She screamed in agony, but the brutal penetration continued. A foot long? It had grown! It felt like eighteen inches, six thick, mercilessly jamming down into her inverted guts. No wonder he had made her assume this position: without solid bracing, she could have risen to the ceiling instead of taking in this monster. She was already inflated by the bowling-ball sized mass of ejaculate in her locked vagina; now she was doubly distended by the sheer mass of the member. She was amazed that her flesh could handle it without tearing. But of course this too was different in the spirit mode: she was not limited by the limits of flesh. Down and down it drove, until she almost feared it would come out of her mouth.
At last it stopped, though her whole belly felt bloated. It paused a moment, then drew back slightly. Was he starting his thrusting toward his second climax? It seemed too soon, but of course he was not subject to mortal limits, and it was already as thick and hard as a phallus could get. So maybe he could do it now.
He shoved down again, and she felt her intestines squishing to the sides, forced out of the way. He withdrew, and thrust, and again her innards roiled. But the pace did not pick up in the manner of a developing climax, and she concluded that he was after all not yet ready.
He bent forward and down without dislodging his member, his upper body folding until it pressed against her front. What was he doing?
Then she felt his mouth at her breasts, which here hanging upside down. Oh, that again. He sucked in a nipple and masticated it with his course lips. As he did, she felt his massive penis throb within her. He was getting stimulation from the oral contact. That was, she supposed good. She dreaded his next emission, but she needed to evoke it, the sooner the better.
He moved across and mouthed the other nipple. His member pulsed again. He took in as much of the breast as he could, and his penis seemed to expand. So he was getting there, slowly. Fortunately she was not. How could she, in such an awkward position, her body stuffed like a holiday turkey?
Then he brought his hands to her sides and stroked her ribs. Oh, no, he was going to tickle her again! “Please don’t!” she pleaded.
But he did. He tickled her exquisitely. She burst into helpless laughter, feeling her body convulse against his rigid member. That was what he wanted: to make her do the work for his deeper penetration. She had no choice but to oblige. She compressed his penis with her involuntary agitation. This was not at all comfortable for her, but she did feel some further twitching as it responded.
Still the phallus was not quite there. Even immortal sex demons needed time to recover. That was too bad. Maybe he needed time to secrete another gallon of ejaculate for his next emission.
His hands left her tortured ribs and found her breasts, taking eager handfuls. His head lowered farther. His gross face came up against hers. They were both upside down, his knees at her back, his hands on her breasts, his penis wedged deep in her innards, yet this seemed like another novelty. He kissed her mouth. She kissed back. Anything to get him to climax and get the hell out of her before she suffered terminal distention!
His lips pried hers apart. Oh, damn! He was going to penetrate her this way too. His tongue snaked through and entered her mouth, much as it had entered her colon before. It tasted like a dog turd. It circulated around her mouth, exploring. Then it stretched on to her throat. It touched the back of it.
She choked as her gag reflex was triggered. She tried to vomit, but the tongue swelled to block her throat, preventing it. She heaved helplessly, unable to complete her puking. She felt her breasts pushing against his hands as her bottom clenched against his groin. Her whole body was rocking with the force of her frustrated nausea.
And she felt his member swelling again. Her convolutions of sickness were doing what her tickling reactions had not. They were at last evoking his climax. Aroused, his penis thrust and thrust again, storming through the violent contractions of her belly.
He came. She felt another bolus forging through the massive pipeline, powering down to the terminus, and finally bursting out below. On and on it surged, a seemingly endless gushing of molten lava, inflating her like a tortured balloon.
And that evoked her response. She hated it, but amidst the throes of her helpless gagging and the pain of her burning large intestine she was suffering a sexual reaction. Something about all that hot semen making her belly swell horrendously turned her awfully on. His climax was triggering hers.
She came. Her colon rhythmically compressed his pumping member, squeezing the rest of the ejaculate out of the spout. Her throat swallowed his tongue, squeezing it similarly. Her enlarging breasts seemed about to squirt milk into his hands. She was transfixed by a total body orgasm.
