Then it slurped across her anus, greasily lubricating it, and pushed while the hands held her buttocks apart so that the face could nudge in closer. Her revulsion multiplied: it was going after her ass. She tried to resist, to clamp her sphincter muscle, but the serpentine thing just kept licking and poking, wedging in bit by bit. She made a supreme effort and managed to close her rectum off so that the tongue could not get more than the greasy tip through. She was stopping it!
The hands reached up and touched her ribs. The fingers tickled wickedly. “Aaa!” she screamed, for she had always been hyper-ticklish there. And in that moment her sphincter relaxed and the tongue got in another inch. That gave it leverage, and though she clamped down again, hard, it slowly expanded, oozing slippery oily saliva, until it breached her defense and got the rest of the way inside. Now it coursed on through like a cruising serpent, an endless python, invading her colon, completing the conquest. It wrestled around in her intestine, probing this way and that, as if tasting every part of it. It stirred her gut from inside, reaching far along her alimentary tract, stroking it in unspeakable ways.
Solita gritted her teeth, literally, as she suffered this obscene intrusion. But yet again she knew she could not afford to let go of the bed, lest she be sucked down and trapped in the void below. The monster was doing its best to overwhelm her determination, but she somehow knew that if it succeeded, she would be doomed.
The tongue continued, withdrawing somewhat, then thrusting in again, repeatedly stroking the channel, like a phallus seeking its culmination. It went on and on, in and out, sliding through her system, stirring her gut, almost fondling her rectum as it pulsed through its constriction. What was the point? As it was, she was beginning to get a reaction, much as she hated the notion.
Then she had a flash of realization: the thing was trying to stimulate her into orgasm! To make her really have sex with it, in this loathsome fashion. That must be its way of truly possessing her. The vagina had failed, the clitoris had failed, the breasts had failed, but this time it would not relent.
She had to resist it. She tried, but it had finally found a way to turn her on. That was the ultimate obscenity: overwhelming her repulsion as well as her body. She fought as hard as she could, but that imperative pumping was evoking a reaction she had not known she was capable of: sexual pleasure from the anus.
The realization, perversely, caused the effect to intensify. She absolutely hated it, but could not prevent it. She was riding a hot greased flexing pole, and it was making her react. She built into a phenomenal anal orgasm.
“Ooooo!” she cried soundlessly, in mixed revulsion and guilty pleasure, as her body pulsed in response to the continued thrusting of the huge tongue. Her whole lower body seemed to explode into ugly rapture, making her too breathless to moan again. Her anus squeezed the tongue, relaxed, squeezed again, as the siege continued. The tongue, too, expanded and contracted rhythmically, feeding her climax, extending it amazingly. Her ass was one huge filthy font of ecstasy.
At last it passed, and she shuddered into relaxation. She knew she would be forever appalled by what had happened and her reaction, but also that it was the wildest orgasm of her life. She was ashamed, yet also supremely sated. She had never imagined that she could ever suffer such a foul intrusion, yet derive such delinquent delight from it.
And the tongue, evidently satisfied, withdrew. It slid out of her tract like an extended turd and was finally gone. The monster was departing, having had his will of her in more than one manner.
Now she felt strangely depleted, as if more than her relative naiveté had been taken from her. What had the monster seized, apart from her reluctant passion? She dreaded the answer.
Then it came to her: the demon had stolen her innocence. She was adult, and sexually seasoned, but now she knew that she had known almost nothing and experienced less. She had been forcibly introduced to her own ugliest buried lust. Because despite her horror of the process, she had in a perverted manner liked it.
She slept, emotionally exhausted, and did not wake until morning. There was Lita, watching her. “Did it come?” she asked anxiously.
She could not lie about this. “Yes it came, dear.” She was aware there was more than one meaning there, but that couldn’t be helped. She also was not about to tell her innocent daughter of the monstrous degradation she had suffered. That would be her secret, preferably for life. She had had sex often enough, and understood its variations; the violation had been of her will more than her body. Indeed, her body was untouched. It was her spirit that had been dirtied. “You were right: there is a monster.”
