and running messages for Adrammelech. "Worth my while, how?"

He shrugged. "I'll buy you a beer."

"Fuck," I scowled. Not worth it.

* * *

"I mean, you have to be up there anyway."

"Stop it."

"It's not like They were just going to let you stay in bed on Halloween, Morfis."

"Shut up."

"And since you have to be up there messing with the humans, I mean... why not give me a hand?"

I spat at him. "Stop. I'm here, aren't I?" I was, too, trudging up through the Fifth Circle along with all the rest: all the demons of all the Hells, all of us marching up to infest the Seven Worlds on Halloween Night. I could tell Juvatis was itching to say something, restraining himself with difficulty, dancing on the balls of his feet; I sighed. "What?"

"Well shit, man," he exclaimed. "What is it you usually do on the 'Ween? Run around all night, going for the low-hanging fruit?" He shook his head sadly. "You're better than that, dude. You used to be so good at this."

"Shut up," I repeated sulkily, but I knew he was right. Once, I'd been a rising star... well, a falling star, headed for the tip of the hierarchy. Neck and neck with all those guys who'd gone on to such better things: with Baal, with Pruflas; hell, even Iblis had been in the year-group behind me, and look at where that asshole was now. But then, of course, The Disaster had struck; I'd been fucked over by that idiot Lucifer during that thing with the snake and all that bullshit, and now here I was. Providing two-bit support for my friend on the make. I gnawed at my lip, mostly because I was hungry.

"Fine, dammit," I said at last, sighing hard. "I'd planned to possess a drugged-out student at a costume party. I'd been looking forward to it," I added spitefully. He frowned.

"Man or woman?"

"Well, see, that's the thing," I admitted. "Both." I'd always been good at going back and forth, and I like to feel it both ways.

"See?" Juvatis had stopped, his red eyes wide, shaking his head at me. "That's the spirit, Morfis!" I drew myself up a bit; he was right, I supposed. Most incubi couldn't do that, two occupations simultaneously. I'd mastered it centuries ago, then forgotten about it, but I still trotted it out on occasion; I found it easy. "I knew you still had it in you, bro!"

"Well, yes," I shrugged coolly, the old joke obvious. "But only when I'm the woman." His laughter echoed around the caverns, and I allowed myself to feel just a little bit of that old spark: maybe, just maybe, this was going to be fun.

* * *

"So, there he is."

"Which one?" We were floating malevolently above the street fair on Third, between Garfield and River Road, having taken the form of a pair of misty clouds.

"Over there, at the door on the corner. Next to the dry-cleaners." I squinted, a hard thing to do when you're a cloud, and tried to bring the man into focus. "He's the one wearing the brown vest," Juvatis went on with what sounded a lot like distaste. I paused.

"The what?"

"Oh. The waistcoat." Ah. Juvatis sometimes forgot I didn't come up here very often, certainly not frequently enough to keep up with the many twists and turns of a language as malleable as English. "He's a nerd," he added helpfully.

I started floating again. "What's a nerd?"

"Like a geek who reads all the instructions. And who's better at math."

I understood. "Like that Newton fellow." That had been a fun possession. I'd made him fuck another guy in the ass, that Swiss dude, and he'd been shocked that he'd done it; he'd been a virgin until then. The Church in his day would have been all over him if it had gotten out; the shame had made him so bitter he'd invented calculus. I'd gotten an award certificate for that one. They liked it when we increased the world's misery quotient, and calculus certainly had. "I see. So the waistcoat isn't a costume."

"No," he said cagily. "This is not the sort of man that dresses up for Halloween."

"Oh. And it's not ironic?"

"Nope. That's really how he dresses."

"No shit." I sighed. "So what's this guy's deal?"

The cloud beside me shrugged, which looked as cool as you'd think. "Oh, I don't know," he said airily, but then everything was airy in cloud form. "I think he's going to go on to invent time travel, or faster-than-light spaceflight, or something. Right now he's a tax accountant."

"Really."

"Really. But he's thinking of going back to school." Juvatis' plan was simple enough, I suppose: the old chestnut, possessing an ugly man and getting him to inseminate a beautiful woman. Part and parcel of the incubus' trade; in many ways, that sort of thing was the reason we were all here. It's not as much fun as you'd think, being a sex demon. It's not all cocks and cunts, or at least not all attractive ones. After all, hot people can fuck just fine on their own; we usually only come in when there are special circumstances afoot. Like ugliness, or body odor, or syphilis. "I'll go on down there and possess him in a few seconds, once I point out his bitch."

"Sure." I'd possess her. "Wait. Explain this again?" I frowned, making a few raindrops fall. "I mean, if your 'nerd' fucks a chick while I'm inside, how is that a challenge?"

"Well, see, that's why I picked you instead of a succubus," he explained once more. I was having trouble getting this; the hangover, no doubt. "I need Them to think I'm making the nerd do this on his own. Like I'm really working for it. So you, my friend, need to do a little acting. It has to look genuine, the fear, the trepidation. That's why I need you." He meant it as a compliment, and I nodded. "Someone devious."

"I see." I thought about it. "So she needs to want him, but not make it obvious."

"I knew I could count on you, Morfis." He patted me on the back, ethereally, and then he was scanning around some more. "Now then. Let's see." He swooped low. "I found her last week. A real firecracker."

Well. That sounded promising. "Sarcastic?"

