7 comments/ 22892 views/ 42 favorites Red and Redhead Ch. 01 By: sandgoseek A ring of candles burned steadily, footlong waxen staves speared atop brass bases. Each had been lit in order and placed carefully on precisely measured points on the bare, pale floor. Below them, marked in black paint, a very neatly created, permanent pentagram, marked all about with runes of entrapment and protection, ornamented with extra design and flair without interfering with the summoning circle's functionality. Three lines burst from one side of the pentagram and spiraled around each other, fusing into a smaller halo a few feet away, even more heavily marked and guarded by runes. Ok I'll admit, I was impressed. I've been around for a very long time. I'd tell you in years, but honestly I've lost count. In the Mist, time isn't really a thing, so that makes it a little hard for me to pin down a certain age. I just act like every day is my birthday, and that works well enough for me. See here's the thing: we get called up every so often, some of us more because we're the better ones (this is me) and some of us less because we're shit (not me, I'm the best). I get called up very regularly; my name is in a LOT of books and guides around, so I guess people are cool with pulling my name from a text and throwing it on their floor. But I've been called up so many times I thought I had seen it all: magicians in flowing robes and gilded finery calling me up to impress women who clearly were neither interested nor entertained; shaman entrapping me in stones and branches to harness my power for their actually pretty decent social work; kids just new to the whole summoning deal who drew out runes and pentagrams in chalk on sidewalks past midnight when their moms thought they were just having an innocent little sleepover. I like those last ones. They taste good. So my surprise here was particularly in that there was no show, no grandeur, no shock and awe. I felt my name being called and sighed, letting the summons drag me out of my nice Misty napping, and slowly materialized in a stark white, almost soulless room. Particularly surprising was the woman–if one could call her that–sitting cheekily cross-legged in her witch's circle. She didn't look the part of a witch; long fiery hair pulled back in a braid flopped over her shoulder, slouching a bit, in fuzzy socks, leggings, and a sports bra. Frankly, I was shocked. So what to show myself as? Maybe she wasn't the witch but the assistant? Just stumbled on her trainer's books and stumbled across a page that looked interesting and accidentally called me up? No, actually. Her hands, stained black from the heavy paint that now ensnared me. I decided to arrive as a spider. Not a little one, nor even a tarantula, but the kind of spider you have nightmares about. Hard, beige shell and massive eyes, fangs dripping in poison, barely contained in my pentagram, bulging and pulsing disgustingly, abdomen swollen. I even threw in a fake body ender me for good measure. Add a touch of rotting flesh scent and a few crunching bones and squishing flesh and you're good. I cheated a little and took that dolphin clicking noise and fucked with it to make my spider seem even more menacing, clicking away as I feasted on my fake meal. Boom! I arrived, costume and all. If I was lucky, the little witch would be so shocked she'd tumble back out of her circle and I'd be free to return to the Mist or stay as long as I'd wish. But she just sat there, plopping her head in a hand and flipping through her book. I focused my many eyes and saw headphones plugged tight into her ears. I frowned as much as a spider can and shook about a bit, hoping for some reaction. I slammed the body against the floor and tore it apart, letting intestines and all manner of slimy internal organs fall to the floor and pop. If she could see or hear or smell any of this, she made no indication. Another surprising thing about this young witch, then. Most summonings, the sorcerer in question would immediately be very moody and demanding. Go here, fetch this gold amulet, kill my rival, jump out of this plane and destroy this town. I swear, as if we're nothing but servants. It's tiresome. But this one sat still and quiet, so I halfheartedly melted the body into fog and sat there dejectedly, my hard shell sinking to the white floor. I quickly fashioned thick eyebrows onto my spider's face so I could frown at her in case she looked up. Finally, she spoke, her voice not timid or overly pompous, but familiar, almost mocking, really, now that I think about it. "If you're entirely done with that nonsense, I don't really care for it. I read the book you know, and I know all about your forms. The Hunting Desert Spider, whose body you so carefully shaped and used to protect Ancient Egypt. And here it says something about the Man, your casual form. And in another book there's this mention of the River Wraith, that one was pretty cool, I liked that. Hanging out in a river and sweeping those away who sought to do your Master harm. Very inventive, he must've been." She looked up, smiling smugly, bouncing on the floor with ill concealed glee. "But you look so silly like that! Frowning at me and so much smaller than the hundred-foot beast you once were, oh my god–" and interrupted herself in what could be described as nothing else but a giggle. A giggle. This...girl, was giggling at me. Me! My arachnid body vanished and reformed as a towering demon, replete with horns and hellfire, the screams of the damned erupting around me as I boomed out in a voice so deep it would rattle windows for a mile round. "Excuse me, little girl, but while you describe me as a demon of wide regard, of great and mighty power, you mock me with your laughter. Perhaps you forget with whom you speak! I am Cael the Destroyer! I have seen far into the future and past, grappled with forces far beyond your tiny planet, watched and aided in the destruction of your Sun, clasped hands with the powerful and delighted equally in shredding their fragile forms! I have razed and built cities alone, killed thousands of men, women, and children! I am the Atomic and the Original Sin, one of the first demons to have set foor on this planet and one of the most storied among those from the Mist, and you dare to mock me who could enter your mind and leave it a ruin, touch your pale, fragile flesh and make for myself a thousand lovely ribbons? How lovely you would look in pieces on this floor, and yet you dare to mock me?" I kept the screams of the damned thing going because it was a neat trick and I always had fun with it. It worked better in the old days, but there was still some shock value to it. My voice was still echoing around the room. A glass of water sitting in a far corner had simply shattered, spraying its contents and vessel everywhere. I turned to look down on the redheaded witch, now twenty feet below me. In my defense, I could see she had at least turned red and her hands were shaking a bit. But even if her body was shaken her resolve was not. She stood. And laughed, I swear to Azrael, this girl. "You know what's funny?" She stopped. Seriously, she actually wanted me to answer that. "Nothing is jest, little girl, but the limits of your–" And she fucking cut me off. "No no no, that won't do listen, what's funny," she continued, still laughing, "is that when I drew these runes out and everything I wrote in a few little jokes, like this one here." She pointed down at the circle around her, indicating