“I knew it! Did you make it go away?”
“Not yet, dear,” Solita said grimly. Because she knew the demon would inevitably come again, in both senses. They had to be rid of the monster, lest it inflict even more unspeakable things on her and her daughter.
She was sure the demon was only pausing between degradations, and had her marked for more and worse. She had to stop it, preferably permanently. But how could she balk a thing that could not be seen or touched in the mortal realm? She needed help.
She moved into the morning routine, acting far more upbeat than she felt. Lita had faith in her, and she had to justify that. But how?
Once Lita was off at the school, Solita repaired to the phone book. There it was, under MAGIC: a small local shop. Somehow she had known that it dealt in more than magic tricks.
She went there. The proprietor was an older woman with a supremely homely face and body. “I need a—a demon repellent,” she said.
The proprietress did not laugh. “What kind of demon?”
“A sexual predator. The kind that preys upon women in bed.” Would the woman laugh?
“An incubus. They are repelled only by sexual repulsiveness.” She glanced appraisingly at Solita. “You don’t qualify.”
So it was no secret who had the problem. “Then what will work?”
“Nothing will repel it once it has oriented on a particular subject. Do you comprehend the nature of these demons?”
All too well, erotically. But that was not the question. “No.”
“They are immortal sexual spirits that seek sexual prey. They don’t care whether it is single, married, or juvenile, only that it is desirable by their standard. They try to take over a woman by forcing her to have orgasms with them, one per night. Three nights, and they take possession of her soul. Then they can preempt her physical body, and assume mortal form. The woman, of course, is doomed; she becomes the host for the incubus. It is not a pretty fate.”
“It is not,” Solita agreed grimly. “What will kill it?”
“Nothing will kill it. As I said, it is immortal. But there are measures that can be taken to nullify it. Are you interested?”
“Yes,” Solita said guardedly. The woman was angling for something.
“There is a potion that will trap an incubus in much the same manner as he traps an innocent mortal woman. That is to say, if he orgasms three times in its presence, it locks on him, and he becomes the sex slave of the one who fashioned the potion. Any portions of a mortal soul he has garnered are forfeit, returned to their source. The problem is getting him to deliver those orgasms in the right context. Demons are generally canny about such things.”
“You made the potion!” Solita said, catching on.
“If he orgasms in the potion, regardless who contains it, he will become the sex slave of an unattractive woman,” she agreed. “A fate worse than death for him.”
“But he’s huge and gnarly and insatiable,” Solita said. “He slobbers and thrusts with finger, tongue, and I am sure phallus once he gets it into play. What woman would want that?”
“The difference is that she controls him, not vice versa. He must do as she bids, constantly. He will react to it much as you react to him: with helpless revulsion. The pleasure will be all hers.”
Solita thought of the way she had been forced into orgasm via the tongued anus. She was disgusted anew, but she could appre
ciate how a certain type of woman might like that treatment, provided she had control. It would serve the demon right. “What does this potion cost?”
“For you, nothing. You would be doing me a favor. For him, everything.”
Solita smiled. “I believe we have a deal.”
The woman fetched a small ornate bottle containing a dark fluid. “One caution. You must get him to orgasm three times by your own third. Otherwise you will not have a chance to refresh the potion before he indulges again on another night.”
“I get it,” Solita said, shuddering. “How can I do that?”
“If you appear willing, or at least resigned, he will give you some freedom. He takes sex as he can get it, but he prefers it with a woman who is not constantly fighting him. It’s not that he cares for her emotionally; he doesn’t. She is merely his vessel of lust. But it costs him energy to control her, which subtracts from his fulfillment. You do not want to seem eager, because that will be suspicious, but if you give up and let him have anything he wants without resistance, perhaps in the vain hope that he will then release you, he will take it. The first orgasm may even make him eager for another, in a different venue.”
