Demon Toy Ch. 01

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Daphne's initiation.
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Daphne crouched on the mortuary table next to where her sister Laura lay dead, pegging the man who had embalmed her with the magic strap-on the demon had given her. The toy glided in and out of the man's rectum. The room was sterile and white-washed like a hospital building. There were florescent lights overhead, and they reminded her vaguely of the high school she had attended before her diagnosis. The fan creaked a little as it circulated the air. It smelt like death and wet pussy.

Daphne groaned; there was still blood running down her thigh from where the double-ended device had pierced her hymen, just thirty minutes ago. The wound stung like a bruised knee. Daphne bit her lip for composure and tried to work through the pain.

"A little more, a little more, you've got to keep going girl," she groaned under her breath. Her face glistened with perspiration. Her little pink nipples were standing erect.

She reached around to grasp her target's rock hard cock. She wondered what sort of sicko the man must be, to be fucked up the ass by a woman identical in every way to the one whose blood he had drained from her body, the pure innocent virgin Daphne had loved so much, whose breathless body lay naked so close to her, waiting to be made up for her funeral, like a perverse game of dress-up.

It was enough to make her shudder. Daphne took a deep breath. Juices were pooling down her leg, almost as though this whole act of perversion had been a personal kink of hers and she liked nothing more than anally penetrating a perfect stranger while the dead watched on.

The mortician was reasonably attractive; Daphne had to admit she recognized that much. He looked a bit like an adult version of the boy who had taken her to her eight grade class. He too had a nice firm butt and a stylish haircut. He too looked at her with lust in his eyes.

Ten minutes before, the head of Daphne's strap-on had weaseled its way into him, with just a little saliva for lubricant. It was so easy, so simple, so natural. And if she had been willing to be honest with herself, Daphne would have noticed what her body had been screaming at her for the last ten minutes. It felt fucking amazing!

Having the demon's way with this handsome, overly willing man was so little to do to save her skin. Such a little thing. Not a big deal at all. There was no need to think of things like Hell and sin. The sex was becoming more and more familiar as the minutes passed. She was already learning exactly at what angle and what frequency to thrust to make him make the best noises, the ones that made Daphne smile.

But she couldn't devote herself completely to the sex she was having. The sound of the man's moans unsettled Daphne, and he smelled like death and disinfectant. She turned her head in disgust.

Her eyes paused on her poor sister. The sunny blond hair they both shared looked like painted wax. Laura's eyes were too vacant to somehow pretend she was only resting. A cold shiver coursed though Daphne, leaving a terrible, morbid trembling. Her thoughts curled back inside herself.

What exactly was happening here? Was it displaced necrophilia? Daphne wasn't experienced enough to know. All she knew, with every fiber of her young frightened body, was that if she had not obeyed the demon's text message and brutally pounded this sicko, she would be lying naked and bloodless on this table herself, felled by the same illness that had taken her sister. It was a matter of life or death. She need not think about the demon, or the strange and terrible thing she was doing. She could rise above it, even take a savage pride in the way she made the man writhe. Her lost virginity was nothing. Neither was the gentle sting the strap-on produced with every stroke. She was far too young to die.

Daphne noticed that for almost a minute she had been too self-absorbed to concentrate on thrusting, and blushed in embarrassment. Her very first day as the new whore of Babylon, and she was already falling asleep at the job.

She thrust ruthlessly to make up for lost time. The mortician whined, his fingers clutching uselessly at the metal table. He sounded like a puppy that needed to be scratched behind the ears, then taken outside before he wet himself. That thought made Daphne smile.

If she was a different woman, a more worldly, experienced woman, she might have found ways to have more fun with him. Perhaps he liked spanking, perhaps her hard nipples would have enjoyed the feel of the smooth skin on his back. If she had asked, would the man be willing to take the whole toy into his mouth so his movie-star nose teased her little button? There were so many possibilities, and Daphne felt them all like a cold wind on her bare skin. It tantalized and confused her.

