The Demon in You Ch. 01: As Usual

This is my first published erotica. Feel free to offer your feedback, as I'm an experienced writer but still trying to get hold of this genre. Please enjoy.

- J.M. Valentine

As ever, she was there when I woke. First, the warm and soft weight on my chest; then, the image of desire filling the world as my eyelids flickered open. Erastala -- the freeloader I wished I had the will to hate.

Five months she had haunted me. At first, I'd taken her for a 'sleep paralysis demon', but I'd never experienced that in nearly three decades of life, so I came to a more palatable answer: I'd snapped. It made sense at the time and part of me still believed it months later, despite all evidence to the contrary. My brain had never been quite right -- Asperger's Syndrome, ADHD, OCD, perhaps a few other acronyms. The human mind was still a mystery to people a lot smarter than myself, so I reasoned that very convincing hallucinations weren't outside the realm of possibility.

Even that morning, as she whispered, "Good morning, love" and ran delicate fingers through my hair, I almost could have believed it -- that a hallucination could appear to be eating my food, warming my bed, and draining the life out of me on a daily basis. It still made more sense than the supernatural being real and present in my own home.

"Mmm, sorry," Erastala said as I squeezed my eyes shut for a moment. "Still here. Still real." She was even warmer than usual, her demeanour especially seductive, her arms wrapped snugly around me and her hips pressing close. It took me a moment more to realise I was inside her again.

"God's sake," I mumbled, realising why I felt winded. "Did you even climb off, or have you been going at it all night?"

She gave me that wide, languid smirk -- her trademark expression, it seemed -- and pushed herself upright so I could see all of her body -- her almost absurdly sexualised body, with plump breasts and the wide, curved hips of a breeder in her prime. Her monstrous features -- purple skin, curved horns, pointed tongue and amber eyes -- added an impossible kind of exoticism. She was literally from a realm of pure fantasy, but there she was -- a succubus as I'd always envisioned one.

"I did hang about your dreams for a time," she said, pausing just a moment to entwine her fingers with my own. "But they weren't to my taste."

Resigned to letting her ride one out of me, I took the bait. "Alright, Erastala. Tell me about it."

She adopted a slow, steady pace as her smile faded. "Your dishonesty is showing even there now. Bad enough that I have to..." she flexed her inner muscles, eliciting a gasp from me and a sly chuckle in response. "Ah... wring it out of you when you're awake."

With the last vestiges of sleep shaken off by her motions, I was feeling Erastala's efforts in full. I'd had my share of sex, but every time she got her hands on me, she managed to surpass herself. Divine; exquisite; perfection; all words which I'd tried and discarded in my efforts to describe the sensation it stirred in me. It went beyond the physical, the furnace of raw eroticism inside her body. It stoked a fire in the deepest recesses of my soul, something which defied understanding and struck terror into my rational mind. It called me, like the ground below when standing atop a tall building. I had to stamp it out, grind the smouldering ember under my heel until it was cold ash.

But I didn't want to, and she knew it. It was written in my eyes.

"You love it, mortal." It was not a claim, but a statement of fact. Of course, she could read my thoughts to some degree, but she had also come to know me well merely by being present day-to-day. From waking to the depths of sleep, she was with me -- and 'with' me.

A tightly coiled tail, working unseen beneath the table; burning hot lips pressed against my own in the shower; sucking and slurping between my legs while I worked at my desk; bare breasts against my back and a hand in my pants while both my own were preoccupied; and the sweet, warm embrace of her nethers whenever nothing else took her fancy.

Always sex. Wall to wall sex. Sex this, sex that.

'Take me like this today, love.'

'Let me help you relax, love.'

'Pull my horns and fuck me deep, love.'

Drowning in pussy, and I hated it. I was better than that. That's not what I said, though.

"I do," I rasped. My throat was dry from both nerves and exertion. "I love this... and you."

Erastala's eyes widened as her tongue wet her lips. She was beginning to pant as she continued the usual taunting. "Yes, yes! Keep going! Tell me!"

"You make everything better!" My voice was running off on its own, totally unshackled. My doing, or hers? I couldn't tell. "Y-you're the best! All of you -- I love all of you..."

"Yeah?" Her tail, quick as lightning, coiled around the base of my entire package to form an ad-hoc cock ring. Oh no. "What do you love most?" There wasn't much pressure being applied yet, but I knew from experience that could change in a heartbeat. That tail could be literally lethal if she desired it.

"Oh, for... God dammit, please-"

"Well?" I shut my eyes tight, knowing what seeing that wicked grin would do to me. "Not feeling well, love? That's alright. I'll just finish myself off, then you can..."

I knew the trick, but didn't care. "Your pussy, dammit!" I had to finish, had to share it with her, or else... Well, I had no idea what, but the thought of going unfulfilled was so deeply unsettling I didn't care to think about it.

"Mmm, really? Last week it was my ass. My fat fucking ass, which you said you love to see bouncing on your dick."

I bit my tongue despite her teasing. She was in control -- there was no choice but to ride it out.

"You said my tits too at one point. You just wanted to bury your face in them, play with them, suck them, fuck them, God knows what else!"

Please, I thought -- my only thought.

"Now you're back on my pussy. What's going on, hm?"

What was going on was that she was rapidly eroding what little self-control I had, which at that time of day was 'almost none', even considering how weak-willed I was around women. Like any torture victim, I was going to say whatever she wanted to hear, not the truth -- though her hooks were set so deep in my soul that the two were essentially the same. If I was inside her like this, it was true that nothing else compared. Everything, every single part of her body from horns to tail, was always the best thing I'd felt, every single time.

"Come on, love. Come on, talk to me. Talking's so important, isn't it?"

