by Teann Daorsa

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© Copyright 2020 - Teann Daorsa - Used by permission

Storycodes: M/f; M/f+; M+/f; F+/m; bond; mind-control; majick; supernatural; latex; toys; sex; anal; reluct; nc; XX

The notion of a “crossroads demon” is shamelessly lifted from the TV series “Supernatural”, as I loved the notion of the opportunity to bargain with the devil for whatever you most desire. If I could have figured a way to work Sam Winchester strapped up tightly into the story without descending into cheesy fan-fiction, believe me I would have. Instead I chose to make something that sort of stands alone.

Midnight, October 31st, 2007. A crossroads in rural Virginia.

Morgan dropped the photo of himself, hastily taken in a gas station photo booth, into the box. His fingers were shaking, but he forced himself to keep going. He’d already had to kill a cat for this, burying the damned box was the easy part. Or so he told himself. He couldn’t tell if he felt ridiculous, or scared, or desperate. Probably all of them. Patting the dirt into place, he stood up, lit only by the headlamps of his beat up Volvo. Out here in the sticks, there was no other source of light. He didn’t know if the crossroads he’d picked would do. Didn’t know if any of this would work, or if it was just grade A bullshit peddled to him by a back-alley fortune teller.

Stood there in the cold, in the dark, feeling like a damned fool, he waited. Squinting into the shadows, hoping that there wasn’t something out there waiting to eat him. The moment stretched out in the silent darkness. Eventually his nerve snapped, and he swore. “What the hell are you doing out here?” he muttered to himself.

“What the hell are you doing out here, Morgan Bailey?” The voice from behind him was sultry, feminine, and confident. It took every ounce of nerve Morgan had to not squeal in fright as he snapped round to look at the woman. And gods, what a woman. Even lit from behind, framed in his car’s lights, he could see she was stunning; short but exceptionally curvy, dressed impeccably in a suit that wouldn’t be out of place on Wall Street. She walked around him, circling like a wolf, inspecting him, a malevolent grin on her face. “What the hell would make you,” she stabbed her finger into his chest, “come out here, and summon me?”

His throat was frozen. She knew his name. This wasn’t just a chance encounter. This wasn’t bullshit. It had worked, and now he was wishing it hadn’t. She stopped, waiting, expectant, standing in the light. Long, dark hair, too perfect to belong anywhere but a shampoo commercial, framing an equally flawless face. His brain finally unstuck itself, remembering what the “psychic” he’d visited had told him.

“I want to make a deal.”

“I know that, idiot. Your kind always do. Useless and helpless, but so full of wants. So here I am, and I’m listening. What is it you desire, bad enough to make you come to me?”

Morgan’s throat had closed again, paralysed with fear. Her body, her voice, all would normally make him desire her, but he could sense the power in the being in front of him, and something primal inside him knew it did not bode well for him.

All of a sudden her demeanour changed, softened, and she stepped in closer, stretching up a little to match his height and speak softly into his ear. “You people always seem to think Halloween is special. That somehow you can’t appeal to my kind unless it’s sufficiently spooky.” She waggled her hands for emphasis. “But we’re always open to a good bargain, if the price is right. And you know the price, don’t you?” Morgan nodded. “So tell me what you truly desire...” She stood up on her tiptoes, her ear right by his lips, bracing herself with her hands on his hips, her perfume intoxicatingly spicy and rich. His voice barely more than a whisper, confessing the need that had driven him out here, to these depths. She smiled, a wicked, knowing smile, and laughed.

“Well now that is an interesting request. Not unprecedented, of course. Most men choose power, or money, but if it’s not those, well then there’s really only one thing left.” There was a twinkle in her eye, to match her smile, but then suddenly it wasn’t a twinkle. Morgan gaped as her eyes flared red, rich, blood red, practically glowing against the darkness behind her. “10 years, Morgan.”