She flicked her hair out of her face. Her breath was ragged. She was wild with lust. Her blood was flooding her swollen cunt and leaving her light-headed and drugged. It was like something from another world, another life. She felt like a ghost or a dream creature, something eerie, a child crying about in the dark. Or maybe an angel floating up to heaven.

She was having trouble catching her breath. Every stroke was becoming more and more intense. Her cunt was a pit of fire. Her brain was foggy. The length of the toy disappearing between the cheeks that muscular little ass was intoxicating. Her heart raced, knocking against her rib cage with so much force she half expected it to kill her.

Her hips rolled back and forth with earnest, the tempo this dance of sex, death and survival reaching an entirely new level. Daphne moaned and licked her licks hungrily.

"Oh God oh God, oh God in heaven forgive me! Fuck!"

Daphne nearly fell over sideways off the stainless steel table as her first-ever orgasm crashed ruthlessly over her unsuspecting yet eager body. It was so ungodly delicious, so sweet and high and intoxicating. She moaned in delight.

The girl bent over the back of the man she was fucking, trembling a little. She smiled guiltily at herself. Her strap-on quivered, and she felt a load of sinister demon cum shoot up Bob's ass. Daphne pulled his head back and kissed him roughly on the lips. He tasted bitter. Her breasts felt heavy and tender, and she found herself groping and clutching at them, despite herself.

Daphne bit her lip. She felt a wave of shame and guilt coursing through her, every bit as strong and sinister as the climax that had just overcome her. She didn't know what to think, and in fact didn't want to think of it at all. After all, it was the demon's idea to fuck the guy. It was his responsibility.

Only a minute later, her target came, and Daphne got the hell out of the funeral parlor, lickety split. Bob called after her, confused and enchanted, his brains befuddled by the mind-blowing sex he had just partaken in. He reached out towards his nymph, but Daphne didn't even notice him.

Daphne ran out the hallway and up the stairs, grabbing the long coat she had had worn and pulling it over her, working hard not to look back, as though she was fleeing from fire and brimstone. She was out the iron gates of the little Victorian-era home that was the local funeral parlor in under a minute. God, she hated corpses! Even Laura seemed like a stranger in death, and looking at her made Daphne want to cry. She was an emotional wreck; but then, it had been a very difficult week.

Daphne had never walked the streets of her home town at night before, and it was even darker and more frightening than she had imagined. She had used the last of her allowance to take the bus to the funeral parlor, and now there was a five-mile walk without sidewalks or street lamps ahead of her. She fumbled through her pockets for the can of pepper stray her father had added to her key chain, after a girl from her high school graduating class had been raped in the street a few months ago.

With the reassuring weight of the canister in her palm, Daphne instantly felt more at ease. She bowed her head and pushed forward into the night, praying hard for strength. She forced herself not to jump at the sound of every passing car and every flickering shadow. Her bare skin under her coat felt very, very naked. She felt exposed and vulnerable.

Her mind caught on the image of her sister Laura, laid out lifeless on the table, and shuddered. The night air felt even colder. A fellow she passed said something or other to her she pressed on quickly, acknowledging him politely with a quick nod in the hopes of not being attacked for being curt.

Her heart was racing. Good girls didn't walk alone at night.

Of course, they didn't peg morticians either.

The night was alive with the feeling of sex and magic. The blackness extended out in front of her forever. It was the sort of night people expected to see ghosts. Daphne kept walking, clutching at the canister.

A man was leaning against the side of a building smoking a cigarette, his hand right working around in his front pocket, teasing an erection. He unzipped his fly when Daphne came by and waved his engorged member at her. It was so nice and plump, for half a second she was tempted to put it in her mouth. But she came back to her senses and continued on her way.

The night air was biting into her and she drew the coat around her to draw off the cold. The stars overhead were so bright, their twinkling light fell upon her like divine kisses. Their was a half moon out, though when she looked at it she was very aware of the shadow that cut off the light from half the satellite.

A short distance away, there was a car parked in a grassy lot, and a couple were making love quietly on the hood. Daphne was hypnotized by the rhythm of their thrusts and the motion of their hips. It made her blush to think that she had been doing something similar only a few minutes ago, and her crotch began to ache for more attention. She put her hand between her legs and found that she was leaking all the way down her thigh. Her nipples were hard and sensitive, and the material of the coat acted to arouse them further.