“Like going from vagina to anus?”
“Or throat,” the woman agreed. “They like variety, and they can be quite imaginative.”
Just so. “How do I apply this?”
“Put some in any likely avenue, and renew daily. His substance must touch it as he orgasms. He will not be aware of it, and it will have no effect on you. It is spiritual bait.”
“Like rat bait,” Solita said. “The rat eats this tasty treat, and it has no apparent effect, so next day it eats some more, and it has no effect. By the third day it is too late; it has thinned the blood, and the rat will die.”
“A nice analogy,” the woman agreed.
“Something that perplexes me,” Solita said. “He did not have full sex with me. Instead he—he used his hands and tongue. Why didn’t he use his penis?”
“The powers that be decree that a victim must have a fair chance to escape. So the incubus can bring his penis into play only gradually. The first night with a given subject he can reach his penis no higher than her knees. The second night, her genital region. The third night, her head. If she flees after the first night, by traveling across a sea where he can’t follow, she escapes his phallus. If she flees after the second night, she saves her soul. But by the third night, she is his.”
That explained a lot. The demon had used his tongue for sex because it was the only organ he could get into her body. But she would not be that lucky again.
“Thank you,” she said sincerely. “I will be sending him to you in a few days, I hope.”
“I will be expecting him,” the woman said grimly. “And thank you.”
Solita took the bottle home. In the evening she uncorked it and poured some potion on her hand. It was a translucent elixir, like a hair conditioner, but odorless. She swabbed it into her vagina, then put some on a bit of cloth and pushed it into her anus so that it would deposit the potion. Unsatisfied that this sufficed, she fetched a small syringe and squeezed a few drops in. Finally she swallowed some, trusting that it would suitably coat her mouth and throat. It was tasteless, but she hoped potent. As an afterthought she spread some on her breasts, especially around the nipples, just in case.
“What are you doing, mommy?”
Oops. She hadn’t been aware that Lita was paying attention. “Just applying some lotion.”
“Can I have some too?”
Oops again. Yet wouldn’t it make sense to protect her daughter too, just in case? Lita had been spared despoilment only by the rule that restricted the demon to her legs the first night. “You may if you wish.”
Lita took some potion and poked it carefully into her several orifices, copying what she had observed. To her it was a game. “Are you going to sleep in the bed again? The monster might come.”
“I believe the potion will discourage the monster.” That was true in essence, the same way rat bait discouraged rats by sickening or killing them. The incubus would not be sickened or killed, but would be enslaved, and that was perhaps fitting. She suspected the magic shop proprietress had some bizarre sexual tastes. Why else would she want the forced attentions of a thing like this? The only liability was that Solita would have to suffer seemingly willing sex with the horny incubus. She was sure that would not be fun.
“Oh. Okay.” The child lost interest. That was an excellent sign.
That night Solita lay on the bed again, and Lita took the couch. Her heart was pounding. Would this sexual ploy work, or had the shop sold her a bill of goods? Would the demon take the bait? There were so many uncertainties.
And the incubus came. She couldn’t see him in the darkness, but smelled his dusky odor. She was perversely relieved. She hated gratifying his infernal lust, but she also wanted vengeance for what he had inflicted on her already. She wanted him doomed the same way he sought to doom her.
He caught her feet and pulled her legs apart. Solita did not try to resist. She was almost satisfied. Now she had a role to play.
“Why don’t you just do it fast and go away?” she asked soundlessly. “Since I can’t stop you anyway, you obscene spook.”
She felt the demon pause, considering. Then to her surprise he spoke, similarly soundlessly. “Spread your legs and arms.”
She did, lying supine, exposed. “Fast,” she repeated. “I hate it and it want it over.” Which was true, if not the whole truth.
