For Past Transgressions

He read until he was drowsy and then put the paperback aside, rolled over on his back to even out the tan, and dozed off.

When he opened his eyes, Demonde, naked and manhood swinging between his thighs, almost down to his knees, was walking out of the surf toward him. But it was more than Demonde. It was the Devil incarnate—the very demon that had been plaguing Josh for months. It surely was Demonde. But it also was more. His muscular body was magnificent—all power and virility. He had an evil grin on his face, and there were short goat horns protruding from his temples. And there was a swishy tail. The hoofs instead of feet became evident as Demonde walked out of the surf.

He walked toward Josh and then stood over him, hoofs planted beside Josh's knees, and grinning evilly, knowingly, down into Josh's face with big, brown, velvety eyes.

Josh's attention was elsewhere, though. He was staring at the monster cock swinging between Demonde's thighs. He sat up and reached out for it with one hand, the other one cupping the low-hanging ball sac. He moaned as he took the phallus in his mouth and began to suck it. This was what he'd wanted to do with the ghost the previous night and, denied that, had not felt fully satiated—and entirely new sensation for him as, though he had jacked a man with his hand, he never sucked a man off before.

He had almost to unhinge his jaw to take the thickness of the cockhead inside his mouth cavity. Demonde laughed deep in his throat as he began to move the phallus back and forth over the surface of Josh's tongue, moving deeper toward the throat. Josh moaned at the possessiveness of this entirely new sensation, feeling the cock throb and harden even further. Demonde placed his hands on the back of Josh's head and Josh reached around Demonde's hips and palmed the man's bulbous buttocks, as Demonde set his hips in a slow fuck motion. Although Josh had never done this for another man before, he felt fully engaged in the unity of the connection. He was exhilarated at the sensation of total connection in this act, and wondered why he hadn't gone this far with another man before now. At the same time he was frustrated from the knowledge that his intentions were to forego all such sexual activity.

Josh was lifted to a new sensual high when Demonde stopped moving his hips and began moving Josh's head back and forth on the hard and slick cock. Josh involuntarily dropped one of his hands to his own, fully engorged cock and began to stroke it in rhythm with the forward and back movement of Demonde's hips. With a jerk, Josh came. Demonde laughed and pulled his cock out of Josh's mouth.

Josh was then turned over on all fours by Demonde's strong, guiding hands, with Demonde crouched over his hips, fucking him deep and slow. The cock was impossibly thick and long. Josh realized he knew that cock—from the previous night, in the alley in Rio Bueno on Hallow's Eve. He moaned in satisfaction—greater satisfaction as he could tell that the cock wasn't sheathed. He could feel every vein, the cock so hard the veins were popping out at the surface, as it moved along his channel walls, sending his passageway into shimmering satisfaction.

Demonde lowered his face to the back of Josh's neck and latched onto the scruff of his neck with his teeth like a mother cat would do with a kitten she wanted to subdue.

And he fucked and he fucked and he fucked, as Josh moaned and writhed under him. And his flow flooded Josh's channel deep and seeped down the sides of the phallus and out of Josh's entrance and down his thighs. And then, as Josh collapsed onto the towel, Demonde followed him down, still hard, and began to pump again, this time faster and deeper and faster and deeper . . . An ejaculation. Resumed pumping and another ejaculation. Pump and flow; pump and flow.

When Josh woke, he was alone, belly to towel. His thighs were slick with cum.

But was it his cum or Demonde's? Or was it the Devil's?

Josh remained there another hour-until he started to burn from the sun's rays, savoring whatever he had just experienced, whether it was a dream or real life. Whatever it was, it had mellowed him out and given him a series of tension-releasing ejaculations. And the sex with Demonde had felt so real and so satisfying.

He was whistling as he approached the villa and then changed to soft humming as he entered the silent house and walked to the kitchen for a beer. The cook, Angelina, a large, heavyset, jolly Jamaican woman was working on a lunch that Josh wondered if anyone but he would appear to enjoy.

"The house is quiet," he said, not wanting to just pass through the kitchen without acknowledging her presence. There were many times during their residence there that Josh thought the Angelina was the only glue that kept the family from being pitched out in all directions by the centrifugal force of the mounting tensions between them.

