Games Demons Play

The man cocked his head to the side, staring at me like I was some sort of specimen. I got the definite impression he looked at a lot of people that way. Especially when he was on top of them, his pasty body sliding between their legs while his cock stabbed into them again, and again, and again...

I wanted him. I gasped.

"So, like, guys like you don't do anything with chicks like her. See? She's a goddess, and you're a pissant. I mean, no offense. But hot fucking bitches don't get down with nerds like you." Fucking Megan, hitting her stride, lathering herself up. Gracie stood off to the side, shifting her weight nervously, no doubt praying for Justin to show up, but that asshole was yesterday's news; I knew that right away, without even thinking too hard about it. Mind you, I'd let him fuck me right now. Not that the bar was very high; I trembled against the tree, my pussy flowing, my tits achy. I had the sudden urge to wrap my legs around the trunk and get off on the bark.

Fucking Megan was right, of course; this wasn't a guy I'd ever, in a million years, look twice at. Never. I'd had dozens of cocks, and a guy like this? Bottom five, and that was on his best possible day.

Shuddering, I came to life and forced the words out. "Not tonight, dude," I managed, wondering if he could smell my pussy. He had to. "Thank you, though."

He nodded uncertainly, his eyes shifting around, like he was listening to a voice I couldn't hear. "I understand," he said at last. "Have a nice night, and be safe." He smiled weakly at the three of us, took another look at my face, and started off down the street.

Fucking Megan was nodding after him, agreeing with everything that had come out of her own mouth; Gracie was furiously thumbing her phone to get to Justin, and I couldn't let it go. "Wait!" My voice was thick and strangly, and I shook my head as if to clear it out. Dimly I watched as the guy stopped, shuffled back around, and blinked at me through his glasses. "Umm, thanks. For offering," I muttered, and it came out shy and quavery. "Happy Halloween."

He cocked his head again, strangely lizardlike, and then he nodded as if deciding I was being honest. "No problem," he replied shortly, and Megan's glare sent him on his way as I slumped back against the tree, exhausted. Beside me, she pursed her lips in disapproval.

"Nerds." Fucking Megan and her shrewd judgements; she'd said a whole paragraph in just that one word.

* * *

We gave up on Justin maybe half an hour later, and as the crowds thinned out we set off into the night in a little protective knot. Megan walked in front; I assumed she was carrying her little gun, as she often did, while Gracie stayed back, fretting with me. "We'll get you into bed, hon," she was murmuring into my ear; I caught nothing but hot breath, that maple-syrup voice, and the unshakeable image that hadn't left me of Gracie writhing beneath Megan. Fucking Megan, grinning sadistically, insatiably, driving the dildo methodically home while her other hand had her phone out, dialing her husband to come on over and take a turn on our ripe little friend.

I stumbled over a crack in the pavement, thinking again about lying down on the sidewalk, spreading my legs, and waiting for a man. Or two. Or, hell, eight. Fucking Megan, catlike in front of us, and then I saw the curb ahead, the roadway beyond that the cops had just opened up after the street fair, and just as I wobbled off the sidewalk I caught the blinding lights of a sensible silver SmartCar coming slowly along the road from in front of the little market down the way.

"Watch it!" Fucking Megan, skipping out from in front of the rolling car; I felt my knees tremble, I tottered forward, and I slouched against the hood, the tiny car already stopping.

"Jesus," Gracie whimpered, and the car lurched underneath me as it went into Park; the driver was getting out to look at me.

"Oh." Fucking Megan, disgusted. "It's you."

"I'm going to take her home." The voice was low, as it had been before, and it drew me; I didn't try to stop myself as I felt my own arms push me off the silver metal and slowly upright, where I turned to face him. "Get in," he said calmly, his adam's apple bobbing, and I was already tottering around to the passenger side while Megan glared behind me. "I'd be happy to give you guys a ride, too, but... no backseat."

Gracie, useless in anything but a perfectly calm, predictable situation, glanced at Megan, then at me; Megan was already pulling her phone out to take a pic of his license plate. "I'm calling her every hour on the hour," she spat. Fucking Megan.

* * *

III: Per Vincere

* * *

I opened the car door for her, of course, because my grandma would have been ashamed of me if I hadn't. Poor thing; she was in the passenger seat, quaking, looking up at me like a frightened bird, and once again I felt compassion and pity; I felt like she needed help, and that I'd been chosen, in a way, to help her, and it had me feeling pretty goddamn good.