“I will do it as pleases me, slut.” He mounted her from above. The gulf did not open up below the bed. It seemed he wanted her to be supported by the bed so he could more readily do the deed. That was another relief; she had hated being suspended while her body was exposed to his lascivious attentions.
“It doesn’t please me,” she said. “I just want to get it over with so you’ll leave me alone.” This was emotional resistance, which was probably a turn-on for this brute.
“I will never leave you alone, wench.”
“Then why should I cooperate?” she demanded, and tried to close her arms and legs.
But it was of course too late. He merely touched her limbs, and they seemed to be manacled in place. It was evidently easier for him to paralyze her than to pry her open against her resistance.
He oriented his huge hard phallus, then rammed it into her full depth. It was a bruising penetration.
“It hurts!” she protested, with no exaggeration. But she did not try to resist further in any way.
“Great!” He thrust hard, withdrew, and thrust again, harder. She felt as if she were being impaled on a massive stake, like an ancient Assyrian victim. The thing was shoving impossibly far into her, displacing her internal organs. How big was it—nine inches, a foot, and wide in proportion? The tongue had been bad, but this was worse. If this had been physical, she would have to have restorative surgery. She let her tears flow, not having to fake her pain.
The worst of it was that she knew her extreme physical and emotional discomfort pleased the demon, enhancing his pleasure of the occasion. He wanted her to suffer.
In moments his orgasm came upon him. A huge amount of burning hot fluid coursed into her body, setting her on fire.
She screamed in agony as the blazing mass suffused her abdomen, but did not resist.
“You’ll do,” he grunted as his monstrous emission ebbed.
She hoped so. He had just had his first orgasm in the potion, while she had not. She had gained a point, as it were.
He withdrew his member. Another bad aspect was that she discovered she could not let the bolus of ejaculate flow back out. It was solidifying inside her as it cooled, keeping her tissues horribly stretched.
Now, temporarily depleted, the incubus focused on the rest of her body. His gross face came down on her breasts, taking them halfway in one at a time. He licked and sucked like a monstrous baby.
She twisted under him as if trying to escape his
attention, but only succeeded in pushing one breast farther into his mouth. “Damn,” she swore, though she was pleased. She was working him up again, still without her own orgasm.
The incubus slid his face on up her body until it was opposite hers. She could not see him in the darkness, but she felt his rancid breath. Oh shit, she thought. He’s going to kiss me.
He kissed her, and she firmed her lips though the contact sickened her. She wanted him to continue working himself up, after all. So he would have another orgasm in the potion.
Then she had a scary thought: if he did it again in her vagina, would it be effective? Or would the potion there be used up? Surely he wouldn’t, because it was already swollen with that bolus of goo. But if, perversely, he did?
“You’ll do,” he repeated. “Now stand on your head.”
“I can’t do that!” she protested. “I was never good at sports of any kind. I just fall over.”
He did not argue. He simply got to his feet on the bed, put his hands on her hips, and hauled her into the air. He set her down on her head. She instinctively put down her hands to brace herself, and discovered she was doing it: she was standing on her head.
“Now spread your legs in a V,” he ordered.
She tried and succeeded. It seemed she could do things in her spiritual state she couldn’t even try in her physical state. She was standing on her head with her legs spread in a V formation.
Did this bring her head into the range of his penis? She suspected it didn’t, because the ban was not exactly directional. He simply could not make her do fellatio. Yet.
He kneeled behind her and put his face down into her open cleft. He slobbered all across it, then ran his tongue into her packed vagina and her empty rectum. She was unable to resist, because her hands were occupied maintaining her balance, her legs were locked apart, and she wanted him to get turned on whatever way he could without stimulating her to a matching orgasm. If tasting her holes did it, then so be it.
He stood, leaned over her, and put his giant member to her vulva. Was he going it inject another bolus there? She would burst asunder! No, to her mixed relief he oriented on her lubricated anus and bore down. His member rammed past the involuntarily tight sphincter and into the colon like a pylon being pounded into the ground. The pain was terrible.