They faded together, she on her head, he wrapped around her, anchored at genitalia and mouths. She cursed it, because it was utterly disgusting, and she had wanted to make him spurt without doing the equivalent herself. She had gained a point, as it were, only to lose it immediately.
Yet it had been another transcendent experience, the most violent, weird, and powerful climax she had ever had. The very notion repelled her, but she could be acquiring a taste for demon sex.
He withdrew tongue and phallus at last, leaving her feeling like a tick swollen with blood into the form of a cherry. She collapsed onto the bed, lying on her back because of the severe fullness of her belly. Even late-term pregnancy had not been like this! His thick semen filled her completely, front and back, and she wasn’t sure how she would ever get it all out. She felt her crotch with her fingers and found her avenues sealed.
He ran his coarse hands over her body, appreciating the continuing fullness thereof. Maybe he regarded it as his work of art. He squeezed her breasts as though they were succulent fruits. It seemed that even that giant second emission had not completely depleted his erotic interest. She would have laughed, had it been funny.
Then he lay on her, cruelly squishing her body under his, kissing her. She felt like roadkill flattened on the highway, her guts splayed to the sides, but she remembered to firm her quivering lips. “One more night, my love,” he murmured. “Then you will be mine completely.”
That was exactly the problem. How could she get ahead of him, orgasmically, when his foul climax triggered hers?
She slept. She was uncomfortable as hell, with his gross weight on her bursting belly, but there wasn’t much else to do. His flaccid penis lay against her vulva, lacking the rigidity to enter. She ignored it. Maybe he would tire of her inattention to his efforts. But he continued kissing her, every so often running his tongue in again. It was almost like nauseating love play.
In the morning she woke alone, to find her body slender, and no evidence of sex, let alone inflation by noxious fluids. It had all been spiritual, not physical. That did not make it more comfortable to consider.
Especially since a part of her already wanted to do it again. Yea, even the fluid stuffing, even the squishing. There was something horribly erotic about such masochism. Maybe it was the evil in her that craved sin. Did she really want to destroy the incubus?
“Are you all right, mommy?” Lisa asked solicitously.
And there was her reason to wipe out the demon. To stop him from finishing with Solita and moving on to Lita. She knew he would. He did not care about Lita being an innocent child. She was pretty and she had orifices. He had no conscience, by definition. Just a giant phallus and a gigantic warped sexual desire. He had to be stopped.
“Yes, now I am, dear,” she replied.
That evening she dosed herself again with the potion, liberally covering all points of possible interest. The incubus had raped her vaginally and anally; he would most likely do her orally next time. She wasn’t keen on having that monstrous member jamming down her throat, but if that was what it took to be rid of him, she was ready. She was two thirds lost, but so was he; if she could make him climax first, without joining him, she would win. Everything depended on this third night.
She slept. The incubus came. He wasted no time in addre
ssing her, as had been the case before; it was his second orgasm that caused him to become infernally creative, as he slowly worked himself up.
“On your back,” he ordered. “Spread.”
What, normal sex? She obliged, spreading her arms and legs. But he got on her inverted, his phallus at her face, his face at her vulva. She should have known. “Take it in.”
She took the head of his member into her mouth. She had been mistaken about its size; it was big, but not over two inches in diameter. Or maybe he simply sized it smaller to fit the desired aperture.
“Suck.”
She sucked. The thing expanded, but still fit in her mouth. So far so good; this could bring him to climax but would have no effect on her.
He put his face down and addressed her cleft. As before, he licked completely across it, and ran his tongue into her vagina and then her colon. Doglike, he liked to sniff and taste it first. This time she managed to keep her anal sphincter loose to facilitate it. The longer she could distract him, the more likely he was to climax before getting around to evoking hers. The contact was actually halfway pleasant. That was dangerous.