Daphne listened to the woman's lusty, joyful moans and the man's hard grunts, and began to rock and sway with it. She wanted to be touched, she wanted to feel a cock inside her, pushing in and out, like the one inside that woman. It seemed so unjust that she was standing outside in the cold, so horny but no one to touch her. Oh, what she wouldn't give for a cock right now! She could almost feel it snaking in and out of her, so deliciously making her young body quiver with delight.

She stood rooted to the ground for an embarrassingly long time after the couple had finished and driven off into the night. When she had taken three steps, Daphne looked back and noticed she had left a puddle of arousal on the pavement.

Her cunt was flooded and painful. The sensation of her legs rubbing together as she walked was almost enough to send her over the edge with every step. She was awash in the sensation. Every little movement of her body was precious. Everything from the roughness of the coat and the ground beneath her feet to the cold night air was like a tender caress, tempting her. Her mouth was dry, and she hungered for something to suck.

Daphne took a deep breath as she turned the corner onto the street were her house stood. It felt oddly alien, like her dead sister, a remnant of another, simpler world. She felt like she was two different people simultaneously: the old Daphne and new, one she didn't know yet and wasn't sure she was going to like. It was a dizzying sensation, like what she had experience back in the funeral home. She felt blurred and unholy. The past and the future both felt closed to her, there was only this moment: the crook of her elbow as the moonlight fell upon it, illuminating it with an eerie grey color, the skin on the back of her knuckles, her soaking-wet pussy beneath her trench coat, the cold night air on her exposed body.

Her heart beat distinctly inside her rib cage as she began to climb up trellis. The thorns on the bare rose vine dug into her hands and feet and it stung like hellfire. Still she kept climbing. She couldn't walk in the front door of her parents' house, not at this time in the morning, wearing only a trench coat. And she had no close friends, no place she could hide out for a couple of days while she sorted out her inner angst in private. Frankly, it was beyond the capabilities of her 19-year-old overprotected brain to even recognize this desire in herself.

Daphne let all the air out of her lungs at once as she pushed the screen out of place and pulled herself through window. Everything, the bookshelves full of PG-rated romance novels, her laptop with the butterfly sticker, her fantasy lamp with the Greek woman playing with a unicorn, felt like familiar strangers. She quietly stripped off her clothing and hid the strap-on under a loose board in the closet.

Daphne collapsed in her soft pink bed and dreamed that her life was all a dream. Laura hadn't died from the genetic condition they both shared, there was no demon, no pegging, and she was still an innocent virgin who rarely even thought of sex. For the next ten hours, she slept, hugging her oversized teddy bear. Daphne was at peace.

She dreamt that she was five again, running through a poppy-covered field with her twin and the little puppy that had drowned in a pool before her sixth birthday. The sun was warm and sweet on her skin, and she just wanted to wrap herself up in it, to lie down on the grass and feel the dirt wiggle between her toes. She curled up in the fetal position, and Laura and Spot plopped down next to her, and they stared up at a the leaves of a big beautiful oak tree together. Daphne felt so strong so powerful, like she had when she was wearing the strap-on, and she was whole and very much her own woman.

Unfortunately, even the best dreams do not last forever, and all too soon it was noon and her cell phone was ringing. Daphne didn't even have to look at the caller ID to know who the call was from and what it was about. It was her father, phoning from his office in city hall, ordering her to get her sorry butt out of bed and be a productive member of their family. It was a speech heard a million times since she was a baby.

She still had to pick up the phone.

For a full fifteen minutes, she tried not to pay too much attention as her father degraded her from the other end of the line. She had heard all of it a million times already, she was ungrateful, too wild, not focused on the future, too needy and too willful.

Daphne trained her eyes on a poster of the ocean. She could almost smell the sea air, almost feel the firmness of the cliffs as the waves crashed against them. It was a very old trick, one that had served her well over years of minor childhood wrong-doing. She pushed back her sobs and tried hard to sound present without being there at all. It was important that she listen, and listen well, without making her displeasure too apparent. She didn't want to risk another earful, or a whip of the belt.