"Oh, definitely." He giggled. "You'll be able to tell as soon as you see her costume, I expect. I was listening to her and her friends when they were picking it out."

"A virgin?" I asked; I'd find out as soon as I possessed her, but it always paid to know what I was getting into. Literally. Helped with my mindset.

He looked at me knowingly. "In one way, sure."

"Aw, c'mon!" This wasn't what I'd bargained for; I was hung over, for crying out loud. "You didn't say anything about anal."

"Well, who can say what'll get into my guy's head once he gets his cock inside her?" He blinked guilelessly. "I mean, I'm not going to set out to punch your shitter. But sometimes you just have to go where the spirit moves you, Morfis. But I promise I won't cum in there."

"Aww. You say the sweetest things."

"Well, you know. She's fertile."

"Oh!" Fair enough. You got bonus points Down Below if you could get a loser to knock a woman up on the first try. "All righty, then. So where's the bitch?"

"Trick or treating." He sailed on a few more feet before he realized I wasn't following. "What?"

"I'm not into kids, man."

"Well, of course not!" Juvatis huffed. "I've got standards; you know me better than that."

"Do I?"

"Even adults do it nowadays. I believe it's done in a spirit of irony."

"I see." I sniffed. "Is this part of this 'hipster' phenomenon I've been hearing about lately? Becuause, fuck that; you know I don't like beards."

"Relax." He was peering closely at a small knot of breasts, together with their accompanying bodies, next to a bike rack. I followed his gaze.

"I see costumes here trend toward the salacious," I said dryly.

"They're just French maids," Juvatis shrugged dismissively. "A dime a dozen, over in Paris. Whatever." He looked further. "Aha." He sounded satisfied. "Eureka."

"You stink, too."

"No, idiot. She's there." His cloud nodded toward a trio of people beside a tree. "See? Sarcastic."

"No shit." The trio looked decidedly male. "No, really. Where is she?"

"The blonde in the middle."

I frowned. The person in the middle was a dark-haired male, about thirty, with what I took to be stylish glasses and a smart-looking suit. "The blonde who looks like a brunette? And who appears to have a penis?"

"And I'll leave you to it," he winked smoothly. "See you soon, Morfis."

"Uh, yeah. Sure thing, Juvatis." I watched a few seconds as the cloud sailed back toward the dry cleaner's, the sound of Samhain revelry drifting up from the crowds below. Then I took another look at my target.

I had work to do. I aimed myself at the middle figure by the tree and flowed down to earth.

* * *

II: Ponam in Opsidionem

* * *

Goddamn! "It's fucking freezing all of a sudden!"

Gracie blinked at me. I had to admit, the flat cap had been a nice touch; I could cut my hair and smear some tanning cream on my face and strap my tits down and pass for a guy, sort of. On a dark night. But Gracie? Bitch was built like a ballerina. Putting on men's clothing just made her look like the tomboy in an 80s movie. But she'd tried, and the stupid scally cap had put her over the top.

"When is Justin coming?" Fucking Megan, always whining. Fucking Justin too, always late.

"He'll be here," I grunted. I hoped, anyway; I had big plans for us tonight. We three bitches, dressed as men; then Justin, in drag. It was going to be fucking awesome when we started pranking people. He'd looked great that other time, when he and I had gone out clubbing on a lark as the opposite sex; making out with him had been pretty hot, probably because I got to act like the guy. In the end he'd gone home with a woman who, fortunately, had turned out to be both bi and forgiving. But then, that time, he'd had me to do his makeup. "Motherfucker better not chicken out," I muttered.

I shivered.

"You're cold?" Gracie was concerned. She weighed about 87 pounds; she was always cold before anyone else was. "I'm actually pretty comfortable."

"Well, lucky you I guess," I snapped spitefully. But she was right; whatever little chill had come over me, it was gone now. I felt different, too; my mouth was dry, I heard a persistent buzzing in my ears, and suddenly the heavy-duty sports bra I'd shoved The Girls into felt tight and confining.

I was horny.

"I need a drink." Fucking Megan, that goddamn lush.

"Suck a dick," I advised. "You'll get about a teaspoon, maybe more."

"Oh! Okay. Fuck off and die."

"Jesus. Go squat on a broomstick."

"Hey!" Gracie stepped between us. "What's this bullshit? It's Halloween, girls! We should be out pranking people."

"Yeah," Megan threw in darkly, after a pause. "Fuck you too, Grace."

I staggered slightly, for something had come to me all of a sudden: a mental image, ultravivid and insanely swift, washing over me like a rogue wave, the image of little Gracie twisted on a bed with Megan over her. The bigger girl, in my mind, was sawing a big black dildo mercilessly in and out of little Gracie's cunt. I had to catch myself against the tree nearby.

"Fuck," I muttered.

"You okay, bitch?" Fucking Megan and her pretend concern. But I just nodded, shaking slightly, feeling my nipples mashing themselves against the bra. Vaguely I became aware of a crowd of guys walking by with neckbeards and pumpkin spice IPAs, younger guys, like early twenties, and another rogue wave struck me as I watched them dully. A second image, strong and sharp, of all the marks that scratchy facial hair would leave all over my inner thighs after the three, no, four of them got through sucking the girl-cum out of my pussy. Just before three of them shot it all over my face. But not the fourth one: suddenly, somehow, I knew with absolute certainty which one of the guys had the hottest cock.