He shoved his member farther into her mouth. It touched the back, and she gagged again. That wasn’t pleasant! But as before, with the tongue, it swelled to block her vomit, and she was unable to complete the reflex. The phallus slid on down into her throat, filling it, cruelly dilating it. She could no longer breathe, but it seemed she did not need to breathe in the spiritual state, because she remained fully conscious and not actually that uncomfortable. She could do this: she could bring him off in her throat and finally be rid of him.
Then he addressed her clitoris. He fastened on it and sucked. Hard. It felt as if he was trying to pull it out of her body. But rather than being painful, the effect was evocative. She felt her sexual urgency forming and rapidly increasing.
Oh, no! He was going to bring her off first! She couldn’t afford that.
She swallowed his member, squeezing it as firmly as she could. She writhed, trying to add to the stimulus. She needed to put more effort into his groin than he put into hers.
But he kept sucking, and her cursed clitoris kept responding. She couldn’t stop it; she was going into her orgasm. Damn!
She came. Her pelvis jerked though there was nothing inside it, and her pulses raced. Rapture radiated from her clitoris, extending through the rest of her vulva and into her vagina and colon. And on through the rest of her body. She was losing her soul, but what joy there was in the process!
The incubus reacted to her climax. He liked to have her in whole-system motion, whether from ticklishness, retching, or orgasm. He thrust hard down her throat, once, twice, penetrating incredibly far, and the bolus of ejaculate pressured through and out. It coursed directly into her stomach, filling it with hot swirling soup. She felt her belly bloating with its turbulent volume, but she didn’t care because her own orgasm was carrying her onward. She had lost, but what a way to go!
“Now you are mine,” the incubus said as his emission faded and he drew his limp member out of her throat. “Now I will possess you completely.”
As if he hadn’t done that already. “So it seems,” she agreed with resignation. She had come so close! If he hadn’t focused so determinedly on her clitoris, making her want her climax, she’d have had him first. But as it was—
“What?” he asked, surprised.
“What?” she echoed, confused.
“Oh, no!” he exclaimed. “A honeypot! I never suspected.”
“Well, it was worth a try,” she agreed, catching on. He had finally realized that she was doused with rat bait potion.
“Shit fucking bitch! You tricked me.”
“Well, it wasn’t as if you didn’t deserve it.”
But he was abruptly gone. The potion had worked after all. She felt spiritually and physically restored. Her soul was back, complete, and her body was unbloated. Apparently it wasn’t who climaxed first, she realized, it was that when he soaked himself three times in the potion he was lost. Had he held off, this night, or taken the trouble to wash her out thoroughly before indulging his appetite, he would have won. So she had won after all, largely by default.
She was flushed with her victory. But another part of her felt guilty regret. That hideous sex—
She actually had a hankering for more of it. The demon had sincerely appreciated and desired every part of her body, from her knees to her breasts, externally and internally, and caused it to respond in a profoundly guilty yet appreciative manner. Solita truly loved her husband, but he was completely moral, which meant sexually unimaginative, and he was often away from home. She needed more, without violating her marriage vow. She craved sinful sex. The prospect of having virtually limitless, totally weird, remarkably imaginative, repulsively dirty, thoroughly wicked sexual fulfillment with no physical or social consequence—what more could a secretly lascivious woman want?
The incubus had evoked desires in her that she had never known she possessed. Wide-open oral sex, anal orgasm, massive penetration, being filled to bursting with lava-like semen—she would be ashamed ever to confess receiving any pleasure from such wild notions. No mortal man could even hope to ream her with a foot-long phallus that disgorged quarts of steaming ejaculate, and such a thing would be a medical disaster physically. But in the spirit realm it was not only possible, it was glorious. The demons of hell knew exactly how to indulge their basest passions.
In fact she now realized what she had literally never dreamed of before this encounter: she was a sexual pervert. The incubus had invoked her masochistic lust. Simulated sexual brutality and degradation was what really turned her on. She liked being roughly raped and savagely sodomized. Having an impossibly massive member rammed into her desperately tight orifices, and ludicrously voluminous ejaculate forced in, making her swell like a water balloon. Having a penis like a fire-hose nozzle thrust deep inside her, blasting at full force, blowing her channel up, and not being able to let any of the viscous liquid flow back out. Painful penetration and pressure in her most private parts, punishing her for her degraded desire—that was the true source of her pleasure. Sex was only really fulfilling when it hurt, bodily and emotionally.