"I don't know where mistress is," Angelina answered, "but Master Jason went to the vacation villas on the bay early this morning, taking his basketball. And Miss Ellie left just now to take the sun in one of the coves, she said. Do you want lunch now, sir?"

"No, I can see that you've just started making it. I'll eat by the pool later. You can leave it in the refrigerator and leave for the afternoon. I know you must have much to do at home." She would be back to fix their dinner.

He flipped open the beer can and walked over to the wall of glass in the great room that overlooked the pool, hoping, he realized, to catch a glimpse of Demonde, cleaning the pool—a Demonde who, if he was here, could not have been in the cove fucking Josh just now. But Demonde wasn't there. So, Josh went up the stairs to have a shower and wash the sand off his body—and, he thought, perhaps, with a sudden warm feeling, out of his channel. Could that have gotten in there while he was swimming in the sea, he wondered. Or could it have entered later—with Demonde's cock?

He heard the sounds as he hit the top of the stairs, coming from Elaine's room. They hadn't even bothered to close her bedroom door.

Demonde, naked, was lying on his back in the center of Elaine's bed, his head nestled on the overlapping wrists of his bent arms, his fists grabbing the slats of the headboard above his head, a big smile on his face. Elaine, her arms thrust back and the heels of her hands pressed into his pecs, was riding his cock in reverse, her pendulous breasts swaying with the rhythm of the fuck and a look of supreme satisfaction on her face.

Both of them looked up as Josh stood in the doorway, both obviously seeing him there. Neither seemed surprised or alarmed, though. Elaine had a "take that" expression on her face when her eyes went to Josh. Demonde looked half amused and entirely uncaring and in control. To add to the insult, he reached down with his hands, gripped Elaine's waist, and raised her a bunch of inches up off his cock to exhibit just how big the shaft was, and then lowered her hips again to show just how far up into her he reached.

Josh turned; walked down the stairs, nearly in a trance; and out the front door. The doors of the Land Rover were unlocked, as was the glove compartment. The Glock 42 was where he'd put it as well as the bullet magazine for it. Taking the gun, he reentered the house and walked deliberately back up the stairs.

He found Elaine alone on her bed, on her back, the fingers of one hand playing in her folds and of the other tweaking a nipple. She seemed neither surprised nor shocked by the gun.

The French doors to the upper terrace were open, and Josh walked over to them. Demonde, still naked, the bulbous buttocks the same inviting orbs Josh had seen in Demonde's room before—and perhaps had grasped with the palms of his own hands just recently—had somehow made it down to the lower level and was walking away from the house, in the garden—more sauntering than making an exit one would expect of a man caught by a husband in a tryst with his wife.

Josh turned from the window and lowered the gun.

"Were you going to shoot him or me?" Elaine asked in a calm voice.

"Perhaps both. I hadn't thought about it," Josh answered. He felt guilty at the knowledge that his first reaction was to shoot her—that what had set him off was seeing her as competition for what he couldn't help wanting for himself.

"You are good about not thinking, Josh. He told me about last night—in Rio Bueno. You just can't help yourself, can you?"

Confirmation that Demonde had been his ghost lover in that alley—not that he needed confirmation anymore.

"And you can't stop punishing me for it?"

"No, I suppose not," she answered. "But there are side benefits. He gives one magnificent fuck."

"I know," Josh said.

There was a flash of anger from Elaine when he said that. Then she said, "Are you going to shoot me now, or will you put that gun away?"

"I may have to shoot us all," Josh answered. But he lowered the gun further, left the room, and replaced the Glock in the glove compartment of the Land Rover.

There wasn't much he felt justified in doing for having found her fucking Demonde. He knew that was her answer to what he had done—and even, apparently, with Demonde, although that had just now been confirmed for the first time.

No, he had come here to salvage whatever he could of his family. But Demonde would have to go. He couldn't be permitted free rein to cover both husband and wife at will. Josh called the rental agency and arranged for Demonde's removal. The answer, he decided, was not to dwell on what had happened but to erase all temptation—for all of them.

And then the guilt set in as he realized that his thoughts immediately had gone to how he might hook up with Demonde beyond the sphere of the villa and Elaine.