The one dressed like Richard Nixon.

"Hey!" someone shouted at him. "Show me your Tricky Dick!" The man swiveled his head at me, and with a shock I realized I'd been the one shouting.

"Rachel!" Fucking Megan and her disapproval. She was staring at me, wide-eyed. I looked back, not even seeing her, seeing instead the guy with the Richard Nixon mask, his sweat dripping on my naked body as he pummeled my cunt. I blinked.

"Hi! I'm Matt," said Nixon, smiling with that white-bread American smile that went along with how I knew, knew his cock looked. This guy pulled plenty of pussy, even thirty-year-old pussy like mine.

"Fuck off." Fucking Megan, with her cockblocking ways; I was ready, for reasons that escaped me and, frankly, should have scared me, to bend over the bike rack down the street and let him have me however he wanted me.

"We're waiting for a friend," Gracie blurted, looking troubled, and Nixon shrugged as he eyed my body. I knew he'd see nothing in the costume, but I arched my back anyway.

I wanted this man to look at my tits. Preferably, while I rode him.

"No problem," he nodded affably, and then the four of them were drifting down toward Garfield.

"Jesus, Rachel!" Fucking Megan, bleating like a goat. I wanted to punch her. Hard. In the back of the head, while I breached her ass with a strap-on and she shrieked in ecstasy... Christ! What was wrong with me? "What's wrong with you?"

"I think I need to sit down." I was feeling almost drunk, but that made no sense; I'd had nothing at all since last night. The crowd at the All Hallow's Eve Street Faire had that low, too-cool suburban rumble to it, all vibrant with maple-apple-pumpkin bourgeois horseshit, and suddenly my clothes felt like they were suffocating me. I wanted to scream. I wanted to rip the secondhand suit off, get naked in the middle of the street. Slip on a blindfold, grovel on the pavement, and take in whatever cock came along.

Preferably, Richard "Matt" Nixon. But I knew, in my superheated fucking reptilian brainpan, that it didn't really matter. I was so horny, so suddenly, that I'd have taken all comers.

All cummers.

The pun made me giggle, a high-pitched wheezy cackle, and once I'd blinked several times I was able to make out Gracie, her pretty-pixie face wearing a look of concern, staring at me from a couple of inches away. "What's wrong, honey?" Her voice was sweet, loving, troubled; she'd sound so, so sexy with Megan fucking her little pussy. I shook my head. "Are you feeling sick?"

"Probably PMS." Fucking Megan. But she sounded truly concerned this time.

"Should we call you an Uber?"

"N-no..." I fought for control. I'd never felt like this, not even remotely, and as I leaned heavily against the tree I saw the man in the brown vest, walking with his back straight and his nose in the air. Somehow, I wasn't surprised when he stopped beside Megan and eyed me curiously.

"You ladies need some help?" His voice was low, and it told me a lot: I knew instantly that he was a cold bastard, distant, even mean. He was certainly ugly. Shorter than I usually liked, with that skinny build that told of a cereal-box diet and zero exercise. His skin was video gamer-pale behind a pair of last decade's glasses; he was not a man who took any kind of care of his complexion. There was no way he could be older than twenty-seven, and yet his forehead already gleamed unnaturally; it was losing the battle against his retreating hair. I knew his breath would smell like coffee, the cheap kind from a drip maker that never got cleaned.

I wanted to smell that breath while he came in me. Fuck! What was wrong with me? I thought fleetingly about the birth control I'd been so casual about this month, and I felt my throat bobbing as I swallowed.

"She's fine." Fucking Megan, all protective and shit, like she wanted to be the hero. "She just needs to walk it off."

"Yeah," Gracie echoed, clearly not believing it.

"Okay." The guy seemed nervous. "It's just that I couldn't help but overhear you? About the Uber? I was just on my way to the store for some milk, but I'd be happy to offer a ride after that."

"Oh fuck. Buddy, come on. Are you serious right now?" Fucking Megan. "You're seriously going to come in here like some kind of white knight and fucking rescue this bitch? Dude." She searched his face, transparently not liking what she saw. "Are you high?"

"Certainly not." The man shuffled his feet uncertainly, as though even he wasn't sure what he was doing here. I thought about what he was seeing: a compact woman dressed like a man, her eyes huge, her chest heaving as she struggled to breathe beside the tree. A woman who wanted dick. "I don't do drugs." It came out haughty, brittle.

Fucking Megan. She cracked up, her guffaws rolling across the sidewalk. "You don't do drugs?" she mocked. "What's that, the Just Say No curriculum from 1988? Buddy." She sighed and rolled her eyes. "Let me explain something to you. You understand, that shit she's wearing? It's just a costume. You get it?" Fucking Megan. What an insufferable little cunt. But she was good at telling off men, and so she just kept on laying it out. "See, that chick's a fucking dime, man. A ten. No, an eleven. She's smart as fuck, she's got massive goddamn tits, she does yoga twice a day, and she fucks like a tornado. Right?"

The man cocked his head to the side, staring at me like I was some sort of specimen. I got the definite impression he looked at a lot of people that way. Especially when he was on top of them, his pasty body sliding between their legs while his cock stabbed into them again, and again, and again...

I wanted him. I gasped.