“10 years. And then payment is due.” He paused, conflicted, but eventually nodded. “Hold out your hand.” As he did, she didn’t hesitate; slicing the wicked, curved dagger that she produced from nowhere across his palm. “Done.” He thought he would feel something, some kind of throb, anything that might hint at what had changed, but there was nothing except the sharp pain he’d expect of the cut. With her other hand, she smeared the blood, quickly welling out of the wound, into her fingers, and then to her mouth, licking it off with a lurid grin. “I don’t even need to do that, you know.” Her eyes flared again. “I just get a kick out of it.” Morgan shuddered involuntarily as she laughed a disturbing laugh, closing his hand into a fist as it started to sting. “Now let’s talk specifics...”

November 2nd, 2007. A dive bar off Route 60.

She was nothing to write home about, looks-wise. But then Morgan wasn’t feeling like much of a catch. She hadn’t questioned the bandage on his hand, the ragged wound on his hand still healing, but at least no longer bleeding. The motel was a flea-pit, but it had a bar next door, with an amenable waitress, and Morgan was eager to see what his bargain had gained him. She’d laughed when he’d suggested they retire to his room at the motel when she got off from her shift. Clearly it was that bad a place. But she lived nearby, and was eager, which seemed even better.

His heart was thumping as they fumbled their way through the door, she as tipsy as he was, kissing and laughing and hands all over each other. He was sure she was aware of the bulge in his pants, though probably not the reason why he was anticipating this so much. Clothes were tugged and discarded, but he made a point of throwing his jacket close to the sofa as they tumbled onto it. More kissing, more fumbling, the booze making them clumsy, breath hot on each others’ skin as their lips clashed.

This was the moment, he had to do it now, had to know. Disengaging from the eager, handsy girl, even as she sought more, he reached down, grabbing at his jacket, at the hard metal lump in the pocket, extracting the shiny metal police cuffs from where they’d rested all night. Blushing and flustered, he said the words the demon had told him: “I think you want to see how these feel...” He paused afterwards, unsure, looking into her eyes to see how she’d react. Her eager hands had stopped, her expression glazed over. She was looking at him, listening, and then at the cuffs. Haltingly, as if unsure how her own body worked, she reached out for them, drunkenly fumbling still. Taking them from his grasp, she squinted at them, with a befuddled look on her face, before closing one cuff around her wrist. Shaking her wrist a little, she put her arms behind her back, flopping onto him so that her whole weight was on him, and before he knew it she had closed the other onto her free wrist.

It worked! Damned if it didn’t work! Morgan squirmed out from underneath her, gleeful, staggering to his feet by the sofa where she was deposited on her side. She was looking up at him now, tugging on her wrists, trying to bring them around to her front to inspect the chrome rings. Morgan dropped to his knees in front of her on the thin carpet, lifting her into a sitting position.

“Oh, that’s just perfect!” he said.

“Huh?” She was clearly surprised, confused even. Morgan didn’t wait for a proper response, slipping his arms around her waist, tugging her forward to resume the eager kissing they’d paused. “Ohhh!” she squealed, as he pressed in close, his hardness bumping up against her crotch. She was still tugging at the cuffs, but his insistent kissing and fondling was hard to ignore. Soon she was moaning and responding to his attention. Her skirt and panties found their way to the floor, and he was sliding inside her, his arousal intense and erect. Lifting her onto him, his thrusting was primal and eager. Though he didn’t last long, the climax was powerful and intense, and in his horny, addled state he kept going, slick with cum, until the waitress found her own orgasm.

He had to search for the keys to the cuffs in his jeans pocket, after finding his jeans at all amongst the clothes on the floor. Releasing her, she simply sat there, rubbing at her wrists, skin marked slightly by the metal bracelets. Attempts to engage her in conversation went nowhere, and eventually he stammered his excuses and slunk away. Any other time he might have felt a little guilty at not sticking around, but the endorphin high he was riding put that quickly from his mind.