* * * *

Another fretful, hot night, the French doors thrown up to catch the sea breeze, and Josh lying on his back on top of the sheets, spent but not fully satisfied from a masturbation session and dreaming of Demonde's cock—and now not only with it possession his ass; now Josh wanted to fondle and suck it as well. With a groan, he turned onto his belly and dozed.

He felt the heavy body stretch out full length on top of him and the labored breathing in his ear. And the arms embracing his torso, and the teeth as they closed down over the scruff of his neck. With a sigh, Josh dug his knees into the surface of the bed and raised his buttocks to provide his lover the perfect angle. A throbbing, thick cock pressed its bulb at Josh's hole, and he relaxed his channel, knowing that the shaft would stretch him and reach deeper than any ever had done before. And it did both, and they both lay there, panting shallowly, as Josh adjusted to the invasion.

Then the deep pumping began, and Josh lifted his head to stare at the back-and-forth of the heavy teak headboard as it ground gently against the wall to the gentle rhythm of the fuck. He opened his mouth to scream, but a hand covered his mouth, with a thick thumb invading the chamber for Josh to suck on. He reached up with a hand, running his fingers through the dreadlocks and continuing to the forehead of his assaulter—his lover. His hand felt the protruding nub at the temple. A small horn?

That's when he noticed the swishing of something against his calves. The end of a tail?

Something moved across his outstretched arm. He looked over in that direction. In the dark, he couldn't be sure. The coils of a snake? Suddenly it seemed the whole surface of the bed was alive with the slithering of snakes. He cried out and had to reach his arms up and grab the slats of the headboard, because his ass was being pounded hard and deep. Pounded, pounded, pounded.

The headboard was slapping against the wall and the springs were moaning from the pounding. Josh cried out again and again. "Yes! Yes! Yes!"

And then the eruption and flooding. Another ejaculation and then another. Ending in a maniacal laugh.

And then . . . silence.

Josh came to in a puddle of cum? All his? Surely not. He turned over and moaned. Not satisfied. Still wanting it. Wanting so much more of it. Wanting to suck it as well as feeling it move in his channel. What was real and what was not? Why had he sent Demonde away? Why could he not have just shared him?

But then he beat his fists into the mattress. How in the hell could he shake this demon that had him by the balls?

* * * *

The next three days were suspiciously quiet. Suspiciously, Josh thought, because all of his family members were acting as if they were warming to this vacation. Not to each other, but, individually, mellowing to the pace of life here. Scowls had changed to small, interior-oriented smiles, flashed when they thought that others weren't watching—as if each had a satisfying secret to savor.

Everything seemed normal except that Demonde wasn't there. And what was abnormal about that was that none of Josh's family members had remarked about the man's absence. Now the rental agency was sending someone from a pool maintenance business to clean the pool every other day. And, to Josh's relief, everyone they sent was an ugly older man. He had said nothing to the cook or housekeeper about Demonde being sent away. Let them find out in their own way and for whatever reasons they were told—if they noticed he was gone during the family's stay at all.

The afternoon of the third day, those secrets began to unravel.

After the noon meal, Josh stripped down to a bathing suit covered by a T-shirt, because he was beginning to burn, walked east along the coastline, seeking time alone to argue with himself about two nights of solitary confinement with no aided release—reasoning that this was what he'd started, the start on the road to pulling the pieces of his family together and shaking his addiction, even though he ached for Demonde to visit him in the night. Whether real or an illusion, he didn't care. Well, he did care, of course, but any release was better than none. At the same time he realized that this exactly was what he had to shake if his life ever was going to return to normal.

Whatever normal was since he had become aware that he ached for big-cocked muscular men to fuck him.

He had a thought to try a new cove that was rimmed by a rock cliff. When he reached the rim of that, he looked down into the curve of sand to discover that it wasn't deserted as he had hoped. There was a couple down there, having sex. The closer he looked, the more he realized that it was Demonde—and not just Demonde, but also the Devil Demonde, tail swishing, horns protruding, dreadlocks flying, the gold clips on the end of them catching the sun's rays and sending beams around on the sides of the cliff walls in a display of vigorous fucking.

The woman, with long blonde hair, was on all fours, and the Devil Demonde was crouched over her hips—fucking her in the ass. His taut torso muscles glistened with sweat from the exertion.

