Demon's Embrace [Excerpt 2]

I pick back up on the succubus juice trail and follow it, resisting the urge to dip my fingers in it and smell it, taste it. Not sure why now, of all times, I have this urge, but I do and it’s powerful bad. Something to do with not being under Ben’s watchful eye, perhaps? Ben and I had followed a set of very strict rules when it came to demon hunting. One of the reasons Ben survived in the field as long as he did is because he followed them religiously. In fact, they’re his rules, he created them.

Rule 1: Never listen to anything a demon says.

Rule 2: Never accept any gifts from a demon.

Rule 3: Never have carnal knowledge of a demon.

But Ben isn’t around anymore, is he? I imagine he would react in horror if he saw me stretching out my hand to the fluids glistening on the floor. Would this count as carnal knowledge? Or accepting a gift?

I smear my fingertips through the fluids, leaving a trail in them, which slowly closes behind.

It’s warm.

As I raise my fingertips to my face, a couple strings trail down, like freshly-spun spider silk. My hand gets closer to my face. My fingers are inches away from my nose. I see the clear, viscous coating marbled with ribbons of milk throughout.  Slowly I breathe in through my nose to take in its scent, and I’m hit with a wave of lust as I smell the sex coiled up within its musk. The scent is so powerful I can taste it in the back of my mouth. I swallow reflexively and before I realize what I’m doing, my mouth is opening, my tongue is out as far as I can extend it in order to make as much contact with my fingers as I can. What am I doing? But I know what I’m doing. I’m doing something I’ve always wanted to do and never did because Ben would've said “No.” You can’t help but love your brother, but Ben, you were a real asshole, so fuck you.

Now I do what I want.

I stroke my tongue over my two fingers as if they were a cock. I feel the warm syrup coating my tongue. Close my lips around the base of my fingers and slowly withdraw them from my mouth. A thin string of it drips from my lips and hangs off my chin. I insert them again. It tastes like every sex I’ve ever had. It tastes like smoke and fire and regret and blood. With my fingers still hooked into my mouth, I swallow audibly, loudly in the silent hallway, feeling the back of my mouth contract around the tips of my fingers. I’m swiping my fingers through the viscous syrup again and this time I tilt my head back and shake my red hair out of my face. I hold my hand up over my open mouth, and let it drizzle like honey onto the middle of my tongue, where it pools for a second before sliding down my throat.

I’m slurping demon cum off the fucking floor. What the fuck is wrong with me? I don’t know and I don’t care. I’m under no compulsion that isn’t made of my own desire. It’s not just succubus pussy juice and precum I’m tasting.

It’s a strange new kind of freedom I never had before.


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