"So, like, guys like you don't do anything with chicks like her. See? She's a goddess, and you're a pissant. I mean, no offense. But hot fucking bitches don't get down with nerds like you." Fucking Megan, hitting her stride, lathering herself up. Gracie stood off to the side, shifting her weight nervously, no doubt praying for Justin to show up, but that asshole was yesterday's news; I knew that right away, without even thinking too hard about it. Mind you, I'd let him fuck me right now. Not that the bar was very high; I trembled against the tree, my pussy flowing, my tits achy. I had the sudden urge to wrap my legs around the trunk and get off on the bark.

Fucking Megan was right, of course; this wasn't a guy I'd ever, in a million years, look twice at. Never. I'd had dozens of cocks, and a guy like this? Bottom five, and that was on his best possible day.

Shuddering, I came to life and forced the words out. "Not tonight, dude," I managed, wondering if he could smell my pussy. He had to. "Thank you, though."

He nodded uncertainly, his eyes shifting around, like he was listening to a voice I couldn't hear. "I understand," he said at last. "Have a nice night, and be safe." He smiled weakly at the three of us, took another look at my face, and started off down the street.

Fucking Megan was nodding after him, agreeing with everything that had come out of her own mouth; Gracie was furiously thumbing her phone to get to Justin, and I couldn't let it go. "Wait!" My voice was thick and strangly, and I shook my head as if to clear it out. Dimly I watched as the guy stopped, shuffled back around, and blinked at me through his glasses. "Umm, thanks. For offering," I muttered, and it came out shy and quavery. "Happy Halloween."

He cocked his head again, strangely lizardlike, and then he nodded as if deciding I was being honest. "No problem," he replied shortly, and Megan's glare sent him on his way as I slumped back against the tree, exhausted. Beside me, she pursed her lips in disapproval.

"Nerds." Fucking Megan and her shrewd judgements; she'd said a whole paragraph in just that one word.

* * *

We gave up on Justin maybe half an hour later, and as the crowds thinned out we set off into the night in a little protective knot. Megan walked in front; I assumed she was carrying her little gun, as she often did, while Gracie stayed back, fretting with me. "We'll get you into bed, hon," she was murmuring into my ear; I caught nothing but hot breath, that maple-syrup voice, and the unshakeable image that hadn't left me of Gracie writhing beneath Megan. Fucking Megan, grinning sadistically, insatiably, driving the dildo methodically home while her other hand had her phone out, dialing her husband to come on over and take a turn on our ripe little friend.

I stumbled over a crack in the pavement, thinking again about lying down on the sidewalk, spreading my legs, and waiting for a man. Or two. Or, hell, eight. Fucking Megan, catlike in front of us, and then I saw the curb ahead, the roadway beyond that the cops had just opened up after the street fair, and just as I wobbled off the sidewalk I caught the blinding lights of a sensible silver SmartCar coming slowly along the road from in front of the little market down the way.

"Watch it!" Fucking Megan, skipping out from in front of the rolling car; I felt my knees tremble, I tottered forward, and I slouched against the hood, the tiny car already stopping.

"Jesus," Gracie whimpered, and the car lurched underneath me as it went into Park; the driver was getting out to look at me.

"Oh." Fucking Megan, disgusted. "It's you."

"I'm going to take her home." The voice was low, as it had been before, and it drew me; I didn't try to stop myself as I felt my own arms push me off the silver metal and slowly upright, where I turned to face him. "Get in," he said calmly, his adam's apple bobbing, and I was already tottering around to the passenger side while Megan glared behind me. "I'd be happy to give you guys a ride, too, but... no backseat."

Gracie, useless in anything but a perfectly calm, predictable situation, glanced at Megan, then at me; Megan was already pulling her phone out to take a pic of his license plate. "I'm calling her every hour on the hour," she spat. Fucking Megan.

* * *

III: Per Vincere

* * *

I opened the car door for her, of course, because my grandma would have been ashamed of me if I hadn't. Poor thing; she was in the passenger seat, quaking, looking up at me like a frightened bird, and once again I felt compassion and pity; I felt like she needed help, and that I'd been chosen, in a way, to help her, and it had me feeling pretty goddamn good.

She'd given me an address on the other side of town, by the library, and I'd never been on the street before. It was nice and clean, the kind of street where every house has a tall tree shading it; she evidently made decent money, wherever she worked. I wondered how old she was. "Come on," I said gently, and then those eyes looked up at mine over the incongruous makeup she'd put on to give herself a five-o'clock shadow, and I was gone.

She was beautiful. Her annoying fucking friend had been right; she was way, way out of my league.

"Is, uh, is this your house?" I asked quietly, noticing the throngs of little kids still out seeking candy. This seemed like the kind of neighborhood where nearly every light was on, where every porch held a big bowl of candy bars. Full size, not "party size."

"Yes." Her voice had a tight, dreamy quality to it, like she'd been up all night or had too much coffee. Or both, maybe. Once more I felt my dick tighten in my khakis, just like it had when I'd first seen her against the tree, over by the bicycle stand just down the street from where I worked. It had made me really apprehensive then, because at the time, in the dark, I hadn't been sure the three girls were actually girls. But my penis had known, somehow. "The key is... somewhere."

She stood woozily, and instinct made me offer my arm; she tucked herself into the side of my body, close, right up against me, and it was all I could do to avoid both falling and popping a massive boner. Her hair smelled like lavender. "It's okay," I said awkwardly. I said most things awkwardly. "I've got you."