And it wasn't just any blonde, Josh realized in horror. It was Ellie. His daughter, Ellie. With a cry, Josh started plunging down the steep pathway descending from the cliff face to the sand below. But almost immediately he stumbled and fell, scraping his knee on a rock. He had to work his way down more slowly and gingerly from there, his knee screaming its pain, keeping his eyes on the pathway to prevent another stumble.]

When he reached the sand, only Ellie was there, on her back on a towel, with her bikini bottoms in place, a paperback in her hands. She looked up at him and said, "Dad. I didn't expect to see you here."

I jolly well bet you didn't, Josh thought, seething inside, but aware, from recent experience, that what he'd seen from the top of the cliff might have just been an illusion created by his overwrought imagination. And also aware that, at twenty, he should see his daughter's sex life as by right rather than as competition for him.

But then, while as casually as he could, he said, "I was looking for a private cove myself; I didn't see you here," he began to discern telltale signs that he hadn't been hallucinating—at least not about someone just having been fucking her. The hands holding the paperback were shaking, she seemed a bit out of breath, and the nipples of her pendulous breasts were puffy. He turned his head, looking out to sea, and he was convinced that he could see a head bobbing around a rock that went down to the sea toward the west—a head with dreadlocks splayed out on the surface of the water—a hint of short horns peeking out of the black strands at the swimmer's temples.

Josh knew. He knew that hadn't been an illusion. It wasn't just Elaine. Demonde was fucking Ellie too—and probably had been for some time. This was really too much, although he knew there was no high moral ground for him to stand on. He didn't linger there. He walked back to where the path up the cliff side started, mumbling something innocuous back to Ellie's casual, "See you at supper."

At the top of the cliff, he turned east, rather than west, back toward the villa at Discovery Bay. He kept on walking along the coastline, trying to remember the path he and Elaine had taken days ago, back before this nightmare—or delightful dream, Josh was still fighting that internal struggle—had begun.

He realized that he had chosen the right path when he could see the fortuneteller's hut ahead of him, clinging half way up the slope down to yet another secluded cove.

"You have come back. I knew you would," Madame Lamesha cackled when he entered the dimly lit, dingy shack. She didn't seem the least surprised to see him enter her hut. She was still sitting at the small round, black-cloth covered table, clutching the far edges as if the table would spiral up through the roof if she didn't hold it down. Her clothing was the same as before, as if she had been just sitting there, waiting for him to return.

"I have rejected my demons, but they won't let me go," Josh said, standing there, refusing to sit down. Not knowing why he'd come, except that he was at the end of his rope.

"And you have come to me for help."

"You said there are potions—poisons—to dismiss the Devil in this Obeah religion of yours."

"And you want me to give one to you."

"I am weak. I cannot fight this myself. I need something to help me—if only a psychological crutch."

"My potions are not psychological crutches or toys," the woman responded with indignation, pulling her puffy chest up and squaring her shoulders.

"Will you sell me a potion or won't you?"

"Oh, yes, I will sell you a potion. I know that your demon is a particularly strong one, and is growing stronger rather than weaker. It will have to be a particularly strong potion."

For the first time in either visit, she rose from her chair and waddled to the back wall of the shack. She was humming as she rattled jars and pulled items off shelves and put them back. She returned with a black leather necklace strand with a vial of some sort hanging from it.

Josh looked at it as she held it out to him in her palm. It was a glass vial, but it was in the shape of a cross. He could see that it had a metal band around it under the cross beam and that it was filled with a bluish liquid.

"If you raise this to the Devil, he will have to back off," she said. "But if you want to dispel him, you will have to snap it where this metal band is and touch him with at least some of the potion. He will dissolve on the spot."

"And you say this works?"

"Yes, of course it works. It is strong Obeah. I made this batch on the just-passed Hallow's Eve."

"And he will never come back?"

"Never. You will be finished with him."

Josh hesitated at the implication of this. But then he bucked up and said, through clenched teeth, "How much?"

"Nothing if you try it and it doesn't work—if you don't really want to dispel the Devil." At this, she gave him a penetrating look that Josh didn't much like. "You will give me much if it does work. We will discuss that when you return after it has worked."