tagHumor & SatireNorm the Demon

Norm the Demon

byNigel Debonnaire©

I was sitting at the side of the river, minding my own business. That was my first mistake: never mind your own business, trouble finds you every time. Of course, being a Demon in Hell doesn't help either, but there've been a couple of centuries I flew under the radar. I was taking a break from tending the Spawnling pens: new demons don't flip into existence from Ether, and old demons don't want them underfoot until they're ready to cause trouble as a conscious choice. Joyce promised to watch the little buggers for me so I could take off and I was going to cover for her later. Freddie's cafe was the best place for kuchen, and I'd connived five to enjoy with a nice latte.

What to my wondering eyes should appear but the Big Guy's son himself, the AntiChrist. Ace was slumming again, looking like an aging hippie with a backpack over his shoulders. I hate the little rat bastard, and I don't think he likes me, either. When he pulled off his pack and slung it into the chair beside me, I knew I was in for a shit sandwich again. He never had any good news for me in recent millennia.

"Hi, Norm, how's it hanging?" The jackass even managed a sincere looking smile for me.

"Fine, your lordship. Just taking a break from the Spawnling pens. Little buggers can drive you crazy."

"I bet. How's Joyce?"

"She's fine. How's Miriam?"

He fumed and I knew I'd struck a chord. The little shit was always trying to make time with the Adversary's mother, and didn't like being reminded of his consistent failure. Sure, he could blast me into teenie, tiny pieces, but I'd love that. Being nothing is better than this damn place. "All right, I guess. Norm, it's time for you to get back to the job you do best."

I put down my coffee mug with a bang. "No, no, Ace, anything but that. I'll clean out the dungpits for a century, two if you want, but don't make me go back on Spawning duty again. I've done my time there, filled the ranks of Hell better than anyone else. It's time I got a break."

"There's one problem with Hell, when you're good at a job, you keep doing it," he said, shaking his head in mock frustration. "It's been 300 years, and our census is down. There are so many new arrivals, thanks to Brother Dawkins, we can't keep them under control, so we need to get new blood in the pipeline. Your talent, your expertise, you job. And I know you know the problem, because you know the number of Spawnlings has been pathetic since the Industrial Revolution."

Shrugging my shoulders, I spread my palms. He turned up the fake smile a couple more notches and continued. "The Witchhunts did us in, Norm. Not many witches around to inseminate, and not a lot of celibate bishops to milk. You're smart and adaptable, you'll be able to sniff out the new material, so you're elected."

Smoke began to trickle out of my ears. I wolfed down my remaining pastry, knowing I wouldn't have long to enjoy it. Ace would shoot me up to Earth before I finished if I weren't careful. I shook my head in disbelief, crumbs falling from the sides of my mouth: "Joyce can't manage the Spawnlings very well on her own. If I'm not there, all Hell breaks loose, so to speak."

"Well, it won't if she knows what's good for her, he said, tapping the table with his open palm. "I'll be there supervising, so you won't be missed."

"What about your Big Project? Don't you have better things to do than manage a bunch of poisonous little worms?"

"What work? My plan is underway and cranking along without me. Doesn't need me on top of it."

It was time to switch gears, tick him off and distract him. "What about the club later? Won't Miriam be there to listen to Charlie play?"

He fumed and sat grinding his teeth for a moment. "I'm tired of Parker. Need to wash out the sound with some Gesualdo or Wagner."

"Nothing like some thick chromaticism to take your mind off your blue balls, right?" A bolt shot from his nose and singed my butt. "All right, all right, this is Hell and I'm supposed to give you a hard time. Don't take it personally. Spawning duty it is."

"Good," he simpered, snuggling into himself. "I'll give you a day. Nice of me right?"

"You're the best boss in the Pit, that's for Damn sure."

"Right," he snarled, picking up his pack. "You'll go when you finish your latte."

"Bye."

"Good bye, Norm. Happy Cunt Hunting."

A thought crossed my mind as I sipped my latte, and I sent a quick note to His Infernal Majesty. The reply was immediate, and I watched it burn with a smile on my face. He liked my idea, and promised to help me if I could bring it off. I smiled and savored the anticipation. This was going to be fun after all.

I dawdled as long as I could over my latte, taking time to savor every drop as well as every piece of attractive shedevil flesh that strolled by. Needed to get psyched up for the ugly job, especially since it's never really possible to have a real orgasm on Spawning duty.

Doing Spawning duty is a two-fold operation: first, I have to collect human semen from a willing donor, second I have to use it on a willing recipient. That means I play both sides of the street in a short period of time, since human semen doesn't last too long in a demon's body. I would have to be a succubus for the first part and an incubus for the second, that's the way it goes. Fortunately, there's a few tools that make the job easier.