She could never hope to get anything like that from her husband. In fact she would be humiliated if he even ever suspected what was in her secret heart, or guilty gut, as it were. And she never wanted it physically anyway, only in her dreams. She needed the services of the incubus for that. If he was a rat, she now knew herself to be a female rat.
But what could she do about it? The incubus was gone, captured by the magic potion. Had she discovered her illicit urge too late?
Maybe the matron at the magic shop would agree to share her captive on occasion. Solita now understood the woman’s desire, and shared it; that would surely count for something. A confined demon, forced to do anything a woman, or two women, demanded—that could be sexual heaven. So to speak, as there was nothing any heavenly power would approve about it.
Hellish temptation and opportunity, with no physical impact. She was ready. More than ready.
“Mommy, will the monster come again?”
At least she could reassure her innocent child, however guilty her own secret heart. “No, dear.”
“Should we put in more potion, just in case?”
“No, that was just to stop the monster from getting in there. There’s no need for it now.”
“So it won’t lick me any more with its big hot tongue?”
Solita kept her face straight, her voice even. “It won’t, dear; it’s gone.”
“Are you sure?” Lita seemed oddly disappointed, when she should have been relieved. That was curious.
“Yes, dear. It is safe for you to sleep in that bed now, though you don’t have to.”
“How do you know?”
She would have to be more candid than she liked. “Because I let it lick me, and the potion got rid of it.”
“Did it run its tongue in
to your wee-wee?”
Damn! The thing had invaded Lita. Fortunately she had no way to comprehend the significance. Much of her innocence could still be salvaged. “Yes. Into my vagina and rectum. That’s how it got dosed with the potion. I had to let it, to get rid of it.”
Lita turned a disconcertingly knowing look on her. “Was it fun?”
The emotional pavement shielding her from hell began to crack. Lita had liked it! She had been repulsed and afraid, but also felt the first stirring of desire. Already. This could mean that she was another potential sexual masochist.
In fact it made sense. Lita had spent the first night in the bed, and the incubus had come to her. If he preferred having a woman without resistance, wouldn’t he seek those who were secretly amenable to his attention? Maybe he attacked only a certain type, when she made herself available by lying in that bed. So he had gone after Lita, knowing her nature, and then after Solita, knowing hers. Like daughter, like mother.
She had thought she had saved her daughter, but maybe that was impossible. Now what was she to do?
She could find no acceptable answer. Rat bait would not work this time. Not when the evil was as much in the victims as in the perpetrator.
Had the rat won after all?
Note: “Rat Bait,” written in January 2010, was another story contributed to an Excessica anthology, Something Wicked, deliberately provocative sex. I think this the most aberrant erotic story I have done, and I am curious what else was in that volume, which I never saw. If it shocked you, well you were warned. It also reflects my belief that adults often don’t take children’s fears seriously enough. I remember when my preschool age daughter attended school-sponsored swimming classes, and became increasing nervous about them. We brushed it off. Then I attended one of the classes, and saw a woman take my child with warm reassurances, then dump her alone in the center of the deep pool. Unable to swim, she was so frightened that she vomited in the water. “Don’t be concerned,” a teacher told me. “She’s been dunked before.” What a betrayal! In the name of teaching swimming, they were actually teaching horror of swimming. We had to buy a shallow plastic pool and work with our child all summer to gradually overcome her inculcated fear of the water and teach her to swim. Thereafter I was far more careful to watch what schools and other organizations did with children, and intervened when necessary to save my child, right up through college. Those non-erotic experiences were perhaps behind this erotic fiction; betrayal is betrayal. Our society is hyper about young sex; it should be hyper about a good deal more than that. No wonder some children grow up twisted.