"Yes," she agreed, "you do," and then we were making our slow way up the walk, between two lines of low bushes, to the only house on the block with its lights off. "What's your name?"

"I'm Robert. Robert Sneed." I paused as we approached the steps.

"Well hi, Robert Sneed," she sang, still with that dreamy edge to her voice. "Key's in my pocket, I think." I stared down at her, nestled in the crook of my armpit, and I couldn't believe any of this. "Do your friends call you Bobby?"

No, I thought of telling her. I'd need friends for that. I thought about my coworkers, then shrugged with the shoulder she wasn't using. "People call me Sneed, usually."

"Sneed." She sighed. "Like you're from Dr Seuss." I could feel her body beneath my fingers, warm through the sport jacket she was wearing. We stood uncertainly until she tipped her head back and looked up at me. "Front pocket. In my pants."

She giggled when I just gaped down at her, her arm around my waist, and finally I slipped my hand down her side, along her hip, and found her pocket. She was still looking at me as I took a breath and plunged my hand in. The trousers she'd chosen, a pair of men's smalls, fit her tightly enough that I could feel the elastic of her thong as my fingers snaked down, down past the lint to find a simple metal ring with a couple of keys on it. The pants were tight enough that I had difficulty pulling my hand back out; she giggled again, and I felt the flutter of her fingers on my side. She worked her way around to my front, gripping me tightly with her arms; there was no way she could possibly miss my hard dick, digging into her front.

I gulped and peered at the little charm dangling off the ring in my hand, barely visible in the light from the streetlamps. "R?" I asked her, my mouth full of her hair as she clung to my chest.

"Rachel," she sighed, her body swaying slightly.

"Okay." I hesitated, trying to back away enough that I could adjust myself; my penis was trailing a long way down my left leg, the absolute least comfortable place I could have put it, and I thought for a brief moment of scraping my body along hers to move it someplace where I could deal with a little better. But she showed no signs of letting up her body's pressure on mine, and as I stuck the key into the doorknob I started to get the nagging feeling in my mind that I was going to take this Rachel into her house, throw her into her own bed, and fuck her hard.

No. No way; I'd offered help, not sex. I swallowed as the door gave with a click, and then my leg was reaching around hers to kick it open. It plowed quietly through a small drift of mail on the floor, then stood there open, waiting for me to make up my mind. I patted her back. "Rachel? Door's open now. You can go inside."

"I know I can," she murmured into my chest. She showed no sign of moving away from any part of me, and the nagging feeling began to nag harder, more insistently, almost viciously; I gasped. These were not thoughts I was accustomed to having; I'm no monk, but it had been years since I'd had a girlfriend.

Why? asked my brain. Why is that? You're ugly, but no more so than many others. You're awkward, but that's no crime. You're shy, but that's not stopping this girl from wanting to fuck you...

The realization struck me like a kick to the stomach. Goddamn. She did. I looked down at her head, then cleared my throat with difficulty. "Rachel, can I stay with you?"

"Absolutely, Bobby." No hesitation, no doubt; it was as if she was answering a question about the weather. Sure, they're saying it's going to be cloudy and 67 degrees tomorrow. And I like it from behind, preferably over a table or desk, thanks! I took a shuffling step toward the yawning doorway, the woman moving with me, and as my toes hit the threshold I finally felt her release her grip. "Come inside."

She backed into the darkened house with uncertain little steps, looking up at me with those big shiny eyes, and whatever doubt I might have had picked up its suitcase and fled far, far away, and I stepped in after her and reached automatically to swing the door shut behind me; before it had even clicked shut I was spreading my arms, gathering her in, her hands clasped to my chest as she craned her head up.

I'd never been more certain a woman wanted me to kiss her.

Her mouth was firm, expressive, opening for my tongue as I leaned down; I was completely aware that she didn't want me to waste time with subtlety. So I kept going, even after our lips met, bending her limbo-style and continuing down with her, craning her like that nurse in that VJ Day picture from Times Square. "Mmm," she moaned in a little whispery burst of warmth into my mouth, and then my eyes closed and I pulled her tightly to me and I stopped thinking quite so much.

The body in my arms was compact, firm, and I remembered what her disagreeable friend had told me about yoga. The spit was flowing freely now, and I'd never experienced such a kiss, and then something took over me; I can't even describe it. Sheer, exultant animal lust, maybe? Whatever it was, it started as a red cloud at the edge of my vision, and when I opened my eyes again and found hers staring back at me I saw the same red cloud.

We straightened calmly then, breathing deeply together, and she took my hand and led me back into the house. The lights were off, but bluish moonlight through the windows showed me sleekly modern furniture, a shiny kitchen with an expensive espresso machine; I thought of my drip maker back home, stained by years of inexpensive coffee, and in passing I noticed a fine set of Wusthof knives, a gleaming toaster, and then the narrow hallway leading to the back of the little house.

We strode with straight, sure steps, both of us suddenly lucid, or as lucid as anyone could be under the influence of that kind of lust. My dick still tented far ahead of me at the front of my khakis, but I'd changed; the idea of concealing it from her had disappeared. Just the opposite; when she stopped at her bedroom door and glanced back at me, I arched my hips a tad so that she could see what she'd done to me.

She smiled, the full wet lips drawing together, and then she tossed her head toward the room beyond.