a block of scrawling text that, honestly, I had never seen before. "This one changes your voice to my grandmother's. It's so silly, I can't take you seriously like that. I can turn it on and off with a quick enchantment but until you settle down I'll have to leave it on. It's so much fun though, I might just keep it." I was stunned into silence. Ok. So. "So all of that whole speech you heard your grandmothers voice." "Yep!" She chirped, grinning widely. "I've been refining that speech longer than you've been alive." "Oh I'm sure you have, I'm sorry it went to waste. Wanna come down here so we can talk a bit?" There was really nothing I could say. I sighed and the screams of the damned cut off abruptly, like pulling the plug on a record player. I picked out a fairly generic form, that of one of my previous slavers, an aging potbellied man in his late forties. Nice enough guy, just wanted me to pick up some groceries from the store. No kidding, that's literally all he wanted, and then he sent me back to the Mist. Best Master, all years. I stood upright as best I could and squinted through my large rimmed glasses at the girl, now standing as well. She giggled again at my appearance while I quickly got a good look at her. She was indeed very young, certainly not nearly old enough to be out of her apprenticeship, which according to code should be around the age of 25. I ventured to guess that she was still under 20, physically strong and fit and particularly well-endowed. Reader bear with me; at this point you may be wondering what import this has to a demon, whose form can melt and alter at will. Even still, I am by nature a male demon. No matter our natural forms, of which mine is probably one of the least offensive, demons do fall along the whole gender scale thing. We're way ahead of humans on the gender and equality thing, just so you know. We've had millennia to mull that one over collectively and individually. Anyway, she was a very attractive young woman. Her bust strained against her neon sports bra and her black leggings clung tightly to her firm and shapely ass. Her skin was almost impossibly pale, freckles dotting her cheeks and shoulders. Her lips were full even in a smile, soft, inviting. If I had been able tom I would've walked slowly around her, looking her up and down and figuring out where to start. As she stood, she bounced slightly, and I both feared and hoped that her ensemble would fall apart in some sense. Ok, I was leering, sure, but fine women are like fine wine; leave them out too long without being tasted and they'll be spoiled. Plus, in my aged appearance, the leering would make her uneasy, which I could use to my advantage to escape. Before I could even begin to think it, she started reciting a flowing, lilting spell and I felt my essence burn and twist under my human vessel. Fuck, she knows how to make me hurt. I convulsed and dropped the old man's guise, opting instead for a kitten, something I hoped she would be less interested in injuring. She stopped the incantation and looked at me. "Awwww look at you! That's adorable, wow!" I rolled over and mewed. Undignified, yeah, go fuck yourself. It's called manipulation. Sadly, she didn't go for it. "So I'm in University right now," she began, bending slightly at the waste to lock eyes with me in my glorious kitten state. As she did, her bra stretched slightly and sagged downward. Kittens can't bite their lips, but I couldn't help a tiny wink. She rolled her eyes and continued: "I'm studying demons and their histories, and decided I was going use you as a resource, both about your own life and the relations you have with the demons around you. You seemed interesting, I'll admit. Once the Great Destroyer, in your earlier life tagging along with the bomb in Japan and taking the form of a serpent in the Garden of Eden, a spark that would grow to consume swaths of forest and the personal assistant to Vlad the Impaler. I know a good deal about you, but I want to get the personal angle. The part where you fit in, I suppose, because later on you'd develop a conscious of sorts and only let yourself be used for better causes, you'd start finding loopholes in orders and winding your Masters' words to serve your own purpose. That's cool, that's really cool, but I'm going to find out why. And it'll be a kick ass term paper." Nope. Nope nope nope. Fuck this. I stood tall (or taller, I should say, kittens are adorably but uselessly small) and took my familiar form, stretching and growing into the six foot demon most comforting to me on Earth, dark red skin set deep with glowing white swirls and sweeping lines, white eyes against skin evenly slathered in strong smelling ancient oil. Coals glowed red underfoot, but gently. A long, black sword swung heavily from my worn leather breeches; below them thick legs and four-toed feet. I'm fairly vain and have served far too long on Earth, so of course my familiar form draws from their standards of masculinity. Rippling, muscled arms are conjoined onto the slab of meat comprising my chest and the rounded curves of my shoulders, aided by glowing stripes of white, traced lines for the eye to follow across my protruding collarbone and down my toned chest and hard abs. Every inch of my body is hairless and smooth, and my skin is always tightly stretched over my admittedly impressive musculature. Long short, I'm manly and intimidating in my familiar form. The little witch blushed scarlet and pursed her lips, shuffling slightly in her circle, careful not to move. I laughed quietly before starting: "Now listen here, little one. This sounds like a cushy job, but I honestly doubt this is the beginning and end of my duties. In addition, I hate to be enslaved for such a petty purpose. In the Mist, there is no time. Today you have called me here, and when you release me I will lounge in the Mist, only to be called back to Ancient Greece, and the day after to the Human Diaspora as you flee Earth. I have seen these things, and time spans a greater course than your tiny life. And yet here I stand, spending my days in servitude to one who is barely old enough to breed, much less summon me, and help you write a research paper? Is this a joke?" She shrugged, an action I found admittedly distracting given her generous cleavage. "Nope it's not, sorry that's just how it is. And you're right, I will make you do other things." She snapped her fingers and I found myself in a completely different room. I looked down; no pentagram. I grinned, about to disappear or snatch her up to kill her, only to stumble slightly. The wallpaper in the room–I shit you not–was all in rune. I looked around and found myself in a bedroom of sorts, if you could call it that with all the crap piled up everywhere. I swear, this girl was a mess. From under the shut door I heard her mocking voice call out: "And you can't leave your room until everything is up off the floor, young man!" She giggled and padded down the hallway, leaving me standing, resplendent in my power, Cael the Destroyer, leveler of cities of murderer of thousands, knee deep in dirty laundry. I had become personal maid to a barely legal witch. I shut my eyes tight and gritted my teeth before bending over to grab hold of a discarded bra. I conjured a laundry hamper and threw it in. Oh how the might have fallen, I repeated to myself with each different chore. Oh how the mighty have fallen. So here we were a month into this endeavor. She'd call me up when she came home from classes