It had worked! How long had he waited to find someone who’d put up with his kinky urges? The thought of it made him burn with humiliation, remembering the last time he’d asked to tie a girlfriend up; her laughing in his face, only to have it turn to a snarl of disgust when she realised he was serious. Again and again, he’d tested the waters with lovers only to have his kinky needs firmly rebuffed, or worse. Never again. He was growing hard again at the thought, all his bondage desires finally within his grasp.

December, 2007. Richmond, Virginia.

A fresh-faced college graduate, pleased at the attention from this confident man, a good ten years her senior, was happy to accompany him back to his apartment, but only if her roommate came too. After all, you couldn’t trust people these days. Morgan wouldn’t disagree. He’d kept trying his new-found power, on different women, strangers. The exact words weren’t as important as he had thought, it was the intent, the suggestion, that mattered. Picking the right moment was key.

“Gee, this place is nice, I wish I could afford a place on my own,” Suzie said.

“Hey!” Her roommate punched her in the arm.

“Oh come on Kate, if you could get your own place you’d be out of there like a shot too.” Kate conceded that was probably true. The tour was coming to the most important part, Morgan knew, opening the door to the spare bedroom...

“Oh, shit! It’s those things you get, you know, in old towns. You get pelted with tomatoes and shit!

“Stocks,” Kate said, rather more quietly than her friend. “They’re called stocks.”

“Actually, this is a pillory,” Morgan corrected, with a little smile, “I think you’d like to see how it feels to be in one...” He’d learned to sense the little tingle that came with it, and let it go straight to his crotch, feeling his cock twitch in anticipation. He’d been looking at Suzie, the cuter of the two, when he’d said it, but it was Kate who glazed over and started towards the furniture. Interesting. Morgan wondered if a natural inclination towards kinky things made a difference to how susceptible you were to it. Something to investigate later.

Suzie was giggling, but that faded as Kate lifted the top bar up, caressing it. “What are you doing?!” But Kate didn’t answer. Kate was quite determined now. “Oh, shit! I’m not throwing fruit at you, lady.”

Morgan was behind Suzie now. Two at once was new, so he was being careful. But he wasn’t worried about Kate, he knew by now that she’d not pay him any attention until she was firmly locked up. “I think you’d like to sit here and watch your friend have some fun. But we’ll have to keep you from interfering.” That tingle again...

Suzie didn’t resist as he slipped the rope, neatly piled on the side table they hadn’t noticed, over her chest. While he bound her tightly to the chair, a glassy expression on her face, she simply watched Kate, who was struggling to position herself properly under the heavy bar. She almost looked grateful when Morgan came over to help, guiding her hands and neck into position, flipping the latch over, securing the bar tightly. It was low enough that was bent over, ass up and out behind her. As the latch closed, Kate closed her eyes, a soft moan escaping her. Morgan’s cock throbbed with the sound, and he couldn’t help but smile.

Looking over at Suzie he could see a frown on her face as she struggled against the ropes, that glassy-eyed confusion he’d come to know. But she didn’t speak, and as he’d suggested, simply watched her friend, squirming in the pillory. Morgan circled around Kate, appreciating her position, coming around to behind her. He couldn’t resist any longer, flipping up her loose-fitting skirt to expose her panties, peeling them downwards to expose a pert, young bum. His cock quickly freed from his pants, it slid into her with ease, her juices flowing freely.

Fucking her long and slow, holding back his own pleasure so he could enjoy the moment, watching Suzie over Kate’s head, struggling in his ropes. Kate’s pleasure matched his own, surprising him with a climax as he stroked in and out, her twitching, throbbing cunt squeezing his cock and bringing him to his own spurting conclusion. Mmm. Suzie might be cuter, but Kate was eminently more fuckable. He would settle for fondling Suzie’s pussy while Kate enjoyed some buzzing toys inside of her later, before returning to Kate for round two.

October, 2008. New York City.