I was unzipping even before I passed the doorway, eager to show her my hard dick, needing her to experience it; I felt suddenly like a god, like Hercules lining up to take a peasant. "You want me," I intoned, with no idea where the words had come from; it wasn't a question.

"No," she countered, watching intently as my zipper crawled down. "I need you."

I nodded, then dropped my hands to my sides, staring hard at her. Daring her to stay away. To refuse to be mine. When I spoke this time, my voice sounded harsh even to me. "Undress us," I commanded, and then Rachel bowed her head slightly and started back toward me, her eyes shining brightly into mine, her hands tearing at the shirt beneath the unbuttoned sports jacket. Fleetingly I wondered whose stupid idea it had been to dress three chicks up like dudes, but then whatever had taken over my mind moved that thought aside as if it was changing a cel on an old cartoon.

Clearly, the normal me was no longer in charge here.

Rachel stopped about a pace away from me, standing straight and strong as she threw her shoulders back; her stare pierced me as she shuddered, the shirt and jacket slipping to the floor. Still looking into my face, she pushed at the trousers; they pooled at her feet like a drunk, crumpled in an alley. I saw shadowed curves, the muscles of a vain woman, the firm breasts cruelly restrained by a fearsomely engineered bra, and then she was starting on that too; I watched as the tight, thick fabric peeled away from her skin the way the foil peels from a bottle of wine, my eyes savoring full rounded flesh, the sudden freedom of two dark, protruding nipples.

The heavy bra sailed into a corner.

The thong, black like the bra, was an afterthought, and her next graceful step brought her naked and proud, on display, to within arm's reach of me. I caught a rich, heady smell, and when I looked down I saw a sleek bare mound, glistening in the moonlight, with a shiny mess beginning to drool down her inner thigh. "You like what you see," she said, searching my eyes and finding all the approval she needed. "Good." Bold fingers probed lazily into my open fly, unbuttoned the hole in my boxers, and searched within for the hard dick I was offering her.

There was an electric inhalation as our flesh met, her fingers finding my shaft and sliding hard up and down. I felt like all the blood in my body was coursing through my penis; it was thick and long and firm, trembling for her, questing from my body for her vagina.

We paused, my hands on my hips, my body arched, letting her feel me, and then I cleared my throat. "Undress us," I repeated quietly, and she set to work on me; slowly and with exquisite care, like she was restoring a museum display, she unbuttoned each button on my vest, then pulled it away to quietly work at the knot of my tie. I stared at a face growing more beautiful by the instant, her fine white teeth gnawing at her lower lip as her nimble fingers worked the knot. She was close enough now that my dick, grown as long as it could and pointing jauntily upward, was leaving a sticky trail across the skin at the top of her thighs.

She stepped back once she'd finished with my shirt, her cool palms resting briefly on my nipples before she reached slowly up my chest, under my clothes, and with a sense of relief I felt the shirt and the vest both slide down my arms. Before they hit the ground she had undone the button at the top of my khakis, sending them down my legs with an emphatic stomp of her foot between my legs.

Rachel frowned as she stepped back and eyed where my penis flew from my boxers. "Well," she mused, "I can't see how I can maneuver your underwear over such a gigantic fucking cock," she decided. Her eyes met mine once more. "Wait here, Bobby," she purred. "I've got just the thing for you."

She disappeared noiselessly from the room, like a cat, leaving me to survey my own body in the mysterious moonlight. I heard her phone warble from down the hall, three times, and then Rachel speaking in something that sounded like a normal voice: "What?...Oh, honey, thanks... No, babe, I'm doing okay... uh-huh...no, I'm just sleepy... really, Meg, I'm okay. No. Bye!"

I'd never felt so calm, nor so wanted; no, needed. Whatever had overtaken my mind had either changed my body, or changed how I looked at it; I saw it now as Rachel might, hale and virile and trembling with power. And calm; I didn't twitch when I felt her dry fingers on my back, trailing around over my shoulder as she came around to face me once again. "Fucking Megan."

"Ignore it next time." I forced myself to be still as her fingers trailed down my back.

"Do you trust me?" she asked quietly, the slickness spreading further down her thigh; she had a hand behind her back. "Your cock doesn't deserve to be tucked back in."

"I agree." I shrugged. "Do what you want, Rachel."

Still staring into my eyes, she brought her hand out from behind her back and raised it to my face. I squinted as I read the words in the light from the window. "Wusthof," I nodded. "Excellent knives."

"Yes." Her eyes remained bold even as she moved her hand slowly back down, and she didn't shift her gaze until after I felt the blade rest against my flesh. "Hmm." She frowned. "This is an eight-inch chef's knife," she observed casually. "You're longer than I thought."

I let the silence stretch, thrilled by the moon on the blade, in her eyes, off her pussy. "Undress us," I said slowly, one more time, and she nodded. She took hold of my waistband and pulled it out about an inch, then laid the back of the blade along my dick. We both shivered as she eased the point slowly through the opening in my boxers. "Christ," I bit out.

"Yes," she said again, and once she had the elastic resting against the chef's knife's sharpened edge, she raised her eyes once more to meet mine. "May I?"

"You may." Her whole body was darkening in the light through the windows, reddening, everything taut, and then she was lifting the knife into the elastic and drawing it swiftly toward her, until with disappointingly low resistance the waistband gave up the fight. The blade whispered through, flashing in the moonlight, and we both sighed as my boxers fell harmlessly toward the floor. "You're beautiful, Rachel," I said, fighting to get the words out through a thickening throat, and she smirked in response.