and I'd appear with a pack of cigarettes and an old leather chair I brought with me from the Mist, one of my favorites. She despised the smoke, but I pointed out to her that it couldn't compare to how greatly I despised my enslavement, and she rolled her eyes, muttering something about cancer. I'd sit back and answer questions at length, telling rousing tales of battles gone by and triumphs against rivals, victories and losses, betrayal and deceit. I've had a pretty interesting life, I have to say, too interesting for you to here right this minute. This is one story, you get to hear the other ones later. After we'd retire from my tales, I would lay about and listen to her life and woes. In bits and pieces, I learned about her life. She revealed her name, Sarah, withholding her last name coyly in spite of my many attempts to trick it out of her. She ran often and was a theatre actress for fun, she had some strong problems with her family, which I won't talk about because that's about her not you, she talked of crushes at school and loves and lusts, ranting to me about whatever suited her. Which was fine for me, I didn't mind. If she sent me on an errand later outside her living space and made an error in the terms of her orders, it was all information I could use against her. Don't get me wrong, Sarah was a lovely young woman. But keep in mind, I was also enslaved under her. You'd think after collected millennia of enslavement I'd be used to it, but no. Each new slaver was a coal in my throat just begging to be dislodged and extinguished underfoot. The time passed in this way, monotonous and slow, as I would clean her home and she would grill me at night for more tales, then rant to me briefly about her mortal existence after. It was a comfortable cycle. And I never object to telling stories about myself. "And there we were! The three of us! Trapped under the rubble of the great castle, pinned down by fallen stone while arrows clanged around us, bouncing off the rocks to clatter harmlessly to rest beside our struggling hands! I, the strongest, of course, gripped the great boulder behind my and lifted it with hardly a strain. Our Master had told us to stay inconspicuous, clearly human, but I decided now was as good a time as any to subvert his cowardly directive! I threw the boulder and it rolled, bouncing and shaking the earth as it rumbled towards the left flank, crushing both the vanguard of siege weapons and scattering their cavalry! I took the opportunity to free my comrades and we took to the skies as dragons and massive hawks, harbingers of death, scattering the bodies of the dead and soon-to-die into the air, cackling as their limp forms crashed into one another, like so many human bowling pins! And when we–" Sarah held up a hand, ink stained from furious note taking. She recorded our sessions, but preferred to first copy by hand, then would later check against her tapes. She sat still for a moment, then yawned deeply. "Cael I think I'm going to bed. I'm exhausted and it's been a long day, so we're cutting it short tonight. I'll see you tomorrow." She snapped her fingers and my body was shredded and reassembled in a little rune-carved cage that she had hung in the ceiling. In this manner I could always be on call, without the exhausting and time-consuming summoning process. As of late she had gotten paranoid about someone taking her ideas as well, and didn't want her rivals to have access to the wondrous wealth of knowledge and lore that is wonderful wonderful me. So I got slapped in a birdcage every night. But that night, I watched a miracle. As she stepped from her pentagram, stretching and shuffling off to bed, a misplaced step smudged a rune. I traced it around, figuring out what it could be for. Sound, no, hardly, presence, certainly not, the wards around my cage alone made my essence crawl. So what then. I sighed and suddenly–there. A gentle breeze meandered around the windowless room. I probed a little and found I could observe anything in the room, even while my physical form was limited. In my mind's eye, I approached the door, but my vision grew dim and slowly lost color. She had protected the walls and door, but now at least my mind could stretch some. I watched an ant crawl in under the door and let my mind focus in on its mind. A soft drone and rhythmic clicking, but little else was apparent. As it walked farther from the door, however, I could hear a complicated song of sorts bouncing around in the tiny creature. I withdrew from the ant and let my mind rest in my body. She had smudged the rune to limit my perception. I grinned and relaxed in my cage, as much as one can against copper wire. She would learn to regret this. In the morning, I woke to my flesh sloughing off my skeleton. I often find it wearisome and difficult to retain my Earth forms while I rest, and so end up subjecting those around me to what I've heard to be a rather disconcerting sight: my body slowly melting away over night and breaking apart, not decomposing or tearing so much as liquifying. I, in fact, enjoyed the effect it had on my rivals so much that I refused to learn the necessary technique to retain my form. On bad days, I start letting it go when I'm awake. There are few things more entertaining than the cries of horror from the attendees of a bazaar as a misshapen, dissolving human form shambles between the stalls, bones protruding from buckling skin and teeth falling out with each step. Red and Redhead Ch. 01 I shook myself and my body reformed over me slowly, as if my skin had to wake up too. No sooner than I had regained my form than Sarah, our busty little witch, sauntered into the room. Time doesn't exist in that room, so it could have been noon or night. Either way, she wasn't dressed in her typical attire, but instead more done-up; carefully applied makeup, her long hair teased and styled, clicking her way to the pentagram in medium heels and a black dress that struggled to preserve her modesty. Business-like today, she snapped her fingers and didn't even look up as I appeared in familiar form across her. The nerve of some people. "Good morning to you too," I rumbled. "Oh shush, don't get sassy with me," she threw back, searching for something in her book. She hadn't noticed the smudged rune from last night, too engrossed in her witchcraft textbook. Normally I would've been annoyed, or cross, or terse, or any other synonym for being vaguely pissed off but still having to accept it. Today, however, I had regained a sliver of my power, however infinitesimally small. I could use it to guide my way to freedom. I allowed myself a crooked smile, illicit and mischievous. It was time to play. She always carried with her not only her textbook, which she carried into the pentagram before calling me down, but also a number of other notebooks that she left on a side table far from the precisely painted summoning floor. One notebook she used for our talks, but the others? A mystery, at least to me. One in particular was precariously perched atop the others; it would take very little to tip it. I glanced down at Sarah. She was talking to herself, flipping back and forth through yellowing pages to find some obscure line, I'm sure. God knows for what, and frankly I didn't much care at the moment. I refocused my attention on the top book. I pursed my lips as one might to whistle and blew gently. The book didn't move. My brows furrowed gently and I breathed in deeper, and blew again, harder this time. The light cover