When she hung up the phone, it took Daphne almost a minute of stretching and counting the number of patches on her quilt before she stopped feeling queasy and ghostly. She dressed conservatively and walked down the stairs to lunch with her mother.

Even after all the post-call ritual, she still felt groggy. The reality of her sex with the stranger hung over her like something from the beyond. The soreness between her legs reminded her of her lost virginity and the stigma that it entailed. With the walls of her childhood home around her, it was hard to remember the pleasure, the power of it all or, even to be grateful for the three extra days of life the magic had granted her.

She felt very naughty. The very wallpaper seemed to be screaming her crimes at her, and she felt her sister's death as though every other cell in her body had suddenly shut down.

Joanne, Daphne's mother was spreading grandma's jelly preserves on her toast and didn't look up when her daughter took the seat across from her. Daphne really wanted someone to talk to but didn't think her prudish mother would understand. Besides, Mom always was a little strange when Dad had to call her from work, and she didn't want to have both parents furious at her. No, she'd have to figure out the whole magic strap-on, demon cum, displaced necrophilia thing on her own.

Daphne's phone buzzed. She excused herself from the table for a moment. Her mother clicked her tongue impatiently, but didn't protest. Daphne ducked into the bathroom and locked the door behind her.

The buzz was a private text message, caller ID restricted. "Good work. Now I have the strength to keep you alive a little longer. Hang in there, and take care of yourself. I need you in top form."

Daphne closed her phone, feeling miffed. It was bad enough that she owed her life to some pagan devil, he didn't have to be all condescending and father-like.

Daphne pressed her finger absentmindedly against the wall of her wounded vagina. God, that smarted! She was tender and bruised by the toy, which she had inserted too quickly and not in a state of deep arousal.

She hoisted her leg up on the counter, feeling savagely immodest, and spread her labia apart to see what was going on down there. She got a little wet exploring herself, and tried hard not to feel guilty about it. She hadn't paid too much attention in sex ed class because it was boring and sinful, and was a little scared and intimidated by her own genitalia, but she tried to play it cool. She couldn't stand to let herself appear silly or weak, even to her own reflection.

What she really wanted was some sort of ointment to soothe the pain, but she couldn't ask her mother for that, and her father cashed her paycheck and gave her a small allowance which was very precious to her. Besides, she wouldn't know what to get.

She frowned at herself in the mirror and wiggled back into her pants.

"Are you sure you're feeling alright, dear?" her mother said when Daphne sat back down and began to eat her toast.

"I'm fine."

Joanna grimaced. "Of course you're not fine. None of us are going to be fine for some time. But I was just with aunt Sue this morning, and she had the most incredible romance novel, very saucy. I thought that if you weren't doing anything, I could lend it to you. And we can make brownies tonight to bring to church on Sunday."

"Thanks, Mom," Daphne said. "But I'll go into town, if it's all right with you and Dad."

Her mother nodded. Daphne grabbed her coat and shoes and made her way out of the house.

It was cold outside, though it was still too early for the snow to stick. Daphne hugged her coat to her and felt last night's darkness and mystery re-envelope her. The cold pierced her heart, and her grief and fear flooded her.

A harsh wind picked up and Daphne began to shiver and cry, the tears coming relentlessly like belt lashes. The invisible barrier she had erected between herself and last night's morbid adventures was wearing thin in more and more places. The memories throbbed inside her.

She curled up on the side of the road and rocked back and forth mindlessly. Her fingers grazed her face, her breasts, her genitals, grabbing for something to give her a grip on the here and now. She needed to escape from the dark inner world that was quickly overwhelming her.

Her right hand slipped under her rainbow-colored waist band and into her white cotton panties. Her thumb flicked against her clit while her fingers parted her labia. From somewhere in her own darkness, she began to moan with a deep inner longing she had never let herself consciously acknowledge. Her whole body began to relax into itself.

Daphne bit down on her lower lip until she began to bleed. She flicked her thumb against her clit again and pressed three fingers into her raw hole. She was so aroused that the pain didn't matter.

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