"You're just saying that because I've got a knife next to your cock," she pointed out, neither quite serious nor quite joking, and I looked down between us to where our bodies were pressed together; already my hands were drifting up along the sides of her back, over the ridges of her ribcage, and her free hand was dancing among my pubes, and whatever had taken me over was no longer in the mood to wait.

I brought my hands suddenly around under her armpits, watching to see what her eyes would do when I crushed her breasts as hard as I could. I saw the lids come down, the pupils roll back; I heard her moaning sigh and felt her breath on my face, and then I pinched both nipples and, without warning, shoved her hard onto her bed. She sprawled hard with an oof, struggling to gather herself, her tits bright red where my hands had mauled them.

We heard a distant knocking noise from the front door, the piping voices in chorus out on the porch: "Trick or treat!"

"Piss off," I muttered to them, and just as she was collecting herself on her back, scrambling to get her thighs apart, I planted my knee right between her legs. I looked down at her, feeling my face mold itself into a smirk. "Rachel," I told her dully, my penis quivering directly over her pussy, "I'm going to fuck you now."

"Yess," she hissed, a voice unlike any I'd ever heard before, and then I had both hands gripping the sheets alongside her head, watching those red-rimmed eyes roll as her face tightened into a snarl. "Come to me."

I let my body give the reply, crawling over her as she backed toward the pillows, and it didn't take long before she had noplace else to go. But I did. She watched through slitted eyes as I maneuvered myself over her, dropping my hips slowly until my cockhead landed trembling atop her mound. I was staring at her eyes, her face, seeing the need there. She raised her feet and twined her arms around my neck, and I heard a buzzing in my ears. I darted my tongue out, licking, tracing her lips and cheekbones with my saliva, and Rachel's breaths grew faster and shallower. "Please," she begged.

"Please what?" I moved my hips, dangling my shaft above her vagina, feeling the heat and wetness there; she was arching her hips in little circles, overwhelmed with need.

"Please take me," she groaned, and that was enough. I teased her a few seconds more, just making sure my penis was squared up along the angry pink crevice that awaited it, and then I smeared my entire body atop hers as I sent my dick straight up into her needy body in one smooth, wet stroke.

Her screech as my balls nestled against her ass was otherworldly, fierce, almost demonic; I felt her nails clawing suddenly at my back, her thighs tightening outside mine, and I exhaled sharply into her face with our eyes glued to each other's before hers fluttered shut. The feeling was indescribable; her pussy was tight and wet and intoxicating, gripping me hard in an impressive display of muscle control, and I knew I'd never feel so good again.

I stayed still a few seconds, waiting for her eyes to open, and as soon as they did I sent one hand to her jaw, grasping her face, forcing her to stare at me as I fucked her; her eyes bulged wide as I pulled out, then thrust back in, and I pushed my thumb into her lolling mouth as our bodies began to move together.

The sounds began at once, the lewd slithering noise made by two willing bodies, but slowly; I was in control, and I did not feel like slamming into her. Her body felt too good against mine; I needed her nipples on mine, her arms pulling me to her, her feet spurring my narrow ass as it rose and fell. "Fuck," one of us moaned, or maybe both of us; there was no way to say, really, and it hardly mattered. I'd never felt so vibrant, so strong; she was giving as good as she got, pivoting her hips in perfect rhythm with mine, feeling the kissing smack of my skin on hers as our groins met.

"Your cock feels so good in my cunt, baby," she gasped around my invading thumb, and once more I let my actions speak; I replaced the thumb with my tongue, wagging eagerly into her mouth as my dick ravaged her womb.

"Yeah?" I snarled. "Show me," I demanded. I was thrusting, pulling out, thrusting, pulling out, in a slow and greedy tempo timed to her own heaving body. "Gonna cum, you little whore?"

"Fuck," she spat. "You know I am." She sounded almost resentful about it, and then a tiny portion of my brain reminded me why; she was fucking an absolutely worthless nerd, and if those friends of hers found out, she'd never hear the end of it. But the slack joy in her face told me she didn't care that much. "I'm almost there, baby," she quavered, her control beginning to fail. I clawed again at her jaw, turning her head sideways so that I could snarl into her ear.

"I want it," I grated, the spit sprinkling her earlobe. She groaned as her body thrashed against me. "I want you to fucking lose it. Let me feel it." Another groan, louder and longer, and then her whole body went tense all of a sudden; I nearly gasped with pain as her pussy clamped down on my dick. "Jesus," I marveled, struggling to pry myself free of her body; once I had, I just kept on rutting wildly, my finger trapped between her clenched teeth while she sucked hard on it. And then, all of a sudden, Rachel relaxed; she went rubbery, almost, spitting my bloody finger out of her grinning mouth.

"Goddamn," she announced softly, her big eyes slitted now as she gazed up at me. "Who the hell are you?"

"I'm the man who's fucking the shit out of your cunt," I snapped back, shocked at my own mouth; I never talk like that. I had no clue where that had come from, but I wasn't about to stop to figure it out either. I weaved my fingers into her short hair, grasped what I could, and wrenched her face back around so I could stare into her eyes. "Listen, bitch," I grunted, and her face went slack with pleasure again, "get on your hands and knees so I can cum in you properly."