lifted up, carrying the next few pages with it, but fell closed again. One more time. Breathe. And blow hard. The book toppled over, laying open to the room. I looked down at the redheaded witch, who only glanced over and sighed, blaming the fault on herself. Were her runes intact, she would have nothing to worry about. My mind would be locked in the pentagram, not free to roam in wandering perception outside my body. And yet, today, not so. I stretched my mind and sent a piece drifting over to the now-open book, while instructing my body to blow gently. The pages slowly turned until I was at the front. A few sketches adorned the empty front page, but otherwise little else. I kept an eye on Sarah as I perused her sketchbook at my leisure. Her drawings were good, actually. The first few pages not particularly insightful, but there were birds and flowers and those sorts of things, in rough pencil and occasionally pen, just small studies of life outside. I was impressed, although not intrigued. Not until later pages, I should say. Slowly she transitioned into rough human forms, circles and lines and the like, clearly still learning the art. But with each page, the bodies became more refined, more human, slowly picking up character and expression and detail. I kept flipping as my body watched her scribbling a few notes into a journal. Skimming through her notebook with my directed breath and detached mind, perceiving from a distance, something caught my attention. I stopped breathing and directed the air to the other side of the book, flipping backwards. And there I found a tall, reddish form, sporting roughly hewn lines of white down his chest. No face, little detail, simply a test. I paused at that before flipping forward again. Interspersed with her other drawings were slowly improving sketches of my familiar form. At first they were just standing or sitting, apparently having converted model poses into my image rather than opt for a more original approach, she sketched me nonetheless. And there, more complexity. Gesturing, posture. Posing with a cigarette, lighting one. A few of my emotional states: annoyed, angry, thoughtful, joking. Then a couple pages were torn out, but after them, a completed product, a very finished portrait of yours truly, in all my muscular splendor. I pulled my split conscience back into my mind and became whole once more. I was duly impressed, both in my investigative abilities and in her art skill. She hadn't told me about that. Maybe she was too shy. I cocked my head at her questioningly, and she looked up. "Ok you ready? This one is gonna hurt a bit." A bit, my fucking ass. Turns out she decided to send me shooting over to her University to deliver an early draft of her paper so far, but, having long before heard of my tendency to exploit poorly worded orders, fashioned a pipeline of sorts to shoot me there and drag me back once her advisor had finished his commentary. If you want to imagine it, you know those Chinese finger traps? Imagine that, but on your entire body, and lined with razors. When I returned I didn't speak to her, only sat awaiting my dismissal. I had had it with her. I had been in constant servitude for three months, and never let outside or to roam with any semblance of freedom. I was kept indoors under careful lock and key. I decided to get her back for this. She'd learn. Sarah came into the room another day, dropping her books on the table. She waved away my respectful greeting and told me to get my chair, herself dragging a stool into her circle before sitting down, waiting for me to join her across the way. A strange partnership we had, in a way, that we shared so freely about ourselves and yet were always physically distant. I mused on this passively while she began to detail her grievances against some guy in some class she was taking, maybe literature, I don't recall. I let my mind wander onto her sketchbook and carefully flipped it open with some maneuvered breathing, skipping through the pages I had already seen while Sarah gestured wildly and stomped her feet emphatically. So cute, that little one. Shame she'd have to go. The whisper and rasp of pages on pages was covered by the witch's voice. And there we were, where I had last stopped: the portrait. It was still good, I was pleased with her portrayal of me. Then I flipped farther. Still more detail, more detail.... And slowly the mood of the sketches changed. From light-hearted caricature to moody detail. Features more pronounced, darker setting. I went from a joking interviewee to a witching hour alleyway lurker. Another page turn, and she was in the picture too, the two of us standing under a parking lot lamppost. More pages, and more. With each page, I grew taller and more intimidating, filling half of the page, and she grew more diminutive somehow without shrinking. My breeches became torn and tight in her renderings, and her clothes gathered mud and grunge. Sarah's self-portrait was buckling with curves, just as she was, her tits pressed together tightly and her hips swaying alluringly even in a drawing. Just the same, I slowly lost clothing, first to human boxers, then shielded by nature. Sarah drew self portraits showing her on her knees, breasts pushed outward, tongue out, face begging. Pictures of me from a low angle. A three panel drawing of her in her room, me walking in, and pinning her to the wall. Semi-nudes of herself. A self-portrait with a dark red hand wrapped around her throat. Had she said something to me? I snapped back to her conversation, but she was just taking a breath before launching back into her talk. I returned my attention to the book. I turned one final page. There I was, once more rendered in excellent detail, muscles rippling and color filling the page, the glow of my markings more pronounced, leading down and down to the most arresting detail of the drawing. She had drawn me completely nude. Unapologetically so. Nothing was hidden. Below my abs and hanging between strong thighs was a thick, long, veiny cock. On a passing guess, comparing it to my legs, she guessed that my cock was nearly a foot long, and as thick as my wrist. She had spent time on it, pencils in hand, pale skin flushed as she worked to detail every little vein and shadow, rendering my body completely, but clearly for one sole purpose. The pages flipped and that purpose became clear. There she was, in every drawing now, face contorted, gasping, moaning, her pale body contrasted against my demonic one as, in her fantasies, I filled her completely, fucking her to the point of no return, her soft curves bouncing and slapping against my hard lines as she rocked back and forth on my cock, or struggled to suck it down her throat, or as I stuffed her ass, as she showed very explicitly in one delightful multi-panel comic. I ran through every drawing and then slowly closed the book just as she was finishing up her rant. I offered advice based on what little I had heard and she seemed placated by even that, locking me up before heading to bed. I watched the stark white room, thinking and thinking of what to do next, and how much fun it would be. Red and Redhead Ch. 02 Author's Note: If you read the first and second part together, you may notice that I start Ch. 01 in a more modern era, but manage to land Ch. 02 smack in the early 1800's. I plan to work this out later, but until then just roll with it, and sorry about the massive inconsistency. Everything else is coo. ***** I ran through every drawing