Ms Alexander looked quite delicious in latex, Morgan thought. Getting her to dress up had been easy enough, a package delivered to the office at just the right time, a whispered word in her ear. He was happy with his choice of outfit for her, though she was probably less enthused.

Their reluctance definitely made a difference, he’d found. They all succumbed, that was never in doubt, but some turned into eager, pleasure seeking beasts, and others wriggled and struggled with that frown on their face, resisting. The real trick was managing the confusion and denial that came after. Strangers you could just leave bemused and befuddled. Whatever story they told themselves to justify it after, he didn’t really care. But people he knew, people he’d see again, after... He’d found ways to use it even outside of sexual contexts, subtle ways, that helped, but still you had to pick the right time, or else you’d make a big mess. And he had, but fortunately he’d been able to leverage the situation into a move to somewhere else.

Finding Ellersly Capital had been a gift he couldn’t have dared hope for. A high end firm in a field he understood, with a management staff mostly hand-picked by the CEO, Rachel Ellersly, who favoured striking, confident women like herself working in the company. Positioning himself for a job had been easy enough, and Ms Laura Alexander, unattached, forty-something and on the lookout for a handsome man, had given him ample opportunity to use his gift. But she was a frowner, unsatisfying and hard work. It was time to move things along a stage.

“I think you know what you want to do now...” Morgan said, watching her intently.

“I...” She was staring at the chair, and the imposing dildo mounted upon the seat. But the tingle that came with the words could not be denied. Shuffling along in the ridiculously high heels to which she wasn’t accustomed, she positioned herself, carefully. Morgan could see the conflict within her, she kept looking over at the camera, mounted on its tripod. But she knew. Even without him having to say.

Lowering herself slowly onto the dildo, slick with lube, sliding inside of her as she shuddered and gasped. Click. The shutter of the camera made her eyes open wide, looking between it and Morgan. A curt nod from him, impatient. Her eyes closed again, hands gripping the back of the chair, pressed against her sides, the short, tight dress squeaking as she moved. No underwear, just garters holding up the long, black rubber stockings. Nothing to get in the way, as she dropped fully to the seat of the chair, plunging the thick shaft deeply into her sex. Click.

“Good girl, Laura. I think you deserve to play with yourself now. Give me a show...” A flush suffused her skin as she squirmed around on the seat, eyes still closed. Morgan’s cock throbbed in his pants as he watched her bring a hand, clad in a long, latex opera glove, to between her thighs. Click. He wanted to step in closer, join in her exploration of her rubber-clad body, but he was being careful not to appear in any of the pictures, not even in any reflective surfaces in shot.

Laura’s rubber-covered fingers were slick with the proof of her arousal now, as she rubbed and circled and slid them over her puffy sex. She hadn’t opened her eyes again, perhaps losing herself in a world where she wasn’t debasing herself in front of his camera, telling herself this was all just some sort of sexy dream. Click.

Morgan’s hand squeezed his own hardness as he watched. He could be patient. Once he had enough compromising material, once she had cum for the camera, he would have his pleasure. And then he could put it to work, arranging for the next step up the ladder...

July 2010. New York City

The scream rang out through the penthouse apartment. Somewhere between pleasure and pain. Morgan smiled, a wide, satisfied smile. The culmination of years of effort, to get to this night, seeing Rachel bent over before him, being fucked in the ass. He’d been imagining it for months, crafting the plan that would end here, in her palatial home, with her utter submission. The company was his in all but name, but that was almost a side project at this point. No, it was the taking of Rachel’s anal cherry that he’d been working towards.

That it was Steven plunging his length into her was a particularly nice touch, he thought. He’d long since decided that he wouldn’t fuck her, even if he had the chance. Not because she wasn’t attractive, she absolutely was. It was the fact she was inescapably racist that gave a sour taste to the thought of using his gift to get her into bed. Steven had been her token hire of a black man, to cover the bias and bigotry she displayed in her hiring practices all the other times, and that infuriated Morgan. He knew she looked down on men, but to find out she looked even further down on men of another race stirred him to find a new plan for her.