The shift to Earth went painlessly, and I hunkered in my favorite, low maintenance form as I checked out the scene. The only thing I had clean in my closet was an old Viking outfit, but since I materialized in a Science Fiction convention I arrived unnoticed. I have many powers when I'm on Earth: I can reach out and find anything I want through the Ether and bring it to me, particularly the clothing I'd be wearing later; I can adjust my form to any shape; I can read minds but not change them directly, that's what temptation's for; I can speak any language and I have unlimited Internet access. The last came in handy as I scouted my venue, setting up a couple of fake identities for registration at the conference and hotel since getting busted for not having credentials is an unnecessary hassle. Using any of these powers costs in excruciating pain, so I wanted to find ways I could cut corners. I could have materialized as Bar Rafeli's clone and reeled in seething man meat right away, but it hurts less if I could find a schmoe with lower standards.

First, the load of human semen, and I found my research was right: there was enough frustrated testosterone in the place to spawn legions of demons, more than any remote monastery I'd ever visited. A few scans and I located my mark. He was fretting over the authenticity of an old Star Trek script, trying to haggle the price down. His mind was easy to read, and I soon had his version of the ideal, accessible woman. That's the good bit about finding someone desperate enough: a woman of great beauty would intimidate him, leave him speechless even if she came on strong, but someone who seemed accessible and was good looking enough would hit the mother lode, so to speak.

I found a dark niche to adjust, focusing on his ideal and how she would be dressed. After I morphed myself I ducked into a ladies' room to look. A 40 something brunette looked back at me, a few crow's feet around the eyes, 5'1" with large breasts beginning to sag. I hate the carrying the damn things around, and wished I'd found someone who wanted a small titted woman, but everything else he wanted was so easy I put up with it. Taking off the Viking outfit and sending it back to Hell, I summoned a Princess Lei bikini from the last good Jedi movie, with a chain and collar, and matching sandals so I didn't get hassled by some officious nerd enforcing a dress code. A quick look, a few adjustments, and it was perfect. Fortunately, the jerk had a secret desire to sleep with his mother, so I didn't have to make up facial features from my own imagination: that takes more energy and pain.

I strolled out across the exhibit floor, swaying my hips, and giving the horny geeks an icy stare to go with my looks. The other girls gave me chilly glances in return, but that's OK, I'd get even with one of them later. My target was still indecisive, holding his cellophane trophy and staring at it, when I sauntered up beside him and started browsing some collectables, picking up a Luke Skywalker action figure to look at until he noticed me. It took a little longer than I expected, but I got his attention.

"Excuse me, miss," he started, almost oblivious to my appearance, he was so focused on his trophy. "Could you help me?"

"Yes?" I hit him with an innocent look. He looked back at me through brown eyes underneath a curly top of chaotic brown hair. His skin was clear and clean shaven; he wore a "Androids Do It All The Time" t-shirt, black shorts and sandals. Late 30's, he was a nerd who lived in his mother's basement, a little chubby, with enough self esteem to fill a thimble, maybe.

For a moment, he was speechless, but he recovered after looking at the item in his hand: "Do you think it's worthwhile to buy a Voyager script? I've read articles with opposite opinions, and I need to know what a random person on the street would think."

I almost walked away from the idiot, but I turned up the charm. "Autographed by who?"

"Jolene Blalock and Scott Bakula."

"Which season?"

"First."

Putting my finger to my lower lip, I pretended to think for a moment. "Oh yes, I'd buy it. The First Season was pretty good, and in another generation they'll be whining about what a shame it was the series didn't go anywhere. Sure to increase in value."

It took too damn long, but he finally noticed how sexy I was. There was a breeze from the AC and I let my nipples harden: the effect was immediate, and I didn't need to read his mind to feel his response. The warp drive libido kicked in, and I gave him a little smile to encourage it. His eyes went straight to my boobs and glazed a little. This was too easy.

Finally he recovered enough to continue the conversation. "Really?"

"Really, really." I really didn't know, but he needed an expert and I could fake it.

He gave me a double take at the Shrek reference, and turned to the vendor, concluding his purchase quickly. I was surprised at how much cash he carried, but a glance through his mind told me it was almost everything he had, not that I cared. I took it from him to gaze at it in wonder for a moment, and a light went on upstairs as well as down. "By the way, my name is Greg, Greg Woodley."

"I'm Galadriel Harris. Pleased to meet you." I extended my hand for him to take, but I made sure my boobs bounced a little as I shook it. "Yes, it's after LOTR, my parents were hippies in the Sixties and I'm sure Dad was on acid when I was born."

"Right," he mumbled sheepishly. "Still a cool name."

"Oh yes, very cool. Do you come here often, Greg?"

"I've been here every year the past ten years. Only weekend I can get off from the store, I mean, corporation, and I always find something different here."