and then slowly closed the book just as she was finishing up her rant. I offered advice based on what little I had heard and she seemed placated by even that, locking me up before heading to bed. I watched the stark white room, thinking and thinking of what to do next, and how much fun it would be. I was certainly in an unusual predicament, reader, I will say that much. While I have had human lovers, never had I stepped across one so calm in my presence and yet so depraved removed from me. I sat in my cage that evening and thought idly on the issue. She was very attractive, I will say that, and in no way would I find fault with fulfilling her sketchbook desires. But in her time, cross-species intercourse was illegal. In far earlier years it was more accepted; I love the Greeks and Romans to death, but they were a bit off on their whole "hero origin" deal. Heroes weren't the kids of gods and mortals, but demons and mortals instead. Small difference, I know, but we're all quite self-centered in the Mist and like to brag about lives and offspring and the like. I, for example, am the proud father of Heracles, Asclepius, Pollux, and Perseus. And some other more modern ones that I'm less proud of but fuck them. They don't have the class old-world heroes do, modern heroism is so convoluted. Modern heroes have the strength and conviction of ancient ones but they always use their strength so poorly. Alright sorry I got off topic, where was I? Ok she was totally fuckable but demon-human sex in her time was illegal. Bad enough that not only would it suspend her training indefinitely, but she would be stripped of her title and citizenship, and exiled from England. It was some real shit back then; the world had had enough of so-called heroes. Naturally, I didn't care about legality. I would be off the hook, there are no punishments for demons because all we can do is follow orders and deal with the consequences. Human courts understand he have neither choice nor interest in Earth life, so they cut us some slack re: prosecution. Even if we manage to get free from our captors and wreak havoc on the surrounding area, we get a pass, and our ex-slaver must assume all responsibility. So if you've treated your demon incredibly poorly, she might do something wild like assassinate the president and have you framed for it (see: 22 Nov. 1963, Dealey Plaza, Dallas, Texas). Long story short, my deal here is that I show up, follow orders, and leave as soon as possible. The stories and intrigue come somewhere in the middle, in the "follow orders" section, often because if you give a human a powerful demon, they go a tad bit crazy with it. For an apt comparison, read up on Americans and the 2nd Amendment circa 21st century Earth. It'd be like if you gave those people nuclear weapons and said "please don't do anything wrong." Yeah, I hear you. I'm sure it'd go spectacularly too. My time with this odd redheaded, too-young-to-be-practicing-summoning-alone witch named Sarah would quickly rise to the top of my "stories to tell" list, along with taking Berlin alongside the Russians and resisting the U.S. Army shoulder to shoulder with the natives. Why would she place so highly? The best stories, as I have said, come from a dash of crazy mixed into an overdose of power. And Sarah drank that addicting cocktail like she was stranded in a desert. A week after my discovery of her notebook, I was crouched down in my cage, hanging from the ceiling. A rat had crawled in underneath the door and sat patiently in the pentagram where Sarah typically stood, up on two scrabbly rat feet, tiny nose sniffing the air and beady eyes staring straight at me. Testing my power, I slid a piece of my consciousness into the smudged pentagram and grabbed the rat by its limbs. It was difficult; I couldn't force my entire mind onto the fuzzy little thing, but I grappled with it for a minute and it squeaked in sad admission. Boredom breeds humor, and so I waltzed it about the pentagram, making it tap dance and carefully dance ballet en pointe, then into more wild aerial dancing that wouldn't be developed until the 22nd century. If you're reading this before then, it's incredible. The integration of machinery and the human body will change your life, trust me. You get some rad dancing out of it. Mid-leap, the door burst open. I dropped the rat in a slight panic and it lay in the middle of the pentagram, tired and confused and ultimately unready to approach regular life after borderline possession. Poor guy. I glanced over at the doorway instead, and there she was, the fiery little witch, shoulders set and clearly angry. I ground my teeth a bit. Maybe she saw my stupid dancing rat, I don't know. Wouldn't she find that funny? She stomped over to her pentagram and turned to me, fuming. Humans are a strange lot. In Sarah's time, cockfighting was one of the more popular street attractions (although to be fair, it was officially banned two years after this story's timeline). Later, people would hold cats in front of cameras and make them do more or less what I did to the rat; force them into stupid dances they clearly did not want to practice against their will. More than any other pet, I pitied cats. Demons and cats are very similar. We want our independence at all times, and seethe when it is robbed of us. When we want to go unnoticed, demons parade about often as cats. We like them and they like us. But anyway. Luckily, Sarah had not seen my tiny one-rat circus. She snapped her fingers and I appeared quickly in my circle, stretching out to fill my familiar form. I opened my mouth, but she cut me off before I could even make a sound. "I don't want your sass or whatever, Cael, something big happened and we're gonna go make it right." Oh God. Revenge. Where every witch and warlock makes their steps toward either violent rise to power, or sudden destruction and exile. Either way, this would be neither quick nor easy for me as her captive demon. Before I could break in, she tumbled forward into her narrative. It turned out that one of the other witches in her college (admittedly one of the very few; in those years summoning colleges seemed to willingly erase and ignore thousands of years and uncountable generations of history that clearly showed a relatively equal balance of male warlocks and female witches. Go figure, you lot are fucked up) had stolen into her notebook and copied a good number of pages from it while she slept in the massive campus library. Sarah only came to know this when she paid an unplanned visit to her mentor. She waited outside his office and overheard the girl-whose name (Elizabeth) she spat out with such venomous intent that I half expected her to suddenly shed her skin and become half-serpent half-girl-talking about the exploits of my glorious and storied life, particular exploits that I had revealed to Sarah alone. Tales of the distant future and ancient past, of me doing some pretty kickass shit, to be humble. I finally broke in. "Did she say my name though? Like did she give me credit?" Sarah glared at me coldly, unamused. "Of course she said your name and gave you credit, she's stealing my entire thesis and topic. She copied down all my notes." "Doesn't make much difference to me," I shrugged nonchalantly. "It's your paper, not mine, and you can't reasonably punish me for this...indiscretion, because I didn't do it. This one's on you, little lady." I popped my armchair out of thin air beside you and fell backwards into it, the tiniest of smirks