She'd given me an address on the other side of town, by the library, and I'd never been on the street before. It was nice and clean, the kind of street where every house has a tall tree shading it; she evidently made decent money, wherever she worked. I wondered how old she was. "Come on," I said gently, and then those eyes looked up at mine over the incongruous makeup she'd put on to give herself a five-o'clock shadow, and I was gone.

She was beautiful. Her annoying fucking friend had been right; she was way, way out of my league.

"Is, uh, is this your house?" I asked quietly, noticing the throngs of little kids still out seeking candy. This seemed like the kind of neighborhood where nearly every light was on, where every porch held a big bowl of candy bars. Full size, not "party size."

"Yes." Her voice had a tight, dreamy quality to it, like she'd been up all night or had too much coffee. Or both, maybe. Once more I felt my dick tighten in my khakis, just like it had when I'd first seen her against the tree, over by the bicycle stand just down the street from where I worked. It had made me really apprehensive then, because at the time, in the dark, I hadn't been sure the three girls were actually girls. But my penis had known, somehow. "The key is... somewhere."

She stood woozily, and instinct made me offer my arm; she tucked herself into the side of my body, close, right up against me, and it was all I could do to avoid both falling and popping a massive boner. Her hair smelled like lavender. "It's okay," I said awkwardly. I said most things awkwardly. "I've got you."

"Yes," she agreed, "you do," and then we were making our slow way up the walk, between two lines of low bushes, to the only house on the block with its lights off. "What's your name?"

"I'm Robert. Robert Sneed." I paused as we approached the steps.

"Well hi, Robert Sneed," she sang, still with that dreamy edge to her voice. "Key's in my pocket, I think." I stared down at her, nestled in the crook of my armpit, and I couldn't believe any of this. "Do your friends call you Bobby?"

No, I thought of telling her. I'd need friends for that. I thought about my coworkers, then shrugged with the shoulder she wasn't using. "People call me Sneed, usually."

"Sneed." She sighed. "Like you're from Dr Seuss." I could feel her body beneath my fingers, warm through the sport jacket she was wearing. We stood uncertainly until she tipped her head back and looked up at me. "Front pocket. In my pants."

She giggled when I just gaped down at her, her arm around my waist, and finally I slipped my hand down her side, along her hip, and found her pocket. She was still looking at me as I took a breath and plunged my hand in. The trousers she'd chosen, a pair of men's smalls, fit her tightly enough that I could feel the elastic of her thong as my fingers snaked down, down past the lint to find a simple metal ring with a couple of keys on it. The pants were tight enough that I had difficulty pulling my hand back out; she giggled again, and I felt the flutter of her fingers on my side. She worked her way around to my front, gripping me tightly with her arms; there was no way she could possibly miss my hard dick, digging into her front.

I gulped and peered at the little charm dangling off the ring in my hand, barely visible in the light from the streetlamps. "R?" I asked her, my mouth full of her hair as she clung to my chest.

"Rachel," she sighed, her body swaying slightly.

"Okay." I hesitated, trying to back away enough that I could adjust myself; my penis was trailing a long way down my left leg, the absolute least comfortable place I could have put it, and I thought for a brief moment of scraping my body along hers to move it someplace where I could deal with a little better. But she showed no signs of letting up her body's pressure on mine, and as I stuck the key into the doorknob I started to get the nagging feeling in my mind that I was going to take this Rachel into her house, throw her into her own bed, and fuck her hard.

No. No way; I'd offered help, not sex. I swallowed as the door gave with a click, and then my leg was reaching around hers to kick it open. It plowed quietly through a small drift of mail on the floor, then stood there open, waiting for me to make up my mind. I patted her back. "Rachel? Door's open now. You can go inside."

"I know I can," she murmured into my chest. She showed no sign of moving away from any part of me, and the nagging feeling began to nag harder, more insistently, almost viciously; I gasped. These were not thoughts I was accustomed to having; I'm no monk, but it had been years since I'd had a girlfriend.

Why? asked my brain. Why is that? You're ugly, but no more so than many others. You're awkward, but that's no crime. You're shy, but that's not stopping this girl from wanting to fuck you...

The realization struck me like a kick to the stomach. Goddamn. She did. I looked down at her head, then cleared my throat with difficulty. "Rachel, can I stay with you?"