Rachel’s hands clenched, wrists straining against the straps that bound them to the footboard of her ridiculously oversized bed, as they both stood at the end of it. Steven held her hips firmly, sliding in and out with long, slow strokes. He’d started slowly, being a gentle soul, but was now very much getting into a rhythm, and gentleness was long since forgotten. Morgan sat in the chair to the side, watching them both, holding his own cock in his hands, slowly building on his own pleasure.

Bringing Steven along on his own relentless rise through the ranks of the company wasn’t hard; the man had talent, and the female managers and executives - who Morgan manipulated relentlessly - needed very little nudging to see that. In truth, Morgan had found he needed to use his gift less and less, the higher he rose. The seedy spectre of blackmail that he’d used to propel himself past Laura Alexander was something he’d gladly put behind him now it had served its purpose.

Steven himself was as susceptible to Morgan’s suggestions as the executives he routinely toyed with, but Morgan had no taste for taking advantage of him that way. Still, amassing power was much easier with a base to work from, and Morgan had learned that rewards earned more loyalty than manipulation.

Rachel’s cries reached fever pitch as Morgan stroked, her hips bucking and her head thrown back hard. “Aaaaahh! Fuck! Fuck me damn it!” she stammered out. Morgan smiled. No frowning with this one. She might have looked down on men of a different race, but Morgan would have laid money on her having fantasised about this particular scenario well before Morgan ever had the chance to whisper in her ear.

“Yes! Agh! Yes!” Steven’s strokes were jerky and ragged now, reaching his own climax and driving her over the edge into hers. Morgan stroked, and stroked, enjoying their degradation for his benefit. Now that sex, even kinky sex, was almost effortless for him to come by, he no longer felt the need to indulge himself. Now it had to be special. This had been worth all of the effort, but even as he stroked himself to a spurting climax, his mind had already begun to stray to what would come next...

1am, October 31st, 2017. A mansion in upstate New York

Morgan snapped his fingers and waved dismissively at Julie. “Take her downstairs and prepare her for punishment.” Amanda’s face betrayed her fear, but she knew better than to bargain or plead. Julie’s own expression matched that fear, as she dragged the other slavegirl to her feet and out of the room; when the Master was in this sort of a mood, it was unlikely that she would escape unscathed.

Morgan’s mood was sour, and the minor mistake for which he would punish Amanda didn’t deserve the tawsing he was already imagining. He’d had his eye on the calendar for a long time now. His life had been comfortable for the last few years, but he’d never been able to escape the thought of his bargain a decade before. He’d retired from the finance business after using Ellersly Capital to amass a shamefully large personal fortune; though he reminded himself that the money would hardly have gone to the poor. If he hadn’t taken it, it would have just been spread around all of the executives he had leveraged to achieve his position instead. He liked to think that his business, and it was his business, even if Rachel’s name was still above the door, wouldn’t have been nearly as successful without him, but to be honest he didn’t really care.

The only thing Morgan cared for these days was the hunt. New York State was rife with rich, attractive women; some from old money, some from business. Most had husbands, but he’d long since stopped fussing about minor details like that. He could have easily used his gift to make snaring them and taking them easier, but it was now a point of pride for him to get them into his dungeon without even a sniff of manipulation. Only once they had walked into his snare of their own free will would he consider forcing his will on them, when they balked at the more depraved activities that he most enjoyed.

Having two live-in slavegirls was simply a way for him to sate himself between those hunts. Not as rewarding as taking a rich woman, but his lust for bondage and rubber had only grown since he had come into his gift. They’d had lives before they came to his service, though if you pressed him on it Morgan wouldn’t have been able to remember any details of them. They were simply chattel, not treasured in the way he valued his richer conquests, just... used, when he felt the need. When the desire burned inside of him and he wanted to gratify himself. Or when his frustrations boiled over and he wanted to take it out on someone.