tilting the right side of my mouth. It was true, she wouldn't have any reasonable punishment. But she could punish me unreasonably as much as she chose. This was long before the Ethical Treatment of Interdimensional Travelers and Workers Act was passed. What a riot that was, suddenly we had rights and privileges and could report to a local agency. It was like a Demons Union. Solidarity forever, comrades. What I was doing, then, was testing her. She could punish me if she so chose. All it would take were a few harsh words and I'd be writhing in unimaginable pain. Unable to die, certainly, but not averse to the concept. Her lips parted as if to speak, then closed. She pouted at me. "Oh shush, I know. Let me be angry at her." "I wasn't stopping you, I enjoy the passion. Are you like this on stage?" "Oh be quiet, I need a minute to think and you're not helping me." Well...fuck it why not. I decided to give her another different test. I stood from my armchair and subtly increased the definition of my muscles, stretching myself an inch, and conjuring up a puff of strong male pheromones. "Am I not helping you, Sarah? Am I distracting you?" She stood stock still, lips parted, pupils dilating and pale skin turning a pinkish hue. I grinned across the room at her lewdly, tilting my head to the side and pulling up a doorframe around me to lean against. I watched as her body shifted, her shoulders pulling back and stretching her shirt across her generous bust, her hips shifting to attract a partner. She licked her lips and then caught herself, shaking her head briefly and frowning at me. The entire exchange only took a few seconds, but it gave me all I needed to know. Sarah pointed an accusing finger at me and started to speak again, but decided against whatever thoughts had been brewing in her mind. "Ok so back to the issue at hand...what I-excuse me what we are going to do is get her stripped of her magic license and title and exiled." I stood there, trying to come up with a response, but Sarah grinned at me, now in the position of control I had won for a tiny span just a few seconds before. "Yes, that's right Cael. You're going to fuck a witch." Yeah I hear you. But Cael! you're yelling at me in-what I imagine-some British fishwife's shrill and murderous voice. You've done such wilder things than fuck a witch! You've fought General Custer and fathered the Kennedy brothers! Yes I know, reader who is annoying and whose throat ought to be slit. And don't remind me about the latter part, I'm still bitter. What makes Sarah's story interesting is both how it ends and how incredibly personal a part I would play in her actions. It was like being in a play or a television show, incredibly dramatic. Lots of fun. Her plan was as follows: I would accompany her to classes and events and the like, masquerading as a suitor and warlock from another college on leave for the term. While I would be relatively free-especially compared to my imprisonment in a hundred square foot room and a birdcage-I would still be tethered to her, and could not speak but at her allowance. She was taking a huge risk by taking me out of the house. If I started speaking ill of her or revealing anything she wanted kept secret, she would have to punish me to stop me talking and thus be revealed, or let me spout on and risk embarrassment or sudden antagonism from those she called her friends and yet loudly complained of to me in the privacy of our sessions. I gave her some points for having been kinder as of late, and so I decided to go along with it. It had been ages since I'd been outside anyway, so I needed some time in fresh air. Her plan continued; this Elizabeth was extremely competitive with Sarah, past any point of reasonable contention and approaching a certain malicious obsession. Sarah was sure that if Elizabeth saw her out and about with a suit, the damned girl would do everything in her power to sway me from my perceived target. I have to say, I was delighted at Sarah's plan. It was smart and efficient and brutal. In a week's time at the earliest, I'd say, if I helped speed along Elizabeth's advances, I could be in her chamber undressing. That would be the hardest part to pull off, pun kind've intended. "So how does my sudden courtship of this Elizabeth end in her exile?" I asked Sarah, amused but still unsure. "And don't start in on 'it's illegal and blah blah blah' because I already know that, I've been active at least every decade of humanity's span of existence." Sarah rolled her eyes. Silly little redhead couldn't respect my wondrous lifetime full of daring do. Whatever, her loss. "In most witch's and warlocks homes are candles designed to-" "Change color when a demon is present, brilliant!" I interrupted. "So what'll happen is I'll go into her room, all sex and seduction and the candles will change and she'll notice but if I've played my cards right she'll want me too badly to care and then she'll end up willingly engaging in cross species sex!" Sarah nodded, smiling. "And while I have confidence in your ability to...seduce a witch," the redhead admitted, blushing again and stumbling a bit over her words, "I also want to be sure she doesn't know you for what you are until she absolutely cannot control herself and deny you. So I'll be giving you this..." As she pulled out a tiny vial of black muck I instantly shivered and felt my essence shrink under my skin. No no no no I had done this before, when early magicians and chemists started figuring out magical aids and potions they developed one early on that would temporarily cloak a demon as a human. It was disgusting and felt dirty, the human body was heavy and full of weird squishy organs that nobody wanted around and was really rather ungainly. Whereas demons can just stretch and harden and form their essence into any shape or size imaginable and always feel light as a feather, humans are dragged around on earth, a loose cover of skin slopped haphazardly across a pile of flesh and sewn awkwardly together. No, you're right, I really don't like humans. "Do I have to?" "Yeah I'm sorry. On the bright side," Sarah said, brightening, "you can break through it whenever you've decided it's the right time. Just don't mess this up or I'll torture and punish you for the next year," she finished lightly, practically bouncing as she did so. My eyes narrowed at her, attempting intimidation, but in response all I got was a grin. She already knew my response, stupid curvy witch. I couldn't really say no. I held out my hand and looked up at the ceiling, sighing as deeply as possible. She cheered sarcastically and tossed the vial across to me for safekeeping. I tucked it into a pocket and rolled my eyes. It could be worse, I said to myself as she snapped me back into the cage. From between the bars, I watched her walk out of the pentacle and to the door, her hips swaying alluringly with each step. I smiled to myself. Oh yes, it certainly could be worse. "Hey wake up. Time to go." I looked up at her, raising an eyebrow. "You know demons don't actually sleep, right? Please tell me you pay attention in your Demon Studies classes because I swear nobody ever does and then y'all say all sorts of crazy shit that doesn't make a lick of sense." She stared at me, lost in the depths of a slew of phrases and slang terms that wouldn't crop up for another hundred years at least. "Yes, I know you don't sleep. But it's time to go anyway, come on you lazy ass." She snapped her fingers and I popped into my circle. It