Possessed
Who possesses who in this story of demonic sex?
This story is the reverse of my succubus stories. Now a woman submits to her demon.
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Lightning flickered across the night sky. She felt the rain beating against the naked skin of her back. It was falling into the puddles with staccato beats that caused the surface of them to boil in a mass of tiny eruptions. The creeper on the wall above her head offered some protection but its leaves channelled droplets down so that they fell on her silvered skin.
She had heard his call, risen from her bed and, shedding her shift, walked slowly, obediently out into the rain. Now, facing the wall of her cottage she grasped the thick sinews of the creeper, legs spread.
She sensed him approaching. She turned and looked over her shoulder. He was tall, the strong jawline, dark hair and piercing violet eyes made him handsome. Muscles rippled under his naked skin as if betraying what she knew lay underneath.
His hands glided over her as if the coating of water had become oil, his fingertips biting at her nipples before they followed the stream down the curve of her back and into the cleft of her buttocks.
“I can quench your desires,” his voice seemed to be inside her mind.
She moved her feet apart inviting him in and his touch pushed her lips apart to feel flesh that was wetter than the rain and steamed with heat.
“I know,” she moaned, her voice lost in the beating of the rain. She arched her back, her head thrown back so her wet hair cascaded down her back, every muscle tensed. Another flash of lightning illuminated them and she felt the fingers slide away as he stepped back, raising the birch. She gasped a slow count of two and he brought it down hard across her behind as the thunder rolled. The crack of the birch and her cry in response was lost in the cacophony of sound.
Desire pulsed through her. Lightning crackled again, This time there was only a second before the thunder boomed and the birch landed. The storm was moving closer as if drawn to the charge building within her.
“Oh god, fuck me,” she screamed.
“I am not God.” His deep voice resonated through her.
She turned her head to look. Through the curtain of rain, she watched as he metamorphosed into his true form. His thighs swelling with muscle, and sprouting coarse hair that hid the skin, his legs contorting to stand on feet that became cloven. The muscles of his torso and arms swelled and hardened as if he was bodybuilding but remained human. Horns erupted from his forehead and his face became longer and sharper.
The transformation was frightening but it was the transformation of the organ she desired that held her attention. His shaft, already thick and large and pulsing with blood in human form swelled and grew in size until it was almost the width of her arm and its head seemed the size of her fist.
He charged at her, impaling her with a single thrust. Pain and joy surged through her as she felt as if she was being lifted bodily from the earth. He filled her completely, she felt him pushing against every muscle inside her. Her knuckles whitened as she clutched at the thick stems of the creeper.
He lifted her by her thighs, his talons biting into her rigid flesh, until she hung horizontally between the wall and his phallus. Filaments that had held the creeper secure for a hundred years tore free from the brickwork as pulled her onto him. His muscular thighs spreading hers, opening her completely to him.
She felt his seed rising, heat seemed to surge down his shaft and pour into her. She felt her mind and body detach from the earth, it was as if she was floating, suspended in darkmess. She was sure if she released her grip on the stems of the creeper she would simply be catapulted away, thrown like a toy into space.
He grunted, she felt him diminish inside her, his human form was returning as was her weight. Her feet touched the wet stones of the path and, as he slipped from her she released her grip and turned, sinking to her knees as if paying homage.
She took the still swollen head of his human organ into her mouth. Savouring the taste of their union and sucked greedily as if trying to extract the final few drops of his essence and replace that which was seeping down her inner thighs.
She felt his hand on her hair, his touch was tender. She released him. He looked down at her and smiled, then he turned and walked away, disappearing into the dark torrents of water.
Afterwards, standing naked in the rain she felt as if she was glowing. She had been glad of the strikes from the birch. He knew they stimulated her, oiled her, swelled her lips to the point where she could accept his girth with pleasure rather than pure pain.
She had no illusions, he could tear her apart and walk away without a second glance but now each needed the other. And the feeling, the ecstasy, when he entered her it was so deep, so total, it was as if he was possessing her very soul, that was if she still had one after willingly fucking a demon.
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Good job, Simone! Great to see an Incubus in your Supernatural Ravishment Repertoire for a change. I liked this because of its surreality--it was very dream-like, which fits neatly into traditional, historical incubus/succubus lore. The narrative--as far as the sex and sensations go--is sizzling hot (no pun intended given the infernal protagonist)--the young woman beautiful, entranced, and in a state of total surrender to her darkest desires. The gothic touches--the cottage, creeping vines, lightning, thunder, and driving rain--add to the horrific, yet exhilarating dream state she's in. I say "dream state," since such an encounter can be a dark, sacrilegious, yearning deep from her unconscious--a summoning of an immortal, demonic entity with whom she can experience not only a perverse joy, but the autonomy--the agency--of individuality and personal liberty; of achieving transcendence via desecration and diving into the most forbidden practices. It brings to mind Aleister Crowley's breaking free of his restrictive religious upbringing with his over-the-top embrace of and engagement in wild sexual practices, both recreational and ritual--to achieve a new level of spiritual attainment via the shattering of taboo. Same principle underlies Hindu and Buddhist Tantric doctrine. Probably a far deeper level of interpretation of the tale than you intended, but when it comes to occult stuff, or anything horror or metaphysical/mystical--I'm right there! Anyway, another great piece. Incidentally, to put on my "esoteric lore nerd" hat, in accounts of "witches' sabbaths" which have come down (recorded by inquisitors, witchfinders general, and other sexually frustrated--and envious--men), demonic sex was far from ecstatic--the "witches" always reported the "demonic member" to be ice cold, and the congress fraught with mortal terror. But those guys were just a bunch of horny killjoys who made up criminal charges against the pretty, defenseless young women of whatever town they found themselves in, who refused their lecherous advances, and got burned alive because of it. Prudes are very troublesome in so many ways!