Tonight, Morgan was frustrated. Afraid, but also relieved. Midnight had come and gone. The ten years had not been abruptly ended, in any of the nightmarish ways that had haunted his sleep recently. Hope had flared again that there was some other way out of his bargain. Yet somehow that didn’t make him feel any better. And as he walked down the stairs to the dungeon, a scowl on his face, he hoped that inflicting some pain on Amanda before fucking her would do something to address that.

Opening the door to his playroom, he felt his stomach drop away from him, as if he’d stepped off the edge of a cliff.

“Morgan Bailey...” She stood inside the dungeon, lit by the soft light of the main room. Morgan could see she was no different in appearance than that night, ten years before. That same damned suit, fitted perfectly to her form. Her model-pristine hair framed her sneering smile. Julie and Amanda stood behind her, confused and passive, naked as he’d expected them to be, when he still thought they were preparing for punishment. His heart felt like it was going to burst. He turned to the door, to run, to escape, but with a wave of her hand it slammed closed in front of him.

“Time’s up, Morgan. But oh, my, you have been busy.” She was wandering amongst his toys now, the furniture collection he’d poured a lot of thought and money into over the years since he purchased this big old mansion. Trailing a hand over the sawhorse, meandering towards him, past the rack, as authentic and brutal as any medieval torturer could have desired. “Oh shut up, you useless little boy.”

Morgan didn’t cease his futile pounding on the door, desperation overwhelming him with panic. She grabbed him by the hair, yanking him backwards as if he were a wayward child, strength well beyond his own, throwing him to the floor, standing over him, hands on hips. “I do appreciate a human that really goes all out with their perversions, I must say. But I can’t abide whining. Get up.”

Morgan blinked tears from his eyes, but staggered to his feet at her command. She stared at him mockingly. “Have you made the most of your time, Morgan Bailey?” He didn’t answer, paralysed with indecision. “Have you enjoyed your gift?” Her laugh was sinister and went for just a little longer than it should. “I wonder if you really understood it.” She looked over at the frozen slavegirls. “Did he ever ask you, how it felt?” Julie shook her head, Amanda said nothing. “I didn’t think so. I’ll bet it didn’t even occur to him. Because it’s all about what he wanted. Your desires never factored into it.”

Suddenly, so fast she didn’t even appear to move, she was right in front of Morgan, her ample chest pressed up against him, head tilted to look directly into his eyes. “But I think you know that you need to understand what you’ve been doing, all this time. I think you need to let me take you to that same place, of pleasure, of obedience, of pain...”

For Morgan, it was as if the world had suddenly turned treacle-thick around him. Sounds dulled, time slowed, and a hazy, cloudy aspect to the air. He would have fallen to his knees, except that her words seemed to buoy him, carry him, across the room. Then, as quickly as it had come, the sensation cleared. He blinked, as if to wipe the fuzz from his eyes, to find himself in the pillory.

This one was an upgrade to the one he’d purchased, all those years ago, not just holes for his neck and wrists, but a padded bar at waist height to force his ass out, ankles locked into holes in the solid wood near the ground. He was locked firmly in place, blinking tears from his eyes. His senses were restored, but his head still felt as if it were stuffed with cotton wool. He tried to speak, but the words tangled up in his throat, and nothing came out.

Was this how it had worked, for all of those women, those men, he’d used? Taking them away from themselves, blanking them out, taking them over? He shivered at the thought of it.

“How many people have you fucked, in these ten long years, Morgan Bailey?” Her voice was strong, ringing out through the fog in his mind. “And you never gave a shit about how it felt, for them.” She slapped his ass with a resounding blow.

Shit! Where are my clothes? Morgan was acutely aware of his nakedness now, tugging at his wrists and ankles, but he knew, somewhere behind the fog, how futile that was. How often had he whipped Julie and Amanda in this pillory, laid red welts across their asses, brought tears to their eyes? Never once had they even come close to getting free, and nor would he.