would be the first day I accompanied her, more or less free, in the real world. You could say I was pretty excited, although I damn sure pretended not to be. Sarah raised her arms and recited a few incantations, throwing sand between our circles and pouring a few drops of blood into the little pile between us. Magic is weird and stupid and there's all sorts of rituals that don't really need to be there. I had to tutor one slaver's kid in calculus once, and watching young witches and warlocks work is like beating pre-calc into a kid's head and then throwing up one's metaphorical educational hands and saying "well fuck this, now you get to learn all the easy ways to do the nearly impossible shit you just did!" Side note for any of you out there struggling with pre-calc or advanced algebra, I feel you. I'm almost omnipotent and have had almost infinite time to study mathematics, and that shit is still terrible. My heart goes out to you. My point, though, is that Sarah did all these pointless things when a mature witch or warlock-as her mentor should have taught her-can do any command or summoning without making a sound or a motion. Entirely mental. So I got to sit there and pretend to be respectful as she went through some exhausting, half-hour bullshit that would've taken one of my Grecian masters a blink and a frown. Kids these days, right? Finally, I was out. More or less. I glanced around and filtered through the walls and discovered a bubble enclosing me a mile in every direction from Sarah. Not bad, considering how tightly I had been trapped before. I turned back to her, and she was looking me up and down slowly. "See something you like?" I leered at her. She scoffed, still blushing, "Hardly, but we're going to have to figure out what you should wear..." I shrugged and whipped up the uniform of a college boy who would summon me slightly less than a decade later. He had been fashionable for his time, so a few years back I would be cutting-edge, ahead of the fashion game. Sarah nodded in approval and mimed applause; to her laughing delight I bowed and curtseyed politely. I didn't tell her I had brutally murdered the inspiration for the outfit when he treated me poorly and accidentally slipped out of his summoning circle. He didn't even taste very good. We made quite the fashionable pair, walking through the cobbled streets of London and dodging this way and that around horse-drawn carriages and through open-air markets, breathing the wild and varied scents of putrid sewage and coal-filled air. I missed that disgusting, abhorrent London air. Anything was better than being cooped up. Sarah had no courses until one hour past noon, as she put it, and so we opted to wandering about the college. It wasn't long before we came across Elizabeth. Now in the earlier sessions with Sarah, when I listened to her rants and annoyances mostly out of curiosity and partly out of necessity, she described Elizabeth's voice as "unpleasant." If it were up to me, I think the phrase "total ear death" fits better. "Oh my, Sarah!" Elizabeth shrieked. Like honestly I've heard some loud, piercing shit in my time here and it was nothing like this girl's voice. Nails on a chalkboard is comparatively soothing. "And oh my, who's this? A visitor from abroad, a friend of yours? Oh how could you not introduce me my word Sarah, such poor manners, and with a visitor of such...fine stature, indeed! I must introduce myself then if Sarah here is to be so crude as to not tell you of me, my name is Elizabeth and what a pleasure it is to meet you sir...?" Finally holy fuck she stopped talking. This week was going to be torture if I had to deal with that. She was plenty fine when she didn't speak. She looked more Nordic than English though, light blond hair and pointed features, a slight frame and fidgety mannerisms. She was an odd one. Not unattractive, but standing beside Sarah, whose body buckled at every curve and every inch and joint in her body screamed out sex, Elizabeth looked as if she were still not quite matured. I reached across to her, smiling a bit more than politely and gave her a firm handshake, holding her hand slightly longer than appropriate. "The name is David, Miss Elizabeth, and a pleasure to meet you as well." I decided to go the extra yard and raised her hand to my lips, kissing her knuckles gently, lingering there for a moment and dragging my lips across the skin ever so slightly. I was born a tease. If you've never teased a woman, you're not having enough fun with sex. Red and Redhead Ch. 02 As I straightened out I kept my eyes locked on her, letting a crooked smile pull lightly on my features. Elizabeth giggled and blushed scarlet. "Oh Sarah, wherever did you find this...man! He must be Italian, I'm sure of it!" Sarah laughed and turned away. "We will talk of this later, Elizabeth, I must away to classes, and David will be joining me through them. We mustn't be late!" I turned slower, watching Elizabeth for a beat, and then followed Sarah to her class. I will spare you the tedium of the weeklong seduction that followed. It was some pretty standard stuff, gifts and outings and carriage rides, all the typical aristocratic time-wasting shit that the proletariat didn't have the luxury to experience. Everything is class warfare. Trust me I've seen the beginning and end of your race. It's always been class warfare. And I had to play a tiny part in it, playing the bourgeois boy from abroad who fancies the Nordic witch. The only thing of note during that week was actually a change in Sarah. During our nightly talks or sometimes walking around she would make little allusions to my finding Elizabeth attractive. As if it bothered her. I seldom deigned to respond, but I devoted time to the issue while I lay caged nightly. Sadly, Sarah had discontinued the practice of bringing her notebook into the summoning room, and I wasn't able to continue enjoying her delightful little drawings. Finally, as the week drew to a close, Elizabeth began the roundabout maneuvering of a gentlewoman breaking her societal contract to sleep with a man who was visiting, and who she did not plan to marry. I'll give Elizabeth points there. She was annoying as anything, and ditzy and often brainless, but she was brave. I almost felt bad for getting her in trouble for her forward thinking. Almost. As she navigated what she thought to be a difficult topic, I lost my patience. She had been rambling on about "the nature of humanity being one of the battle between isolation and companionship" and "the unwillingness of the individual to remain just so" etc etc and I honestly was done with that, so I just leaned forward and interrupted her with a full, soft kiss. It was a gamble in newly modern times, when such behavior would be considered dishonorable or-imagine this-sinful. But I bet on her decades-advanced mindset and won out. She was silent for a moment, swaying lightly on her feet, then broke into a huge smile. She motioned for me to lean down slightly, and as I did she whispered into my ear. "Tomorrow night, meet here at the witching hour and we can remove to my chambers so we can...share a night before your departure." I leaned back and looked her straight in the face, impressed by her bravery and clear determination. I winked at her and said simply, "Yes milady." Sarah ran about her abode when I told her what had happened. With the mile radius leash in place, I had walked a good distance from Sarah with Elizabeth, and so she only now knew what I'd done. I