"Absolutely, Bobby." No hesitation, no doubt; it was as if she was answering a question about the weather. Sure, they're saying it's going to be cloudy and 67 degrees tomorrow. And I like it from behind, preferably over a table or desk, thanks! I took a shuffling step toward the yawning doorway, the woman moving with me, and as my toes hit the threshold I finally felt her release her grip. "Come inside."

She backed into the darkened house with uncertain little steps, looking up at me with those big shiny eyes, and whatever doubt I might have had picked up its suitcase and fled far, far away, and I stepped in after her and reached automatically to swing the door shut behind me; before it had even clicked shut I was spreading my arms, gathering her in, her hands clasped to my chest as she craned her head up.

I'd never been more certain a woman wanted me to kiss her.

Her mouth was firm, expressive, opening for my tongue as I leaned down; I was completely aware that she didn't want me to waste time with subtlety. So I kept going, even after our lips met, bending her limbo-style and continuing down with her, craning her like that nurse in that VJ Day picture from Times Square. "Mmm," she moaned in a little whispery burst of warmth into my mouth, and then my eyes closed and I pulled her tightly to me and I stopped thinking quite so much.

The body in my arms was compact, firm, and I remembered what her disagreeable friend had told me about yoga. The spit was flowing freely now, and I'd never experienced such a kiss, and then something took over me; I can't even describe it. Sheer, exultant animal lust, maybe? Whatever it was, it started as a red cloud at the edge of my vision, and when I opened my eyes again and found hers staring back at me I saw the same red cloud.

We straightened calmly then, breathing deeply together, and she took my hand and led me back into the house. The lights were off, but bluish moonlight through the windows showed me sleekly modern furniture, a shiny kitchen with an expensive espresso machine; I thought of my drip maker back home, stained by years of inexpensive coffee, and in passing I noticed a fine set of Wusthof knives, a gleaming toaster, and then the narrow hallway leading to the back of the little house.

We strode with straight, sure steps, both of us suddenly lucid, or as lucid as anyone could be under the influence of that kind of lust. My dick still tented far ahead of me at the front of my khakis, but I'd changed; the idea of concealing it from her had disappeared. Just the opposite; when she stopped at her bedroom door and glanced back at me, I arched my hips a tad so that she could see what she'd done to me.

She smiled, the full wet lips drawing together, and then she tossed her head toward the room beyond.

I was unzipping even before I passed the doorway, eager to show her my hard dick, needing her to experience it; I felt suddenly like a god, like Hercules lining up to take a peasant. "You want me," I intoned, with no idea where the words had come from; it wasn't a question.

"No," she countered, watching intently as my zipper crawled down. "I need you."

I nodded, then dropped my hands to my sides, staring hard at her. Daring her to stay away. To refuse to be mine. When I spoke this time, my voice sounded harsh even to me. "Undress us," I commanded, and then Rachel bowed her head slightly and started back toward me, her eyes shining brightly into mine, her hands tearing at the shirt beneath the unbuttoned sports jacket. Fleetingly I wondered whose stupid idea it had been to dress three chicks up like dudes, but then whatever had taken over my mind moved that thought aside as if it was changing a cel on an old cartoon.

Clearly, the normal me was no longer in charge here.

Rachel stopped about a pace away from me, standing straight and strong as she threw her shoulders back; her stare pierced me as she shuddered, the shirt and jacket slipping to the floor. Still looking into my face, she pushed at the trousers; they pooled at her feet like a drunk, crumpled in an alley. I saw shadowed curves, the muscles of a vain woman, the firm breasts cruelly restrained by a fearsomely engineered bra, and then she was starting on that too; I watched as the tight, thick fabric peeled away from her skin the way the foil peels from a bottle of wine, my eyes savoring full rounded flesh, the sudden freedom of two dark, protruding nipples.

The heavy bra sailed into a corner.

The thong, black like the bra, was an afterthought, and her next graceful step brought her naked and proud, on display, to within arm's reach of me. I caught a rich, heady smell, and when I looked down I saw a sleek bare mound, glistening in the moonlight, with a shiny mess beginning to drool down her inner thigh. "You like what you see," she said, searching my eyes and finding all the approval she needed. "Good." Bold fingers probed lazily into my open fly, unbuttoned the hole in my boxers, and searched within for the hard dick I was offering her.