"Jesus," she whimpered, but she tried to obey; following my insistent tug on her hair, Rachel flopped limblessly over, drawing her arms underneath her as best she could and lifting her ass slowly into the air.

I crouched on my knees, my cock hard and shiny and urgent, and I wasn't having any of that slow bullshit. "Hey!" I barked, my balls already boiling. I swatted her right asscheek. "Pay attention. I said to get on your hands and knees." Another swat, quick and stinging. "Now."

This time she moved fast, snapping her butt up high with parade-ground precision, her quads trembling. I saw her eyes, wide now, in a tear-stained face, when she turned around to look over her shoulder at me. "Good?" she panted.

"Good." I wondered when my voice had gotten so rich, so... commanding. Before me knelt a gorgeous woman, fit and firm and sexy and smooth, waiting for me to fill her with my semen. It was enough to make my mouth go dry as I stared at her symmetrical perfection, across the marked asscheeks and the deeply arched back, and down to where her pussy still twitched with the pleasure I'd given her.

My penis quested once more, the urge overwhelming, and I laid a hand on her spine and bent down so that she could hear me whisper. "I'm going to fill you up, Rachel," I told her, as quiet as a creeping mouse. "Hear me?" I smacked her again, and she tensed once more. "I'm not fucking stopping."

A distant part of my mind wondered where I was getting all this from, but most of me was busier trying to sink my dick in her pussy. Which, I knew, wouldn't take much effort; the girl's thighs were practically sheeted with her own juices. I gripped firmly at her hips, a subtle warning to her that she ought to make her preparations: she was shifting her shoulders and elbows, setting her knees, bracing herself.

She knew what was coming.

I jacked myself a couple of times, experimentally, but there was no need; I was already quivering, my penis so tense it reminded me of a guitar string. I tipped it down, admiring the sleek curves of Rachel's body, savoring the moment for just a bit longer, but there was nothing for it; that red glow in my brain commanded me to inseminate her, so I lined up and leaned in and suddenly I was back inside her, smoothly and perfectly, feeling like I'd been made for her.

"Fuck me," she chanted, and I was happy to oblige. I watched, transfixed, as her pussy lips clung to the veins of my dick the first time I put it in. Then the second. Then the third. Then I was busy focusing on the churning, clanging noise in my brain, the mix of her screams and my groans and the slapping of skin and the endless roar of testosterone, and I focused on the dimples above her ass, where my sweat was dripping steadily.

She'd been trying to drive herself back at first, but it didn't take long before I could see she was struggling, her vagina oversensitive, the nerve endings fried, which just made me grip harder and pull her back more firmly and grit my teeth more resolutely while I geared myself up for the transcendent moment, the triumphant instant when I'd claim this woman's body for my own.

Rachel had to know it was coming, but I didn't really care whether she did or not as, with a strangled roar, I forced myself impossibly deep into her sublime little body and let myself go. I felt like my fingers would pierce her hips, I dragged her back so hard; in my mind, I swear I felt like I was picturing her body caving in, opening, splitting open so that I could get even deeper.

Judging from Rachel's sudden cracked yelp, she knew exactly what was happening. Not that it mattered; her body definitely did, spasming once more against my shaft, drawing me in, gluing itself to my thighs as I pumped spurt after spurt after thick, potent spurt into her grasping vagina.

I kept her in place, my body arched deeply as my balls shuddered; Rachel was panting, drooling on her pillow, her shoulders slumping down, but I didn't really care how tired she had to be; I cared that she'd taken my sperm, that I'd pumped her full, that I'd keep her well corked while it did its work. I laughed one more time, more of a cackle really, and laid one more exultant slap on the fine rump before me.

She was already mewling, though, and I blinked, shaking my head, as I started to realize what had happened. And this time, when Rachel turned back around to look at me, she looked a lot more dazed.

* * *

IV: Epilogus

* * *

"See, Morfis?" Our clouds this time were too misty, too insubstantial, to be seen, but we were there. It was always instructive to watch the humans after they'd mated. You picked up interesting insights into how you could more effectively possess them later. "Awesome! You did great."

He sighed, still wisping into a clearer shape, as the Rachel and the Sneed slowly, painfully began to recover below us. I'd been in better rooms, certainly; the paint on the ceiling here was badly cracked, for example. But the ceiling wasn't the important part of this, anyway. He looked at me sourly. "I hate being the woman sometimes," he grumbled.

"I know." I gave him a sympathetic pat on the shoulder. "But you're a natural. Still, you're right; I got a bit carried away. But it was amazing work!" I wasn't about to jinx it, of course, but I was certain I'd get that promotion. Certain. Morfis still seemed subdued, though, so I smiled encouragingly at him. "Two beers, then."

The humans below us were studiously avoiding eye contact while they tried to uncouple themselves amid a truly staggering amount of seed. "He came like a firehose," Morfis reflected. "She feels bloated now."

I shrugged. "What? Nerds don't get laid much." I'd once done a monograph on the subject. "I warned you it would be copious, idiot."

"Yes." Morfis seemed uncharacteristically pensive. He hadn't been like this since... hell, the Crusades? Even earlier? "But did you warn her?"

I cocked a cloudy eyebrow and gave it some thought. Huh. "Three beers, then."

"Okay."

The two clouds passed on into the night through the moonlit windows.