I let myself slip, just for a moment, a deliberate and careful gamble to see if I was still in control of my own tongue. "Please," I mumbled -- all I dared to try. "Please, please, please."

My demonic tormentor sighed, and it sounded sincere. "You're no fun sometimes, love." She was a cunning predator and wouldn't risk breaking me, but still wanted to have her fun. That wasn't something I could stop.

"Please." I braced myself for what was coming.

"Please? How should I take that, then?" Her pace suddenly accelerated to something hard and fast, but not quite raunchy. She knew exactly what I liked. I kept my eyes closed just to avoid seeing it and falling that little bit deeper into her spell. The sensation alone told me everything: that her dark purple pussy-lips were fit snugly around their meal, sliding it in and out like the mouth of a sadistic predator toying with its prey. Meanwhile, her breasts would be shiny with sweat and bouncing buoyantly, crying out for a hand or mouth to latch on and stimulate them. Just a bit further up, her eyes would be bearing down on me with that terrifying and electric yellow gaze, working magic on me while her expression spoke of inhuman levels of eroticism.

"Please..."

"'Please let me cum?' Is that it? You want to give me what I need, love?"

I only nodded.

"I do need it. You know that." Her breathing was fast and feverish as her pace. "I need your sweet, sweet semen inside me. I need you to plant your seed in my womb."

Oh, no. I grit my teeth. Here we go.

"You want to give me that, hmm? You want to make me a mummy so you can be a daddy?"

Her eyes flashed; I tried to squeeze mine shut in response, but the hooks were in me. Independent thought was washed away by a sudden torrent of mental images. My mind was flooded in a heartbeat, and the tide kept rising.

I saw nothing but warmth, beauty, and comfort. Where my imagination would have been, there was now an endless gallery dedicated to Erastala and her promises. Tears welled up at the sight of her hand and mine, entwined and wearing rings. False memories played in a ceaseless encore -- I remembered the years of close companionship before we confessed our feelings to one another, our first kiss, all the times she'd been there for me when nobody else was. They were real as life, more vivid and enduring than anything else I could remember, but I couldn't accept them.

Nor, however, could I look away. My mind was no longer entirely my own.

She looked radiant in that dress. The creamy white contrasted delightfully with her purple skin. There hadn't been anyone else there -- they wouldn't understand our love. Besides, her divine beauty was only for me. Who else could appreciate that lithe, spaded tail and its many uses, or the depth and texture of her every orifice? Those people out there -- those small, petty people -- would only see a loser being strung along by someone leagues above him, the subject of the world's cruellest prank.

Only we knew the truth: that the day she had gazed into my eyes and said "I love you" was the pinnacle of happiness, an existential euphoria felt by no other being in any universe. Even if the world should perish and the heavens crumble, that singular truth would remain. She loved me.

The years to come, still unlived yet fresh in my memory, unspooled in a kaleidoscope of all that could be experienced by her side. I heard the news we were expecting and clasped her hands in mine as she gave birth to our offspring. I saw contentment and motherly warmth take form on her face as she sat across from me, breastfeeding a swaddled, faceless infant, and felt a surge of paternal pride knowing that was my doing. Together, we watched our first child grow and thrive, the incarnated expression of the love between man and wife. Then we did it again, and again, and a fourth and fifth and sixth time. Six was enough, we decided. Two to replace us someday, two to grow society, two more just to show off. So many months of watching her belly swell, then years of hard work raising our wonderful hellspawn, but it all paid off in the end. With the growth of a family, the picture of our love was at last perfected.

And always, without fail, we would rut. Even before we settled on children, it was our top priority. I'd wake with the first ecstatic emission into my beloved, then take her every hour of every day, whether that be bending her over at breakfast, stuffing her mouth at noon, or drilling her giddy at dinner. When there was no more room in her cunt, we'd set aside a few hours so I could lazily watch as she gorged herself on the thick, rich cum she craved. If her hunger was sated, she'd take it in the gutter, showing me what internal ribbing could do. When we tired of all else, whims guided us; I was wrung out with skilful hands, tail-pegged into a stupor, got lost in a days-long funbag fantasy...

Day after day after day of absolute, incomparable pleasure, and it never got old.

Someday, we would leave the world and our children behind, but it wouldn't be the end. There were countless worlds beyond this one and all eternity laid open before us. Eternity in which to fuck or make love as we saw fit. Two lovers -- no, true soulmates, bound together by an immortal love which defied the cosmos itself.

Forever.

Then I came, and it was gone.

Several intense spurts of semen splattered against Erastala's cervix, encouraged by her inner walls flexing, squeezing, and massaging alongside her own screaming, laughing orgasm. I filled her as best a mere mortal could, with my eyes hollow and mouth agape with shock. It was incredible as always, still a greater high than I could ever imagine, but everything that had prompted it -- the memories, the lifetime of wonder forced upon me -- was gone. Happiness and joy flowed out of me with every spasm of my climax, leaving nothing but a profound sense of emptiness made all the worse by post-nut clarity. While she relished the energy and potential in my seed, that was a mere appetiser. Hopes and dreams -- those were her meat and wine, the true rewards of torment.

I would have broken down crying were I able, but even that unconscious physical effort seemed beyond me now. Instead, I did the same thing I'd done for one hundred and forty-seven days: I lay there, staring at the ceiling, while Erastala brought herself back down to earth. Only when she had curled up for a nap did I dare to rise, still too numb to complain or strike back. For the one-hundred and forty-eighth time, I gazed down at my personal Sleeping Beauty, thinking what I might say to her upon waking. Not for the first time, I contemplated telling her to stop tormenting me -- that I had no interest in succumbing to her lures and attaining happiness built on lust and falsehoods.

But I'd never answer one lie with another.