The demon was circling around him now, and he saw her tight, fitted suit was gone; replaced by a black leather corset that pushed her ample bust up into cleavage to die for. Black knee-high boots that clung to her legs, over sheer hold-up stockings. No underwear to cover her perfectly shaven sex, but waggling between her legs, a long, thick strap-on cock, purple and veined. His mixed up throat managed to emit a strangled cry, which elicited a grin from the demon.

“You should know how it felt, Morgan Bailey. Before you pay the price you promised me.” Behind him now, parting his ass cheeks. The pointed head of the strap-on forcing its way inside his virgin hole. Lube was a nicety reserved for consensual playtime. This was not play. This was a fucking. Brutal and unflinching. He screamed as it pressed inside of him, and heard her laugh.

Stroke after stroke, pain flooding him. The fog in his mind did nothing to dull the sensations. He cried, and closed his eyes, opening them to see Julie and Amanda, in front of the pillory. They simply stood and watched. He tried to beg them, plead for their help, but his voice simply did not work. In their eyes he saw no sympathy, no conflict, no urge to help him.

The demon laughed and cackled as she thrust inside of him, spanking his ass occasionally, having a whale of a time. Every whimper, every flinch, seemed to drive her on. Morgan struggled in the solid grasp of the wooden restraint, and tried to endure.

“What’s the matter, Morgan? Isn’t this as fun, on the receiving end?” With that, the demon slapped his ass, and unceremoniously yanked the rubber cock out of him, letting it dangle and hit his leg.

“Please...” he croaked, pitifully.

“Awww. Such a pathetic complaint.” She leant down by his ear and grabbed his hair, forcing him to look over at his former slavegirls. “Did he ever show you mercy, girls, if you said ‘please’?” This time both of them shook their head, glaring at him.

“Awww,” the demon crooned again, stepping over to them and gathering them in towards her in a group hug. Amanda nestled her head against the demon’s ample bosom. “I know, I know. You’re such pretty little things. You deserve much better than this little worm.” She shot an accusing glance over her shoulder at the restrained Morgan. “You both deserve such indulgent pleasures. Would you like that?” The girls both looked up at her gratefully and nodded with a smile.

Morgan wanted to scream. She’s a demon! You can’t trust her! But why would they believe him? He knew the demon was right. He’d treated them terribly, thought nothing of them, of their desires, nothing except what they could do for him. And now they stood, with her, in no way inclined to help him.

“Mmmm, I thought so. We can have such delicious fun my lovelies. Have either of you ever been strapped down and made to cum until you pass out?” Julie’s eyes widened, and Amanda shook her head excitedly. Then they looked over at Morgan, and the demon seemed to remember that he was there. “Ugh! Right. Well, I think that there’s one last service we can extract from Morgan Bailey. Other than the use of all his lovely toys, of course.” She turned back towards him, reluctantly leaving the girls behind. “I think you’d like to be of use to us, don’t you?” She reached underneath him, grabbing on his wilted, sad cock, and gave it a squeeze. “I think you want to be our toy.”

There it was again, the fog, the oppressive silence, like someone playing white noise at an overwhelming volume. He blinked, and blinked, and each time his vision blurred more. When it cleared, the first sensation he could feel was of a fullness in his pained, tortured asshole. He squirmed, his surroundings becoming apparent. Oh god, the chair, not the chair. The one on which he’d impaled Laura Alexander just for the sake of blackmail, along with countless other women since. But it had to be. His neck, held firmly in place by the collar, his wrists, pinned at either side, shackled to the seat behind him. His legs spread wide, straps at knees and ankles to force him into an exposed position. And inside of him, that thick dildo with the narrow base, a strap across his thighs to hold him firmly down onto the intruder.