must admit I enjoyed seeing her so pleased, not because of my service to a captor, but rather because it was her doing the enjoying. I cannot describe adequately how this girl looked. When she danced around a bit in her house...I'm glad I'm not bound by the same rules that human males are, because certain features would have become incredibly pronounced watching her do so. Her legs and ass stretched and bounced and tightened, everything firm and strong and round, her skin delightfully smooth, her breasts barely contained as they strained against a corset that pushed them up and together until they formed deep, tight cleavage, her hair flying about in a fiery whirl as she spun and danced. I wasn't complaining, I got to watch a busty, curvaceous witch dance around her house, her clothing barely containing her. I wasn't sure, however, who was enjoying it more; her, with her plan succeeding and feeling the growing hunger of a demon's eyes across her skin while she celebrated, or me; with my enslavement slowly coming to a close, and simultaneous plans on how to reverse my slavery. It had felt a long time since I had taken a human partner... Red and Redhead Ch. 03 Author's Note: Apologies all that even this sad excuse for a third chapter took so long, but other affairs kept me away from this fun little adventure I'd started on. This is just a teaser so you know I'm back, and more chapters are to follow-both longer and with perhaps more graphic content than those you have available to you. Thanks for your support and I hope you enjoy it as we move right along with the demon and his witch. ***** The front door slammed shut hard, rattling the windows of the building just a tad. More importantly, the hideous bang rattled me, engaged as I was in staring at the ceiling of my jail room, tossing a conjured wood ball up in the air and catching it over and over again, long since drifted off into bored vegetation. I swear to god I'm a vicious destroyer, a powerful entity whose might can overwhelm thousands of men in mere moments. But all caged up I mostly feel like a cat, waiting to be let out to play. Lucky me, my cute little mouse is headed straight for me. I can't help but let a rueful smile slide across my features as she stomps into the room. I can hear her setting up her traps and protective wards. Oh little witch, how blind you are to the simple truth that you are my prey-and I the predator just waiting for one last crack in your defenses. In an instant, I was full upright and familiar, only feet from my captor. I took a chance to survey her emotions as she fumed and let out wordless groans of frustration. The poor thing, she's so upset. A thing I've noticed about humans, almost all of them, is that they let their emotions control them. Her feet pattered against the floor as she spun in a furious circle, stamping her feet, each heel against the smooth wood dangerously closer to the edge of her pentagram than the last. Oh come on Sarah, out with it. I can't stand this kind of pageantry, you know what I'm talking about? Like, I swear, I bet you do the same shit, reader: playing up your life for drama as if it's a fun thing for anyone but you. I get it, it's cathartic or something. You'd think I've been around for so long I'd be used to the quirks and annoyances of humanity, or that her pouting can't have taken much time compared to the infinite spans and wastes of existence my illustrious being has graced. But no, it gets old when you've seen it for thousands of years. Everyone thinks they've got their shit the hardest, and I could guarantee in no uncertain terms that the importance of whatever the little witch was about to say would pale in comparison to even the most trivial of my own accomplishments and woes. "I talked to Elizabeth after classes today," she started, half mocking and half seething. I'd like her to try that tone with me in different circumstances. I'm sure she'd show more respect with her pale, soft ass up in the air, reddened by a good leather strap. "You know what that whore said?" I pulled my armchair from the Mist and crashed backwards into it, sighing deeply, making a grand show of utmost boredom and disinterest, as if my ball-handling skills were vastly more interesting than anything she could say. "No, Sarah," I said, mustering as patronizing a tone as I could manage. "What did she say?" "She said your little rendezvous is off." Alright that has my attention. Not because I care about Ms. Elizabeth Tortures-With-Voice, but because fucking her was a solid step forward in my plan to get free. This was going to complicate things, and not in a fun way. This was going to complicate things in the headache-inducing, 'this is going to take far longer for me to get the hell out of this situation than I ever intended' way. I really dislike that way. I closed my eyes tight and rubbed my temples. Both, clearly, ineffectual. They're just mannerisms I've picked up from various wizards and witches over the years. As one might expect, the guys wielding extreme supernatural power and enslaving servants from beyond the human plane of existence tend to be a pretty paranoid, stressed-out bunch. They had a real rough time before Xanax, I can tell you that. Of course, post-Xanax didn't fare too well for them either. In the great Russo-American War, I worked for (read: was enslaved by) one gentleman who had a tendency to succumb to panic attacks. He used some kind of benzo to keep it under control, and all it took was one pill too many; he walked into the vault where I was being held and flubbed a few words in his ward chant. When I finished eating him, I got a nice, gentle buzz from the undigested pills in his gut, and from the free-floating substances in his blood. And that's the story of how Xanax lost the war against Russia. God dammit ok where was I, I always get sidetracked on these little stories and forget about this fire-headed girl standing opposite me, arms crossed-I was pleased to note-under her bust, pushing her breasts up and together to quite an enjoyable effect. Sadly, that part of my plan would just have to wait, although I made note of the distance from her straining top to her soft, pink lips and filed the information away. Research purposes. "Did she say exactly why she called it off? I mean what the hell she was practically ready to drop to her knees right there in the courtyard when we were talking. She absolutely reeked of lust, like I'd put her into heat." Sarah straightened up uncomfortably. "You can smell that?" I winked and lit her up with a playful smile, all bravado. "You would be surprised at the things I know, Princess." One point, team Cael. Her white skin flushed a deep red and wet her lips. Conscious or unconscious, still a small victory. Best to condition her to it now so it's as much her decision as mine when it comes to reversing the terms of our partnership later, right? She took a full breath and exhaled hard, shaking her head lightly as if to brush away some distracting thoughts. I wanted to laugh, but it'd break the tension. I needed her to stow her fantasies away herself and label them as a temptation. Avoidance of a temptation is short-lived, and giving in becomes little more than an inevitability. I just needed to lay the groundwork; I knew her imagination would do the rest. Humans are so easy to play with. I tilted my head, looking her up and down. That's the right phrasing, 'play with.' Given time, she'd be mine to play with too-my own obedient, redheaded little toy.