"Well, I'm sure you're keeping that string alive. This is my first year here, and I've heard so much about this Con. Could you show me around?"

He gasped and nodded his head before his mouth could engage. I smiled because I was right about him, and took his arm for him to lead me around the Con. Turning on the enthusiasm, he showed me every booth, made a point to greet anyone he knew so he could be seen with me, explained in detail all the obscure references in the exhibits, and commented several times how authentic my outfit was. A little bulge started to appear, and I made a point to catch a glance he noticed, smiling at the effect I was having on him. It was too easy.

Greg was staying with three friends, but I'd snagged a room key through the Ether and invited him to my room for a drink at the wet bar. He was shaking as the door shut, and could hardly talk. So I decided to be aggressive and leaped at him like a tiger, sticking my tongue down his throat and groping his groin without preliminary. He got rock hard immediately, and I adjusted my inner geography to fit him perfectly. Glad he wasn't a huge dicked monster, creating small spaces is less painful. Throwing him on the bed, I mauled him several moments before he came to his senses and started making some moves.

First, he tore off my top and spun around to pull my bottoms off, leaving me naked. I tried to lunge back at him, but he pushed me down, awkwardly pulling his t-shirt over his head and moving his shorts down past his knees. Switching roles, I sat back, mouth open, licking my lips as he stripped and trying to invite him with my eyes. He thrust his penis forward at me, thinking to scare me, but I reached out and grasped it, blinking my eyes coquettishly. After he nodded his head, I put it in my mouth, licking and sucking and almost making him ejaculate on the spot. Reading his mind and his body, I knew he was good for three shots, so I went fast and got him to spew his seed down my throat right away. After all, it doesn't matter where it goes as long as it gets inside me. A couple of times in history, I took on the form of a fair, young monk to make my collections, but we don't need to talk about that right now.

He fell down on the bed after I finished milking him, and almost fell asleep on the spot. I reached into his brain and gave him a jolt of adrenaline: since he'd made a deposit inside me, I had more control of him than before. In fact, I could make him do anything I wanted from then on without his consent, but I wanted him to think it was all his grotesque masculine endurance that made the session possible. That would make the memory of the one night he got laid more frustrating as time went by.

Shaking his head, he sprung erect again almost immediately; his surprise was palpable. I batted my eyes at him: "It's so good to be around a real stud again. Now I want you to put that monster between my legs. Fuck me, Greggy, fuck me. Momma needs it."

The lower command center took over, and he knelt between my legs. I reached out and guided him to my dripping slit, a perfect fit in spite of his lack of endowment. Once he got started, I put my ankles as high as I could and thrust back at him, grinding my hips and guiding his hands to my breasts. He started working them over, and I had to bite my tongue to keep from crying out in real pain. The things I do for Hell.

It wasn't long before he filled my slit, and I let him doze a little bit before waking him up again. "Once more, stud, I've got one more hole that needs filling. Do it to me again, stick it up my ass."

His eyebrows went high in surprise, but his recent success got him going again without my help and he was positioned at my back door. "Lick it first, lube it up, honey," I moaned, "It's all right, I'm clean down there." Pausing for a moment, he stuck his tongue up my asshole and I smiled. If he only knew what he was doing, but I wasn't making him, and it was very sweet. I thought about cutting a fart, but once again, not breaking the atmosphere would make the future pain more poignant, so I let him think he was doing the right thing to get me ready. I let him lick my butthole for an eternity before I let him move on: "Now, Greggy, now! Fuck me up the ass!"

It took a little maneuvering, but he got it in and it wasn't too painful. He grabbed my hair and pulled my head back and I let him, groaning and putting on a show of orgasming a couple of times. He shot another load in my bowels and collapsed, fast asleep and snoring before I could move off the bed and stand on my own two feet again.

Looking him over, I debated sucking out his soul, but decided against it. I have standards: he wasn't really Good enough to be very tasty and not Evil enough to have the right kind of tingle. A mediocrity that we're seeing too many of downstairs. I made a note to convince His Infernal Majesty to let religion be popular again; it's more delicious to consume souls that have known what Right and Wrong are. As for Greggy, giving him a memory of a night that could never happen again would be enough ongoing torture to keep me happy. Heck, I even transported him back to his room, with his clothes, so he'd wonder if it really happened.

Yeah, I know it sounds suspiciously like I'm being a moral being there, even showing a little virtue. Hey, no demon's perfect. I'd make up for my sentimentality soon enough.

I sighed and sat on the bed, pulling a lit cigarette out of the Ether to smoke in that non-smoking room, and rested before the next phase. Idly, I played with my clitoris, making my body tingle. I was entitled to enjoy myself a little bit. My other hand went to my nipple, teasing it as I inserted two fingers inside. It took a while, but soon I was able to climax in my succubus form, which is good for morale and helps keep the deposit fresh.

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