She slapped him. The fire exploded through his mind, clearing some of the fog, her incredible cleavage filling his field of view. “There we go. Our toy is ready, girls.” She reached down and slapped him again, only this time his cock. Standing straight and proud up from the seat, he flinched. He could feel something tight around it, a strap, or a cock-ring, holding it firm, though the collar stopped him from looking down to see it. The tingling sensation lingered after the slap, feeling the throbbing making his cock pulse.

The demon stepped away, allowing him to see Julie and Amanda, mouths locked in a passionate kiss. Julie, always the more forward of the two, had her hand between Amanda’s legs; clearly both were feeling passionate and amorous. “Time for you to take your share, ladies.”

Julie did not need to be told twice, and stepped over Morgan, legs astride the seat, looking down at his red, tear streaked face. She dropped herself down onto him, impaling herself on his cock, wet and hot around him. He closed his eyes, the intensity of the sensation overwhelming. Her slight frame weighed little, but she braced herself against him and began to slide up and down, milking his cock. The demon stepped in close behind, wrapping her arms around Julie’s frame, cupping her breasts, toying with her nipples, and eventually working her engorged clit with eager fingers. Julie’s climax was explosive and loud, arching her back and twitching, jerking. The tight strap around Morgan’s cock kept him hard, but also robbed him of much of the pleasure he might otherwise have taken. Every movement made him feel the dildo on which he was impaled, and her shuddering climax left him gasping, breathless and frustrated.

Amanda’s turn to ride him did little to change that, and she too brought herself to a noisy, gasping climax, aided by the demon’s dextrous fingers. Morgan was moaning and sobbing, when Amanda slid slowly off him, to make way for the demon. He forced himself to open his eyes, but she had turned her back to him, hands on his thighs, lowering herself onto him. The tightness around his tormented cock made him whimper, which only made her giggle. As she inched downwards, he realised it was her asshole into which he was thrusting, made slippery by the combined juices of the women he used to consider his property. A long, low moan from the demon betrayed the pleasure she was taking from him, eventually resting on his thighs, his engorged cock fully inside of her.

She waited a moment before lifting herself up again, a short, simple motion, up and down, up and down, using her strength to milk his cock with her tight hole. Faster and faster, until his cock felt like it was on fire, and ready to burst. Then she dug her fingernails into his thighs, sharply, and he cried out. The noise seemed to drive her over the edge into her own orgasm, and the twitching, pulsing contractions of her ass finally forced his cock into spurting. Every throb was torture, and yet somehow relief. The slickness made it somewhat more bearable as she slowly stood, sliding off him, until with an obscene little ‘plop’, her body squeezed him out.

She reached up and used Julie and Amanda’s shoulders to lift herself fully off of him, spent and smiling. “Well... Mmmm... Perhaps he’s good for one thing at least.” She gathered the girls in her arms, herding them towards the doorway that led back upstairs. “I don’t know about you ladies, but I think we should go find a big comfortable bed, and it’s time for some ‘cuddling’ while I recover. Well, at first anyway.”

From Morgan’s mouth came a sad, wheezing sigh. The demon turned to observe him there, spunk dripping down his still twitching cock, limbs limp in his bonds. The light, friendly face she had for the girls fell away to be replaced by a derisive sneer. “Oh I’ve not forgotten you Morgan. But your time is up, and payment is due.” She turned, arms around the waists of the two girls, and the door slammed closed behind her by an unseen force.

Morgan sat, slumped in the chair, fear mixed with lust and adrenaline in his veins. From his right, began a loud, guttural snarling, but no matter how he twisted and turned his head in the firm grip of the collar, he could see no beast in the room with him that could have made the sound. As he squirmed and fought his bounds, it grew closer, and closer, until the unseen hound could be nowhere else than right in front of him.

Julie and Amanda had their arms tightly around the demon, whose soft, ample form felt strong in their grasp. The three of them ascended the staircase, the demon’s smile infectious. The former slave-girls felt good for the first time in as long as they could remember, and when the sounds of screaming began, from behind the closed door at the bottom of the stairs, they simply kept on walking. After all, it was time for cuddling.


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