Beetlesmith's Ch. 22

Soon, her belly reached the size of a large medicine ball, perfectly round and tight. The skin about her belly tightened further. Her screams turned into guttural shrieks of utter despair and horrendous pain

Tears and jagged rips formed around the tightening flesh of her abdomen, and I saw the end of a small, pointed fingernail poke its way through one of the gashes...

**

I bolted upright in bed, panting in a cold sweat.

Moonlight shone through a curtained window, weakly illuminating the women lying next to me. I could tell they slept fitfully—silent lips moving, delicate hands twitching—as if bad dreams invaded their subconscious.

He was in their heads, as he was in mine, and I finally knew who it was that I speak. Something from my dream sparked long distant memories of an old term paper I had written in college.

Moments later I sat behind my home office computer and found the Wikipedia entry on the seven deadly sins. Clicking on a link, I found the page I was looking for. On the page was text and a lithograph from the Dictionnaire Infernal illustrating my veiled intruder.

I sat back in my chair thinking it was fitting that my cock continued to grow. Funny how my mind went there, first and foremost, but it was logical. Not only did I derive power from our repeated exchanges, emulating him in spirit, but I was emulating some of his physical characteristics as well.

I continued to stare at the computer screen and knew, unequivocally, this was my nemesis. The lithograph depicted that which had wormed its way into my life, controlling and directing me all these many months—my phantom, Beetlesmith's Master, the redoubtable Mr. A.

It was one of the seven princes of Hell. It was Asmodeus, demon of lust.