There was an electric inhalation as our flesh met, her fingers finding my shaft and sliding hard up and down. I felt like all the blood in my body was coursing through my penis; it was thick and long and firm, trembling for her, questing from my body for her vagina.

We paused, my hands on my hips, my body arched, letting her feel me, and then I cleared my throat. "Undress us," I repeated quietly, and she set to work on me; slowly and with exquisite care, like she was restoring a museum display, she unbuttoned each button on my vest, then pulled it away to quietly work at the knot of my tie. I stared at a face growing more beautiful by the instant, her fine white teeth gnawing at her lower lip as her nimble fingers worked the knot. She was close enough now that my dick, grown as long as it could and pointing jauntily upward, was leaving a sticky trail across the skin at the top of her thighs.

She stepped back once she'd finished with my shirt, her cool palms resting briefly on my nipples before she reached slowly up my chest, under my clothes, and with a sense of relief I felt the shirt and the vest both slide down my arms. Before they hit the ground she had undone the button at the top of my khakis, sending them down my legs with an emphatic stomp of her foot between my legs.

Rachel frowned as she stepped back and eyed where my penis flew from my boxers. "Well," she mused, "I can't see how I can maneuver your underwear over such a gigantic fucking cock," she decided. Her eyes met mine once more. "Wait here, Bobby," she purred. "I've got just the thing for you."

She disappeared noiselessly from the room, like a cat, leaving me to survey my own body in the mysterious moonlight. I heard her phone warble from down the hall, three times, and then Rachel speaking in something that sounded like a normal voice: "What?...Oh, honey, thanks... No, babe, I'm doing okay... uh-huh...no, I'm just sleepy... really, Meg, I'm okay. No. Bye!"

I'd never felt so calm, nor so wanted; no, needed. Whatever had overtaken my mind had either changed my body, or changed how I looked at it; I saw it now as Rachel might, hale and virile and trembling with power. And calm; I didn't twitch when I felt her dry fingers on my back, trailing around over my shoulder as she came around to face me once again. "Fucking Megan."

"Ignore it next time." I forced myself to be still as her fingers trailed down my back.

"Do you trust me?" she asked quietly, the slickness spreading further down her thigh; she had a hand behind her back. "Your cock doesn't deserve to be tucked back in."

"I agree." I shrugged. "Do what you want, Rachel."

Still staring into my eyes, she brought her hand out from behind her back and raised it to my face. I squinted as I read the words in the light from the window. "Wusthof," I nodded. "Excellent knives."

"Yes." Her eyes remained bold even as she moved her hand slowly back down, and she didn't shift her gaze until after I felt the blade rest against my flesh. "Hmm." She frowned. "This is an eight-inch chef's knife," she observed casually. "You're longer than I thought."

I let the silence stretch, thrilled by the moon on the blade, in her eyes, off her pussy. "Undress us," I said slowly, one more time, and she nodded. She took hold of my waistband and pulled it out about an inch, then laid the back of the blade along my dick. We both shivered as she eased the point slowly through the opening in my boxers. "Christ," I bit out.

"Yes," she said again, and once she had the elastic resting against the chef's knife's sharpened edge, she raised her eyes once more to meet mine. "May I?"

"You may." Her whole body was darkening in the light through the windows, reddening, everything taut, and then she was lifting the knife into the elastic and drawing it swiftly toward her, until with disappointingly low resistance the waistband gave up the fight. The blade whispered through, flashing in the moonlight, and we both sighed as my boxers fell harmlessly toward the floor. "You're beautiful, Rachel," I said, fighting to get the words out through a thickening throat, and she smirked in response.

"You're just saying that because I've got a knife next to your cock," she pointed out, neither quite serious nor quite joking, and I looked down between us to where our bodies were pressed together; already my hands were drifting up along the sides of her back, over the ridges of her ribcage, and her free hand was dancing among my pubes, and whatever had taken me over was no longer in the mood to wait.

I brought my hands suddenly around under her armpits, watching to see what her eyes would do when I crushed her breasts as hard as I could. I saw the lids come down, the pupils roll back; I heard her moaning sigh and felt her breath on my face, and then I pinched both nipples and, without warning, shoved her hard onto her bed. She sprawled hard with an oof, struggling to gather herself, her tits bright red where my hands had mauled them.